Life Observed

In the great tradition of the "we were promised jetpacks" moans I recall that around about 1971 we were promised starships. Mostly by unreliable rock stars, comic strips  and sci-fi writers but the idea was out there (Blows Against the Empire etc.). Now here we are in 2025 and these clunky looking earthbound robot "starships" are delivering groceries and fast food on our pavements.  Things are progressing nicely. Don't stop believing ...

I need a new tyre. In order to avoid skills fade I remove the worn tyre and wheel from the car and take it to the tyre shop where they fit the new tyre on the wheel. I then go home with the newly replaced tyre and fit it on to the car myself. I don't save any money or time by doing this but I sleep better at night knowing that I can still jack up a car and change a wheel. 

Somebody, of a certain age I'd guess, wrote this note and then sellotaped to a bus shelter in Rosyth. I've no idea how the back story to this goes or how it might be resolved. Some things are best left in an open ended state.

Un-British etc.

 

One political party can't spell Britain on a bar of promotional chocolate and another says that protesting for the Palestinian cause is "un-British". I'm not really confused, surprised or even disappointed, the days of feeling anything, other than quietly exhausted with them all, have simply slipped away, they are just gone. 

The Fog Within

As a general observation and from lived experience I'd say that a big part of life is spent revising and changing the opinions and positions you may have held on things. However because life tends to take quite a while to pass, a person can lose perspective about where they are now compared to where they used to be. We can grow into being droll and petulant creatures without some self examination and external input. 

It's good therefore to take a moment and consider where you are now compared to where you were before. This of course isn't always a sign that things have worked out for the best, not all change is worthwhile or wholesome. Sometimes growth means moving in a number of contradictory directions. I find that a good epiphany now and then can certainly clear the fog from within the soul.

If you manage to live a long life and in that time your beliefs, opinions and values etc. have pretty much remained the same, static even, then frankly I'm stumped. Did you actually "get" everything right the first time round? Have you just settled for whatever landed in your lap and if so what are you doing about it?

So ... they say that how somebody talks about Greta Thunberg is the quickest personality test there is ... for me it's usually been how somebody treats/talks to serving staff in a restaurant or cafe. I get the idea though and perhaps I need to evolve a little more. Another slice of freshly formed fog please.

Tedious Obsessions

 

Already thing's are not quite right: In what is likely to be looked back on by me as an unnecessary butt scratching, kite flying exercise I'm trying to elevate my collection of bummed out guitars on to some kind of higher % useful/playable status. This involves revisiting numerous old and unresolved problems with some reimagined cheap but hopefully effective DIY solutions. I already know it's doomed so I keep my head is down and stay focused ... something might just work. It all keeps my mind sharp and my finger tips sticky, but then again some of that is just the persistence of superglue.

Solar Power is the Future

 

If we've learned anything it's that we've mostly learned nothing. Solar power generation in our area is an unattainable thing because our area is in a conservation area and solar panels are, strictly speaking, not allowed by order of the mighty planning department. That's a very sustainable position to take when considering a bog standard 70's house. Having the cat sit on a tiny pirate panel doesn't really help much either. Ho hum.

Through A Covid Lens

Glittering owl faces, gem encrusted birds of prey and snakes. There's always a snake. A creature saddled with an unfair and undeserved reputation for misleading humanity. This is from the "reflective" phase of covid delirium. I'm just passing through it at the moment.

They took a crosscut saw to some wilder tribal tales and gave us a creation story with so many holes in it that they might as well have used the Owl and the Pussycat - or am I mixing them up with the Jumblies by Edward Lear? Far and few etc? My efforts at study are now looking futile and shallow.

If they'd only allowed the Bible's bits to be preserved in the old Hebrew translation (like Sumerian or Egyptian works) and buried in a lost tomb, nobody would be quoting or even misquoting it today. And the world would be as one ... 

😜

Covid 25

 

Not feeling quite right? Why you may well have fallen foul of the latest strain of Covid, the curiously named Sirius or Nimbus or Stratus strains which are rampant in our corner of the woods. Messing with heads, throats and the simple pleasure of breathing. A plague upon these Harry Potter broomstick model themed ... plagues. I've got it anyway, right where I don't want it. It's mostly a raw, hot and bothered sore throat. Tremors, shivers and a woozy head I can stand but a sore throat, eek!

This isn't medical advice but try riding that dirty covid stallion like some wild mustang in one of those horse breaking scenes from Yellowstone. All dust, spit, sweat and swearing. Then take it to the limit where in some fevered dream you meet your spirit animal, which if you're lucky will be a wolf with the voice and attitude of Jonny Cash - a la Simpsons. It will lead you, guide you even, to the other side and, as they say, you will know when you know.

Three other things that actually helped me: warm salt water gargling, Beechham's Powders (Yes), old school Vic Vapour rub applied externally to the throat. And a fourth thing - as much sleep as you can possibly get. Welcome back to the dark side where, as you might expect, things are a little darker.

Collection Correction

Nothing to correct really. 

This is set in concrete. 

Unlikely to change.

We grow old together.

Staying strong.

Guardians of each other's solitude.

💖

 

Friday 26th.

 Nothing unusual about any of this either.

Try Searching For Another

Nostalgia for one: When Elon Musk purchased Twitter we* all baled out 🪂 shortly after. Simple as that. The news, jokes, stories and scandals stopped.  Alternative media apps arose and to be honest they were/are all a bit shit. So where are we now? Perhaps it's time to seek out and relive the good old days of quirky and mostly irrelevant posts, photos and opinions ... or maybe not. Things have moved on.

Those smart one liners and observations have now quietly disappeared into the ether, as if they never were - and that's because the actually never were anything of substance. They were nothing, just subliminal slices of digital lines, images and creations that have vanished and I can't recall that much of the content right now. The past is slowly getting darker. Not very many people followed me either so I avoided unpleasant interactions and that turned out to be a good thing.

As I didn't really post enough or argue with anyone or properly engage on issues, for me it was almost fun while it lasted. I was a casual observer, only looking over the fence into someone else's garden, mainly out of curiosity and Fomo. Perhaps it was all just a mad, cosmopolitan but lucid, slow running illusion, now best forgotten. So forget it.

*I have no clear idea what I mean by "we". 

Water Skiing Over the Abyss

A bright and clear morning here in EH30 and yes there is always something happening on the river. This morning while checking in on the day from our lounge window, I spotted an enterprising person out water skiing behind a powerful speed boat around the pillars of the Forth Railway Bridge and effectively buzzing a cruise liner (the QE2 no less) parked nearby. A decent photo was not possible so I've no real proof of this but it did happen and the circles and flybys lasted for about half an hour cutting sharp patterns of wake across the water's surface. The Forth's murky H2O㊌ has now settled back and the cruise passengers are headed out on their little ferries to explore Edinburgh and beyond, oblivious as to what went on earlier.

I wondered at the state of mind of the skier. It was still and chilly, the water very calm and there would be no admiring crowds or much notice taken of his display. He's probably in the zone but I'll never know what zone that is. This doesn't happen every day, we see a few jet skis zip by but they're more of a nuisance thing, buzzing around with no particular place to go. As an activity it seems futile at this location and in the Scottish climate. Water skiing however, as I viewed it today, is much more meditative and mystic, a practice and a ritual that because of it's (almost) solitary context I felt privileged to view - but he was probably just having fun, getting wet and exhilarated because he could.

Success In Things That Don't Matter

At some fairly deluded and immature point in my young life I can recall just wanting to be as cool as the movie star Robert Mitchum. All those tough and moody film noir roles must have gotten to me. A truly vague, formless and ridiculous ambition for someone of my stature and background. But there you go, the odd things and ideas that we pass through, leaving curious little sets of memory to be savored or sometimes only a bad taste and a slight shiver of discomfort. 

Now we are slowly sinking into AI's cosmic soup and the self inflicted but unintended consequences of it all, part of a generational misstep where our mobile phones continue to know more about us than our families and friends do.

CBQ - Keepsake

 

Stratocasters in the Frame

These have interesting back stories - but that's for another entry when I have more time and inclination.

Bad art and design: bad art and design applied to an iconic piece of art and design. Does this make the whole final product just another mediocre bit of pointless tinkering being carried out needlessly while perched uneasily on the brink of a cultural precipice? I've no idea, not even sure if I ever thought about this before or why I thought about it in the first place. Do I find these things pleasing? Well actually I do, they can brighten up my day like a cat's random antics, sunlight through the window or the voice and conversation of my beautiful wife. 

In Search of Old Gods

 

I recently found out the numerous copies of  "The Wind in the Willows" are abridged in such a way that the "Piper at the Gates of Dawn" chapter is removed. This was/is done to protect children from the content as it is considered to be both "disturbing" and "frightening". Hmm. A great white protestant bit of educational engineering being exerted, or so I suspect. "Damn those simplistic, influential and infantile authors and their devious spiritual explorations" ... presumably barked sometime in the early 20th century etc. and still common today. Don't mention God's wrath and judgement, eternal damnation and the numerous acts of extreme violence included in the Bible.

I've always loved the Wind in the Willows and think that the "Piper" chapter as one of the finest and most moving things I've ever read. A simply beautiful piece of writing. For me it marks a high point in the book but fully understand that it's a significant leap from the peaceful riverbank activity and the Toad related chaos of the other chapters - but that's fine. Is there some sort of rule that says a tale can't be developed or explored in different directions as it is being told?

The Piper chapter never seemed out of place to me, it's like a dream sequence within it's own context and true to the magic of the story. It captures that very primal mystery of a simple, animal encounter with the gods. The moment when you have a sense of things bigger and outside of yourself that can't be explained or fully grasped ... but in that moment very real. Something I suspect most children will have a developing sense of and that is naturally understood and has been experienced though perhaps not believed in, by most rational and reasonable people. Don't deny children the opportunity to explore, I could go on but ...

Improvising

"What happens to time-awareness during (music) improvisation?" 

Derek Bailey "The ticks turn into tocks and the tocks turn into ticks." 

All responses may include mistakes. 

All writings are improvised unless they're not. 

I don't really know anything about musical improvisation.

By that I mean, nothing worth stating as a theory.

Small collisions may produce content. 

Sometimes.

Controlled Madness on a Damp Morning

Early morning, cat on a damp patio.

Radio Four and Marillion: The ongoing fuckwittery in the world seems never ending. Why can't people be a little kinder, tolerant and just calm the fuck down and maybe just work a little to improve things and themselves? I know it's too much to ask, we're trapped in a corner of distorted human behaviour and can't get out. Anyway, whilst driving home last night from Aberdeen in pouring rain and gloomy darkness, buffeted by cross winds and spray I did find moments of calm, peace and happy enlightenment. How? I was toggling between music and radio, maybe half an hour of one and half an hour of the other. It was Radio Four I was listening to and for music it was Marillion (Fish and post Fish stuff). 

Radio Four's programming was a mix of green science looking into jet fuel, research into life on Mars,  journalistic experiences in Afghanistan, short stories and a strange chat about complex improvised music. Marvelous and engaging stuff which I really enjoyed (despite my dislike of most of the BBC's other output). It's all a remarkably varied and eclectic stream of weirdness and I'm regularly surprised by the odd and useful things I learn - and sadly quite quickly forget but that's another matter.

Marillion's music was the same, they made me happy, balls out prog rock, then peaceful and structured stuff, big drums, synths and guitars and so on. For a moment or two I just thought if everybody stopped being belligerent and stupid and tuned into Radio Four they might actually learn something (and they will) while being entertained and if you tire of that, go on to listen to a smattering of Marillion for a bit - you'll be happy. 

Maybe it's just another "stop the world I want to get off" moment, or perhaps it's a glimpse of a state of mind that is possible to reach with a few simple triggers and influences put in place. As ever it's been a pleasure to post this for y'all.

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.