Lifetime continuity explored

Still life with cat and fresh fruit.

Sitting in the crowd at East End Park today (4037 certified attendance) I realised that in terms of lifetime continuity it's here that I have the most ongoing lifetime history. I first arrived here with my dad in the early sixties when everything was literally black and white, one of the few places we regularly visited together and in fits and starts I've always kept coming back. As a teenager, then as dad, as a puzzled fan and as a dad and grandad, again and again. So sitting up in the West (Norrie M) Stand (?), where there once was just sleepers and dirt and looking around I see many weathered familiar faces and bald heads, ex-Dockies from Rosyth now wider in the waist, Toon people from the Kingsgate, ASDA and Park Road School, the same wheel chair folks, Hurley from LOST, old retired gits, boys from the local football teams and Sammy the Tammy. Half time means pointless banter, daft raffles and penalty kick competitions and of course a Stephen's Bridie, steak naturally, never the mince and onion variety. Final Score: Dunfermline 3 Dundee (City of Discovery, Desperation and Despair) 1. That'll do nicely.

£445? Kidding?

Odd, unseen and interesting photos: Recording sessions for the second album...

Shepton Mallet in 1970 - but £445 for a photography book? Not for me.

Right to be wrong?

The problem with making sensible decisions is that so is everyone else.
Why do we strive for excellence when mediocrity is required?
Don't try to please the client.
Have you noticed how the cleverest people at school are not those who make it in life?
If you can't solve a problem it's because you're playing by the rules.
You don't have to be creative to be creative.
You don't have to be able to write to be able to write.
Don't seek praise, seek criticism.
Sometimes it's good to be fired.
There is no right point of view.
It's right to be wrong.

A million times

Today I crossed the Forth Road Bridge for the millionth time (approx), it looked just like it does in this picture but less purple (I added the purple to signify the deep anger that resides in the inner steel soul of the great bridge - I sense it at times). It was Simon Mayo who said nothing particularly interesting on the radio but he did play a nice Neil Young tune the other night as I waited so he can be forgiven. I do a lot of waiting and forgiving, two of my best skills. For a period I undertook the right hand lane traffic and felt smug, then they all accelerated past me and had their turn at smugness or maybe they were largely unaware and focused on their own simple progress. That's how you get when crossing bridges. A large silver Nissan chugged past me "too big for his own good" I thought and then decided to continue to keep left and to follow a furniture van and some other vehicle. Soon I was at the other side and had completely forgotten any of the elements that made up the short but numerically significant journey up until now. Tomorrow it will be my lifetime millionth mile on the A904.

A local tree does an impression of a weekend mind map.

FFS

...and when I come home cold, grumpy and tired from work and a parent's night with a spot inside my left nostril, it's good to know you've made me a fish finger sandwich and that I don't have to bother with the egg, mackerel and noodle concoction (or nipping into MacDonald's) that I was hastily planning and considering when sitting at the red traffic lights at the Echline Roundabout listening to Mark Radcliffe on Radio 2 talking about the way you get your 1st Test cricketer name formula as opposed to your porn star or rock star name formula: American president from the year when you were born and the last British seaside resort you visited = in my case Eisenhower Nairn.

Burn the Koran

Burn the Koran if you like but that probably wont stop people reading it, believing it and interpreting it in their own special way - it will also contribute to global warming; naughty and some might say sinful.

Google v Religion

The Google Priests confuse the world with their gravity defying ball display. Heresy, arrogance and catastrophe some might say.

Time etc.

You could have said that it was like ticking away those moments that when put together make up a dull day. Looking deeper into things I could have been accused of frittering away the hours in an offhand or casual way, not the way I normally go about business. In a desperate attempt to do something I took a bus over to Fife to meander further, kicking around on a piece of ground (ground of all types is always available) in my home town and waiting. There is the interminable waiting for someone or even some thing to come along and show you the way. So, irrespective of the effort expended, no matter how long you live and all being well how high you fly, metaphorically speaking life goes on for a while anyway. You will continue to give smiles freely and there are tears you will likely cry, basically the whole gamut of emotions are on display as part of this process. Should you have the skills you might find that quite unexpectedly you are balanced on the perfect wave (how cool would that be), the downside of this bizarre journey is that you are ultimately headed for an early grave (not a major surprise but you’re stuck with it) , not sure why, these things just happen. Time passes.

Eating bear.

The ancient and indigenous peoples of the Canadian Rockies used to say: "If you can kill a bear and then you eat the bear in a salad or prepare a bear pie or fry a simple bear steak you are then consuming the soul of the bear and you then have dominion over the great bear kingdom." Quite a powerful and attractive position to hold some would argue. One of the region's most powerful meals is a bear rump steak topped with an eagle fried egg served in a basket of sweet potato chips, or so I am told.

Sweet mystery of urine

I'm fed up with urine. There is too much of it in the world. People are drinking lots of useless fluids only to have to pee them straight back out again. It's time to stop all the drinking, socialising and peeing madness and find something better to do - until the weekend.

• The majority of fluid output occurs via the urine, approximately 1500 ml/day (approx 1.59 qt/day) in the normal adult resting state.^[3][2]
• Some fluid is lost through perspiration (part of the body's temperature control mechanism) and as water vapor in expired air. These are termed "insensible fluid losses" as they cannot be easily measured. Some sources say insensible losses account for 500 to 650 ml/day (0.5 to 0.6 qt.) of water in adults,^[2][4] while other sources put the minimum value at 800 ml (0.8 qt.).^[5] In children, one calculation used for insensible fluid loss is 400ml/m² body surface area.
• In addition, an adult loses approximately 100ml/day of fluid through feces.^[2][6]
• For females, an additional 50 ml/day is lost through vaginal secretions.

These outputs are in balance with the input of ~2500 ml/day^[2].

One of those things

A spokesperson said that it was just one of those things, just one of those fabulous things, a bit like a trip to the moon on gossamer (or some other similar substance) wings, just, as it were one of those things. Our regional correspondent then called to say that it had in fact been just one of those nights, just one of those magical nights, unfortunately like most nights it had been followed by a morning type of experience and in the process some of that magic had perhaps rubbed off. There were though a number of happy memories remaining and there were other perhaps less tangible benefits that had also been accrued, just one of those things once again. Then as it happened another correspondent mentioned that it was another of those things, in fact a crazy fling some had said, apparently not dissimilar to one of those bells that now and again for no particular reason rings like another one of those as yet unnamed things. A sweet simple pleasures. So don’t quote me on this but I heard that had we thought of it when we started it (the royal we?) then we may not in fact have undertaken to paint the town - unclear on the colour scheme here folks. After that it all becomes a bit garbled and thermal energy and it’s quick release is discussed (yawn), anyway the general consensus is that it was fun for the most part but didn‘t add up to the sum total of it‘s parts if that is possible.

Meanwhile the psycho path man says that there is still four weeks of work to do - and the trees are falling down and the roads are rising up and the rain is lashing down and the peanut butter has odd lumps in it.

Fife Diet

Some inhabitants of Fife.

Good to see the Fife Diet is still going strong, generating healthy publicity and presumably helping a few fragile souls in Fife live longer and feel better. It may well keep some nasty 18 wheelers away from the B roads and claw back some sales from the big 4 supermarkets. If only then: a) I was in Fife and b) on a diet. Unlikely.

Papal Visit

After the great invasion of geeky Scientologists comes the great September Papal invasion. The reluctant young Nazi himself will visit these shores and bless his many followers as he steps on UK soil and kisses the airport tarmac, lets hope he also blesses a few potholes on the way north. His blessing (whatever a blessing actually is, who really knows?) will cost our struggling economy £12m but sales of Papal tat and nonsense will be around £17m, so that's ok then. The bus companies, vendors of shite and motorway policemen on overtime will do best out of this ridiculous State Visit while sensible folks, as ever, look the other way. To add to the spectacle Tony Blair will no doubt get a private audience and an impression of the Pope's ring somewhere on the cover of his latest book . The Queen may also pocket a few quid in complimentary backhanders and the BBC will provide full and sycophantic coverage in HD of course.

This whole affair both intrigues and annoys me as it would any middle-aged, jaundiced sceptic. The Catholic Church, a simmering mound of pyramidal corruption, founded on a piece of misquoted scripture, battered murderously into shape by politics and planted in the gilded city of Rome from where it has been ruling and exploiting, ruthlessly sucking up to itself for nearly two thousand years without a proper challenge to it's ludicrous existence ever being made. So now, as before we bow to this glittering Roman drag queen and his minders as he visits, holds masses and generally gets in the way of buses; repugnant, almost as repugnant as Islam and err...Scientology, so back to where I started then. You are the masses? Open wide, here is your dose of opium.

Big Cat

I happened upon this fine fellow whilst out for a stroll yesterday afternoon.

Cocktails & Cats

These are the cocktails...yum (and me a confirmed, working class, socialist, beer swilling, real ale drinking, chip dunking yob (and a cocktail virgin at 54.95).

This is a cat...sorry no multiple cat type creatures were readily available at the point of taking the photo.

Man made natural disasters

Despite their naturally cheery disposition and various endearing Irish associations I'm finding that the mass farming of potatoes is a most disappointing activity. These cheeky chips rise in plant form like green marble giants suggesting a rich and bulky crop of pure, golden tubers that will feed us all through the long cold winter months so avoiding costly trips to some tin supermarket or other. Then the vigour dies, a mid life crisis occurs in the dark soil and they fizzle and fade like forgotten fireworks in a damp shed. So as I sweat, swear and arch my weary back digging up the expected harvest I find that there is a 51% failure rate in those that have spawned and in that 51% at least 17.5% have worm holes - not the good kind either. Why didn't I apply some dung? That leaves just the plums and apples to come.

As if the tattie crop catastrophe wasn't enough I find that the Psycho engineers and their great earth moving machines have created a veritable dust bowl out front. Four days of unseasonal dry weather and numerous 20 tonne vehicles have agitated mother earth causing great choking clouds of particles to rise high into the atmosphere and then fall on our local community. We are covered in disturbed material or if you will a thin and dirty film - a bit like Naked Lunch. Meanwhile the debris strewn causeway to Fife is still heading out over the sea and into the distance and does the pudding headed control freak Uncle Eck Salmond know about this alternative Forth crossing and if so who is underwriting the funding?

The Ghost of John Bonham

His ghost does not haunt this blog or anywhere else, as far as I know, so please remain calm.

Under Construction

Enjoying the evolutionary construction and release of CBQ's latest work..."Splinterheart" out now.

Townhouse

I ventured out into Scotland's capital city to see the sights and hear the sounds. Some of sights and sounds came along in the form of the tight, jokey, warm and highly skilled musicianship of the trio known as Townhouse . Should you get the opportunity to see or hear them then take it. They are: Lisa Rigby - vocals, guitar, mandolin, percussion; Stuart Clark - vocals, guitar, cajon, percussion; John Farrell - bass, guitar. So there.

Arcade Fire set list

Earth calling

"Earth calling Stroma, Earth calling Stroma"

Psycho II

The current favourite beverage holder - around these parts.

Psycho progress continues as it does revealing the following secret history; pictured above are the ancient ruins of Abercorn Castle 0845 to 1154 (times approximate). It was here that Princess Margaret, a mermaid from Denmark, set up home with King Malcolm Middleton the Rotund. Together they brought fierce religious beliefs, various useful pottery pots and deer skinning techniques to the primitive Picts who rewarded them both with a ritual beheading and a jolly good bonfire party. King Malcolm also invented the hotel and then the tin opener, unfortunately tinned food and tin were not at that point available to the general public so he was nicknamed "the Misunderstood". Odd that his crippling speech impediment is never mentioned. Things have moved on and their once splendid castle has now been looted and bulldozed so that townies can visit the countryside and kindly leave their Lucozade bottles and Kit-Kat wrappers as habitat for the embattled wildlife.

Locally produced food is the best beating both Poundland and Lidl's tawdry efforts into a cocked hat. This weekend we've feasted on garden potatoes (best suited for relentless mashing and pounding), garden rhubarb and tree based plums. These fine foods were duly heated up and consumed by a hungry family, part of which spent today marvelling at the unique weather system that sits permanently and directly over Pittenweem (almost home of the self righteous and frankly boring Fence Collective) and sailing great ships, something of a family business.

On 18th September it will be 40 years since Jimi Hendrix died, how strange is that? I'm already thinking back over those (for me) well known albums and songs, today it was Axis: Bold as Love. Seems like yesterday and then it seems like a lifetime, damn these persistent memory problems!