Messages in the stone

The tribes of our elders and visiting divine presences of Scotlandshire aided and abetted by aliens and alliteration left a series of complex messages hidden in ancient stone structures all across the blasted and sometimes frozen landscape. A brisk, hangover clearing walk any given Sunday accompanied by a pair of binoculars and a large magnifying glass will reveal their hidden secrets; so I have been told. The truth is (seldom) out there if you only know where to look. I'd say more but the strict laws of blasphemy currently practiced in Fife force me to hold my tongue. Heresy is an unspeakable crime so best not to speak of it. In terms of understanding history and the nature of god and suchlike I must say that I found the recent blockbuster DVD release "Noah" starring the wonderfully concrete faced Russell Crowe, the girl from "Labyrinth"  and a truckload of special effects extremely helpful. Religious groups of any moderate persuasion should take note.

Being creative

OK it's 11:45 on what I thought I would call a "creative day"... I'm starting slowly burdened down by the bitter cold and having too much fried bulk for breakfast. I started by lighting up the stove, it's still blazing hours later and the house is full of a hazy smoky film or fugg, a bit like my head.  So far I've only managed to place three rather puerile and distorted quotes onto Twitter based on famous lines from Apocalypse Now. I also added some tenuously linked up up photos taken whilst scraping around in the house this morning. Waiting for inspiration sucks. I watched Nick Cave's 20000 Days last night (?), his output is phenomenal but the quality is patchy to say the least. He ate fried eels and also ate sloppy pizza, he has very enthusiastic fans, he's different. I'm clearly not Nick Cave but he is clearly not me. I take some small pieces of damp consolation from this. He does have a nice Jaguar though.

Favourite shirt?

Two people wearing shirts as well as other clothes.

It's a question that I often ask myself. It's also a question that I regularly find I can't answer. I probably have about twenty five shirts, some obviously worn more than others, some that fit better or are more "wearable" or just feel good. Some, sadly are nearing the end of their lives, a few more washes and they will be gone, stuffed into the bin after years of faithful service and tipped into the refuse cart on the second or fourth Wednesday of the month. That's how it goes, the life cycle of a shirt. Many of my shirts come from Debenhams, I have no idea why. Maybe it's because their shirt department is straight in front at the top of the escalator, not far from the gents loos. A convenient location you might say or is it their keen prices, reputation for quality and well laid out display area?  Tesco shirts are the worst then it's Amazon's unseen buys. Choices matter but it's all pretty random really, anyway a purge is coming up. Faded and tired out shirts, beware!

Danelectro do some crazy and almost disturbing guitars. I've never owned one, seldom played them either. The Sitar Guitar (directly above, below the Longhorn Baritone) is a classic oddball. At £388 who would buy such an instrument? It's not even anywhere on Ebay yet. Strange.

Freezing Conds

Beware, freezing conds could damage your building.

I was a bit baffled by the wording on the high level motorway warning signs today on the M90. "DRIVE WITH CARE FREEZING CONDS" they said. Not really a clear message and you cant help but wonder what a dyslexic, elderly or non-English speaking driver might make of this ill thought through message. Could it be referring to:

FREEZING CONDOMS - not a pleasant thought (but some fetishists may disagree).
FREEZING CONDOMINIUMS - over enthusiastic or badly adjusted air conditioning.
FREEZING CONDUCTORS - if at some chilly orchestral concert.
FREEZING CONDORS - birds of prey descending on the road from a high altitude.
FREEZING CONTENDERS - winter Tough Mudder venue up ahead?

On balance somebody probably meant "freezing conditions" but what could that possibly mean around here?

Cat interrupted

In a desperate bid to avoid any further negative examples of posting or random carping about irritating types, rubbish music or all the evil in the world  here's a cat waking up from an otherwise peaceful sleep on a basketwork chair just as a blizzard is about to start. 

Ex-Creme eggs

Now that they've changed the formula I can't go on and eat any more of these. It's not possible, it seems like it's some unspeakable and uneatable act. Wrong and reprehensible. From now on I vow not to consume any CCEs ever again (in the January or February of any year). It never was any more that a sugary Polyfilla mixture in a greasy chocolate egg shell that was far to small to ever have been mistaken for a real egg.

I can't explain

I hate to say it but there's something about Margaret Curran that makes my flesh creep. Driving home today she came on the radio to discuss the awful Citylink collapse and despite my interest in the story that radio had to go straight off. A mild panic attack and a grab at the rotary switch. I'm thinking chalk on a blackboard here. I don't understand why she gets to me this way and it's not all about Scottish Labour or any of that tedious business nor is it about the referendum. I'm sure, outside of politics she's a nice person and a caring human being but...that voice and that way of talking...of course I apologise for any offence taken.

Not my heroes

I was born too soon for these guys to be my heroes. They're out on the margins, interesting but not burrowed into my life like the "others" who as it turns out are mostly people from that god-awful decade known as the sixties. This forgotten and woe begotten place /decade remains as the major and persistent source of various ear worms and technicolor flashbacks of lucid and often awful memory. It must be an age thing.

So help me but I can't help but buy food, despite the fact we don't really need more...somehow it all gets eaten. Some law of physics is bending to the point of imminent fracture here. So today I went looking for a chicken pie but could only find a steak pie and a tray of brownie like chocolate sludge, milk and a bag of potatoes. I will, without the assistance of the web, a net, an app or any prompting turn these random things into some sort of presentable meal. Later.

The good news is that the bad weather has attracted a colourful pair of magpies into the garden. Like crazy crows on drag these green and purple monsters clamber all over the bird feeders as the tits and sparrows look on, puzzled and bemused from a safe distance. Treat of the day for our feathered bandits are those pink suet bullets that Tesco sell. Birds of all sizes love them, perhaps they are some kind of socially acceptable drug in the avian community. They go in a matter of moments, gobbled up in a frenzy as the seeds and breadcrumbs are ignored. 

Self assisted selfie

Well maybe it's the time of year or then again maybe it's the time of man but you see, at this particular moment I don't quite know who I am and of course, with the true and irreversible passage of time, life is for learning. So I watched three acts on the Voice, and walked away, ate a chicken Kiev, drank some wine and stoked up the fire (no euphemism there). it seems that today has gone by the way, that way, in some by the way way. The good news being that the drains are unblocked and that the dishwasher works on the second click (who knew that), the Volvo will get MoT'd and all good taxi drivers with car trading experience would recommend Skodas, every time. I also learned a French term for melted chocolate and added cream and in an earlier version of myself found myself agreeing with Will Self. That was today, tomorrow is chicken and leak pie; naturally.

Club sandwich

Today, for the most part the weather / traffic / news / stuff outside was totally frightful. Escape is rare but I found some in this lunchtime club sandwich containing the works. All the bad things can just go away at least for a few minutes while the moment of sandwich (near) perfection is enjoyed. Good coffee also at Reubens in the quaint old and sadly neglected town of Dunfermline. Outside a busker played Beatles tunes on a clarinet. Next door in the £ a chair barbers I had a haircut and a blether. Then back home to make more beds than you could shake a ragged duvet at.

Here today...

...and gone today. Naturally it seems quite right to show solidarity with #JeSuisCharlie this evening. I'm tempted to rant about religion, terrorists  and extremism but Rushdie puts it far better than I ever could so just to maintain some balance here's a rainbow cat.

Nanoblock Guitars

The incredible thing about the two tiny guitars that I've assembled is that they are both totally playable...nice tone also.

On the beach

The new years's high standards of typically lazy bloggings continue, here's some photos from our local stretch of storm battered beach.

2014 in miniature

Some guitars were built.

Stones were moved to modify the house. 

Metal was stretched and hammered.

Jewels shone, they were polished and displayed.

Birthdays and celebrations were enjoyed.

Spring and summer moved across the face of the land. 

We all got a bit older.

Overhead things flew by whilst familiar music played.

France featured, wine was slurped. We travel.

Evergreens surround us. 

Old sounds and memories came back to haunt.

Artwork and electronics challenged us.

A lion's stone eye looked out from a new location. 

Interstellar fruit, close up and personal. Work in progress.

Somehow seeing into the future, staying wary.

We'll create 2015, brick by brick.

Capital

Capital: Something I don't have much of.

Capital in the Twenty First Century: A book I've not (yet) read. You can never tell, spare time may become available during the Revolution of 2015. You can of course just read reviews and supporting articles or listen to gossip and so get the gist of it. Is that really how you learn things and so go onto form worthwhile opinions?

I suspect that whilst this book may well hold the (or an) answer there are many of the great, grey rich and powerful who will vigorously ignore the message and that is because the "commanding heights of the economy are dominated not just by wealth but also by inherited wealth, in which birth matters more than effort or talent". Time to buy a lottery ticket methinks.

Tis the season

Rethink your future...just what twists might be ahead?

To get home late
To be frustrated with shops, shopping and all consumer based activity of any kind.
Not to feel hungry, at all.
To wonder what day it is.
To drive here and there and get nowhere.
To be surprised by prompt delivery.
To throw out uneaten food.
To have a persistent cold and an empty head.
To be unfocused.
To have no routine.
Have people get in your way.
To think about the future and feel...afraid, well almost.
Wear comfy socks
To also wear a hat.
Get headaches.
Not watch TV.
To pay attention to the weather forecast as if it meant something new.
Pay the credit card bill.

That's about it.

2014 reflections

2014’s musical highlights?

Ali and I wrote at least one song
Various unstructured but fun garden jams.
Del Amtri, Alabama 3 at Wickerman. Missed Nick Harper though.
CSNY 1974, the longest running CD in the car CD player for 2014.
Dipping into and more frequently out of Radio 6
CBQ’s playlists - each one eclectic, alternative, surprising, disturbing and fun.
Royal Blood on Mp3
Raucous all night song covering at Bridge of Orchy ski lodge
Noodling on the finally (as opposed to finely) assembled but incomplete Smaug Strat.
Jazz scales unlearned
“Wee Country” by Tommy Mackay
The Life of Rock with Brian Pern
Fringe gigs by Norman L & co.
Elijah’s  playing of  “Let it Go”
The theme from House of Cards
Capital Models tribute / charity gig.
John Farrell's music to Ali's lyrics.

P.S. I'd like to say something good about music on (daytime and early evening) Radio Scotland but sadly I can’t – woeful.

Christmas Eve Eve

Time marches on relentlessly towards another Christmas, I'm busy with few breaks for thinking or procrastinating...quite useful really. Any way here's a titbit gleaned from the Guardian, file under Confessions of a Toy Shop Owner: 

" I’ve become a connoisseur of tantrums, from the foot-stampers to the fling-self-to-the-ground-and-scream brigade. But this time of year a different generation chucks their toys out of the pram: the parents. We have sold out of singing Elsa dolls. Yes, it’s hard to accept, but it’s true: there is nothing I can do. We sold the last one weeks ago to a collector who will keep it in its cellophane box for ever. Every year is the same. A rush for the latest craze and the inevitable broken parents who haven’t managed to secure the ultimate must-have. I have seen grown men crying, knowing they will be a disappointment to their daughter on Christmas Day. At the other end of the parenting scale are the righteous ethical consumers, who buy only wooden bricks and ant farms when their children want guns and plastic tat. Their smug expressions as they put them in their hemp totes makes me want to slip in a couple of Nerf guns and a Barbie. Their children will be in therapy for years because their hessian loom bands were rubbish. But such thoughts are counterproductive. I am the jolly toy shop owner. Ignore the beads of sweat on my upper lip. I’m a little tense because Christmas is our only chance to make enough money to keep afloat the rest of the year. So roll up, deluded parents. Buy your tots the elaborate toys when they would much rather play with the wrapping paper. Roll up, the divorced fathers, who buy too much stuff to assuage their guilt. Roll up, grandparents who are hopelessly out of touch. And roll on the new year."

I particularly like the references to divorced fathers, ethical consumers and out of touch grandparents, all sad but funny and from my own experience true.

Please wait to be seated

These fine seats (if we're doing a seat theme here) are in a Fife based  Bank of Scotland branch, not bad boys RBS by the way. They know their seats. I slept here for an hour today without causing any disturbance to anyone.

There's something wrong in the running of a cafe where you can't choose your own seat. WTF. Imagine going into a Tesco cafe only to be "seated" by the well meaning if inexperienced staff. It's a cafe pretending to be a restaurant and as such it's doomed. (This is in the new Dunfermline Tesco, a shop that is also doomed both by location, layout and staff - mark my gibberish like and disconnected words). Their sandwiches come in odd shapes with Christmas twists and mustard; overall score 5/10.

Tonight's tea; a colourful chicken stir fry. None of the fine ingredients were purchased in Tesco. Tasty.

Good Grace

Whatever you might think there is no actual requirement for anybody to post actual facts on the internet. Maybe it's best that way, then everything is quite simply unbelievable. I hope that's clear. Just trying to manage expectations.