Tuesday, November 09, 2021

A Touch of Poultry


From a nearby field: The supply chain failed to fail over Halloween this year resulting in a plague of slowly rotting surplus pumpkins. A triumph for Brexit some might say albeit it's hardly a British tradition. Anyway Scotland's awkward relationship with this new world fruit continues. What is the actual point of it, other than as a dumb cash crop for farms? (A fairly valid point you may say if you are a farmer). I presume that as an act of environmental clearance chickens or possibly sheep or goats might be tempted to scoff some of the leftovers. Then there are the crows.

Monday, November 08, 2021

Luxury Bones

 


Today my 6 monthly MOT and service is due for the 32 once white but now more of a dappled grey horses living downstairs in my head. Regular dental health doesn't come cheap and I'm a dismal failure at flossing and the other dental acrobatics required by common oral law (?), a regular problem with all humanity. I'll be getting the waggy finger treatment from a dental professional.

Going against various loosely held principles I moved into the private sector many years ago because my dentist moved there - so I followed as I quite pathetically felt safe there. I wonder what would have happened if she had moved to Key West. It was take it or leave it. Peace of mind can be bought you know. Somebody once described teeth as luxury bones, an essential luxury that I intend to continue holding onto, if only by the skin of my teeth.

Sunday, November 07, 2021

Out and About in the Kitchen

 

Roaming freely in the kitchen I see there are many sights and I hear that there are many sounds. I have decided to capture at least two today. I've failed to record any sounds because apart from the hissing of the almost defunct boiler and the sinister gurgle of the dishwasher there aren't that many sounds at the moment (cookery sounds are in there I suppose but they are not generally long lasting). 

As you can see I'm more focusing on detail here rather than display the visually stunning grand vista that the kitchen normally might present to the casual if slightly stunned visitor (try not to forget the "safe" words or "safe" statements please). These are simple, muted visual details I've stumbled upon when exploring the kitchen's finer points. There are more, many hidden behind cupboard doors, deep in the waste bin or inside the actual fridge, but enough is enough for one day. That's yer lot for the indoors.


Roaming freely in the Lothians: Out beyond the relative safety of the kitchen, in the wider world are the big sheds where we go to get the chemicals that make us resistant to mutant diseases injected directly into our bodies. Once inside us they form a magic barrier and we are (almost) safe. It's a good feeling. The procedure takes but a few minutes but like most things in life involves standing in a long queue made up of old people, mostly younger than me. Old people like this are at a stage in life where they have forgotten how to walk, stand or remain a safe distance from others.  I have committed all the evidence to memory.

This shuffling and bemused queue of the ancients can take up to 90 minutes to snake it's way to the registration booths. If you are unlucky enough to attend on a bad day anyway. In general the staff and the recipients are stoically stuck in a good kind of humour and forbearance, each one thankful for their comfortable Chinese training shoes. I looked upon the whole experience as a nostalgic throw-back to the halcyon days of airports and football matches and busy shopping malls. Back then life was a pasty shade of post-war monochrome, dull and slightly less polluted. 

Saturday, November 06, 2021

Pastor of Muppets

I'm comfortable with being behind the curve, possibly many years behind the curve. There's just too much happening out there and my connections can be wonky at times. Plus I don't actively seek things out, they have to fall into my lap. So it turns out that this turn of phrase is also a font, or is it the other way round? I find it a useful term to use to categorize certain things based on my life experience and so I quite like it. If only this wasn't true of most established and respected (by some) religious groups and their leaders. It's also a rather cruel reflection on Muppets who by and large are quite genuine and amusing characters. I was also going to insert a noisy Metallica video here but thought better of it.

Friday, November 05, 2021

Human Sized Life

 

All thoughts are born in the simple act of waking up: 

"I think that whatever you think you can only ever live a human sized life. This applies to everyone; rich, poor, billionaires and politicians, superstars and members of the elite. You are human. Even if technology moves on you'll be human even if you are inhuman or by surgery some kind of hybrid or cyborg. The life you live will always have human proportions. Big, little, fat or skinny ones."

Thursday, November 04, 2021

Travelling with Charlie

Charlie was their oldest child. He was 6 going on 7. The oldest of three. Charlie had never been what you might call an easy child. He was very bright. He didn't ask, he made demands. He bullied his younger sister and brother. He bullied his parents, teachers and other children who got in the way. He was never pleased with anything, there was always a problem. He was disagreeable.

Today they are driving home from a visit to the park. A largely uneventful visit and Charlie has behaved himself. He has agreed to sit in the back seat of the car with his siblings but has refused to use the booster. He is reading, or at least looking at a book about film about a computer game. Mum and dad are up front, enjoying the journey home silently. They think about the up coming evening meal. They imagine Charlie will be displeased with it. Traditional meat loaf that granny made. It's in wrapped in tinfoil on Mum's lap.

From the back seat a strange noise is heard. It is like air escaping. Like a vacuum cleaner hose pumping suction.  Dad is squinting into his mirror and slowing the car down. Charlie is making a peculiar noise. An animal noise. The car is pulling over and stopping. Brother and sister are both asleep in their child seats, oblivious. 

Mum and Dad are turning around. The noise is building. They see Charlie, who is still engrossed in his book. Charlie looks up at them as they look at him. Then in an instant Charlie is sucked suddenly into the gap between the the seat back and the seat bottom. All is silent. Then Mum screams. Dad jumps out to check the back seats. The other two children remain sound asleep. Dad is pulling at the seat, stretching open the gap. The gap that Charlie has just disappeared into. There's a lot of desperate shouting and searching going on. The other children awake and instinctively begin to cry.

By the side of the road, parked up, all doors, windows and tailgate open. The car is surrounded by police and ambulance staff. Blue lights flash and it's starting to get dark. There's a pale glow on the horizon as the sun goes down. It seems to be pulsing slowly.

Mum and Dad are waking up, they are home but everything is beyond peculiar now. A policewoman is on the couch taking a phone call. Charlie hasn't made it. He's gone. He's travelling. Very fast and very far. Nobody knows anything and the questions won't stop. The meatloaf sits on a kitchen work surface. Still in the tinfoil. Meanwhile the earth is spinning on it's axis at close to 1000 miles per hour and orbiting the sun at 66,660 miles per hour.

"Whatever we may say or do", says Dad, "sometimes I think the universe just knows best". He opens up the meatloaf from the foil, places it on a plate and begins cutting it into neat slices. He puts the greasy foil into the recycling bin. "Charlie is a beautiful boy but also a very disagreeable child".

Wednesday, November 03, 2021

Death of a Dyson

 

The Dyson died yesterday, like some alien lost and battered and left for dead in an intergalactic battle. Some say it was the cat fluff, the odd screws sucked up, unfair wear and tear or just old age. It fought to the last, always resisting getting into the cupboard with an angry flick of a hose and refusing to release it's precious dust to the confines of the inner bin unless poked with a sharp stick. We'll never know the truth of it's demise but there was a smell of burning and an odd, sharp, plaintive sound - the death rattle. Bought well before Brexit and before the Dyson fella came out as a buffoon. It's replacement is a no-brander from Screw-fix. Take that you economic pirates!

Tuesday, November 02, 2021

COP 26

 


I feel I need to mention the peculiar circus that is COP 26: What can you do to help? I really don't know how we stop doing the things that create further bad things with grim consequences when those things have become almost essential and common parts of our lives and when the global industries and governments that preach better practice are clearly unable to deliver any kind of meaningful and honest program of change and recovery that will be equally beneficial to all regardless of status and location. 

Monday, November 01, 2021

Cats Growing Old in Space


Always difficult explaining to a cat that now they are getting older there might be a few medical and dietary troubles ahead. In fact both our cats, whilst passing their MOTs reasonably well do still have a number of advisories that require ongoing treatment. Morning and evening routines now involve dolling our drugs of various kinds, steroids and special food pellets; the cats requirements are even worse. 

Ailments include arthritis, digestive issues, possible cancer, thyroid trouble, heart murmurs, dental decay and all the awkward symptoms and manifestations that go with these. This generates ongoing dramas whereby top and bottom end events are regularly monitored and managed, food is rationed and carefully prepared and often rejected and middle of the night unplanned events are common. 

Back in the day the cats lived a "wild woodland" kind of existence and we hardly saw them some days, just the bloody and broken evidence of their regular murdering sprees. Now, and through a perpetual lockdown, we're all like fellow travelers in some cat/human space ship mash up, heading to colonize a planet troubled by belligerent mice and cute but dangerous spiders made of soot. 

Packed into our tiny crew quarters we've never quite managed to provide a clear brief to the cats that this is in fact a space craft and that different rules must apply if we want to succeed i.e. the sardine paste is definitely not for sharing nor are the sleeping spaces. In the end the mission, like all missions, is just about survival, anything else being a bonus ... so on we travel.

Sunday, October 31, 2021

Saturday, October 30, 2021

Your Own Personal Sludge Pit


Meta: Sadly 😉 there appears to me no place for the likes of me in the brave new world as landscaped by the artists formerly known as Facebook. Such a tragedy that it should come to this. Having said that I'd honestly have to say that FB became a "sludge pit" quite sometime ago and as I see from my occasional visits it mainly consists of sludgy and badly targeted advertisements and indeed a few reasonably interesting animal videos. 

I feel FB is a bit like "You've Been Framed" but on the web with cat-food advert injections and no matter how Mr Zuck wriggles, it's feels pretty much out of time and out of ideas. It's also living (almost) proof that zealous Boomers really do fuck up every digital platform they get their hands on. I wonder how well the new and presumably super-woke youth-focused strategy will stand up to the test of time? No one will ever know, they'll be lost forever in their Second Life II Meta-verse. 

As for "flagship products", that's a worrying term.

Friday, October 29, 2021

Empty Rooms of the Mind


Music in the mass media and the strangulation of unfamiliar sounds: The problem ... with (most) old school radio DJs and music TV presenters is/was that they always like/loved every bloody thing they played, even if it was rubbish, as was/is often the case. As if we didn't/don't know that it's all play-listed anyway and they are just spouting vacuous enthusiasm and curating nothing original. 

In so doing they falsified, degraded and destroyed a great deal of the real time musical record and the impact of what was really being listened to elsewhere in the country across bedrooms, clubs and concert halls. They got away with it, as act of ignorant stealth. And that ladies and gentlemen is why I just stopped listening one day and moved on to independent playlists and setting up my own squirreled, whimsical and timeless listings up for myself. In truth I seldom bother to listen to them these days either.

Thursday, October 28, 2021

This Word Does Not Exist

A few of you must have gone through that stage in life where you somehow thinks it's OK to just go out onto the street and whistle in a tuneless, shrill and erratic manner like a dutiful postman out on his rounds wearing shorts might do. If you haven't yet reached this milestone in life then I am here to tell you that it's probably just around the corner. The good news is that it doesn't last long as a phase but you may find you lose a few friends and some credibility afterwards. No need to worry about it, until it happens. Then it's too late.


As for words that don't exist; remember when confronted with some, and there are a few, just whistle.

Wednesday, October 27, 2021

Neighborhood Witches

 

In his book "And Away" Bob Mortimer talks about how as a child there always was at least one nominated witch's house* in his street. As I recall in my street (Selvage Place, Rosyth) there were at least two, albeit the witchy evidence was shaky and vague but nonetheless these houses were assumed to be inhabited by witches of a sort (none kept miniature Shetland ponies* indoors watching a flickering black and white TV however). Naturally they were older ladies, on their own and considered to be strange, as far as we (the street's ragged arsed children) knew.

60 years ago these once "Dockyard" houses didn't look as they do now (via Google), they were even a bit more rundown and overgrown then. I guess the great sell off encouraged some DIY.  Various historical changes in culture and ownership have altered things but it (above) was the best photo I could err... manipulate.

The house on the left was my mum and dad's, the house on the right was occupied by Miss Erskine, AKA the Witch. I knew she was a witch because I and most of the other street children were afraid of her. That seemed a good reason for her be considered an actual witch. She lived alone, seldom appeared in public but when she did it was usually to screech or shout at us for making a noise, touching her rickety garden gate or kicking a ball into her garden. Balls that entered her garden were never seen again or returned so there was a general sense of apprehension that this might also apply to children.

My parents also said she should be avoided; she was a bit "odd" they said and I know that my dad had a few arguments with her regarding the clipping of a shared hedge. Unkempt hedges were usually a sign of either a poor or dysfunctional family or a witch's residence as far as I was concerned. When the grocer's horse and cart came to the street we all stood well back from her while she was buying her provisions. The horse snorted, rattled his reins and clipped his hooves, clearly disturbed.  A couple of times when my father was taken ill an ambulance was needed, all the street turned out to spectate and offer help but she didn't stir.

Another witch lived across the road in the house opposite us. With an overgrown garden and high hedges it was the home of Miss Nye. The thick beech hedge formed a dark archway over her gate, shielding her windows and front door; very sinister. She too was alone and old but seemed a little more kindly, a better way to attract fresh victims. She always wore a black beret, thick glasses and a large dark coat. She seldom emerged from the house other than to go to the shops twice a week carrying a large and mysterious black leather bag. I assumed there were potions and spells inside it and perhaps the dead fingers of naughty children.

There was a third witch, a few streets away in "DollyTown". Like a kind of elderly Kate Bush with crazy long dark hair, voluminous black skirts and an overcoat way too big for her. I have a (possibly false) memory of her dancing in a tribal fashion around in her unfenced, unhedged garden and children cat-calling her as she silently moved across the grass to her inner music. No one ever ever made eye contact with her either as she rushed between her home and the Co-op collecting her sliced pan bread wrapped in wax paper. 

My dad may have told me that her husband died in the war or that there was some other family tragedy. As it was the late fifties/early sixties then, then that might have explained something on the origins of these sad, eccentric pseudo witches. Just broken people really, trapped behind closed curtains, unhappy in their austerity and taunted by stupid kids and the complexity of a Cold War life. I'll never know their back stories but they left strong if now cloudy impressions.

Tuesday, October 26, 2021

Alternative Kitchen Ceiling Ideas


 Full on meat and two veg stuff from the great man himself. The subjects being Jupiter, Neptune and Pluto having a night out on the tiles.

A once in a lifetime opportunity to get a conversation starting kitchen ceiling for yourself. Villa Aurora in Rome is up for sale, looking for reasonable offers of  around 471m Euros. "No time wasters" I'd imagine. Some local decorator called Caravaggio did the ceilings apparently, based on instructions from the man from Del Monte. To be honest I don't think it's nearly his best piece of work. The project ran about 500 years ago so some renovation work might be required if you're handy with the Dulux. Also when I say kitchen I really mean alchemy laboratory (a bespoke feature not offered in enough modern homes) but as not much has changed with Italian food over the years so you'll be safe enough.

From yesterday's Guardian:

“Del Monte bought property there, which he restructured before commissioning Caravaggio to paint the mural in his lab, which was only a very small room,” said Alessandro Zuccari, a history professor at Sapienza University in Rome who oversaw the valuation of the mural. “It’s an extraordinary work which was difficult to put a price on, seeing as it was the only mural ever done by Caravaggio and so we had nothing to compare it to.”

Zuccari valued the mural, painted by Caravaggio when he was in his 20s, at no less than €310m. The entire property will go on auction on 18 January with an opening bid of €471m.

The building also contains rooms frescoed by the baroque painter Guercino, who was commissioned by the Ludovisi family, a noble family with close ties to the papacy who bought the property from Del Monte.

Some luck with the Lottery numbers may be required as well as having a few reliable pals "established in the trade".

Monday, October 25, 2021

Blue Lawnmower


I'm quite fond of my new, blue lawnmower but I've made a deep and serious pact with myself that I will not use it in anger until the first spring cut of 2022 comes along. I'm not ready for it to be bumped across the garden and sprayed with messy green grass, mud, leaves and the rest just yet. Look at those sleek and easy on the eye lines, high quality plastic and superb Korean engineering. I hope it's OK. A keeper. A blue green keeper even.

Sunday, October 24, 2021

System of a Down the Hatch

Yesterday's late, great Down the Hatch Canadian breakfast. A meal that lasts quite a while. I'm still full up from it 24 hours later. Rib sticking, tickling, tummy stretching maple syrup and eggy bacon, sausage from the great prairie state of Midlothian. Down by the hatch, by the sea and under the bridges. With this supreme culinary self sacrifice I dedicate myself to another full and fuzzy year but mostly feeling thankful my birthday week is almost over and done with and normal life can resume.

Friday, October 22, 2021

Inspire yourself...

 ...with some memorable tango scenes. I was rewarded (?) with this odd message when waking up my laptop today. What kind of AI perversion thinks that I might be inspired by a "tango scene" whatever that might be? It strikes me that AI has a way to go before it gets to know me properly. I can't recall ever clicking on or browsing the world of tango or dance of any kind ever. Then again it may be a plot to recruit me into some shady place of physical exertion where tango and exotic dance moves of that type rule, and where my mind and bank account will be rapidly emptied as I shake and tremble in the hot, dark world of underground tango. Shouldn't take too long to do that. I break out into a sweat just seeing a Joe Wicks thumbnail on YouTube.

A memorable tango scene if ever there was one.

Thursday, October 21, 2021

Etsy Shop Fire


I lit the blue tinged touchpaper for a self started arson attack when I burned down my Etsy guitar shop a few years ago. Nobody read the Riot Act either. I've nothing against Esty, they were fine, they were virtual, more just the hassle of dealing with members of the public understandably reticent about shelling out their money on the strength of a photo and some weasley words. I sold 8 guitars on Etsy and about 10 on eBay, mostly pyro'd Partscasters and the like. Some were good, some not so but my honest pricing strategy was supposed to reflect that. You don't get the level of feedback you expect either, people are funny.

There are a few leftovers but I'm done with selling (or my other avenue of giving them away to charity etc.) for the meantime. In a strange twist, mostly thanks to unexpected spacial circumstances, I'm actually getting those relics out of their gig bag and case deep hibernations and fiddling with them and even playing them. How bizarre. By the way there was never any danger of any it making a profit either. It was just love but love of a curious kind.