Small and interesting

Here's a small and interesting shop, gallery and studio down by the harbour in South Queensferry. Click here for more information and material than I can ever describe properly, that's the reason we have a www.

Zooming in

Here's a view of the Tay Bridge and the not so far away city of Dundee from the unusually sunny side of Fife and below we have the zoomed in  version showing three crows up a tree in detail (almost). Nothing remarkable here, I just happen to like crows,  provided that they remain at a safe and respectful distance and don't attempt to peck my dead eyes from their still warm and moist sockets and so corrupt my soul's passage on to the world of the Great Pumpkin.

Mustn't Crumble

The golden glory that is apple crumble. That's apples, crumble and a few mysterious ingredients that I cannot list here for commercial, security and hygiene reasons. Here we see some examples, in foil tins, cooling ready for final packing and onward shipment to customers and end users.

Problem: Side one is side two and side two is side one. Not sure what to make of this. There is no side three.

Like a bird on a ladder

I now know how to draw a 3D ladder and I also know how to climb an ordinary ladder. At least two useful life skills there. I was up a ladder earlier today but not for the beauty of the view or the exhilaration of the fantastic climb and clean air or to see how things below looked like Matchbox cars or other toys. It was to remove a young upstart of a tree that had chosen to grow between two roof tiles on the house, the stubborn tree was duly removed from it's cheeky squat. I also lifted thick mud from the gutters and various unkempt weeds and grasses that had taken root or perhaps taken roost.

Heights never used to bother but now I'm not so sure. Quaysides and cliff edges make me feel peculiar, I'm drawn to their brittle edges, that gap between a hard surface and the empty air and the knowledge of a certain drop. It makes me dizzy and nauseous, sometimes ... sometimes excited but not to the point of giggling*. Tall buildings are OK, there's a strong illusion of safety and generally ladders are fine too, you have something to hang onto unless you're holding a paint brush and a pot of comedy paint. So as a leisure sport I guess ladders and tall monuments are fine clambering activities to pursue - but standing still by perpendicular drops set from edges are not.

*At what age is it that you lose the ability to just giggle at things? I used to find it easy but I've not giggled freely for a while. I miss the loss of this most human and attractive of (seemingly) childish gifts. Is there a drug on the market? Perhaps the giggle inducing material is no longer available, something to do with austerity?

Universally Challenged

It was an old school TV watching evening yesterday, almost. First up University Challenge, well the last ten minutes but Strathclyde won out so that was a strangely rewarding view. Then "Impossible Planet" from the C4 Phillip Dick series via Sky Planner, not quite a classic electric dream, more a mish-mashy short story but with some eerie effects and an almost satisfying story line. Sci-Fi adaptions usually disappoint for some reason but I've grown used to that and don't expect much. Like some YouTube Dark 5 piece of non-revelation with twisted fiction and lies.  Then back in real time some BBC doc about brains and stem cells and scary beating hearts in laboratory jars. The research work seemed to to be leading to some of the Impossible Planet scenario where people live too long, get too tired and yearn for a simple ending to their days. Finally as fatigue started to set in it was W1A, the Beeb laughing at itself by retelling the same joke in numerous ways, mostly via the medium of bungled meetings and a desperate need for all things PC and inclusive. A kind of comedy wallpaper that's so clever it seems stupid until you remember that it's actually realistic way beyond the BBC's own excesses. Non ironic workplace comedy is the new normal.

Just spotted the problem

Oppenheimer: The geeks shall inherit the earth, or at least what's left of it.

First rule of writing

Stunning BLT roll combo, only hours old but already eaten up.

These are of course toy mice, cat toy mice to be exact. They kind of freak out the cats, which is fun in a cruel way. They've now been given early retirement, the toy mice that is.

Note: Never confuse the first rule of writing with the first rule of spelling, or grammar or punctuation or sentence structure etc. The first rule of writing, in my book (?) is of course know your subject or topic. How well then do I know BLTs? Pretty well, I've eaten a few albeit they remain in second place behind rocket and crayfish in the league table which are hard to come by unless you visit a Pret (none round here) and the crayfish portion isn't quite enough but it still is a great combo. Anyway  Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato is a fine filling for rolls or actual bread sandwiches. It also helps if the bacon is warm or even hot, this provides a better taste and texture and overall eating experience. Mayo, a decent slurp is also required for lubrication, the tomato may be juicy but it's doubtful that it'll do the same job as mayo. There you have it. The first rule of writing applied to the BLT.

Rusty tunelessness

Thinking of going off road anytime soon? You need the tools. Ready for the snows, the next ice age and the petrol revolution? Not me either but everyday it draws closer, probably, as we happen to live off road, or at least about a mile away from any recognizable roadway, functional street lamps or up to date services and signs. The trappings of civilization are few and far between apart from the whirring of dishwashers and the instagram alert beeps, a bit like things in the Oval Office right now or in Theresa May's Beetlejuice style Cabinet, signs of intelligent life exist but they are at a low level and only functioning in part. It's the end of the road and a terminus for Western civilization, the sun sets in the west but only because it has to and that's only because of our earthbound homo sapien perspective, one we are unlikely to move on from. Restringing guitars will always seem tiresome but somebody has to do it or we'd descend into rusty tunelessness.

Pull up your socks

Nearing the time for that awkward mid-year staff performance review? Never an easy interview for those on either side of the desk. Quickly gather up a few water tight excuses, remember how your sick/holiday record looks and how well you did in training/forums/presentations and other sucky uppy things. Glad it's all a distant memory for me. I never really did pull my socks up (the most meaningless instruction ever given ) and I may have been economical with the truth at times. However I was never properly mad.

Strange effects

I could say that I was experimenting but as it happened I just took a few random pics as I was taking out the trash or some other meaningful/less task the other day. Accidental, industrial photography. It was a sunny day, unusual around here and the light nicely caked everything it touched with...more light. Even the lights were light and some of the darks were light and then here were reflections, here, there and in my mind. Such a 60s thing to say.

This what you get

...when you mess with a wooden pallet and chop it up into the necessary kindling to crank up the log burner during the long days of winter. You also get a bit sweaty and a sore back but thankfully there were no major injuries during an hour or so of meticulous axe handling and wood splitting. I was revived later with soup, corn bread, tap water and plain dark chocolate covered with pictures of the Queen or Audrey Hepburn dressed as a cat, (hard to tell) a common meal for lumberjacks and axe murderers in these troubled times.

Well not exactly...

...though sometimes it seems like you may have just missed the point but nonetheless you are still travelling in some direction in a wide eternal and unpredictable arc. Perhaps food, water and oxygen are over rated, in the context of having actually made up into space and (briefly) being amongst the stars. 

Life isn't fair but looking up is a lot better than looking down or keeping your eyes closed. My advice to the young, confused and restless would be to invest in a bicycle, regularly eat a porridge and banana breakfast and learn a bit more about modern economics and how you can work around them to your own advantage. Oh, and sometimes to move forwards you must move sideways a little.

Best sentence ever?

There's a lot of debate out there (?) about the length of sentences here, there and mostly in the works of James Joyce. This isn't Joyce but it'll do. I'll leave you to consider who it might be all about.

Daily Spacecraft

Spacecraft of the day: Nicely understated (and of it's time of course) illustration that went along with Jules Verne's "Captain Nemo's Undersea Journey to the Centre of the Moon via Green Ray". Well worth the read(s) or alternatively they can be viewed by various cinematic and televisual interpretations.

Toad

Safety shoes doing their own form of damage. I never was a big fan of drum solos but I still have a soft spot for Cream and Ginger Baker's "Toad" performance, or was it Towed, or Toe'd, or even Toed. It matters little, these toes, clearly not at all like mine have been enjoying the delightful pleasure of breaking in not one but two pairs of working/safety shoes in the past few weeks. It seems that different toes hurt on different days and of course the ball of the foot (sounding like some attractive cut of meat there) hurts now and again too. Hard not to feel sorry for feet, they put up with a lot and get little thanks but when they hurt, they really hurt. Rest and a generous slap of Savlon is the best answer and hopefully those stubborn shoes will, like some wild and unbroken horse, come around to my way of thinking and doing and being i.e. happy and pain free. 

Fiends and Aliens

  A word to the wise: Fiends and aliens are taking over, (actually they always have been in charge) they are walking amongst you, hidden in plain sight. Peculiar souls hell-bent on destroying our wonderful heritage of self obsessed art, progressive music, dietary eccentricity, chain smoking and being envious of our neighbours and betters. The fabric of Scottish culture is under attack and being torn up, like some cheesy 70s carpet glued to a damp bathroom floor. They have infiltrated our great institutions; the bloody BBC, the Queensferry Crossing Traffic Planners, Sky Atlantic, various toon cooncils, ice cream vans and those who organize the annual potato and beetroot harvest in Farmlandshire. 

Once we were run by bold, noble Europeans of royal blood and the Gnomes of Zurich but those halcyon days are gone, now we are being run by butter-fingered, wet nosed, sweaty armpit, humourless Brexiteering reactionaries who cannot even pilot a simple spacecraft, even when moderately sober. These people are now telling us that previously useful diesel engine emissions are staining white handkerchiefs and that spicy foreign food is bad for us, refugees don't belong here and we're now encouraged to eat tinned whales and pickled puffins by daytime TV hosts and watch the puerile gunk on new apple phones the size of a pulp fiction novelette and woe betide anybody caught wearing T shirts or underwear from George at asda. 

It's a rum do and no mistake, a quiet and slow revolution is (probably) the only answer. It'll be easy because the real truth about our lying, badly organised and scheming politicians and controllers is that they just don't tell the truth about how little power and influence they really have (thanks to Will Self and of course the Wizard of Oz for the illustration).

They are only exercising the powers we give them...

You can't run from what's inside of you

So the dust, ice and dragon fire has settled on Game of Thrones for the mean time, we can all sleep peacefully knowing that the Wall has been breached, the undead are on the march and that they have a big, scary dragon on their side. Times are hard in Westeros. Kind of like the rise of the alt-right in our feeble dimension but with a bit more purpose and intelligence. Of course there is no happy ever after ending headed any body's way, it's way too grim up north for any of that, it'll be tough or worse than tough and sweary. I've really no idea why I'm writing this now, I watched the final episode a while ago but every time I turn to YouTube my feed is filled with various fan theories, unseen clues and Easter eggs, GoT actors' salaries, heights, fall outs, bloopers etc. etc. This will never end, ever.

Closer to home, what kind of Game of Thrones character do you get when a cat pads along a newly painted windowsill and then zig-zags across the floor? A White Walker! (Boom, Tish!).

Wind and Wuthering

Though it doesn't look to wild in this picture it was at the time, you see the smartphone does lie and covers it all up with some kind of enhanced effect. That was all done yesterday, today's special visual effects are yet to be revealed. In the future all history will be one step further away from the reality it tries to portray (which always has been the problem with history). So what's the problem?

When a plan comes together

Recipe for Whang Dang Doodle

1. Step one (and follow the vague, deconstructed photos for ease of reference), dewang your thang and untwang the whole thang to the point of unplayability until it flops. Pull vigorously and all will be well. You may need industrial wire cutters to remove the Kinks and the Steely Dans according to overheard master plans. You can also stop to crop your toe nails but avoid the troublesome  ricochets.

2. Step two is easy, open the packets and scatter the contents on the floor. Despite their look these are not cheap donkey condoms so handle them with care. Adopt a suitably penitent position and thank the various gods and machines at Amazon, Ernie Ball's wee hoose and Rotosound. Without their tireless science and exploitation a visit to a guitar shop c/w human interaction, withering stares and minor embarrassment would have been required. Dispose of waste products thoughtfully in the next door neighbour's garden. 

3. Step three is fiddly, even on a violin. Pull the twangs through the holes and ignore the dull fudds as you wind up the mechanism to at least 11. Suitably use a suitable tool and wear some chic and fashionable eye protection in case of blow back and some tension of grinding resistance is experienced. All resistance must be crushed by stealth and cunning within this current Conservative regime.

4. Step four is cringe worthy and scary but also the cat's whiskers as you tighten up the machine toggle tuning pegs and hear the far away cry of new born notes waiting to be released from the darkness of the void. These plaintive groans and howls from the infant sounds  are usually in Db or F# and are not indicative of how it'll all work out. You will never hear their like again until the next time or unless you trip out on the magic tremolo button once too often or if you're at a football match. 

5. Step five requires stamina, swagger and extra effort as you must trail out and wander on the long lost highway of the fretboard and Whang Dang Doodle all night long. You may require wholesome sandwiches, some kind of matured Little Feat repertoire and a decent plectrum. The next day your index finger fingerprint scan at work will fail to recognize your crushed digits as will your muzo friends but you will feel elated and entitled, a bit like the kid in Kid Charlemagne or Dr Timothy Leary. This is the blues and these are the bluer's blues.