Refuge of the road

Music. I'd forgotten just how good this sprawling and panoramic song was/is. An atmospheric piece to absorb and daydream in and out of whilst driving in a car. A car of course simply being a machine for driving in. No more, no less. A CD player is a different kind of transportation altogether.

Meat. Pastrami is quite possibly the most magical of cold processed meats, a tangy sandwich filler and illicit treat that skelps the face of chocolate and bites at the bottom of fresh fruit. It's probably not that good for you at all but you can always do an 80 second plank after consumption.

Media. Doing my best to avoid examples but it creeps up and over you everywhere. There are too many screens they say. I can only take in one at a time, my limitations have their benefit.

The inconsistent gardener

Fiskars Commando approved ethnically cleansing weed tool.

Caution impending sales pitch and wild exaggeration ahead: maybe not quite all that but this strangely robust weeding device has to be one of our most satisfying acquisitions and useful gardening tools ever. Firstly it works, secondly it works every time and thirdly it pulls weeds out along with their great brown and white root systems in an almost screaming surgical fashion. If you imagine weeds, dandelions and thistles to be like unwanted tumours in your garden then this fella will send you into a squelching, thrusting, tooth-pulling operational ecstasy as it removes the little buggers in style and effortlessly (well almost). Downsides: it does hurt your hands after a while and it is strangely addictive, your brown bin will be crammed. Double downside: perhaps you have friends who like/admire weeds or have green tinged sympathy in that direction - your mental plant purging behaviour will cause them offence and they may turn their faces away from you now you've shown your true murdering colours.

Chump Onions

Just back from a quick trip up to Aberdeen and footballed out with a full days worth of incomprehensible punditry across the Chump Onions League and the Scottish Cup, but it's not over. More touchline drama, wisdom and argument to come this afternoon in the sunny suburbs of Kirkcaldy aka the land that time didn't even bother to remember to forget. Shaping up for a good weekend, then it's onto the Euro fest in a few weeks. Too much fitba can damage the brain.

Tipples without tribulation

Getting in the drinks at the South Queensferry Dakota.

I may have over indulged a few times this week, a combination of business, romance and pleasure, celebration, opportunity and necessity if you like. Now the weekend looms up and I might just as well carry on. First of all and last of all a few random observations gleaned from elsewhere:

Tommy Mackay ‏@TommyReckless

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia - Fear of long words. True!

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Neil Forsyth ‏@mrneilforsyth

My greatest fear of being murdered would be the police subsequently going through my stuff.

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Joe Barclay ‏@JoeBarclay95

@JohnBarclay1 Thought you might appreciate this..http://youtu.be/LgfPYetWWJw

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The link above almost soothes the furrowed brows of  the geeky people who like Game of Thrones and who haven't quite gotten over what happened to Ned Stark - I don't think I ever will.

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Robot week - day 7

A wise old robot once said...

A wise old man of the world and taxi driver told me an interesting fact the other day. A few years ago the centre of Edinburgh (St Andrew's Square) was a mere 10 miles away from the centre of South Queensferry as logged on any reliable taxi's odometer. Now that same journey registers 11.2 miles on an odometer. There's some green and pleasant progress for you. A decade's worth of road improvements, tramworks and general traffic shenanigans has moved Edinburgh more than an extra mile away from it's (not so) near neighbour in the 'Ferry. It makes me wonder quite where the centre of Edinburgh will be in another ten years.

Other than that it's all over now for another hectic robot week, it's been thrilling and well worth the effort to celebrate a useful robot's quiet life in photographs and words.

Robot week - day 6

Still life with robot and yogurt.

We're now getting near the end of robot week. I'm not sure there will be another. It's not done my blogging reputation any good I suspect, it's that fine line between an idea taken too far and a good idea. I can't really tell the difference, then again neither can most people. So that's how you suffer if a post a day (or every 6 days out of 7) is a KPI you become bound up with. There's a lot I could say, I'm working away (away) and I'm eating steak probably too regularly and for the moment life is good.

Robot week - day 5

OK I admit that I took a lot of daft shots of a red robot alarm clock and having no clear idea what to do with them decided to blog them in this rather silly fashion under the rather forced and unimaginative banner of robot week, probably not one of my better ideas. Anyway here's me stating the patently obvious, a robot with an apple that's slowly being eaten by the photographer. There really is no meaning to any of this juvenile drivel. I do however have a warm feeling of Karma points accumulation and a strong, gripping sense of being one with the universe (aka inner peace), I may just be last night's red wine and steak and relaxation coming back on me.

Robot week - day 4

Storm: I'm looking forward to my first storm, watching it through that window, slowly building, hugging a hot coffee as it arrives with white topped waves, spitting and angry rain, sounds of thundering and swooshing, a strained wind that tears at trees and roots, forces pushing grass aside and rattling the glass in the frames. I'm nursing the idea of being warm indoors watch the storm, staring at the clouds and learning their names.

Sea Monkeys: I'm not clear on why sea monkeys should rank so highly on search engines all year round. Perhaps it's the combination of words, lots of dry people searching for the sea, lots of monkey obsessed monkey lovers searching for monkeys, nobody actually searching for the product know as Sea Monkeys though. That's the power and the confusion and the contradictions of the Internet for you. N.B. Real monkeys and the real sea(s) are both better researched out with the constraints of the Internet.

Robot Voices: Behind us we leave a trail of words, often badly spelt, poorly pronounced, subject to grammatical error with meanings and structures stretched beyond recognition and general serial misuse and ignorance. Add to that a wakeful of slang and swearing, sentence bombs of inappropriate and lazy speech and incorrect intonation and phrase construction. People can be very cruel and abusive towards words and language failing to see and appreciate the true beauty of clear and simple verbal communication. Thankfully (if properly programmed) this is not a problem you get with robots, they always speak properly, accurately and economically, as far as their human masters actions and silly mechanical robot voices will allow. That's just another factual type of observation here from me to pad out Robot Week.

Robot week - day 3

On Sunday's we relax and dream dreams. Thoughts of robot week are frankly absent, other things taking precedence as our robot consciousness slept. Everywhere there was football as the season ended, there were open days and closed days and muddy football matches on common ground in Dunfermline, the home of disappointment.

At times my head is full of clever things that seem to get edged out by weighty and powerful stupid things. That's very frustrating but a situation I've come to expect, possibly even thrive on. Sooner or later the good stuff returns and is captured (and then sunk by an obscurity torpedo). But it's nice when you walk into the kitchen and Warren Zevron is on the radio or you can reel off parts of Steve Millar's "Recall the beginning; a journey from Eden", life makes some sense in these moments.  I console myself with thoughts of successful breakfast assembly, Jeep and Subaru dealerships visited, great swathes of Fife captured, late night meals and conversations, family employment success, building up unbuildable toys with grand kids and the inevitable headaches and digestive upsets that good food and drink might just bring and driving, driving driving. If only the weather was conducive to and supportive of cycling.

Robot week - day 2

Robot in a tricky situation along with a plastic cup.

Debased wordage: Those lovely people who use words like definitely and absolutely a lot in everyday speech worry me, I look upon that kind of language use as a red traffic light kind of warning. Where exactly do they get that degree of certainty? I've spent ages with my feet on the desk, looking out of windows, supping cheap coffee and generally putting an appearance of doing some hard and purposeful thinking trying to find that elusive certainty. All that comes out however are dull thuds, thickets and the creation of fictional weeks in which all things robotic are to be celebrated by nobody. These processes are clearly corrupt but remain mildly amusing and ever so addictive. Now then, what direction is life headed in at the moment? (Post that's nothing really to do with robots, maybe the robot theme can just be pictorial).

Let's celebrate the robot

Robots are smart.

Robots work hard.

Robots occasionally fail.

OK: It's robot week, I didn't invent it, it just happened so be prepared for a wonderful week full of all things, images, thoughts, foodstuffs, sexual positions, politics, illnesses and psychological problems to do with robots. I can't promise you anything more and I can't promise you anything less in fact I can't really promise you anything at all but it's a special week anyway and all the more special because it starts today which is a Friday and also because it probably wont last for anything like a week knowing my notorious span of attention problems.

Problems: Do you have a friend who thinks that her deep fat fryer is a robot? If so there is help available, I'm just not sure whereabouts. Don't just pick any random number, call it and expect to get well constructed, intelligent and helpful conversation. Of course that never happens. Try finding a bloke who knows a thing or two about robots.

Recreation: Robots and parachute jumping and rock climbing. What is the problem with scaredy cat robots and the simple world of dangerous sports? I've no idea. If you require an answer then look no further than someplace else, preferably a place where these type of things are fully explored in a sensible fashion. Speaking of fashion what is the top trending trend for the up to date robot? What books are they reading and where exactly are they hanging out? Asimo Knows.

Elements of a new religion

1. Be incredibly happy everyday whatever your lot in life. This might be seen as being  the burning of some pale spiritual  inner light, indeed it may well make you light headed and stupidly optimistic at times.

2. Have an authority figure poised in the background ready to keep you right with good, timely advice, call it God if you wish. Take it's advice very seriously but don't bother writing the advice down. That's asking for trouble.

3. Religions require ritual. Why not have one based around finding the image of  E.T. in French Toast  and Brown Sauce. There's a prize worthy of a lifetime's pursuit that's also nourishing.

P.S. Everything in life, philosophy and religion is pretty simple really. The trouble is people like things to look complicated because that makes them seem clever (if they can make you believe that only they understand it or can see things you cant) so that veneer of mysticism, learned progression and the acquiring of knowledge over time has to be in there for them. Of course all that is complete nonsense. Life is all about keeping your underwear clean, whistling Dixie and hollowing out pumpkins. You make the first cut and scoop out whatever goo there is inside, lay it apart and admire the space you have created, put your hand in to explore it and then take it out so that you can light up a cigar and relax, that's about all there is to it.

Actually religions are pretty useless things really and they cause a lot of trouble and commotion, best not to bother in my view. Get on with your life.

Diageo Screw Brewdog

Diageo makes a rather unfortunate error at beer awards night. The trouble is it's pretty tough avoiding the big boy's products in an organised boycott...or is it?

The truth about Iron Man

The proof

He wasn't the result of some drunken, drug fueled, creative brainstorming binge between Tony Stark, a laptop and Pepper Potts. No, Iron Man was in fact developed and worked up by the Chinese, here's an early prototype that was laid aside and abandoned by the i.Ching Dynasty. Stark reality.

Tony Stark's Black Sabbath T Shirt

We went out to see the Avengers movie last night, great fun (four stars I'd say), great product placement (Accura doesn't mean much in Scotland however) and the usual cameo bit from Stan Lee. Of course I came away wanting the "Never Say Die" T shirt that Tony Stark wears under his Iron Man suit. His character steals all the best lines in the film, has the techy edge and the flimsy brown 1978  tour T shirt survives a whole lot of action under his metal chest without a tear or wrinkle. Every red blooded shredder will want one now. Trouble is you cant quite get the brown one, there's some well researched information here. Forget Amazon UK also, they've very little to offer apart from the usual rock tat. The web is buzzing, buzz buzz buzz.

From Jon Snow

Slow news morning,  that's just how things are this Sunday, still nice to see Jon Snow score with a valid point. Now to cook up a breakfast storm.

Ghost trees

Carrying on the ghost sighting/footsteps thing I spotted this fine example of a ghost tree over in Fife. Of course it's more of the dead shell or remnant rather than the ghost. The actual ghost is way across the fields looking out for some unsuspecting sapling, I'm not sure why. Come the next strong wind it'll be over and blocking the road.

Referring to this tree and some other examples I sensed quite a few ghost footsteps on this short trip, overcast rainy memories and long oily coats, there were two people taking a walk, inland from the coast, one was foreign, the other claimed to be a religious man but I have my doubts (as did he). They were traveling in a huge circle (a woman was also involved but I couldn't quite get the detail), 22 degrees of which were in Fife, the rest spread across a far wider area. Sometimes all the things, books, Steampunk, careers, mud and heritage all collide and inform if you just turn over a few stones. Amazing what you can pick up if you just look and listen.

And now in local news...

May the Forth be with you etc. etc.

In the footsteps of ghosts

Jules Verne on tour in the Central Belt.

Ghosts are just people who live outside of a body, that's all, nothing to get too worried about. In their pale and unresearched condition it is just possible to detect them and then to follow them, on their travels. I've been doing this for a while now, mostly across Scotland but also in other places. Perhaps you should try it.

Today the swifts returned to their nests in our coal cellar. I was alerted to this when one of the cats came running out of there, looking a bit guilty. Seconds later and very much to my relief two swifts flew out at high speed and headed away across the fields. I suspect that there will soon be some deadly games taking place, a lot of watching and waiting and at the very last moment some springing into action and jumping. None of this is for me, I've learned that when you try to intervene in nature and fix things or try to improve the chances of what might be considered a favourable outcome you get an unexpected and usually worse result. Let it be.

Victoria Hospital

I visited here today, Fife's new hospital. No car parking space, joking choking smoking Fifers outside in their track suits, faces wrinkled by the stress of confusion, tobacco and benefits. Buses crush past, full of the freeloading pensioners hoping for a bun and cuppa and a visit, a day out to health care excellence. Inside the lifts work smoothly but there's no furniture, no TVs, no shaver sockets in the wards, no towels or extra bed linen. The staff are pleasant and smiling. The staff try hard to cope with a system that doesn't know quite how to communicate, left hands fail to meet up with right hands, people are confused, jaws drop open. The staff are working hard, working their asses off to keep things right but somewhere in the project a failure has occurred, oh and there's no more money to put things right either. Local MP Gordon Brown planned this, the Tories implemented it. Now the NHS reforms and the clumsy NHS 24 will morph into uncontrolled monsters and finish it, any day, any year now.

Jump start

When you inadvertently  leave the light on in your car then you drain the battery, then you need a jump start, with jump leads.  Just remember to always follow the electrical safety code: Black to black, red to red and blue to Smithereens. Works every time.

Hair of an old man

I woke up this morning with old man's hair. It was mostly on my head and none of it was running the right way, it was old, badly behaved and cantankerous, it had lost it's elasticity and it's memory. It was like fake hair. Like straw or thread or some lifeless grey thing that had knitted it's way across the top of my head and was now travelling on it's, of it's own accord in some direction I couldn't quite fathom. Bitter and peppered with too much sunlight, car exhaust fumes, sugar and not enough hormones. Then the awful question, “does it have a funny smell, like old people do?” That's all you need first thing in a day destined to full of maps, computers, electric mirrors, biscuit fibres and packet soups, tales of time travel and desperation and remote examples of unproven food poisoning – none of it to do with me. On days like this, when you are thinking the thoughts of a young man or of a man at least a half of your age you don't want to be bogged down with the frizzled frustration of your old hair. At least the experience has given me a strategy, a way forward, a plan, a bit of revenge. I'll be there at the barbers on Friday afternoon, looking across the sunlit Firth of Forth and watching that old man's hair fall onto my shoulders and onto the floor as it's snipped away and swept up in a dustpan, punished like the regular and persistent offender it truly is and then stuffed into an imaginary cushion that's gifted to some care home or bit of imagined sheltered housing, there to hold a sleepy head, a tumbler of false teeth, a saucer of digestive biscuits and a rolled up copy of the Daily Express. I will go down of course but I will be fighting and I'll ignore, inhibit and ethnically cleanse the aspirations and false claims of this rebel hair. “£8? Keep the change!”

Curved dog on green grass

It was nice that whilst I was in Aberdeen yesterday wrestling with the young 'uns, eating birthday cake and walking dogs the Aberdeen football team were down in Dunfermline. There they were soundly beaten by the mighty Pars in what might be described as an upset or more accurately our first home win of the season. On the road home I celebrated the event with a double cheeseburger at the traveller's haven that is Forfar MacDonald's. Sitting in there with small children we were subjected to some more of the master strategy of Olympic marketing. Each happy meal now contains a stylish pedometer with which you can measure your fitness (or "rainbow points creation" according to the instructions). If you shake it rapidly above your head whilst sitting eating you also get a very good score. So cooped up then in a MacD's in Angus at nine o'clock on a Saturday night we can't escape the long bony finger of long bony fingerland promotion, a finger that, if sucked, would no doubt taste like chicken nuggets. At least we're all in this together, perhaps even willingly.

Big A marks the spot

Big A says "here's D&G Autocare's Inverkeithing branch!".

Being a person who thinks in straight lines I thought I'd use that peculiar skill to go home today via a motor car tyre emporium and thereby renew the worn tyres on my worn car. I did and my first point on that mental but not geographically straight line was Kwik-Fit Inverkeithing. They have tyres alright but  they only had one in the size I needed and it took them 50 precious minutes to find that out and tell me about it (lesson learned, phone first no matter how painful the concept of a motor car tyre sized conversation is). An hour later I'd bought that tyre but was still two black circles short. Happily just around the corner sits D&G Autocare, they're not as glossy and slick as Kwik-Fit but they had the correct tyres and they fitted them with the speed and precision of an F1 pit crew (well almost and not as inept as a Mercedes F1 pit crew either) despite being obviously busy. Three guys plugged in my new tyres in under 10 minutes, a really good and helpful service that I would dare to go out on a limb on and recommend  to one and all. Surely this proves that I'm not so grumpy, world weary and negative all the time and it's Friday!

My Dull Gothic Refuge

Interior brain shot - detail.

Give me strength: Somebody on Radio Scotland has been popping chemicals today in a big way, Drive-Time was filled with a selection of awful slow news filler items, each of which defied memorisation but each of which was delivered in such horrid, shouty and high frequency modulating tones that I was almost physically unwell whilst jogging home in the slow lane of the M90. These tedious stories were full of "amazings" and "fantastics", words that would be banned by any self respecting fascist state or tin pot news agency. It was like an acid fueled episode of Blue Peter in the nineties, all teeth, mascara, puppies and charity cardboard. They bodged up a bizarre item on dancing in the Barrowlands as part of the Cultural Olympics and then had surreal imported report from the inquest of the poor "death in a holdall spy" that sounded like some hyped up Enid Blyton story. All we need now are more of  the desperate slavers of Ali McCoist and the grizzled grumbled whispers of Walter Smith as they try to justify Glasgow Rangers' serially criminal business behaviour over the last twenty years. Perhaps of course I'm just a sad miserable soul and the chirpy sounds of radio friendly chit chat and trite current affairs are too much for the dark and gloomy Gothic innards of my brain's passages and my clogged up cynical consciousness. That and it being a wet Thursday as well.

And what's more: Ah yes (as above), it's that lamentable Ewan McGregor / Tom Kitchin / Dennis Lawson Scottish pretentious twerp accent and brogue. These guys live their lives in a perpetual mist of "amazing" and "wonderful" experiences, they must be knackered by it all really. You can just  imagine them exiting the privy and sharing the truth about their "incredible" daily bowel movement and "marvellous" bog roll wipe with their "gorgeous" wives and "brilliant" children...still a wet Thursday then.

Nice

Flying Saucer for sale etc.

For Sale. Flying Saucer, 1 careful owner, currently parked on a Bulgarian mountain top, $1,000,000 ono. Not in use at present but has potential, possible restoration project. No time wasters please. Use comments box if interested.

Still on the theme of flying:

John Barclay ‏ @Johnbarclay1

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#perfectseat Skyscanner has concluded that the most sought-after spot on a standard aeroplane is seat 6A.

Down on the windfarm

Industrial monstrosities. I don’t much care for wind farms and I don’t much care for Donald Trump. Renewable energy needs a bit more work and less of a Heath Robinson approach, too much of it seems like bad science and awkward political desperation – so any idea is better than no idea. Let's (in Scotland) try and be good at something, let's recover a little national pride now that we produce hew-haw in the way of manufacturing so let's catch the wind via Chinese engineering and Korean investment. That'll restore our stubborn tartan pride all right. So we'll just get behind the first thing to come along that looks like a free lunch (no respectable Fifer would miss out on that), so it has to be renewables but we'll invest in them before they are actually proven or fully understood, we'll either be at the cutting edge or the cliff edge. It's not a great modus operandi and it's an impulsive ploy that panders to the assumed will of a baffled and to some extent absent electorate and a hungry for green anything media. I'm not saying we should play it safe but what are we really good at? What's significant in our history? We need to capitalise on three things in this geologically stable, wet and tsunami proof little land; Steam (burn our crap), hydro (seize the rain) and atomic (have a fallback).

Synth/guitar

No way to treat a Danelectro. (Caution! Excessive audio experimentation can lead to anxiety,  neurosis, disappointment and remorse before any exhilaration or satisfaction actually kicks in).

Just on the cusp of the edge of the periphery of the beginning of the early planning stages of the conception of the storming of the exploration of doing the scoping for the first tranche of the start of figuring out, sussing out, checking out, understanding and then getting my head around another noise making app and deciding what exactly to do with it. The big boys call it Audio Sauna. I'll call it hard work.

Not another cat related post!

The spoils go to the victor.

Missie's Diary: Sympathy for the rabbit.

“Jesus, these people are stupid, they don't even understand the basic game of small animal juggling. It's a Friday night, they're all drinking red stuff and sitting on couches in the warm room looking half dead. Why wouldn't I do them a favour and try to liven things up? So all I do is bring in a baby rabbit and drop it on the kitchen floor. You'd have thought I'd brought in an improvised explosives device, talk about over react, I was just giving them the opportunity to play some indoor sports and socialise a bit. So what do they do? They shout at each other, chase me out of the house and then corner the poor rabbit, attacking it with kitchen implements, broom handles and mops. No wonder it dives under the cupboard and refuses to come out, that's a nice welcome to give a visitor. It's like some scene from a Frankenstein movie with the ignorant peasants going nuts with torches and pitchforks. They seem to have only two settings, asleep and angry mob, pathetic really, I don’t think they'll ever amount to much. Anyway I don't know what happened next I went back out and enjoyed some night time smells, overheard owl tales and did some strutting. I wonder when they'll jack up the nerve to try to apply some more of that Savlon stuff to me again?”

Clint's Diary: WTF.

“Things are getting worse, I'm upstairs, trying to sleep on my bed, the one they sometimes borrow and she comes running in and picks up that annoying plastic hair dryer thing. Then she goes downstairs, so I follow, just to take a peek. God Almighty, she's firing it off at a poor stunned baby rabbit that's hiding under a cupboard like she's Dog the Bounty Hunter, WTF? How's the rabbit supposed to react to that? Don't humans understand the innocent fun of animal blood sports and the related normal social niceties? This place is screwy, I'm going back to bed.”

Anna's Diary: Stoned again.

“I fell off that bloody couch arm again or did that bitch push me? No zero tolerance around here. I don't remember much about anything really, those drugs they keep slipping me in the prawns are really messing with my head but they've got me well hooked now. Still it's five star bed and board with endless narcotics for free and those other two dummies keep them distracted most of the time bringing in their little furries and feathers. It means I can enjoy my sweet dreams, sniff the radiator and silently dribble anywhere I like. Nice.”

Everyone and everything

Note to self: Thinking about something and forming it up into either a complaint, an observation, a comment or a criticism or any kind of stream of words inside your head is not actually the same things as using those words in confronting somebody, having a conversation, preparing a written draft or recording a vocal or any other outside thing. Left alone thoughts stay firmly inside your head, your own space, deep  in your brain, invisible and silent. They have to be verbalised, spoken or written down (possibly mimed?) if they are to be shared with anybody - they have no proper existence until you put them out there, somehow. That applies to everyone and everything - except for cats that is, they of course can easily read human minds.

No need to say too much

Bits of Dollytown.

The All Bran Biscuit Breakfast regime and disposable trousers. You may be surprised to read that these two things are not in any way related. The breakfast biscuits are a conundrum, they of course pose a (healthy) threat to the lower man but at the same time are almost pleasant and are also suitable for a good yoghurt dunking. I've now trialled and risk assessed them to the point where I can comfortably eat one a day. Should you be tempted to eat healthy these are worth the effort but you must first take the test. The disposable trousers are the M&S variety, foolishly worn while (double foolishly) wandering into a thorny thicket in a work related escapade. Those thorny thickets play havoc with % mixes of wool, polyester and whatever else is in there – at least the price makes their immanent disposal seem a little less painful.

Radical Prick. The term “radical cleric” is used to describe Mr Abu Qatada. His real name is however Omar Othman but he is also a scholar, a refugee, a key figure in al-Qaeda and he doesn't much care for despots and foreign invaders because they are enemies of Islam. He is also an active supporter of terrorism and extreme Islamic objectives. Fair enough then, he does seem to have a meaning to his life and a whole lot of well supported human rights that apply to him apparently - but he really needs to lighten up a bit.

Wind Forms. Alex Salmond duped the great unwashed Scottish electorate by failing to tell us that a Korean wind farm company, Doosan, were no longer coming here to take advantage of our desperate economic plight, subsidised factory sites and cheap labour and free wind. Their plan to open a research facility and a factory has gone for a ball of chalk until the right economic conditions prevail, the SNP stop crawing about renewables like they'd discovered the idea or until Donald Trump shuts up.

Loch Lomond Daily Photo

I know I moan about Scotland (mainly the politicians) a lot but I still love the place and think it's a beautiful country to visit (as I live here I visit it quite often). Even on a simple working drive, you get just a few miles from Glasgow and the traffic and all the rest of it and find yourself by Loch Lomond. Full of quirky casual surprises, snow on the hills, sun glinting on the water, a fresh breeze to clear your head, clouds forming swirling shapes, sheep and cattle, birds twittering and...there's a MacDonald's just five miles down the road if you're at all peckish. We have everything here.

Things - part 99

TV: Jules Holland is probably a really nice guy and a great musician but his TV show is as dull as ditch water and Paul Weller or somebody like him is on it every week. I like the fact that if appears to be live (is it?) but as a way to enjoy music it seldom works for me. Back to Radio 6 or Game of Thrones or Modern Family I think.

Awards and Award Shows: Who gives a stuff really?

Cookery: I made a fish pie today that was tasty but as heavy as lead, I now realise that it's possible to put too much fish in a fish pie, something I'd not have considered possible, but it is. Next thing I'm trying will be to put too much chicken in a chicken pie.

Pics & Words: Here's a handy link to a book that Fraser Drummond has just created - fine photos and lyrics, the Sound of Confushion.

First apply some Savlon to the cat

Myths about Savlon: It's true, Savlon does no harm to cats, in fact it's a useful healing medium for those awkward cuts, scrapes  and scabs your average mouser suffers when plunging through hedges, fences and exploring the wild spaces out there. All you have to do is capture the injured cat and apply the magic liniment to the damaged area. You may also wish to apply a little of it to your own injuries, those suffered or sustained as a small part of the wider healing and welfare process.

Things that don't really work in Scotland: Next time it's a sunny day and you're out and about in your motor car, try driving around superstore car parks with the windows down  playing excerpts from the Grateful Dead's 40 year musical career very loudly on your stereo. This is unlikely to produce a reciprocal wave of love and peace or add much to the deeper musical education of the general public. Just park up, go into the shop, get your fishcakes and wine and leave quietly.

Respectable Pirates: Speaking of education you may be interested in learning a little about the beliefs and aspirations of the Pirate Party. If, like me you are somewhat disillusioned with main stream politics but still naively and unrealistically hopeful of some kind of general political renaissance happening (or at least a slight improvement in standards taking place) here in the cash-strapped UK, then this may give you a little hope.

Old Punks & Zen

Sad Society with nice Les Paul Jnr and enthusiastic dancer.

Rosie Bell and friendly piano (the link to Rosie's highly readable blog is on the right) .

Memorial flyer & poster, nice work.

A pot of magical Zen based slate with artistic potential.

A busy day in and out. Out being mostly in gardens, our own on a chilly morning with a grand wean and Fraser Drummond's award winning city plot of green heaven on a slightly warmer afternoon. Tea and cakes were served up by the Drummond clan, plant and wildlife wisdom shared, artworks discussed and a substantial amount of money raised for charity. We followed this up with a brief trip (this is "in") to the shadowy innards of Bannermans for the Fritz VH memorial marathon gig and punkfest. I'd forgotten how loud and tonally restricted live punk can be but you cant help but admire the energy and enthusiasm summoned up by Scotland's finest middle aged punks when indulging in their chosen music. A very mixed audience of Morningside mums, young Goths, leather Punks and balding Mods took time out to remember a real stalwart of the Edinburgh music scene and have a bit of fun. For once I regretted being far too old for punk, I was firmly stuck in the hippie ideals by '77 and apart from tapping my foot and whistling to the Damned and the Buzzcocks missed out on most of it. I hope Fritz would've forgiven me the obvious musical omissions of my own misspent youth.

Best BBC caption ever?

Staying with the media theme this has to be one of the best little labels given to anybody anywhere. I hope it's real.