It's going to be alright

Yesterday's fractional rainbow, seen over the River Forth, round about tea time.

Legend has it that Noah invented the rainbow after the ark collided with a party of unicorns on spring break near the summit of Mount Everest. The rainbow was a supernatural sign of that always difficult to thrash out covenant agreed between men, angels and mythical beasts that never again would the world be destroyed by factional arguments, Twitter posts and excessive bouts of mindless shopping. And so it was and men and women walked the earth, generally living in peace apart from a number of unspeakable acts being committed by maniacs that we must never speak of and various plagues that came and went. 

All that has led us to the present day where we live our tiny lives (almost) alone and dream at night of social interaction, sitting in cafes and walking the streets without feeling guilty as if you were some sort of sex pest or something. The fleeting pleasures of these lost subconscious moments are all that's left to us. Our ancient past calls to us across the void as in the lyrics of some 60s acid-rock song and we respond like sleeping nymphs waking up in the land of flowing Ambrosia but ultimately finding ourselves eating furry strawberries from a dustbin.

This is progress and will one day be seen as the start of some bizarre dystopian or anti-utopian age that will be short lived but act as the inspiration for memes and comic skits for years to come, or so I hope. Fortunes will be made and lost and swimming pools will overflow with Champagne as we learn hard lessons and then actually overthrow our religious and ideological oppressors.  In other words I'm looking forward to this being over and done with.

Drone footage placement

From drone footage of the actual garden installation after the bulk of the work had been completed.

Lockdown lowdown: Things have gotten so bad I've been painting garden furniture and then standing back to attempt a balanced but still realistic critical appraisal of the work and how in has now placed itself in the forefront of contemporary Scottish Outside Urban Art. This is just my humble opinion of course but it has lifted my mood so I feel justified. I do like to shake up the world of art now and again. My recent "Buckets of imaginary fire" period being a good example.

I was considering giving this piece and the new genre it sits within proper French names so as to up the gravitas but frankly I didn't know how to do that because not only is my French limited so is my artistic vocabulary. I'm pretty stunted as a human being despite being average height. I was crushed early in life when I realised I could not make a proper or respectable living from the one major skill I had honed to perfection: being ambidextrous.

Tomorrow I'm doing another outside  action piece entitled "Tribute to Jackson Pollock at a domestic car washing event". It may involve improvised dance moves as I intend to stretch some physical boundaries with the shampoo bottle. You would be welcome to attend but I fear social distancing might involve actual distancing measures and a compromised experience. Thank you. Donations are welcome via PayPal.

Digital Disclaimer.

Somewhere, sometime, out there along life's rich and golden path I just swerved by the milestone that measures up and registers 4000 blog posts. Of course I wasn't aware of this. All that verbal nonsense and bodged photography has passed by at speed like some forlorn, blinking and incoherent motorway warning sign. I simply wasn't paying attention and neither was anybody else - but that hardly matters. 

Perhaps there was no actual milestone, just some feeble little counter clicking over quietly in a dark corner, far outside of my peripheral vision and grasp. Obviously in awareness of these things: measures and managing, I remain a careless and untrustworthy driver. Passengers and others take note: enter and travel at your own foolish risk, don't expect direction or a sensible commentary. I am clearly headed for the searing judgement of a populist inspired hell (and stopping and feasting via all it's attractions on the way) in some kind of out of control and primitive handcart. At least I'm enjoying the ride*.

*Another regular, less masked than usual Grateful Dead reference. Funny how these feelings come and go.

Please use other box

Every time I read this notice I read "Please use the other box". I can't quite understand why the person who made the sign missed out the THE. And how long before the slowing emerging water stain obliterates the message? That sounds rather profound, maybe even prophetic. 

Other than that it's a kind of "clocks have changed, not all are feeling 100%, conflicted about going out, sunny but chilly, getting fed up with all this, can't really trust much in the news these days" kind of a day. However all things must pass, I remain confident in this.

Excessive Screen Time Sickness

My brave, new syndrome is really just an old chestnut of ongoing and disturbing human behaviour, "square eyes" as your father may have called them when you were secretly oggling Jenny Hanley on ITV's Magpie during children's hour. Now it's morphed into the serial distortion of my home page's Duck Duck Go screen in the customary triple pack of cheap graphics. DDG is a fairly reliable and advertisement free browsing enterprise I'd recommend to one and all unless you're keen to die on the hill that is Google. In the end the fear of Corona Virus may well consume us all but we can still thwart the nasty biological and targeted algorithms as we go down in a plume of blue electrical smoke. Even in the deepening crisis, freedom from unwanted and strangely targeted ads is now our only clear goal. This is of course the obvious result of a little too much screen time and too little actual creative thought whilst safe at home.

100 Steps to Wellness

Here they are. Try to use them everyday, let using them speed up your metabolism, break sweat, lubricate joints and so keep yourself well in these troubled times.

Cats on Acid

Self explanatory really, the clue is in the title. Things cat's get up to when you're not around...and cat's don't give a fuck.

Strudel Challenge

I already know that this isn't going to work out well, or at the very least be "correct". Strudel made with a mash up of ingredients which in effect might disqualify it from being described as strudel by anybody who knows about these things. This is the uncooked "strudel" about to be fired up at gas mark mystery in the often unpredictable oven.

After one beer and half a bottle of wine this is how it emerged from the oven. I was reasonably pleased with the outcome albeit the cooking seemed a tad uneven. For some reason I expected it to swell up like some mutant football and possibly explode. That didn't happen.

Serving Suggestion: Cleaned up and in a dish. Turns out it was OK served hot with cream and custard, the pastry was a bit chewy in places, pears and fruit are a little bland but I'd give it a 6/10. As it 's quite large we only ate about a third before watching an episode of Sex Education lazily on the couch. I just ate a microwaved piece for breakfast this morning. It may be with us for a while in some form or other.

Goggles View

London, March 24th 2020. Viewed through night vision Corona Goggles the British Army takes to the deserted streets ready for some proper Zombie action. 

Ladies and gentlemen, it's even worse than it appears, after four or maybe five days of reasonable amounts of sunshine there's rain forecast for today, sometime. Just as I was about to mix up the cement and do a spot of world class cementing atop a fairly safe ladder following up a mental list* of house repairs I've cobbled together from unreliable research based on a dream I once had. Nothing too risky in these troubled times just stuffing cement into holes to keep out unwelcome water, evil spirits and even more unwelcome viruses.

P.S. The rain song (in the form of a secret and esoteric anti-rain tribal chant from Columbia) worked and the rain stayed away, the sun even appeared for our al fresco lunchtime soup.

*That vague but irritating list of jobs that are not critical but that you tend to encounter (always at a bad time) by chance when stopping and staring or brushing your teeth, on the loo, sitting on the couch and spotting something amiss, stepping on a loose slab, a creaky floorboard, a noisy hinge or a dodgy switch, a rotating cold water tap. They are out there, like the truth, waiting to be ignored or avoided.

3 x Zuzana Čaputová

3 x Zuzana Čaputová   - President of Slovakia. Here she's seen out and about sporting a rather stylish face mask and outfit combo. Now simply point to Slovakia on any handy coffee table map or atlas that might be close by...

P.S I'm not saying that Slovakia isn't a significant country or that there's anything negative or strange about it, I just lack any kind of mental picture/clarity as to where it might be in the wider areas of Europe. Doh! (Victim of patchy Scottish Education system diluted and ruined by our colonial overlords down South).

How we feel

When you're in an audience of one.

"Well, I'm up in T.O. keepin' jive alive

And out on the corner, it's half past five

But the subways are empty

And so are the cafes

Except for the Farmer's Market

And I still can hear him say

You're all just pissin' in the wind

You don't know it but you are

And there ain't nothin' like a friend

Who can tell you, you're just pissin' in the wind".

For no particular reason but repeated here: part of the lyric of "Ambulance Blues" from Neil Young's 1974 album, On the Beach.

I recall being disappointed by this record at the time of it's release, not enough clever, catchy songs or angry guitar work. Too subdued and almost painfully wistful and political, but I always liked this lyrical segment though I wasn't sure why. Farmers Markets were not a thing in Scotland, we just had the Co-op, pissin' into the wind however was fairly common.

At that time I was clearly unable to understand or appreciate that my heroes might, now and then go and produce something more nuanced or jarring just for the hell of it. I didn't realise that the career trajectory of musicians couldn't be forever rising upwards in terms of pleasing me and appealing to my "judgement". Now I know that there's a longer game going on, it's called life. There's no real need to hurry and it's better to say what you have to say in your own way than trying to please an audience or worse trying to pander to the critical acclaim of the media. Having said that you might also want to earn a living, only a few can make that call. As for pissin' in the wind? No change.

I used to look at this cover and think "those dumb boots just don't look right there". They could hardly look right on the left of the frame.

Corona & Coffee

Today is a "venture out to the supermarket, shop sensibly and eat even more sensibly kind of day" (hence the lunch time beer). Suddenly fresh peppers, salad, beetroot, turnip, carrot, potato, parsnip, strawberries, blueberries, banana, apple and avocado are back on the menu. It's almost like we're being sensible, living a new and colourful life under the shadow of the axe (oops, too colourful wording there). Also slowing the pace, easing the metabolism, thinking straight as opposed to crooked thoughts, wiping and washing, keeping a safe distance and humouring overly sociable cats. 

Home thoughts from...

... a broad if fairly distorted view of the world. In a catering experiment I dug out the ancient coffee machine, truly a device of no fixed abode or clear purpose. I had stylized and unrealistic memories of using it before the present "C" era, probably about 18 years ago. It was of course full of gunk and needed de-coked like some old engine. It could be that back in the day I was ahead of the curve with this appliance, now it seems like a curious antique. It did work eventually after I figured out how to use it and get it heated up. The coffee was small in quantity but reasonable in quality. The time taken was of course excessive but in these troubled days what's the actual hurry anyway? Strangely the photo I took of the coffee pot appears almost filtered to look like a painting, it's not actually.

Over the week the cats have suffered timely health checks and minor surgeries at the local vets. In an unplanned sequence of events we managed to get various health issues and minor procedures done before the actual lock down descends and who knows what happens, so at least they are OK if slightly baffled by our nervous comings and goings.

Shades of a blue desolation

"The lone seagull, marooned in a man's place, that fragile kingdom, sometime wild, now sanitised and quiet.  Once they gathered together and served human food here. Cooked and coloured. Upright and sitting down, indulging in conversation. Trays of drinks and chatter. Human behavior observed. Sociable and restrained. There were crumbs and tasty tit-bits but he never was a crowd pleaser, that damned Mr Seagull. Makes people angry, gets in the way of the scone traffic. Disturbing the peace. Flapping in a shallow sky, wings frighten the kids. Batted at with folded up copies of the Daily Mail or the Sun. At least that stopped the hungry hordes from reading the inky poison for few minutes. 

Shits on the saucer. Afternoon tea and tribulation. Now they've all gone, maybe it's the season's end, maybe it's the world's end, we don't tell time around here anymore. No need. We just enjoy the vacant space you left, you left this space to isolate, so you say, minus the food and I return to wilder ways."
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"Rats look up at the empty selves. Plastic boxes, stripped clean, cores and skins, even the rotting exhibit's remains were removed. There was a feeding frenzy. There was a blind panic nobody saw coming. No sense applied, no rational thought, just the herd hearing about the herd's benefits and a promise of immunity in the safety of the herd, just as long as they didn't behave like a herd. You cant trust a human. They foam at the mouth.

You have to read the signs. Turns out the rats had common sense, played a long game, waiting the allotted 28 days, went hungry, gnawed on insulation, chewed the rubber, until it all paid off. Just wait in the darkness, nothing lasts forever. There was a feast, there was flesh, there was protein and nourishment, the attraction of the fresh aroma of death."

Three Stages

Stage 1.

Stage 2.

Stage 3.

The Abstract Bicycle Thieves

As cabin fever strikes and cutting the grass seems like an exciting activity yesterday's illicit bicycle ride fades into some deeper memory like a rounded and smooth granite pebble sinking down through the green and orange lily pads into the dark depths of a eerie pond in a Japanese garden somewhere out there on the windblown edges of the world hardly making a ripple as it plops into the beyond. Hmm.

Bike ride

In clear contravention of whatever orders are being issued by our lords and masters I ventured out for a bicycle ride today, I used a private machine and not the reasonably priced but ugly Just Eat cyber-bikes lying unused across the road. Along the way I encountered a few more furtive, fellow human beings, all trying to act normally in the spring sunshine without looking guilty for being out in the fresh air. There is disease, there is despair and stupid things are happening but there is also hope and some reasonable and enjoyable weather, for the time of year anyway.

My shadow and the bike's, when the sun shines on us we're a highly distorted and damaged pair it seems.

Spring

Good news: Whatever else is cancelled Spring isn't, and it's happening right here, around about now, just outside the window. If only we felt free enough to go out and enjoy it.😈

Wet meat diaries

We've been hearing a lot about wet meat markets, the potential source of the Coca-Cola virus and various other easily transmitted diseases, some sexual - others not so. I've added in here some artist's impressions of just such a place: wet with wet meat, fish, turtles, frogs, shark fins, blood and ultimately people who no doubt are mostly trying hard to avoid the toxic splashes and just get home with something for the tea. 

The food/produce is incredibly fresh mainly because it's either a) still alive, b) very recently dead c) somewhere in between as a result of an ancient curse. I guess these variable food standards might be the root of the problem. Blood, guts, ice, animal droppings all being mixed up, breathed in, rubbed off and generally absorbed as folks go about their business, buying and selling in order to survive. 

There's probably a distinct set of odours, noises and colours in the market; we're mostly denied this experience in the west, here it's always wreathed in unending, undying plastics and shown as an unrealistic serving suggestion rather than a natural exhibit. If you ignore the generation of a full blown pandemic illness and the sense of laconic chaos it's not clear who has the worse system. As we know any recent visit to a UK supermarket removes the surgical mask of a tolerant civilization and reveals the once bright and chirpy visage has slipped as we enter the riotous hell of crazy shoppers seeking out hand-gel and cheap flu fixing drugs at some exorbitant  physical cost. So don't mention any of that Blitz Spirit shit or "Bulldog" tenacity, whatever that might pretend to be.

Down by the sacks of easily grilled squid and stuffed catfish an actual cat snoozes in a plastic shopping bag, fairly common in our house so who are we to judge?

A posse of grave diggers are always on call for various operational reasons. I'm guessing that when not digging residences for the recently dead they either solve (or commit) noir type crimes of passion or practice three part harmonies of show tune favourites.

Of course there's always some joker or exhibitionist who takes the whole "wet meat" thing just a little too far.

Our more dextrous members

Just Eat a bike: For those blessed with a naturally healthy level of fitness you can now maintain it for a small fee. These mobile exercise cycles hand crafted in China from discarded European rubbish are currently scattered all across the pavements of Edinburgh and wired up to a great electronic brain. Most of the bike stations are located near to the bottom of a hill, this encourages a nice, juicy workout for a sum as small as £1.50 per hour, the price of a deal of the day cheeseburger or a king size Mars Bar. Hardly unreasonable but just remember that physics has never managed to explain how people can cycle, balancing on two thin wheels makes no sense. You might just injure yourself.

Urban cycling in the fresh east coast air is also an antidote against non-flying viruses, angry wasp stings, poor self image, folks shouting abuse and penile anxiety. All you have to do is download a simple app and then purchase the correct sports clothing from Mountain Warehouse or Sports Direct and then strike the proper fit person poses and upload the images. Also wear a helmet because you don't want to look dafter than the actual bike. So use the app, order a pizza or kebab and scoff your way on to having the body of a young Greek God working in a fast food kitchen.