Rust seldom sleeps

Charles Darwin might have said that everything came from sea, and it seems that everything is destined to return there, but very slowly and at it's own pace via rust and decay. This really is quite a meaningless photograph but at the time I took it I thought it meant something. Now I know better. I'm posting this as a lesson to myself, a warning and as a monument to a moment when I clearly had little to say. Sadly all a bit like the Scottish Labour Party these days.

Chain Daisy II

Photos featuring a lost chain minus any kind of daisy, an anchor in the sand and an abandoned boat moving device. Just the kind of things I like, there, scattered across the world and awaiting either rescue, discovery or continued indifference. We all know that feeling well enough.

Winter is coming

So Longannet is going to close in March next year, well that's a perfect, visionary piece of work that will bring this proud, short sighted and daft nation to it's knees come the day. God, the ghost of Nikola Tesla and the Great Pumpkin please help us all and save us from the renewable and sustainable watery green madness that provides nothing in the way of a backstop. Best ditch all those funky new power hungry devices now and invest in a Honda generator, a can of Shell unleaded and a few tons of logs. Winter is coming.

These fine plastic glasses (?) were in good order until they had an encounter with the dishwasher which seems to have done them little good other than making them clean and oddly photogenic.

Meanwhile out in the garden we have at least 87 apples growing on three trees of various sizes. Strangely they are all apple trees. I'd like to offer a special seasonal thanks to the world's remaining bees who've done a stalwart job in buzzing about and fertilising or pollinating or whatever it is they do all day. I've no idea where they disappear to every evening or when the weather is bad but wherever they are I'm a fan. I'm sure there are lots of things we could learn from bees but they never stop for a blether as, a bit like cats, they are wisely untrusting of the clumsy and dim humans who get in their way and who strike out at them for no good reason.

Upturned boats

Upturned boats: For various complicated social reasons and lack of height due to inter-breeding and the Vikings being a bit angry at times all sorts of things have happened. So the people of the Farne Islands have resorted to living in upturned boats that they've clearly stolen from fishermen and pulled heroically up the beach well past the high water mark. These robust dwellings are rough from a design point of view but are well fitted out inside and surprisingly comfortable. Don't take my word for it, just try spending a quiet night there some time. Elsewhere in the drowned village there has been a serious outbreak of tourists, all pointing and wearing sunglasses. Apparently some have even travelled all the way from England to be here. The pubs remain open all day as a mark of respect to the Roman Catholic church and the memory of St Adrian the founder of the Mead Society and the pastime known as "prayer walking". There is also a shop full of tat and a local distillery. Some people even bought books. That was about all that we saw on our day out and it ended without event.

Emptying the dishwasher: Always best to do this when it is warm and asleep and you are not suffering from the complaint known as "stupid fecking butter fingers", I know that I am not at present - and always take care to wipe out the badly shaped hole where the pellet of dish washing and tranquilising compound is inserted. Never suck the dry pellet. Any dampness will seriously affect future performance I am told. When it comes to programmes pot luck is recommended.

Carrots: Carrots are an alien species that are related to the octopus in terms of DNA, nationality and colour. Both can be grown under glass apparently. Take care when chopping them up so that the tentacles and vegetable slices will look neat when placed within a pot of boiling minced beef and Bisto. Beware of the ink as it might carry a nasty message. If in doubt stand well back and pour yourself another glass of red wine. Tomorrow I'll be eating lukewarm potatoes.

Tank traps

My life in cars: viewed from a car window on the approach to Lindisfarne. Tank traps from WW2 that now form an immovable boundary to the coastal path.

Goats and chickens

As if in answer to that eternal question and conundrum over separating sheep from goats and chickens from tadpoles this Fife based device has been invented and launched with a small but audible fanfare. The goats seem happy enough, bereft of sheep and the chickens, apart from the occasional melancholy moan seem almost happy. Who knows quite what fate awaits them? We tried it out for ourselves using a simple mixture of ginger cakes and Haribos as bait, the results being patchy but in some respects promising. The trials are unlikely to continue mainly thanks to lack of funding and other vague holiday plans.

Coast

We live on the coast but we are not faster than most and we occasionally eat toast. So today as it's August it's time to buy the stock of logs for winter and the deep cold which could break out any day now. So I did, I bought too many for the log store. I also bought a box of doughnuts but they were not part of any long term plan, in fact they were part of a chaotic type of plan, one that seems to deny me fresh fruit and gives me only sugar. It's the unnecessary indiscipline that sets in all too quickly when the daily structure of the working day is gone for whatever reason. Normal, healthy service will shortly be resumed. 

Fringe 2015

First outing to the Fringe in glorious Edinburgh, a kids show in the Pleasance Igloo. Quite funny actually, both the act (Jay Foreman) and the audience. As you'd expect kids and modern parents. Sometimes I despair, then I laugh to myself. One Californian father of two sat chewing the same piece of gum for an hour, unmoved by the experience. Elsewhere confused kids kicked off as if they didn't know how to behave once trapped in a dark venue. There was breast feeding, face paints that were running and numerous tantrums. Some real beauties. Some kids shouted out things, so I joined in. As a grandparent I took it all in, enjoyed the stupid answers to clever questions and wondered for a while quite what sort of people, apart from us, come here. Crowds of baffled tourists, pretentious twats, locals avoiding things, the bewildered souls seeking culture hits and vendors. The vendors are the best, all new to the job and a little confused so getting served takes both time and long periods of eye contact tennis. A skill I've not quite developed. Then once you get your overpriced and slightly disappointing stuff they can't work out the change. Oh how we laughed and soaked up the cheery if a little contrived and highly sponsored atmosphere, but the sun did shine briefly.

Snog, Marry, Avoid?

Ok, I'm not going to be cruel here but sometimes I do wonder about things and how they ever came to be the way they are...

I love the smell of pop tarts and Calor Gas in the morning but there's none of that at today's International Balloon Festival in Bristol. I won't make it this year but I wish them all well. There calm weather and bright sunshine prevail. Eighty seven balloons will be in the air, maybe even more. Bobbing and drifting in the pale blue skies, at the mercy of the elements who today choose to be calm and benign, easy and supportive. They said that there would be days like these but they don't arrive very often. Some craft are like minions, penguins or giant advertising hoardings, almost free publicity that only your fellow free air traveller can appreciate. Free like a bird, serene and dreamlike, easy enough till the part where landing and recovery has to happen. So said the man with the broken arm, a balloon pilot and event organiser by profession. I wonder how he broke his arm? Meanwhile everybody wants to blame somebody else for the weather. I don't know why. There are no seasons anymore.

The last time I ballooned.

Somewhere else in the woods

Corpse in the woods

So if some random granddad, like me, is taking his grandsons camping in the woods, what advice should you give them about what to do should the old man somehow expire/pass away/ breathe his last etc. during the trip?

a) Phone granny.
b) Phone the police.
c) Maybe find granddad's phone first.
d) Call for help.
e) Don't do anything and don't touch the fire.
f) Check his wallet (steal money?).
g) Go back to sleep everything is better in the morning.
h) Pretend it's all a dream.
i) Phone your dad.
j) Any adults about? Can you trust them?
k) Steal the car.
l) Eat all the sweets or roast some marshmallows.
m) Consider how this might look on trip advisor.
n) Run screaming into the woods.
o) Administer whisky, that'll fix him.

OK, no too many good ideas there other than avoiding an untimely and solitary death if I possibly can.

Pocketful of clouds

Well I did have a pocketful of clouds once when, as a teenager, I set my trousers on fire thanks to the careless use of matches but that's another story for another day. These are some random clouds that I encountered on the road near Stirling and there's nothing remarkable about them apart from the fact that they can float above the earth and hold significant amounts of water vapour. These clouds are light, fluffy and happy; one imagines. It's those dark and angry ones you need to look out for. Goodnight!

Open Reel

“I had a friend once. He had an old open reel tape recorder. He'd often leave it running in the room, say during parties, just recording those conversations. All that party talk, hours of it, music playing in the background, doors opening and closing, glasses clinking, recorded. Perhaps someone would shout or sing, voices would be raised. Maybe some drunk person would stand too close to the mike, whispering or talking low, speaking out some dark secret or sharing an unpopular opinion. Then get a reply from another close by. Then there would be the loud joke where the whole place would stop and listen and then erupt no matter how rubbish the joke was. People would get off together sometimes, I suppose you'd hear all that. Occasionally somebody would see the mike, grab it and just jabber into it or do beat box stuff, lick it or put it in their mouth. People didn't get angry or upset about it, it was part of the fun and as the party progressed most everybody would just forget about it. That's what happens. But it kept on running. He had long slow tapes, big spools, I think so because I never did see them being changed. There were hours of recordings of everybody who ever came into the house but it was hard to tell the voices apart but I think he could. He said to me he had an ear and I guess I must have agreed. He did have an ear. He said that it was just like taking photographs. I'm still not sure what he got from holding all those parties, there were a lot of them most weekends and I'm still not sure what he did with all of those recordings. They must be there somewhere, in boxes, all those parties, recorded and in boxes. Funny. Sometimes people do things for no reason. Then again I was going to wash the car today but it rained so I stayed indoors, daydreamed and wasted time instead and eventually wrote this”.

Lost Cosmos

Never mind the bollox, the economics, the scaremongering or the alleged threats of awful things that might somehow ruin a long lost middle England that doesn't even exist. Never mind the polls and the statistics and the prophets of doom. Let's for once try to be a country that actually shows some compassion and concern for our fellow humans and doesn't disguise it in back-handed and uncontrolled foreign aid that buys who knows what. Let's give the stateless people and some modern version of peace a chance. Some Karma points for the UK at last maybe and we can stop labelling people as migrants in that horrible sub-human way that has become the norm.

Enough

I'm fed up with stateless people trying to find a new life being hounded by police and politicians and called "migrants" as if they were the scum of the earth. Most I've heard being interviewed a) speak decent English b) are articulate and c) are highly motivated and keen to come to Britain. Some may be criminals or spongers, some may end up in jail or the House of Lords but that's true of most people here, none of whom had to run the gauntlet across Asia and Europe to get here. These are real people who need help not persecution and it is a crying shame that neither the British or French governments can see that as they bend to the invisible will of right wing media and prejudiced opinion. More here...or here.

Cecil's last photo

Maybe it's the cats in the house that do it but I've been affected a little by the Cecil the lion story. Sadly it serves to remind that there are some incredibly stupid and bad bastards in the world who clearly have more money than sense and no real concept of anything other than serving their own perverted appetites. Maybe the right place for them is in the House of Lords or the KKK where at least they'd be labeled clearly and we could avoid them all. Maybe that's just how things are and (as I've said a few times) there is no point in campaigning or fighting and resistance is futile because at the end of everything we're hell bent on wrecking the world by mindlessly consuming everything in it - but hopefully not completely in my lifetime. On a brighter note an army of robotic synths may well arise and just put all these jerks out of their misery in a completely unfair but justified fight that wipes out humanity. Thank you technology for what we are about to receive.

Tuesday already

So dear diary, here we are at the end of another day where the dream of tomorrow and the reality of today meet in an uneasy meat sandwich of potential veganism and Mocha coffee. I'll pay no attention to those stray thoughts and just mump on about the weather, internally and stare over the acres of Wickerman dirty laundry that has fallen upon us from outer space via muddy field. Already I'm missing those great green, dung covered landscapes, the fags and beer, the endless junk food and questionable coffee, the sound checks and that deep, almost abstracted bass tone that rises up through the ground and robs you of sleep and sanity to the point where you just want a tea, a wee and a bacon roll. Sadly next year I plan to be elsewhere.

Post Wickerman Post

Here every year but who knows what it does?

Green panorama. 

Main stage, dull day.

Wickerbeast from far away.

John Cooper Clark in the distance. 

Lulu Q&A session.

The burning.

Well another year and another Wickerman. The weather almost kept itself together apart from biting occasional cold spells and the music was the usual daft mix of everything you'd expect. Lots of people were there in silly get ups. Downsides; not enough craft beer, beer prices and beer timekeeping. Upsides; nose sunburn, two out of three hot showers  and aimlessly wandering for 48 hours or so.

Later sometime

This will be edited, some time later, when I get around to it, to make the change or changes required. This will certainly be edited.

Economics of Mars Bars

Take a normal sized (?) Mars Bar, douse it in batter and deep fry it in bubbling, yellow deep fat for about five minutes, then sell it to tourists for £1.50 as a Scottish delicacy. Then tell everybody you invented it and that it was William Wallace's favourite treat anytime he was passing through Stonehaven in his Hillman Imp.  Tourists will flock in wide eyed and slavering, the world will beat a path to your doorstep and the locals will wonder what all the fuss about whilst whispering "we  never eat any of that shite  round here". Then along comes Aberdeen Council or somebody and they want to demolish your shop in the name of healthy eating and put the catering staff into stocks on the village green...aye, that sounds about right to me.