Baby tomatoes

So the first bloom of the first round of the first crop of tomatoes has taken place. Early days of course with much travail ahead of the little toms, a lot of their welfare being based around me remembering to water them and once every few days adding  a little food to their pots. The heavy burden of some kind of warped responsibility bears down on me like I don't know what. A weight of some sort perhaps. So I'll stick to my regime and try my best and watch them grow. Then I'll eat them, probably cold with salad, or perhaps baked in the oven with pasta or even grilled with cheesy toast. Then of course there  is fried with egg and bacon for breakfast. I'm feeling guilty already.

Butterfly

In between the May rain showers the mechanical butterfly takes a short flight.

More GIF issues

This pleasantly crafted Google GIF is a source of puzzlement for me (though the content makes up for most of it). I've had the spanners and screwdrivers out to it and tested it almost to destruction but strangely it works in some places and refuses to work in other places. A bit of a First World problem that I can't get my head around. Is it the GIF, the Google, the browser, the host, the device, my brain? I can't tell, answers on a GIF friendly postcard please.

Down down in the drowned town

Memory is a funny if unreliable thing. Often a flashing glimpse into your hidden past, a few minutes of your past life that suddenly blazes bright and then cools to nothing at all. When I looked at the above photo for some reason I was taken back to a comic annual I had as child, maybe the Victor or the Hotspur, I don't know. There was a comic strip picture story in it called "Down down in the drowned town". Why it was "down down", doubly down I don't know. Somehow that added to the depth and mystery. The town was deep and out of reach. I can't recall the story, stick thin in the plot department I imagine, just enough to act as page filler, but the images have gone in. Funny how those 50's and 60's grim British comic art styles stick, they were always less dynamic than their free form American counterparts but they still had style and of course the  grit of a bulldog etched on every face and clenched fist. The war was a recent memory and we were still flying armed V Bombers over European skies. Comics reflected how we perceived ourselves to be with all the jingo and I grew up in a world still coloured a faded pink from the stains of the Empire.

Anyway the drowned town was pretty much a normal town but with fish and sharks and all manner of sea creatures in the buildings and amongst the streets. There was that lurking hidden menace in the shadows of the ruins.  The visiting SCUBA divers had to avoid it if they were to complete their mission. Nobody wore rubber Scooby Doo monster masks or threatened the pesky kids either, this was a serious story, UK interests were at stake. Quite how the town had drowned was never made clear, perhaps it was all an early insight into the Global Warming to come but it was no place for the faint hearted or anybody who wanted to breathe air on a regular basis. Perhaps there were pirates, spies or Soviet agents in midget submarines trying to kidnap scientists. All gone now. It was a one off story and so has disappeared, drowned in the torrent of other more colourful (this was only red and back ink on white) and better drawn super hero and wartime tales. I've googled for it but never discovered it, it's lost in the fog of childhood obscurity. Deep down in the depths, covered in the mud of all the other forgotten things that dislike disturbance. Just as well.

End of the universe

The photo above is of course no mere photo or quick, ill considered snap, it is in fact a work of art. It is because I say it is and to prove it is it even has a title and that title would be "Over Exposed Pavement at the End of the Universe - (detail)". Any reasonable offers for the original will be considered though possibly not entertained. I'm picky about these sort of things.

The picture/photo below is, as you may have guessed, nothing to with art. It's just a simple home made security measure, serial number reminder and a typically clumsy phone shot.

When the blue skies come

Things are fashionably flat at the Inverkeithing Park and Ride bus stop, but if you stretch you can still see a few taller things in the distance.

When the blue skies come we kind of don't know what to do with ourselves. Maybe a spot of DIY on the house exterior, maybe some loafing, maybe some routine gardening or perhaps even trying to ignore the weather altogether. It's tough. I finally settled for all of the above in sporadic bursts. It could be the story of my life, not too long in the one creative space (as I'd get kicked out). A bit of this and that, two steps forward, a few sideways maybe, one or two backwards then a ritual falling over ceremony. 

I also stumbled upon the Flat Earth people, they exist out there in YouTube land. They see everything in astronomy and wider science as being part of a complex conspiracy perpetuated mostly by the Masons and loads of other unspecified organizations to maintain the lie that the earth is round. It's actually quite hard work to keep up this belief and I do admire their fortitude in this but not their obvious blindness and prejudice. Seems we're all on a rather large saucer surrounded by ice walls 150 feet tall that act as our boundary. That's Antarctica in fact, not sure how the Arctic fits in here or why nobody has flown over the entire area yet. Global warming doesn't figure either but when it does it'll play havoc with that ice wall and we're all be over the edge. Splash. That's the end. Anyway it's any help at all I'd like to offer some photographic evidence to show that things are pretty flat around here also but funnily I can't quite see the Alps or the top of the Eiffel Tower just yet. Some kind of optical problem. Oh and on a sunny day remember, the sun isn't so big (about the size of the moon) and isn't so far away and just kind of goes around us using some weird motion.

Psychic Spies

Good Catholic girls, ready to repent and begin again. I see in their eyes the all too familiar  love and the light of the Holy Spirit. New lives beckon, they're born again now you know. As for the Pope, he's already been sidelined as irrelevant. Trump thinks he's a loser.

OK, the numbers are in, the envelopes have been opened, the judges have pontificated and decided and it's a yes! The powers that be, the FBI, MI5, CIA, Illuminati, Ineos, Google, Special Branch and the various other agencies that might be concerned simply aren't. Nobody cares and nobody is hoovering up things from this site other than the occasion spammer from the Indian sub-continent or those psychic spies from China. I'm also not eating citrus fruit or drinking citrus drinks. Not sure how to square this with marmalade on toast though.

Sometimes I feel like I'm being pulled in different directions, mainly by myself.

Fast food for slow people

The R&R continues unabated.  I am unstoppable now in my self-rescue mission. I shall return and try hard to be both a little more interested and (even) interesting. I may therefore resist the temptation to spout bizarre facts on a regular basis and stating the mind numbingly obvious along the way. Also stop trying to be "funny" whatever that means. So I'm sitting down a lot, sipping two litres of water over a period of time and keeping everything at room temperature. My diet is varied and might be described as interesting  whilst in pursuit of good health. Today there was banana, peanut butter and bacon, all together on the one plate. I'm not sure where the idea came from but it may form the basis of a new fast food for slow people operation, one fine day.

Sleeping tomatoes

I've revised my plans for this week and decided to focus on two strands of action; recovery and re- hydration. I haven't really taken either seriously or as seriously as I should and so, rather than relapse into some sort of slough of long term fragility I'm biting the bullet that has "take it easy and drink to purge your system" written on it. That could be quite a big bullet and also a fairly useless metaphor. So the pattern for the next few days looks like, drinking, diet change, slightly less activity (but enough to keep fit) and no significant travel. I can do this. So I'm simply tending the vast tomato jungle, listening to back to back podcasts, learning about the Illuminati, taking baths, eating slightly bizarre foods, gluing shoes, fiddling with guitars and stupid stuff.

I'm also keeping up with the news, feeling that awkward, angry and useless way we all feel after a terrorist attack. Politicians will all say the appropriate things and respectfully suspend their business as the investigations and recovery goes on. There's a lot more people hurting today than yesterday and there's a lot of people still hurting in Syria, Yemen, Iraq and god knows where else. It's a messed up place we live in.

Twink returns

Spent a large chunk of this (Sunday) morning trying to entice our favourite stray cat, Twink into the house for a little extra food and fellowship. She was having none of that, food is fine, she wolfs it down but anything else is taboo. The poor wee thing has clearly been treated badly by human kind at some point and we're slowly trying to win back some trust. At the moment she sniffed at my outstretched hand before pulling back, that's progress. Today's been remarkable however as she's pretty much stayed in our garden, moving from cover to cover and trotting around in broad daylight. The other good thing is that our own cats are not bothered by her arrival and go about their normal business quietly around her. It seems we're on a journey...

In ruins

Inside the ruin of the old Crombie Church. Abandoned for almost a hundred years. Hard to imagine quite what kind of meetings or worship ever took place in this cold, remote and tiny space. The past often seems nothing more than unmercifully grim whatever way you look. Now the weeds and foliage have fought back, the unbelievers rule this part of the world and the stones are cracked and faded. The dead have been abandoned and nobody remembers. The dreams or ambitions of whoever built this are thin and gone and the many bodies under the ground have no name or identity to add to the story. This is how it all ends for most people, whatever you might think is important or worthwhile that you've done, time will simply blot you out. All is meaningless and chasing the wind.

Strong and stable and...

The Tories seem to be on the verge of throwing this election. It's almost as if there was some bigger plan in a longer game for a different outcome. Either that or they've decided that the electorate will tolerate pretty much anything, meekly accept the worst and join in on a race to the bottom. I remain quietly perplexed by it all. I've even forgotten that I said I'd not blog about politics, ah, those were the days.

Stupid is as stupid does

An almost classical piece of composition used here in this photo of Craig Whyte and various Glasgow Rangers cohorts, as if they were posing for Leonardo. Whyte's on trial for fraud and has played no small part in Ranger's collapse and Scottish Football's wider humiliation. What I find incredible as this long running car crash plays out is the attitude of all the main players and the complete disregard they have for their loyal fans and the footballing community at large. The Rangers fans have been treated like shit here, OK I'm certainly not one but for many the "club" is everything (forget political and religious matters here) and they've seen it torn down by greedy, irresponsible and cold hearted scoundrels and even still as the 2017 League closes their team is in a financial black hole. Meanwhile the mud sticks on all Scottish football, fans of other clubs are angry at the ongoing Ranger's "entitlement" charade we see played out regularly and the media's fixation with any Old Firm story that'll hold water for a few minutes is all consuming to the detriment of the rest of the game.

In all of this sorry saga, no one, from David Murray onwards has ever offered any kind of apology or come close to saying sorry to the fans or the wider world of football. Nobody ever does anything wrong these days but the fans who are paying fans, who keep pouring cash into the club, not animals or cattle or sub humans are virtually ignored at every turn. Perhaps they are all just really stupid, but I don't like to think that way, they can't all be. They are clearly in love with a club and a footballing ideal (I'm certainly not!) and that makes them willing to take punch after punch on the chin from a series of shady businessmen and still come back for more. Daft, shocking and sad all at the same time. Then again people will still vote Tory time after time. The thing is people aren't stupid, it's just that those in power treat them that way and so they become accustomed to it and act accordingly.

Ahem! Moving on here's a recent picture of Jupiter that looks a bit like somebody's digestive system or the detail from an old oil painting.

Same sky different field

Feeling pretty privileged to live out in the sticks where the green and pleasant land meets the grey and choppy water. The only actual cloud on the horizon these days is the problem of wind blown ash from the artificial lagoons a few miles from us that's by Culross,  Valleyfield and Newmills. Fortunately we're  far enough away from it for this to be a major problem but it's not that way for folks close by. These remnants from the days of coal and the nearby coal burning power station are unstable and are, from time to time cover the nearby villages in a fine and unpleasant dust. Word is that it contains arsenic and various other nasties. SEPA have added to the drama by applying some kind of prohibition notice to the folks at Scottish Power (as was) who are responsible. Of course the current dry spell isn't helping and though the dust is being damped down it still prevails. Bit of a situation and unpleasant bun fight really. Local Facebook action group is via this link.

Hey Mr Pink Urine Man

I've never really had any problems with blood. No icky, squeamish feelings or fear of it. I think I may have given blood about fifty times until I stopped a few years ago, this was mainly down to the blood donor nurses having trouble getting a needle through the scar tissue that had built up in both of my arms. I probably wont be back donating anytime soon now either. So it's funny but I was a little freaked out after my Green Light Laser Prostate Surgery because I just might, as an obvious part of the procedure and the recovery, pass a little blood.  The idea of peeing out your very life blood in some awful post op fashion did not appeal to me. All very Hammer Horror to my tiny mind. 

Of course I've survived this and there was no rivers of blood moment (I may have had one when I was zonked but who cares?). It was more a pinky kind of yukky urine which, strangely I found to be reassuring. Reassuring urine if you will. After the surgery all those nasty bits of vapourised material from my malfunctioning prostrate finally finding a way out and down the drain, phew! It's a therapeutic kind of primal thought, pissing your illness away. I'm sure old style medicine men would applaud such an event and be knighted or rewarded by the king. Watching the tone kind of mellow down, seeing the pink fade slowly and a more normal (?) colour beginning to appear.  So below is a shot of the actual laser at work, vapourising tissue but in a sanitised way that includes none of the debris. That appears later, then disappears like a reluctant sunset, I hope.

Idle musings

I feel quite strongly about some things but less so about others.

Some days I just can't be bothered.

I follow enticing stories in the media that I hope will lead somewhere and do some good, mostly they don't.

There seems to be no way to break the stranglehold that the established media hold on "facts".

With every news story I read I think, who is behind this?

I cannot understand the mindset of so-called ordinary people / voters. Why would anybody outside of a privileged background support the Conservatives?

There is no logic in the lines taken and then followed by people.

We seem to have managed to create a chaotic system than no single person or group is able to undo.

I'm afraid of revolution but I'm also afraid that there will not be a revolution.

Most days at some point I think, "people need to shut the fuck up."

Most days at some point I think, "people need to calm the fuck down."

Most days, most of the time I think, "yeah, I'll get around to that one next."

Is there any quick way of generating more Twitter followers without paying and playing the game?

I've got 99 problems, that's about it.

I tend to clean out bottles and containers before recycling them but it seems to me not many others do this.

Once you reach a certain age everything revolves around how well your metabolic rate is going.

Is it possible to make a decent meal from the items found in the end of aisle displays in a supermarket?


Where do birds sleep?

How can you easily break the cycle of wearing the same five T shirts that are on top of the pile?

On the beach

I was listening to Kezia Dugdale on a Radio Scotland phone in. I tuned out after about twenty minutes.  Truth is that she wasn't doing badly, she's a trier and of course most of the questions she's getting are a bit dumb or way too specific, I just feel a bit sorry for her. Most of Scotland would support Labour if it could get it's act together, lose the toxic in-fighting, take a realistic view on Independence,  develop a credible group of professional politicians and grow up enough to consider the prospect of collaborative rather than confrontational politics. 

The current shark infested environment will never deliver a credible political solution (from Labour), they cannot win as they are and poor Kezia struggles on in a thunderstorm of conflicted messages. So more of the same old, same old come June 8th..."but I'm just sittin' here, on the beach, and those seagulls are way out of reach, I need a crowd of people but I can't face them everyday."

Six months late

Fashionably late in watching the movie Passengers, pretty much normal for me. It's quite a tense and thought provoking film albeit there are massive plot holes and even bigger questions raised by the tense and at times creaking storyline. A good film to watch if you fancy a long pub argument about Stockholm Syndrome, sexism or social responsibility and of course your own possible choices if you wake up in space inside a dodgy space craft. Husbands and wives can debate long and hard which way they'd go, would you wake your partner up? Could happen to anyone I suppose and it draws easy parallels between the Titanic, the Pilgrim Fathers or about any sizable piece of human colonization ever carried out. Travelling isn't much fun really. 

Suggested slavery and people trafficking are  in there as well and of course the moral maze of sending paying passengers into space in a craft that may not quite be fit for purpose to a planet thats a hundred years into the future and needs a bit of fixing. They should really have left all that in the public sector but as usual once things get contracted out corners get cut and expectations fail to be met. Then systems may well break down. What kind of disreputable people would ever sign up for such a deal anyway? Earth must be pretty bad by this point...in fact it's cold as hell and no place to raise your kids, as a wise man once said.

A collection of collections

Muircot Farm Shop & Cafe, deep in rural Scotland somewhere but still closer than you think. One unexpected outcome of my retiral from any kind of serious working life has been my creeping awareness of visiting more and more farm and coffee shops across the Central Belt and enjoying the experience. Indeed they form the buckle of Scotland's recreational belt for those of a certain vintage. I'm now on speaking and visiting terms with about a dozen of these authentic stone and metal clad establishments. It's happened by chance I suppose but truly one visit leads to another in the never ending chronicle of easy ways to waste time but still exploring safely and maintaining a feeling that's warm and woozy. Turns out "warm and woozy" is a perquisite for being happily retired nowadays, that and drinking fancy coffee and exotic tea. 

Despite all this self indulgence and unlike most of my contemporaries it's really a savoury experience, sugar and cakes and all that fluff are avoided but a good crunchy farmhouse lunch with authentic soup-works still renders you sleepy and smug.  Then, once the grub's gone you wander around the farm shop and look at stacks of eggs and portions of local jam and perfect looking vegetables arranged like soldiers in white wood boxes. Sometimes we buy, most times we don't but despite our indifference these places are booming, filled with shuffling Zimmer frames and young mums on the lookout for bolt hole before the next school run, they're the equivalent of Betjeman's air conditioned, bright canteens but without the danger of brain damage.

The day before the day before.

High tide.