Stop Working

Everybody STFU. Here in the UK we're isolated in the nether regions of a popular and possibly corrupt graph. The UK is going it alone, like some mad and erratic asteroid headed for outer reaches of the solar system. We wave goodbye to the cruel outside world safe in the knowledge that our economy is somehow growing whilst our workers are paid less. I doubt that this is healthy or sustainable but then again that's probably the no nonsense British way.  So workers, just stop, what's the point? All you're doing is digging a bigger hole for yourselves whilst propping up an unfair regime, same as it ever was. 

Band Pics and Lark's Tongues

 From last night's CD launch in Edinburgh's Voodoo Rooms, Norman Lamont and the Heaven Sent. Very Good.

You might well say that I have god awful taste in music and you might well be right. Many people are celebrating the 45th anniversary of the release of King Crimson's Lark's Tongues in Aspic. To be honest it's not really my cup of biscuits (and I am re-listening to it now just to confirm my loosely assembled and possibly unpopular opinions) but I quite like the art work. I might try again on the 50th anniversary but at the moment  it's still sounding just a bit like a few people trying to be too clever.

Somebody lives here

Interesting looking residence, up at the top of a hill.

Public transport is one of my new things, well buses and travelling on them are. Turns out they are interconnected. You can step off one and almost straight onto another and just journey on. During the step off part you can pop into any handy hospital, buy a Costa style coffee and just chill out a bit, then move on. Eventually you will arrive somewhere and then all you do is walk for about mile and you're home. If you're over 60 in the principality of Scotland you can experience all this for nothing. Quite pleasant really. I'm sure Iggy Pop could write a decent and rather raucous song about this if he had to.

Tomorrow Night

These folks are launching their album tomorrow night at the Voodoo Rooms in Edinburgh (where voodoo may be practiced occasionally). They are Norman Lamont and the Heaven Sent. The album is called "End of Tears". I'm looking forward to it and I'm particularly excited about hearing the enormous piano that they have.

Essentials done

Without any filters other than the Springtime sunlight.

With filters added without me asking, done by the kindly little Google robots that live and work quietly in my laptop.

So I found a tiny clump of purple flowers in the middle of nowhere, they've been Googled hi-jacked much like everything else. Now that Spring is here you can go for a wee wander once all the essentials of the day are done and dusted. Far away from the world of Cambridge Analytic's truth perversions and the Brexit tangles and traumas. No news, no rattling speakers or flashes from the archives, just a strange and enjoyable warmth. A soft kind of glow even. Nobody seems irate about anything, birds sing, other's hum if they don't know the words, it can be this simple or even that simple. On the old pier (below) as strange and unworldly pile of seaweed has washed up blocking the way, that's an odd phenomenon. Must be the time of year.

The Book of Gibberish

First few entries:

That moment when the golden cube of golden brown cane sugar slowly sinks below the surface of your eagerly anticipated flat white. Gone forever into a milky morass from which it can never return. Then you sip it until you're forced to gulp the final few centimeters. Normally I don't bother with sugar either. Those are badly constructed sentences: some easy examples. I could go on.

I was out walking and noticed this: It seems that the more watery parts of the River Tay have disappeared and been replaced with sand or some similar material. A seasonal blip I presume.

I write this from a safe place set behind the flood defence systems. More tomorrow.

Headed for the Highlands

I'm just not ready for heading to the highlands, another easy way out and into the wilderness yet. There's no escaping local history and the five to fifteen minutes of fame and notoriety that it may generate. Today though, as the irregular March weather coats the paths by the steps from the door with unwelcome snow, what are we to think? Stay cozy.

Overhead crane pulley

1917 was a great year for overhead crane pulleys as I'm sure you know. Powered by human muscle using chains or ropes, these iron gantries allowed heavy items to be moved around in stores and workshops before decent electrical motors and reliable hydraulics were developed. I stumbled on this obviously removed and restored piece standing outside in the boatyard in South Queensferry. Most likely an ex-MoD machine rescued from the remains of the old Naval Yard that closed down in the late seventies. With a SWL of only 2 tons and a test load of 3 it's not exactly a heavy metal beast but it's nice to see it remaining in good condition. The question is where on earth and in what building and with what supports would it ever be set up and run?

Power flowers

My intention was to write a long reflective piece about "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac following on from a chance remark I picked up at a dinner party (?) a few weeks ago. Then there was some kind of review or non-spoiler alert for Ed Byrne's "Spoiler Alert" tour that we saw and laughed a lot at last night. Then there was a piece on the Russians and some kind of return to the sixties whereby subterfuge and spy killings all seemed quite normal. That's three ideas and none of them are about food, the weather or my advancing years and how best to spend them. I thought they were all OK(ish). Anyway then I decided to head out into the rain and leave these on the shelf and just go with some flowery pics.

Eight hungry pheasants

A procession of pheasants. I've been up in Aberdeen for a couple of nights so the regular bird feeding routine has been broken. I came home, opened up the garage door to put away some trash and these guys turned up, hungry it would appear. Nice to be missed I guess.

Artificial Incompetence

You just can't afford to drop your concentration at any time, stare at the screen and quietly ruminate. Well I did burn my tongue slightly on an over heated steak pie. The burn and the overheated inner pie parts being my own fault. I was distracted but I saw the steam. A lack of self discipline whilst under pressure. It was planned to be a quick lunch in the middle of some regular Ebay activity. A moment of calm amid the hustle and bustle that sellers, buyers, bidders and watchers create in the final moments of cataclysmic or non-existent sales, yes there are only the two kinds. I may even have scalded a little bit of lip on some hot coffee at the same time, such are the routine but largely undocumented dangers of the careless side of internet auctions. I should add that it's all about selling these days, nothing out there worth buying.

Iron Giant

Here's an iron giant we recently met, it's not actually made wholly of iron but incorporates lots of other interesting materials that are a similar kind of thing. I'm saying "it" as the giant's gender isn't clear to me, please don't take offence. Maybe it's not all that important.

Imaginary cat

Here's an imaginary cat that I actually saw lurking in the foyer of the local Tesco store eyeing up the customers and staying warm and comfortable on a pile of bargain Astro Turf. Every supermarket should have a cat or two on the premises, a bit like the feral cats of Disneyland or No.10 Downing Street. A cat presence keeps things in order and brings a sense of calm to otherwise awkward public spaces. Just ask any Buddhist. 

Lost Aeroplanes

I think that it was the Lockheed Electra that I really liked. It just looked like proper aeroplane. It was up there with the Ford Tri-Motor and the Fokker Tri-Motor in terms of design (minus an engine) and some other odd engineering quirks I liked. There's a timelessness there I wish had been just suspended so they might fly and work on today but with updated equipment. Imagine those classics regularly flying about instead of looking like curious engineering markers that are as lost in history as hot rivets, radio valves and full cream milk (forget the cancers and infections for the time being). Planes had deadly and short lives as a rule, you fall out of the sky once and that's pretty much it, hence the ghosts and the turmoil. Aviation of course enjoyed constant development... engines, streamlining, reliability, security and safety, that's all important.  A world where development stops at some key point might be pretty interesting and artistically attractive but a bit dangerous but we might also get proper golden eggs and creamy milk back. Then there was the Joni Mitchell song, all sadness and blue skies and steel guitars:

 "747s over geometric farms, I tell Amelia, it was just a false alarm. A ghost of aviation, she was swallowed by the sky or by the sea..." 

I listened to that a thousand times, cricking my neck up to see the imagined jet trails leaving their sad, passing autographs on the bright blue paper thin universe of broken flight plans. Turns out Amelia Earhart was swallowed by the beach, that's if the bones are telling a true story. Experts have subjected them to rigorous testing says a headline today. Another lost aeroplane that didn't make it. Another historical footnote. Being famous for aviation achievements but being even more famous for being lost is a strange legacy to leave. Then there's all the other others, the non-celebrities, pilots, crew and passengers who just fell to earth and vanished into nowhere. Somebody somewhere is still searching for someone. We like a good mystery. 

These are not the problems

Fixed.

Business is tough. Life is tough. Well not really, all my problems are first world and to a large extent self inflicted or self imposed and some of them are not even problems i.e. keeping myself amused to death, frittering and meandering . Frittering doesn't involve any golden, deep fried foodstuffs. It's more about behaving like some poorly disciplined butterfly zig-zagging across their garden universe picking things up and then putting them down. Finding faults, fixing faults, then deciding that the fault was better than the fix and then not being sure. Earlier in the week all was good, there was a mountain of snow, roads were blocked, stout 4x4s were confounded and shovels and sweat were the order of the day. 

Then came the thaw and the farmer's tractor and the great cloud of noodling descended like a Russian nerve-agent, numbing brains and slowing down movements. Aerobic challenges are a bother in the cold weather so I fell back on or into guitar twiddling, testing the dexterity of fingers like pork sausages and hot soldering irons melting trial and error electronics. That's a frustrating afternoon for anybody, slow and messy, leading to one reasonable success and one static state stuck in the equilibrium of getting nowhere in particular, apart from becoming heavier with solder. Hmm, tomorrow I might try baking or rearranging the bird feeders.

Not fixed.

Fife Oyster

Yesterday it was 80% milky coffee (and that's still a current theme in refreshments), today it's the fateful return of the much misunderstood Fifeshire Oyster; a local delicacy. Excuse the blurry image, I'm suffering from blurry eyes today and the early onset of early onset Easter Egg withdrawal. A kind of seasonal condition unrecognized by the medical profession. So now that the snow has gone it's as if a gloomy burden has lifted. Phew! Well that feeling lasted all of five minutes before the familiar leaden weight of existential angst returned with it's good buddy languid procrastination. 

To reverse this unfortunate behavioural  trend a fresh dietary boost was required to kick start the ailing system. This is best achieved by using the random shopping method known as "dipping into the whatever's scattered about in the Tesco reduced/end of use buy date corner of the universe". Today, in a glorious coincidence it was none other than a selection of unpurchased and unloved pies and pasties that lay in wait like sad orphans after a rainy picnic. As a result the daily menu with all it's plodding conformity was scratched and today's speciality turned out to be the oyster piece pictured above. 

Sadly it didn't work. Metabolism and mind remain disconnected, despite the fact that they claim otherwise.

Milky Coffee

Now that the Scotland wide shortage of milk and break has ended, possibly before it ever begun I'm using up the surplus. This is despite my disciplined non-participation in any panic buying hysteria whatsoever. I'll leave that to the townies. You can't panic buy when you cant get anywhere to shop. Anyway milky coffee hits the soothing spot sweetly. That illusive spot needs hitting following on from a couple of days shoveling snow (well not continuous tough shoveling, just spells or feeble shoveling) in the hope of snow clearing the blocked up road out of here. I've a few aches and pains but also an unusually  smug feeling of achievement at having tried to something rather than sit and do nothing. Of course the problem was solved properly when the farmer arrived with his heavy machinery. Now to deal with the muddy brown flood water from the field drains.

My first reading is not always accurate

I do misread things quite often, I go too fast, I make assumptions. I fill in the gaps, those that my speed has created (or is it my lack of care?). Lazily I skip words and passages. I often do this with hilarious or catastrophic results, none of which I can recall at the moment. I have a sort of vague memory or recollection that something like that may have happened a few times but I can't be precise. So today is eBay day. I have carefully choreographed my life as a seller so that auctions end on a Monday or a Sunday or maybe a Tuesday, if I'm forgetful over creating listings and sales dates. It was part of my early strategy, perhaps less so now. 

Lack of attention brings chaos to your life and unintended comedy and frustration. Perhaps I need to be more consistent, like knowing the correct time to tweet to maximize your audience, the best times to visit supermarkets for a) bargains and b) less queues at tills, the golden moments in which to speak your mind safely or remain silent and stunted. They are out there, for some as clear as burning beacons  but for others indistinct and hard to read and if you read them too quickly you might well... 

The snow is slowly slipping from our media consciousness, except around here. New news happens a lot. There's still snow blocking our favoured exits, entrances and the pathways ahead. Like a great white metaphor discouraging eBay selling because the trip to the Post Office as well as the timing of that trip are going to be tough to get right and legions of faithful buyers may be disappointed and so go on to generate negative feedback I might well read too quickly.

Day 4 "in the Arctic"

Midwinter in the Spring of the dark soul: Under the snow lies the road that leads to what we imagine to be civilisation. Unfortunately the snow is over 6' deep and stubborn. The road is not useful right now and civilisation may be a cruel and unforgiving space. Our memories grow dim. We're so far from the beaten track that we are already beaten and there is no immediate hope of escape. Having said that there is a curious kind of freedom in this type of enforced but not truly total incarceration. Supplies are holding up, there's been a minor outbreak of community spirit and best of all there's a kind of "no obligations" situation here and there...at least till Sunday. It's as if time has stopped, it's there running in the background but for us marooned in this cols and glowing wilderness times and timing don't really matter. Eat when hungry, sleep when tired, have a shower when you start to scratch and shovel your quota of snow from a) to b) and then back again. Then some more snow falls and bang...you now understand the 19th Century Yukon way of life and the survival mindset a little better.

Having a bad day?

Day three of shitty conditions: The weather is everywhere and has become an annoying distraction that's getting in the way of doing anything remotely reasonable. For one thing people seem to have given up driving and are now walking long distances across snowy terrain and then eventually talking to other people (about the weather it has to be said) in clipped and complaining tones. Once this ritual is over they ransack the local shop and go home to their couches to eat pots of weedy olives, creme freche and macaroon cookies that are just a few months beyond their sell by date. It's not really how I imagined the last days to be. We just peacefully settle for what we can find, no looting or hanging baddies from lamp posts here, third rate snacks and left on the shelf cheeses will do fine.

Society is slowly unraveling. You can hear it, packet tearing  by ring pull crack to the accompaniment of a Jordan Peterson commentary as we pop cans of Pringles and suck on cheesy straws. Theresa May speaks but it's little more than oral wallpaper, the BBC present the stewed news to a dumb audience, meanwhile the hip guys on social media are zipping around in 4x4s rescuing badly weathered victims like white knights as the traffic policing  establishment look on bemused. There's a new order out there emerging from the snow drifts, they're the people that don't respect the old order, so you better get out of their way.  So if you're having a bad day it's because you're using the wrong approach. Try operating in the underground.