Bowling shoes in blue

I'm a target man for blue bowling shoes, the follow me around on social media. Clearly I'm understood to be an eager bowler, one who likes blue and would play better in these wonderful blue shoes. I'm tempted. The internet knows me so well, it's always been my secret dream to excel at some sport and why not bowling? Maybe it's my age, my liking of the Big Lebowski, random Americana,  my lack of interest in pool or darts, my frame and my physique, things I click on or follow. I'm always out there searching desperately for a good deal on bowling shoes, it's my greatest dream. Of course to realise it what I really need is a cheap loan, some bowling pals, a local alley that I can frequent, some snazzy bowling clothes other than shoes, spare time on weekends and in the evening when I can compete and practice and of course the will of iron and the training regime needed to succeed at bowling. Google and the rest of the internet, I look to you to make my dream come true. Thank you.

Cat expressions

Here is the face of a cat that is eager to receive some choice pieces of asda finely cooked chicken for a late lunch. I gave in eventually.

Here is the full blown and highly expressive body language of a cat that has just scoffed a recently deceased mouse and is now "sleeping it off".

Mint tea

Mint tea is quite the drink, quite the statement, quite the thing. I've never really tried it, it's not even tea (or made with actual tea leaves), it's something else but I can't bring myself to try it. A quiet infusion, a sophisticated calming cooler, a steadier and a relaxant. People who like mint tea often like other things, I'm not sure what they might be but it's a reasonable theory. The theory of "likes", a term despoiled by Facebook and rendered meaningless in that bleak format of shameless product placement advertisement but still available for honest use in real life. Also nobody ever said "one mint tea and he/she is anybody's", never. So on that basis it's far better than gin or other fashionable drinking products. 

Photos by Ali

Last week at this time.

This week at last time.

Absurdist

Good evening, absurdist and unfunny comedy tweeting is my new thing, for a short while anyway. It's designed to irritate, slightly but not to the point of actual irritation. Subtle. Like most things I'll eventually get over it and it'll all just drift away somewhere and be buried under the next bad idea. 

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2. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 6h6 hours ago

   Retweet if you got up this morning and discovered a naughty pigeon roosting in your wardrobe.

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3. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 Sep 24

   Retweet if you've ever considered borrowing an #omnibus without the owner's permission.

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4. John Barclay‏ @Johnbarclay1 Sep 24

   Retweet if your office cleaner accidently removed your toupee with a #dyson

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That time again

As the sun and her procession slips backwards or downwards over the Tropic of Cancer, the prices of Scotch Eggs in petrol station shops fall and the major political parties get together to disagree on their many differences, the great garden's apples are ready to pick. Some are so ready they pick themselves by falling into inaccessible places where they are eaten by grey worms no one has ever seen. Some, the slow and the fearful, are eventually caught and placed in plastic trugs awaiting processing as a punishment for their stubbornness. The birds eat a few too. There will be decisions made, a bit of a mess on the floor, energy expended and a lot more gooey mush in the compost heap before it's all over. Then it will be over, officially and all product will be ritually frozen in plastic bags tagged with Sharpie information settling old scores as the trees and their fruit compete for I'm not quite sure what; harvest I suppose.

Killing Eve

All the fun of a dentist's drill. This is an awkward, compelling, scary series to watch. We're only two episodes in and there's more to go and there's books and other things out there, growing, moving and changing. The world is a frightening place and the media confirms that again and again...but that doesn't make it real.

Backwards home

A lonely bench on the railway station platform at Berwick upon Tweed, somewhere between Dunbar and Newcastle and just a tiny bit inside the tiny country of Englandshire.

London daily photo

Signal light in Leicester Square tube station.

English Opera, their venue and who knows that else (upper levels, detail).

Free but strangely unreasonably priced wine consumed in an interesting and challenging and often changing environment.

Some wag has painted one of lions in Trafalgar Square bright orange. Should've gone closer to find out why but...didn't.

Going down a flight of stairs in the Reform Club.

 

Egg and avocado breakfast c/w flat whites, or flats white.

King's Cross information board, a blast of signs and symbols and, as you might expect, information. People come and gather by it just be hypnotized by it's ethereal glow and mighty power and then disperse quickly like frightened lemmings.

Lost footballs

Some are more lost than others, some are not lost at all, simply misplaced.

Two steps forward

Two steps forwards, one step back, things that remind you that it's worth getting up in the morning.

Burning down the house

GSA 2018 (the aftermath), water colour and pastel. Prints are available.

There's been a deafening silence across all fronts since the last Great Fire of Glasgow. No news or explanation, no plan for investigation or actual inquiry. Not even a sycophantic, mealy mouthed report from the BBC. A huge area of Glasgow has been devastated, shops, homes, businesses, traffic and pedestrian access have been affected at who knows what cost but nothing has been said. Not even a proper sorry (for compelling legal reasons I'm sure). 

I visited the scene (well got as close as you can get), peered through the dust and the security fence and despite the gusty conditions executed a quick water colour of the site. Bemused tourists, eager to sample the various Big Mac Willow Tearoom attractions looked on, photo phones were clicked and brows were scratched. Nobody's saying anything much about this bomb site. 

Security is tight, there's danger here. There's also a brave new world of blameless acts bubbling under, no pointing fingers, no explanation. The stricken locals and general public couldn't handle the truth could they? The courageous  fire fighters and emergency services will have their own ideas but they remain gagged by the council, the intelligentsia and awkward procedures. Maybe a faulty toaster left by a hapless security guard, a cigarette end, vandalism, poor design or management, no fire plan or adequate health and safety cover; you choose. The artists, academics and board of governors have closed ranks. Heritage and history are competing for cash in this impractical and cruel age of austerity. Don't kid yourself either as to where the heart and soul of Glasgow is, it's not anywhere in this ruin.

It'll take a good business case to regenerate this burned out modern folly and the cash shouldn't come easily, I'm pretty sure there's no appetite for a second phoenix like attempt from the Glasgow public. What do you want? A new Art College or an atmospheric Hampden Park? What about decent housing, infrastructure, clean spaces and a respectful town plan that allows ordinary people to live their lives in safety and with an educated dignity? Never mind the flags, the tourists, the rich overseas students and the vanity projects. That's the cart, the horse is the Art College and the rest.

A would be artist's impression.