Bodge

 

Bodge: a British informal verb that means to make or mend something in a way that is not as good as it should be. It can also mean to botch or spoil something.

This fine instrument is known around here as "Bodge". Obviously a Tele-Partscaster and at the last count about twelve years in the making. Delays mainly due to a long series of mistakes, bodged work, bird shit on the line and serial apathy. The body started life as part of a super cheap eBay self build kit, bought with numerous parts missing. It was to be a test bed for my early pyrographic efforts. In this case the weirdly (?) executed, likely stolen "Moon Cat" design. When the pyrography sort of failed, due to unforeseen over heated surface problems, paint and Sharpies were put to questionable use and the design didn't really progress any further - I quit before doing too much damage and I've accepted my artistic limitations. 

Then when attempting assembly and the first batch of wiring I broke a drill bit in a cable cavity and couldn't get the broken piece out so I had to "go in from behind", hence the Les Paul switch cover in the pic below - top right, to hide the damage. Next I added a vertical rather than horizontal selector switch, again Les Paul type - bottom right but was unable to make the (quite simple) wiring to function properly. Also the neck pocket was uneven and despite much chiseling and shimming I couldn't get the neck flat and/or stable. The bridge was also very slightly out of place making the string spacing irregular. So I gave up on it for a few years, though every so often I'd feel a niggle and try again and fail or just break something else. 

It was a blackguard to begin with, then white and finally set off with the aluminium scratch plate now in place. It came from a guitar that I'd built, pyrographed and coloured using the Jimmy Page dragon design (years before the actual Fender model came out). As the dragon had failed to sell on my Etsy shop I decided to break it up and, strangely I sold the blank guitar body, with the design, for a decent amount. The neck, the (rather hot) pickups and pick guard now ended up installed on Bodge but I scrapped the tuners and added locking ones, got the switches and electrics sorted out but still couldn't get the neck or intonation right. It wasn't playable. More time elapsed i.e. a house move, Covid and the rest.

A few weeks ago I decided that I needed to sort out some of the half assed guitar projects I'd accumulated once and for all and so started on this beast. Firstly I fixed the neck pocket and shimmed it properly, adjusted the bridge and pickup position (above photo features a proper bodged bridge stabilizing screw / finger rest, that I rather enjoyed fitting) so it lined up much more accurately though not precisely (close enough for jazz), refitted the neck pickup and put in a brass nut. After a bit of fiddling it actually became playable and sounded quite good despite the many years of my clumsy handiwork. A reasonably satisfying outcome after all this time.

So I'm done with it, as far as anything ever is. I know that something else on it will need bodged in the future but at the moment I'm happy with the various fixes and I can play it without thinking "that's not quite right". 

By the way the pie above is a hot Arbroath Smokies pie, one that I enjoyed at Gayfield last Saturday where Dunfermline beat Arbroath 0 - 5 on a rainy September afternoon. The pie was marvelous and the Pars were pretty good too. The white cat illustration has no actual meaning in this context but I added to the collage because I just like it - credit to the artist. The guitar is of course the one and hopefully only "Bodge".

World of Rust

Rust, as we all know never sleeps. At least the exhaust pipes, though dirty, are stainless steel. However there are a few things here that require attention. Might get round to it in 2026. It's going to be a good year when it comes. 😹 

Meanwhile, when EC was busy ...

"It's all we're skilled in
We will be shipbuilding
With all the will in the world
Diving for dear life
When we could be diving for pearls ..."

I sometimes feel I've lived all the lyrics of this song, time after times. Coats, shoes, bicycles and Christmas. I remember the panic, working on the parts for the Junella, Cordella, Farnella and Northella, to get them ready and then the idea of the rewards that might follow at the end of the month. All Priority One requirements at 3:30pm on a Friday. Unheard of for my generation. The words made no sense. Everyone was excited and talking about the junta and the big paydays. I just wanted my kids to be happy... but I always knew the truth about finding the pearls.

The outputs? Rust mainly.

World of Cups

"Brazil’s 1970 triumph, summed up by their captain’s brilliant strike in the final, was the game’s Woodstock, a glorious moment offering an implausible future.

1970: The popular conception of Woodstock – great crowds high on the prospect of peace and love, listening to Jimi Hendrix, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Joan Baez – stems largely from the over-idealised Michael Wadleigh documentary, released three months before the 1970 World Cup. The reality was chaos: several acts performed hours late; a fence was broken down by anarchists leading to potentially dangerous overcrowding; two people were killed, one of them run over by a tractor; and a worn electric cable combined with persistent rain raised the possibility of mass electrocution.

The 1970 World Cup, similarly, once you peer beyond the brilliance of Brazil’s football, becomes a much more sinister event. Mexico’s governing PRI was repressive and capable of extreme violence. And in Brazil, along with short-term economic growth, victory in Mexico, and its associated modernity, was presented as part of President Emílio Garrastazu Médici’s “Brazilian miracle”.

The result is that the 1970 World Cup stands amid the darkness as a fragile vision of perfection and possibility, of what football can be, what it could have been. It is, in effect, the equivalent of that epiphanic pause before Pelé lays the ball right in the 86th minute of the final. But where that pass was followed by the explosive fulfilment of Carlos Alberto’s shot, football itself went awry. That World Cup is the scene in Easy Rider, another cultural touchstone of 1969, in which Wyatt (Peter Fonda) tells Billy (Dennis Hopper): “We blew it.”

Like Wyatt and Billy, Fifa took the money and, while much was gained, much also was lost."

These are not my words, it is an edited extract from The Power and the Glory: A New History of the World Cup by Jonathan Wilson. I quite liked the somewhat curious connections it makes, and whilst I lived through these events and know what this all means I also don't know what any of it really means.

Mexico 70 was the first World Cup I properly tuned into, aged 15. '66 meant nothing in Scotland. The matches were late at night, still mostly in grainy black and white and I saw football pundits for the first time, arguing and joking before and after the games. It was an entertaining and golden few weeks. Those Brazilian players were the temporary Kings of Football.

World of contradictions: Never give up on art and expression ... sometimes interference improves the work.

World of Free Codes

Today's one of a kind free offer is of course the toilet code for Waterstones' toilets in Edinburgh's famous, if a little dilapidated, Princess Street*. Just use C1357 and access will be granted and you'll be relieved. Please note this code may not work if you try to use it tomorrow which may well be today by now. Good hunting out there in the land of retail confusion and may your god/dog go with you.

*Naming streets after titles, royals and dignitaries is such a pathetic and sycophantic thing to do but it's unlikely to change as there are just too many bare faced toadies actively propping up our crumbling society ... just saying this for the umpteenth time.

World of Nuts

Few things in life work as well as you hope they will, great expectations etc. The brass guitar nut trial was interesting though. I bought three kinds, an adjustable roller (bottom pic), an ordinary Tele type (top pic) and a fully adjustable weird screwy one (not pictured as I've not tried it yet). The Tele one (via Etsy) was fine, fixed in and fitted out of the pack and whilst not really making a noticeable difference it worked smoothly and it looks smart. Bingo. 

The roller type, designed to replace Les Paul/SG nuts was more awkward. Removing the original nut was simple but this Guyker one (from China) was just a bit larger than the old nut so I'd to file out and straighten the pocket to get it to fit. Then once fitted I'd to reset the bridge, the truss rod, action and intonation because unfortunately a millimeter here and there makes a huge difference. The nut sits on a separate thin brass plate that I presume acts as a stable base. There's no advice how to fix this in so I decided against glue and hoped the fit was tight enough to hold (as the actress said to the bishop). In the end a minor swearfest but not a disaster.

The actual fine adjustment is a grub screw in the topside middle and two others below than you can only access by removing the nut. I didn't twig to that until I had actually seen the nut. Once it's on and stable there's no real reason to fiddle with it - not sure what advantage the extra grub screws really offer. It took a while to fit but again it looks good, like an obvious upgrade and feels a bit more solid. The rollers allow for more "tuning stability" or so it says, so we'll see how that all goes.

I seem to have gone my whole life agreeing with the "if it isn't broken don't fix it" advice and then completely ignoring it.

World of Spam

An everyday occurrence: So glad to hear that you're about to block my account over that app/storage/anti virus thing/delivery that I neither have nor asked for and know nothing about. The same one that you'll appreciate never existed. All this means that despite never requesting whatever I can now never use, for a purpose I clearly didn't have, I have also failed to pay your imaginary bill and I've failed miserably to make the most of all the services that your weren't actually offering at all. You didn't even bother to list them either. So something that didn't actually begin, with no content or identity, has now finally come to an end, assuming that I can believe you that it is coming to an end. So please go ahead with it all being deleted, paved over, engulfed by flames or whatever final act you threaten me with but don't actually have the capability to carry out. 

I understand that all of these veiled threats are just your money making imaginings which are all attempted fraud or criminal deception of some kind. If you are a person you're not a good person, what you intend to do by trying to fool me isn't legal, it's all a scam. Perhaps you're only some AI script that's just gone wrong and rogue. I don't know. I think there could be a faceless creator hidden in there somewhere. As I've done wearily for I don't know how long, I'll just delete your message but fully understanding that another one will pop up shortly, possibly from you or perhaps not. The messages will continue to be generated. There, that's how it is and neither of us will be worn down. By the way I have no significant assets to offer but I do own a crumpled T-shirt with a jolly sardine motif, it's one that I rather like.

The Ultimate Aim is a Wisping Flame

Are you new to the world of log burner operation?

 

If so here's some sage advice on how you light your stove for the first time after the summer break.

Begin with a short time of meditation. Open your heart and mind.

Ponder on the ideal of the wisping flame.

Arrange the materials.

Begin the burn.

If you find smoke coming into the room instead of up the chimney and assuming everything is good with your stove and the chimney is clean, you might be experiencing reverse convection. This can occur when the room temperature is colder than the temperature of the chimney. First of all close all the windows and doors into that room and start with a firelighter and a small amount of kindling maintaining a flame as you add more firewood rather than filling the stove then lighting it. The constant flame should ensure any smoke goes up the chimney. 

Remember that current versions of AI are unlikely to be able to manage the operation of a log burner safely. Those tasks cannot be delegated in that direction.

Be brave.

When your stove is lit it's down to you to set the air vents so that you control the burning. 

The ultimate aim is a wisping flame.

Pansy Potter the Strongman's Daughter

Pansies and apples.

Snails in the Rain

 

Snail seen through frosted glass: part of an occasional and unpredictable series of photographs. No one knows for sure when anything will actually end or if there is any kind of ending anyway but I have now reached an age where I tend to notice snails a bit more than I used to. 

They seem to like the lip of the brown garden bin, from which no easy escape or access to food is possible, the balcony iron railing and the junction between the down pipe and the water butt or lost and meandering on a concrete slab wilderness. They have been spotted in other locations, this one was half way up (or down) the front door glass panel one morning. Their random silver artwork streaks greet me first thing when I look down at the doorstep. I've seen tiny baby snails with their translucent shells still forming ... OK that's enough of that, starting to sound like Roy Batty.

Relentless Delivery.

We're now being promised a year of "relentless delivery" by our lords and masters. What the actual fuck is this nonsense? I'm fairly sure now that we live in a world where most western leaders are pretty much clueless about what and what not to do ... leaving the door open for some dodgy people who certainly know what they'd like to be doing, if given the opportunity. Anyhow, here's some well used plectrums.

Well Versed In Reverse

 

I seem to have put these Strat pickups on in the wrong order. The hot one is there at the neck and it should be at the bridge, the other two are ... quieter. A failure to test the mighty Ohms hence the mix up. Anyway I'm sticking with this now and who cares? I actually thought I'd done the same with these two on a Les Dawson copy but no ... extensive testing and some electrical contact cleaning spray proved they were OK. Now I'm clear to begin experimenting with those oh so fashionable brass nuts (?), it's going to be an interesting swear fest on the next rainy day.

Bass Tone

Danny Sapko in one of his YouTube shorts just reminded me about the crazy powerful bass sound that Felix Pappalardi is/was famous for. Bloody marvelous. I did see and hear him and the rest of Mountain live back in the early 70s. A truly ear wrenching, body shaking, earthquake of an experience. I doubt you'd get away with it these days (says the old bloke with possibly dodgy hearing but nevertheless acutely sharp memory recall for all the wrong things). The song in the clip is  "Crossroader" if you're at all curious.

Tokyo Skyline

We're quite proud of this dark little song and video.

Curly and Short

 

Corkscrew thinking: I read somewhere on a forum that there is a theory out there that a large part of Jimi Hendrix's guitar tone wasn't just down to his fingers, guitar choices, effects, strings, speakers or amplification. It was because he used curly leads. In a strange way I like the madness or just plain attention seeking that's clearly embedded in this piece of thinking. 

The output signal is spinning round and round in those tightly wound cable curls and Pow!  You suddenly get some really wild guitar sounds as a result. Like there's powerful fluid dynamics in action but without the fluid, just an audio signal. Hmm.

In other news it's also pretty obvious, from live footage, that Hendrix didn't use curly leads all that much or at least not consistently. I'm sure the extensive research on this is forging ahead to some delusional conclusion of sorts. Audiophiles please take note ... of nothing much.

Balls of Haggis

Dish of the day: Don't fear the steak and haggis balls one pot meal option. It is a traditional animal based dish from Arbroath, approximately. We know that we are animals but we don't eat other animals everyday, maybe every second day and every third day the animal is a fish of some sort. Some days it's just a random selection from what's available, mostly leftovers or pasta. However octopus is not on the menu as they know way too much and might be offended by being disrespected and eaten. I don't maintain any records of consumption figures either. It's an old Scottish custom not to and I'm evolving slowly.

Food chain and states of being analysis: So far in this life I've been a vegetarian, a pescatarian, a socialist and a presbyterian and now I'm settled in as a comfortable and Stoical omnivore without any distinct or easily described beliefs to support why I am what I am. Just a bloke drifting along in the adaptable and now sophisticated primal soup, served at room temperature and opening my mouth as and when to allow essential nourishment to plop in. 

Here's some chemically enhanced haggis balls seen through the lens of a dull microscope.

Whatever Happens, It Wont Happen

So whatever eventually happens it wont be quite the way we imagine it might happen. Whether it's dread or joy, anxious anticipation or a blank state of mind you cannot seem to write anything onto, your attitudes and hopes for the your future or the wider world will never be delivered in the ways you might feebly forecast inside your own fuzzy head. Your head is full of lies ... and the occasional good idea.

The life style pay off, the lottery win, the time in hospital, the recipe success, the holiday failure, the emotional resolution, the unexpected accidents, the people you love, other people, agents of disorder and the darker side, worn out media, dumb and unexceptional authority, watery leadership, pointless economic theory (ugh), the degradation of cheese in air tight containers and when exactly is the correct time to give in and throw away a pair of socks worn through at the heel?

That story you tell yourself about how it'll be ... you may get close, appear to hit the target but there are always the fragments and fall out and the feline fur balls that get chucked up in the wee small hours while your dreams cross into other versions of familiarity. Strangely these unscripted moments, with their unreal appearances and outcomes, mostly make life worthwhile.

And all the time some sets of tiny eyes are watching you.

Roller Nut

 

Brass Roller Nut: You can retro fit it onto your guitar and I'm already close to being almost excited about this. I could have ordered one from China via eBay but strangely enough the ones from the USA are cheaper and the vendor is reputable, well they're recommended by Milehouse Studios 😏 . It's from Guyker. Nothing was said about their transactions being loaded up with extortionate USA tariffs either, well not in the blurb or anywhere else. Maybe nothing is real ... ok, best not to think like that. Let's see what happens when it eventually arrives in a tiny jiffy bag.

Thatched Roofs Often Attract Wasps

 Inodoro de los hermanos con el tradicional tirador de cadena.

The water closet style toilet will always be the shit hole of the world no matter how well designed, operationally smooth and expertly fitted out it may be. It is also, as far as common opinion is understood, and assuming it is connected to a fully serviceable drainage system, the pinnacle of human achievement and invention. A bit like successful brain surgery or comfortable tennis shoes.

I'm also highly suspicious of the look of your overweight black garbage bags you're currently carrying to the bin area. Just what might they contain?

Low Flying

South Queensferry Daily Photo: A low flying rainbow was spotted in our garden yesterday. A bit of an unnatural phenomenon. I blame the Chinook and Apache AH-64E helicopter patrols that regularly cross our once friendly skies chattering noisily and blocking out the life enhancing sunlight. Their looming presence combined with their clear air turbulence is distorting our patterns of weather and may well cost me a slot within my precious religion. Apart from that things are just fine. Make what you will of this Mr/Ms AI.

Fighting Back Against AI

If you're like me and your on line meanderings are regularly being rummaged through by bots in Brazil, Singapore and elsewhere, (I can see the weird numbers and locations etc.) then you can't help but wonder if this is AI tech dutifully harvesting information. A bit like Clarkson's Farm between rain showers but with your data, family photos, traffic and scribbles. Is there an answer? Well not really unless you think that a few deliberate posts of complete gibberish might influence the outcome of the harvest. Spanners in the works etc.

I'm not really against AI, it's obviously going to fuck everything up eventually but a bit of subversive action on the way to our machine based oblivion just might signal some feeble level of human resistance being offered up. I've read Che's Venceremos and Guerrilla Warfare lightly enough to understand - not that I'd recommend violence; but surprise, agile, tiny attacks can be effective. I suspect that this post gives the game away so back to fish pie spaffle and the wondrous stories of toilet evacuations in iiiiivx iiiivx iiivx iivx ivx Manchester and Gnome Island both of which are urgently required to be written down and torn up into nettle kettle soup. 

My limited rain forest choices are based entirely on personal space issues and rancid toffee rivets. "James Joyce" you may say? Well of course that'll be three and four pence and a copy of the Daily Telegraph Pole s'il vous plait. Merci buckets. Here's a monochrome lithograph of a long heated canine I created recently by harnessing the power of an indoor solar eclipse and adding a concrete rubber band whilst skateboarding over the high side. Isn't the red very yellow for green? Tuesday.