Robot week - day 6

Still life with robot and yogurt.

We're now getting near the end of robot week. I'm not sure there will be another. It's not done my blogging reputation any good I suspect, it's that fine line between an idea taken too far and a good idea. I can't really tell the difference, then again neither can most people. So that's how you suffer if a post a day (or every 6 days out of 7) is a KPI you become bound up with. There's a lot I could say, I'm working away (away) and I'm eating steak probably too regularly and for the moment life is good.

Robot week - day 5

OK I admit that I took a lot of daft shots of a red robot alarm clock and having no clear idea what to do with them decided to blog them in this rather silly fashion under the rather forced and unimaginative banner of robot week, probably not one of my better ideas. Anyway here's me stating the patently obvious, a robot with an apple that's slowly being eaten by the photographer. There really is no meaning to any of this juvenile drivel. I do however have a warm feeling of Karma points accumulation and a strong, gripping sense of being one with the universe (aka inner peace), I may just be last night's red wine and steak and relaxation coming back on me.

Robot week - day 4

Storm: I'm looking forward to my first storm, watching it through that window, slowly building, hugging a hot coffee as it arrives with white topped waves, spitting and angry rain, sounds of thundering and swooshing, a strained wind that tears at trees and roots, forces pushing grass aside and rattling the glass in the frames. I'm nursing the idea of being warm indoors watch the storm, staring at the clouds and learning their names.

Sea Monkeys: I'm not clear on why sea monkeys should rank so highly on search engines all year round. Perhaps it's the combination of words, lots of dry people searching for the sea, lots of monkey obsessed monkey lovers searching for monkeys, nobody actually searching for the product know as Sea Monkeys though. That's the power and the confusion and the contradictions of the Internet for you. N.B. Real monkeys and the real sea(s) are both better researched out with the constraints of the Internet.

Robot Voices: Behind us we leave a trail of words, often badly spelt, poorly pronounced, subject to grammatical error with meanings and structures stretched beyond recognition and general serial misuse and ignorance. Add to that a wakeful of slang and swearing, sentence bombs of inappropriate and lazy speech and incorrect intonation and phrase construction. People can be very cruel and abusive towards words and language failing to see and appreciate the true beauty of clear and simple verbal communication. Thankfully (if properly programmed) this is not a problem you get with robots, they always speak properly, accurately and economically, as far as their human masters actions and silly mechanical robot voices will allow. That's just another factual type of observation here from me to pad out Robot Week.

Robot week - day 3

On Sunday's we relax and dream dreams. Thoughts of robot week are frankly absent, other things taking precedence as our robot consciousness slept. Everywhere there was football as the season ended, there were open days and closed days and muddy football matches on common ground in Dunfermline, the home of disappointment.

At times my head is full of clever things that seem to get edged out by weighty and powerful stupid things. That's very frustrating but a situation I've come to expect, possibly even thrive on. Sooner or later the good stuff returns and is captured (and then sunk by an obscurity torpedo). But it's nice when you walk into the kitchen and Warren Zevron is on the radio or you can reel off parts of Steve Millar's "Recall the beginning; a journey from Eden", life makes some sense in these moments.  I console myself with thoughts of successful breakfast assembly, Jeep and Subaru dealerships visited, great swathes of Fife captured, late night meals and conversations, family employment success, building up unbuildable toys with grand kids and the inevitable headaches and digestive upsets that good food and drink might just bring and driving, driving driving. If only the weather was conducive to and supportive of cycling.

Robot week - day 2

Robot in a tricky situation along with a plastic cup.

Debased wordage: Those lovely people who use words like definitely and absolutely a lot in everyday speech worry me, I look upon that kind of language use as a red traffic light kind of warning. Where exactly do they get that degree of certainty? I've spent ages with my feet on the desk, looking out of windows, supping cheap coffee and generally putting an appearance of doing some hard and purposeful thinking trying to find that elusive certainty. All that comes out however are dull thuds, thickets and the creation of fictional weeks in which all things robotic are to be celebrated by nobody. These processes are clearly corrupt but remain mildly amusing and ever so addictive. Now then, what direction is life headed in at the moment? (Post that's nothing really to do with robots, maybe the robot theme can just be pictorial).

Let's celebrate the robot

Robots are smart.

Robots work hard.

Robots occasionally fail.

OK: It's robot week, I didn't invent it, it just happened so be prepared for a wonderful week full of all things, images, thoughts, foodstuffs, sexual positions, politics, illnesses and psychological problems to do with robots. I can't promise you anything more and I can't promise you anything less in fact I can't really promise you anything at all but it's a special week anyway and all the more special because it starts today which is a Friday and also because it probably wont last for anything like a week knowing my notorious span of attention problems.

Problems: Do you have a friend who thinks that her deep fat fryer is a robot? If so there is help available, I'm just not sure whereabouts. Don't just pick any random number, call it and expect to get well constructed, intelligent and helpful conversation. Of course that never happens. Try finding a bloke who knows a thing or two about robots.

Recreation: Robots and parachute jumping and rock climbing. What is the problem with scaredy cat robots and the simple world of dangerous sports? I've no idea. If you require an answer then look no further than someplace else, preferably a place where these type of things are fully explored in a sensible fashion. Speaking of fashion what is the top trending trend for the up to date robot? What books are they reading and where exactly are they hanging out? Asimo Knows.

Elements of a new religion

1. Be incredibly happy everyday whatever your lot in life. This might be seen as being  the burning of some pale spiritual  inner light, indeed it may well make you light headed and stupidly optimistic at times.

2. Have an authority figure poised in the background ready to keep you right with good, timely advice, call it God if you wish. Take it's advice very seriously but don't bother writing the advice down. That's asking for trouble.

3. Religions require ritual. Why not have one based around finding the image of  E.T. in French Toast  and Brown Sauce. There's a prize worthy of a lifetime's pursuit that's also nourishing.

P.S. Everything in life, philosophy and religion is pretty simple really. The trouble is people like things to look complicated because that makes them seem clever (if they can make you believe that only they understand it or can see things you cant) so that veneer of mysticism, learned progression and the acquiring of knowledge over time has to be in there for them. Of course all that is complete nonsense. Life is all about keeping your underwear clean, whistling Dixie and hollowing out pumpkins. You make the first cut and scoop out whatever goo there is inside, lay it apart and admire the space you have created, put your hand in to explore it and then take it out so that you can light up a cigar and relax, that's about all there is to it.

Actually religions are pretty useless things really and they cause a lot of trouble and commotion, best not to bother in my view. Get on with your life.

Diageo Screw Brewdog

Diageo makes a rather unfortunate error at beer awards night. The trouble is it's pretty tough avoiding the big boy's products in an organised boycott...or is it?

The truth about Iron Man

The proof

He wasn't the result of some drunken, drug fueled, creative brainstorming binge between Tony Stark, a laptop and Pepper Potts. No, Iron Man was in fact developed and worked up by the Chinese, here's an early prototype that was laid aside and abandoned by the i.Ching Dynasty. Stark reality.

Tony Stark's Black Sabbath T Shirt

We went out to see the Avengers movie last night, great fun (four stars I'd say), great product placement (Accura doesn't mean much in Scotland however) and the usual cameo bit from Stan Lee. Of course I came away wanting the "Never Say Die" T shirt that Tony Stark wears under his Iron Man suit. His character steals all the best lines in the film, has the techy edge and the flimsy brown 1978  tour T shirt survives a whole lot of action under his metal chest without a tear or wrinkle. Every red blooded shredder will want one now. Trouble is you cant quite get the brown one, there's some well researched information here. Forget Amazon UK also, they've very little to offer apart from the usual rock tat. The web is buzzing, buzz buzz buzz.

From Jon Snow

Slow news morning,  that's just how things are this Sunday, still nice to see Jon Snow score with a valid point. Now to cook up a breakfast storm.

Ghost trees

Carrying on the ghost sighting/footsteps thing I spotted this fine example of a ghost tree over in Fife. Of course it's more of the dead shell or remnant rather than the ghost. The actual ghost is way across the fields looking out for some unsuspecting sapling, I'm not sure why. Come the next strong wind it'll be over and blocking the road.

Referring to this tree and some other examples I sensed quite a few ghost footsteps on this short trip, overcast rainy memories and long oily coats, there were two people taking a walk, inland from the coast, one was foreign, the other claimed to be a religious man but I have my doubts (as did he). They were traveling in a huge circle (a woman was also involved but I couldn't quite get the detail), 22 degrees of which were in Fife, the rest spread across a far wider area. Sometimes all the things, books, Steampunk, careers, mud and heritage all collide and inform if you just turn over a few stones. Amazing what you can pick up if you just look and listen.

And now in local news...

May the Forth be with you etc. etc.

In the footsteps of ghosts

Jules Verne on tour in the Central Belt.

Ghosts are just people who live outside of a body, that's all, nothing to get too worried about. In their pale and unresearched condition it is just possible to detect them and then to follow them, on their travels. I've been doing this for a while now, mostly across Scotland but also in other places. Perhaps you should try it.

Today the swifts returned to their nests in our coal cellar. I was alerted to this when one of the cats came running out of there, looking a bit guilty. Seconds later and very much to my relief two swifts flew out at high speed and headed away across the fields. I suspect that there will soon be some deadly games taking place, a lot of watching and waiting and at the very last moment some springing into action and jumping. None of this is for me, I've learned that when you try to intervene in nature and fix things or try to improve the chances of what might be considered a favourable outcome you get an unexpected and usually worse result. Let it be.

Victoria Hospital

I visited here today, Fife's new hospital. No car parking space, joking choking smoking Fifers outside in their track suits, faces wrinkled by the stress of confusion, tobacco and benefits. Buses crush past, full of the freeloading pensioners hoping for a bun and cuppa and a visit, a day out to health care excellence. Inside the lifts work smoothly but there's no furniture, no TVs, no shaver sockets in the wards, no towels or extra bed linen. The staff are pleasant and smiling. The staff try hard to cope with a system that doesn't know quite how to communicate, left hands fail to meet up with right hands, people are confused, jaws drop open. The staff are working hard, working their asses off to keep things right but somewhere in the project a failure has occurred, oh and there's no more money to put things right either. Local MP Gordon Brown planned this, the Tories implemented it. Now the NHS reforms and the clumsy NHS 24 will morph into uncontrolled monsters and finish it, any day, any year now.

Jump start

When you inadvertently  leave the light on in your car then you drain the battery, then you need a jump start, with jump leads.  Just remember to always follow the electrical safety code: Black to black, red to red and blue to Smithereens. Works every time.

Hair of an old man

I woke up this morning with old man's hair. It was mostly on my head and none of it was running the right way, it was old, badly behaved and cantankerous, it had lost it's elasticity and it's memory. It was like fake hair. Like straw or thread or some lifeless grey thing that had knitted it's way across the top of my head and was now travelling on it's, of it's own accord in some direction I couldn't quite fathom. Bitter and peppered with too much sunlight, car exhaust fumes, sugar and not enough hormones. Then the awful question, “does it have a funny smell, like old people do?” That's all you need first thing in a day destined to full of maps, computers, electric mirrors, biscuit fibres and packet soups, tales of time travel and desperation and remote examples of unproven food poisoning – none of it to do with me. On days like this, when you are thinking the thoughts of a young man or of a man at least a half of your age you don't want to be bogged down with the frizzled frustration of your old hair. At least the experience has given me a strategy, a way forward, a plan, a bit of revenge. I'll be there at the barbers on Friday afternoon, looking across the sunlit Firth of Forth and watching that old man's hair fall onto my shoulders and onto the floor as it's snipped away and swept up in a dustpan, punished like the regular and persistent offender it truly is and then stuffed into an imaginary cushion that's gifted to some care home or bit of imagined sheltered housing, there to hold a sleepy head, a tumbler of false teeth, a saucer of digestive biscuits and a rolled up copy of the Daily Express. I will go down of course but I will be fighting and I'll ignore, inhibit and ethnically cleanse the aspirations and false claims of this rebel hair. “£8? Keep the change!”

Curved dog on green grass

It was nice that whilst I was in Aberdeen yesterday wrestling with the young 'uns, eating birthday cake and walking dogs the Aberdeen football team were down in Dunfermline. There they were soundly beaten by the mighty Pars in what might be described as an upset or more accurately our first home win of the season. On the road home I celebrated the event with a double cheeseburger at the traveller's haven that is Forfar MacDonald's. Sitting in there with small children we were subjected to some more of the master strategy of Olympic marketing. Each happy meal now contains a stylish pedometer with which you can measure your fitness (or "rainbow points creation" according to the instructions). If you shake it rapidly above your head whilst sitting eating you also get a very good score. So cooped up then in a MacD's in Angus at nine o'clock on a Saturday night we can't escape the long bony finger of long bony fingerland promotion, a finger that, if sucked, would no doubt taste like chicken nuggets. At least we're all in this together, perhaps even willingly.

Big A marks the spot

Big A says "here's D&G Autocare's Inverkeithing branch!".

Being a person who thinks in straight lines I thought I'd use that peculiar skill to go home today via a motor car tyre emporium and thereby renew the worn tyres on my worn car. I did and my first point on that mental but not geographically straight line was Kwik-Fit Inverkeithing. They have tyres alright but  they only had one in the size I needed and it took them 50 precious minutes to find that out and tell me about it (lesson learned, phone first no matter how painful the concept of a motor car tyre sized conversation is). An hour later I'd bought that tyre but was still two black circles short. Happily just around the corner sits D&G Autocare, they're not as glossy and slick as Kwik-Fit but they had the correct tyres and they fitted them with the speed and precision of an F1 pit crew (well almost and not as inept as a Mercedes F1 pit crew either) despite being obviously busy. Three guys plugged in my new tyres in under 10 minutes, a really good and helpful service that I would dare to go out on a limb on and recommend  to one and all. Surely this proves that I'm not so grumpy, world weary and negative all the time and it's Friday!

My Dull Gothic Refuge

Interior brain shot - detail.

Give me strength: Somebody on Radio Scotland has been popping chemicals today in a big way, Drive-Time was filled with a selection of awful slow news filler items, each of which defied memorisation but each of which was delivered in such horrid, shouty and high frequency modulating tones that I was almost physically unwell whilst jogging home in the slow lane of the M90. These tedious stories were full of "amazings" and "fantastics", words that would be banned by any self respecting fascist state or tin pot news agency. It was like an acid fueled episode of Blue Peter in the nineties, all teeth, mascara, puppies and charity cardboard. They bodged up a bizarre item on dancing in the Barrowlands as part of the Cultural Olympics and then had surreal imported report from the inquest of the poor "death in a holdall spy" that sounded like some hyped up Enid Blyton story. All we need now are more of  the desperate slavers of Ali McCoist and the grizzled grumbled whispers of Walter Smith as they try to justify Glasgow Rangers' serially criminal business behaviour over the last twenty years. Perhaps of course I'm just a sad miserable soul and the chirpy sounds of radio friendly chit chat and trite current affairs are too much for the dark and gloomy Gothic innards of my brain's passages and my clogged up cynical consciousness. That and it being a wet Thursday as well.

And what's more: Ah yes (as above), it's that lamentable Ewan McGregor / Tom Kitchin / Dennis Lawson Scottish pretentious twerp accent and brogue. These guys live their lives in a perpetual mist of "amazing" and "wonderful" experiences, they must be knackered by it all really. You can just  imagine them exiting the privy and sharing the truth about their "incredible" daily bowel movement and "marvellous" bog roll wipe with their "gorgeous" wives and "brilliant" children...still a wet Thursday then.