A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
Back from the land of the modern airship, much chatting, recording, drinking and eating done in the process. By now feeling pretty tired with strangely sore feat but it was all very much worthwhile. Even the world's favourite airline (?) behaved well, the same can't be said about the weather but who really cares, we got five tracks done.
Interesting old Jaguar seen here in it's natural habitat, needs a good loving home, needs help from SKY and regular sponsorship from the wallets and bank accounts of ordinary people, needs about £1400 also. Remember my advice about regularly driving a vehicle from another century, they don't come better equipped than this.
A few little things that came to me today, out of the blue if you will or from a place called nowhere (where paradoxically they were headed) caught and captured and so on:
Keep looking out for the pieces of something that might prove useful. The exact purpose and the eventual outcome of the exercise may be unclear at the moment of finding.
If you sit and stare and try to construct sentences it can take quite a long time to get anywhere, you may get nowhere but you could produce a book eventually.
Gazing out of the average window is unlikely to teach you anything.
Change the oil a bit more often than the manufacturer's recommended timings. Doesn't apply to Tesco Extra Virgin olive oil.
If you want to learn wisdom then listen carefully to what other people are saying. Don’t let odd thoughts and distractions cloud the process.
If you are way too conscious of your empty stomach or your dry throat, concentration will prove difficult.
Always observe the use-by date but ask yourself “do I have to use this?”
Check your shoes.
Regularly drive a car from the previous century.
If you are wondering “why have I no true friends and seem to be disconnected from the modern world?” - it's because you're an unfriendly dickhead.
Every so often a cat will sneak into your bedroom, sleep beside you and then leave before you are awake. It's plaintive whispers will be audible to your subconscious, it's ticklish whiskers will not.
Tight or uncomfortable clothing will not help, best to rid yourself of these things.
Always look down when in a public toilet.
Always look up when walking in a city.
Always look ahead when riding horse or a bicycle. No need to pedal the horse however.
Read a book about Keith Richards whilst listening to Let it Bleed.
Knowing the deep relief of getting a wood splinter out of your finger, when the skin is red and inflamed, the splinter is brown and your tether has ended.
Don't ever brag about food you've bought from petrol stations.
Make friends with an animal but be aware that it may quite unwittingly break your heart at some point in the future.
Observe the various boiling points of foodstuff and liquids and what happens shortly thereafter. Turn down the heat if appropriate.
It's good to have a job, better to have a career and best to have an independent income. A pension is also useful.
Go outside now and then.
When life hands you a lemon then it clearly failed to read correctly the request you made for a melon – that's because it's dyslexic.
Nobody understands conceptual art, don't worry about it.
If you are wondering where exactly the “cloud” is then I'm here to tell that it was a few words ago in inverted commas in this very sentence. That's all you need to know.
Regardless of their actual belief systems religious people generally consider themselves to be more noble, moral and upright than others. This is a seldom the case however.
Say hello to an Irishman. It'll make his day.
In the night your imagination is available.
Retain a childish fascination for the top most contents of waste bins and magazine racks.
Stand alone at the far end of the bar and enjoy your pint of beer in peace.
First, boil your sausages.
There are no racoons in Scotland because of prohibitively high travel costs.
When you walk in the forrest respect the silence of the great and ancient trees; avoid crunching on sticks or fallen branches, stumbling on loose stones, stamping on wild flowers or seedlings or stepping in dog shit.
The spellcheck is never, truly complete.
Most organisations (however large or small) are fundamentally broken, those that run them often fail to see this or bother to try to correct it. Be aware an keep your expectations realistic.
Much of the music played on Radio 6 is crap, that's why the people playing it are unsuccessful. That doesn't make the so-called mainstream music played on Radio 2 any good either.
Looking sharp isn't the same as being edgy.
When going through airport security practice your most pissed off look on anybody within your field of vision. This doesn't get you through any quicker but God will notice and might eventually do something.
What's the difference between a buffalo and a bison? You can't wash your socks in a buffalo.
Hard disk failure is imminent on the old HP laptop I am being told, I'm therefore left wondering as to how best to react to the series of alarming messages that crop up at carefully timed intervals. A back up is strongly recommended and there is the vague promise of some kind of self repair, like an amphibian growing a new tail section or a fresh leg. Of course the messages have appeared when I'm without the pocketful of DVDs or massive memory sticks I know I'll need to follow the badly worded on-screen instructions, so immediate and unstoppable doom awaits just around the corner. In desperate mitigation I did try running those impotent utilities that lurk in some of the less well known directories, not much change followed however. Overall I'm left with that awkward feeling that Laptops (and computers in general) fail to deliver what you really want. They are forever telling you what is going wrong, what might fail, how full they are or just giving you daft messages and choices you don't need to hear. So Microsoft have given the world brilliant but petulant software that demands attention, meaningless upgrades, long periods of rest and recovery and a crippling level of over sensitivity to any rogue atmosphere or device it detects. You wish that some of the more sophisticated programmes and facilities had been held back and that a more stable platform could have been arrived at, then you add in all the “nice to haves and toys”. Now I have a (thankfully spare) laptop that acts like it is some kind of rare Italian sports car forever needing a rebore or middle-aged operatic diva (also needing a rebore). Windows, Microsoft, HP and the rest, you are just too high maintenance and frankly annoying to bother with. Come back to me when you can make things work first time and then maintain a decent level of performance all of the time.
I ate coconut yoghurt and blueberries for breakfast. It forms the basis of my new healthy addiction and gives me deep joy and satisfaction, most of the time. Right now it's given me a tummy pain that I'm not enjoying and doubts are being cast over my so called healthy lifestyle. I may need a bar of Naomi Campbell.
Why does Dr Who put me to sleep? (In fairness he's not the only thing that does that of course) Twenty minutes into every episode and I'm sound asleep, not sure why I bother. Age, supreme sofa rapport and bad eating habits I suppose. I was thinking about how long it might take to roast a chicken – in the midst of the battle of flashing lights and electrodes. Then when I did come around (with a start) it was pretty much as I'd expected: River Song / Amy Pond etc. but it is supposed to be a kid's programme. Meanwhile Universal Karma is catching up on the Doctor, in a good way of course.
Maybe it was last Christmas or maybe the one before. Anyway it's the decoration that time forgot, it has stayed successfully hidden for all this time but today I outed it. Having said that I considered the situation, tomorrow is June 1st, Christmas is just six months away, any real point in taking it back down now?
Every meal consumed produces 0.5 m3 of stuff that you didn't realise you had in the first place. Every McD's produces enough landfill each week to fuel the average moon rocket with methane and of course fill the Albert Hall many times over. I may well be lovin' it but I'm not sure.
Cats like cat mint a lot, so much so they will risk diving into dangerous and unfriendly baskets to indulge in this irresponsible drug use, then they stagger in an undignified manner. What are they thinking? But they are cats and we are the humble watchers of the universe, Dr Who, Grey's Anatomy, Andrew Marr, drinkers of red wine, chicken eaters, petrol consumers and drivers of ridiculous vehicles, wind dodgers and washing machine operatives. The cats in their idle and indistinct passions win...most of the time. Then there are the opposable thumb issues.
These days the ancient trade of knife sharpening doesn't really get the exposure or recognition it deserves. Where, as a civilisation would we be if all our knives had been blunted and stayed that way? No dead and butchered mammoths, no carved religious icons, no stab victims (Brutus, Ritzio etc.), no gutted herring, no topiary chickens, only worn out pencils on board of the space shuttle...the list and awful consequences just goes on. I was therefore heartened and encouraged to see that the age old trade is alive and well in the Lothians with a roving exponent out on the highways and byways every so often. I'm seriously thinking of booking a servicing session for my Swiss Army knife (7 blade model, 1989) and the garden shears. He'll be gigging at the New Hopetoun Garden Centre on 4th June...a piece of living history not to be missed.
You can tell summer is somewhere nearby, the air is strangely moist and the wind is strangely strong and a young man's mind turns to cycling and other two-wheeled type of endeavours - but I had no bike. That was yesterday of course, today I have a bike and I am officially a cyclist again thanks to exploring Gumtree's huge selection of keenly priced, used bicycles and after a few phone calls, ta-da! buying one. So I'm already planning a brief circuit of Loch Lomond, an excursion to the weekend horsey event at Hopetoun and a jaunt to John O'Groats via the May Island. I'm not planning on falling from it, getting soaked in rain showers, bumping into potholes or going up hills, ever.
Funny how in some photos bike wheels can look less than round, in fact they can look crooked and quite uncircular and unwheel-like. It is an optical illusion brought about by a dodgy lens, bad light and unsteady hands.
The Scheme: I’ve avoided this BBC TV show for a while (one of many I purposely stay away from) but I accidently saw some of it last night. A sad and disturbing programme that chronicles the trials, tribulations, despair, stupidity and occasional warmth to be found in “typical” Scottish housing scheme. The turgid and repetitive misery must rankle politicians and do gooders in general as the drug abuse, petty crime and circle of squalor and meaningless behaviour is displayed and negotiated. It’s not a great advertisement for the habitual wearers of Glasgow Rangers football tops either. The message is clear; there is no way out and though they are certainly in need of some it’s hard to summon up sympathy for the real life characters all of whom comply nicely with the middle-class view of schemey stereotypes. I can imagine the smug but guilty feeling voyeuristic viewers sweating over the desperate antics of these victims, wondering were on earth our society is going and what is the point of having any aspirations in a place where socially mobility is actively seen to be running in reverse. The cast last night were both desolate and formidable in a way that makes you want to punch your own head and then the head of any nearby politician:
The gangly, inarticulate junkie who’s in a spiral of dependency, who will look forty-nine on his twenty-fourth birthday and who will be dead before he’s twenty-five.
The teenage trouble maker whom social services try to train and educate but who, despite support and cajoling falls back into robbery and violence when he’s bored or disaffected, which is mostly all the time.
The long suffering mother, robbed and abused by her feral offspring but with no option other than grow older and weaker defending the indefensible.
The teenage mum daubed with cheap make up and bruises, abandoned by her child’s feckless father who tries to build a home and find some meaning. Her clueless and dependant approach to life forever supported by a weak system that will relentlessly churn out another lost generation that will in turn make all the same mistakes.
The rough and evangelical carers, trying to build a community with real teeth on the dead gums of a rotting estate. They struggle to milk funds from a frustrated and broken system only to be forever beaten back by bureaucracy, cost hurdles and the apathy and pithy disregard of their own peers.
A well meaning, careworn gardener creating an oasis of expensive floral colour within the rubble, beaten down grass, strewn litter and graffiti who gets only a second prize (presumably for pluck and persistence) year in year out in the local gardening competition. His appreciative wife looks on and shrugs as he is crushed and denied the glory of a deserved victory.
Watching this a few weeks after the SNP victory and the jingoism and bluster that followed I can’t but worry about the soft underbelly of Scotland and the fatal flaws we all know lurk on the edges of our national psyche. Even the most deluded optimist can see that the difference between this version of a civilised pocket of Scotland and any given Third World shanty town is measured in single figure millimetres. There is a big job to do out there and Cameron’s Big Society doesn’t look tough enough to tackle it just yet.
As below: emergency anti-soot measures set in place and working like a dream. An alternate view is that it may be an art installation of some type as well as a functional device for maintaining a dust free atmosphere within the happy home.
Last night's Game of Thrones did the unthinkable, it killed (in a truly horrible manner) someone who I thought was a major character in just the sixth episode. That's a classy bit of TV script writing and admirable risk taking. I'm now hooked as it's clear that anything can happen and it turns out that the GoT shop is open now. Buy, buy, buy. Decent review and plot/weird name reminder thingy here also.
