Birthday bender

Been on a bit of a birthday bender for the last few days. That explains everything and nothing. It was inevitable that this age thing would come upon me, tripped up and trapped as I am by the confines of time and the thought dulling powers of alcohol. Still I'm far from unhappy and still headed in some direction along quite an interesting road. I'm not alone in this either. I'll have more to say once I master the language.

Smaug 3

I think this is Smaug 3 anyway, I keep losing count, burned and battered for that road worn authenticity in a  thin-line tele shape and very much in the throes of design sickness and under construction. The magic of the pyro and Teak Oil will work wonders.

Singing in private

Singing in private is probably the best and most liberating way to exercise your vocal chords. No audience, no tension, no expectations, no concern over mistakes; and you can sing whatever words you like without getting pulled up over a chronic lack of song knowledge.

There are many other things that can be done in private but let's not bother going there.

The pious bird of good omen

Somedays don't you just want to drink a lot of creamy milk, meditate and ride on the back of a gigantic white bird across an impossible landscape...endlessly in huge random circles. Well it's been one of those days but like all things it will pass. Everything must pass, thank goodness.

Happy indigenous people's day!

As celebrated in the USA....

And of course in Scotland.

High living

The infamous Red Road Flats were demolished today, about twenty minutes ago in fact. Twitter went into all sorts of iPhone powered Glaswegian convulsions as a result. It seems to have been a great spectator event. Now we have the regular and slow, stalling demolition of the ignominious non-listed buildings of Scotland, dust particle by dust particle accompanied by some Sunday afternoon bevvy. The end of an unloved  concrete and steel dream of living fairly close to the clouds in harmony with who knows what. Now houses are to be built, hopefully in more humane proportions by 3D printers, quickly and effectively. Replacements in decent design and in better, sustainable ideas abound, each with it's own whirling windmill and reflective panels set to dazzle the Russian bomber pilots whilst vacuum packing the householders against the hostile elements in triple glazed splendour.The snag is they'll still be occupied by our petulant and feeble human kind; and that's the ongoing problem. None of us fit in all that well when we crowd together in this green and pleasant land. Social housing but few social skills, little tolerance and always quick to take offence. Of course it's the government, education and the media to blame, eh?

His Bobness

When not busy being the semi-retired genial and erudite genius of the beat/pop/rock/folk/( and all genres that are applicable) generation apparently His Bobness, Mr Dylan likes nothing better than to weld together scrap metal in his spare time. He makes gates, fence sections and artefacts from junk. He does this in a big shed (great concept for blokes of a certain age range) in Malibu, instantly proving that all lost and bewildered men need a shed of some sort in which to explore their creative instincts. They probably need to injure themselves a bit in the process as well and get annoyed and frustrated with how tricky it can be to do simple things in metal fabrication. I salute his efforts and look forward to seeing his work, it is about to be exhibited somewhere over here in the near future. I need some ideas for a new gate so who knows where this theme time ironmongery will lead.

Friday night

Friday: Bimbled about a bit, drove to Dundee, reset the pesky "run flat" tyre sensor (now reaching expert level), put up with the rain, threw together (?) a beef olive/haggis and random vegetables casserole and placed it in a slow but warmish oven, considered a suitable wine and naturally picked the only one there actually was...so that's Friday. I did some work earlier however just to maintain some balance but nothing world changing I'm afraid. So there are some funny cartoons here...these (below) are the ones I liked best.

Best of the day

Worst of the day really. Not much to add to this, says it all rather nicely. We certainly get the politicians we don't deserve, such a fine, caring group of people running things right now. I'm sure they'll put everything back in it's proper place once they are done, if there's anything left that is.

Best so far. We've got a moon tune on the internet radio thingy here... thanks to Fi.

Unplanned chaos

A nearby outbreak of unplanned chaos blighted my travel plans and some small opportunities for life in a more sociable world. Not deterred and armed with a deep seated joy for life and a manic kind of obstinacy I stayed at home did some ironing. With only two cats, a dead mouse and dead spider for company but my spirit refused to crack despite the voices of doom and uncertainty playing on the radio. As dusk fell I feasted on strangely flavoured tuna and contemplated the lost art of songwriting whilst solving simple mechanical problems in my head. After a while I put on a woolly jumper, reflecting on the changes of season and the poor news coverage regularly provided by BBC Scotland. A channel that is easily bad when it could quite easily be good. I'm not sure what's wrong there. Now a cat is lying across the keys of my laptop like some furry bolted on keyboard guard. Time to do something else.

Peanuts & shake

Back to food, staple diets, gourmet burgers and that sort of thing; tonight's tea, peanuts, peanut butter milkshake and a (gourmet) cheeseburger with a large potion of tiny chips. Turned out to be a satisfying but over too quickly kind of meal. The good news is that I felt perfectly safe to drive not long after consumption.

Glasgow

Almost but not quite abandoned in Glasgow. A strange, perfect and dilapidated building that has somehow survived who knows what.

Monday seems like Tuesday

Things we didn't enjoy tonight; various TV shows and films such as University Challenge, The Kennedys, Under the Skin, Neil Oliver blethering about the Celts, the John Peel Lecture with Brian Eno, the weather forecast, some weird dragon film on the Sci-Fi Channel, Alaskan Goldrush and not finding series 5 of Homeland (because it doesn't begin until next week). These things, it would seem are sent to try us, like chocolate. We seek entertainment and meaning here, there and nowhere in particular and are thwarted by a lack of proper choice and our own unrealistic expectations. We're not bored really, we're active but we're still looking for something that we can't quite describe or define. We're hardworking and tired, we move around and find meaning in...meaning something. We like macaroni cheese and sausages but there are other foods. We like Mondays but on a Monday Tuesday can seem to be a better bet.

The Martian Chronicled

So is there a word for that feeling you get when you get to the end of the big film, the titles are rolling, the music is swelling up around you and slowly everybody leaves their seats, kind of stumbles along to the steps and with coats and bags and stuff and heads down the stairs in the flickering film light to the flat front of house and then out into through the two sets of double doors to the main corridor that gets you back to the foyer and daylight? Your head is in in odd place and it's tough to strike up conversation. Things like "wow" or "that sucked" might be going through your head but how you really are feeling can be difficult to express. It must be a common experience and situation but I don't quite have a good, appropriate word for it. I bet the Germans do.

This random thought was sparked by an unusual early Sunday afternoon visit to the cinema to watch "the Martian" in wonderful 3D. It was fine really, I'd mark it at an 80% as a good piece of  Sci-fi entertainment, there's some minor plot holes and a bit of miscasting here and there but well worth the watch.

Vinyl black hole

Still on this erratic voyage of rediscovery. This week's chosen item of pleasure / torture being "Then Play On". A suicidal and enigmatic offering that sees the doomed guitar stars, Danny Kirwan and Peter Green burn themselves out as they question existence and meaning via the neck of a Les Paul. The therapy didn't work and the band collapsed shortly thereafter as M Fleetwood, J McVie and the mischievous J Spencer, all clearly sidelined from the beginning of this project looked on aghast and sought out their own kinds of personal salvation. That led to a mixture of tragedy and multi-million dollar sales and earnings. None of that seemed likely in 1972 to this puzzled listener.

So after 40+ years what are we left with? As an album it's not aged well, Kirwan's songs are trite and annoying, Green's troubled work masquerades as deep and spiritual but is saved by that guitar tone and finger light technique. His mental health is certainly stretched out in the lyrics but back then who knew anything of the dark side of the mind? It's a bizarre and mixed album. Maybe best forgotten but, if like me you first heard it as a vinyl scraping and head booming experience when a teenager then the angst and the questioning probably disturbed you. It scarred you just enough for you to remember it with fondness and if nothing else respect for the unpolluted, undistorted studio sound of a real band. Best track? Rattlesnake Shake, it has everything; mad drums, big guitar sound, humour and ritualistic and comical masturbation. Next!

VW reboot

I'm intrigued by the VW car doctoring scandal. A squillion vehicles need to be recalled or at least rewired all across the world because they've been fitted with cheating software. What is the problem and what is the best solution? Firstly, changing the software on the car's engine management system will not alter how it runs, it won't be any more or less green,  so I doubt that it's in anyone's interest, innocent VW owners and innocent VW dealers to try to cowboy these cars back into compliant shape; way too much effort and trouble there. The answer, as far as this low grade ex-coder is concerned is simple. You don't fix the cars, you already know that they are designed to lie and you know the parameters of the lie, you (well VW) know what they coded in to fix the figures so you have a baseline.

The solution is really to do nothing, leave the cars alone and let them run till they need a check or MoT or whatever. What needs to change is the equipment that tests the emissions. It needs a patch that counteracts and adjusts the actual readings to take into account the false figures. Once that is recalculated you will have numbers that are meaningful. The software is still lying but the reader knows the extent of the lie and adjusts for the lie to provide the true result. Of course that needs to be rolled out to all the test equipment but that's a lot less work that bringing the cars in prematurely and screwing with them, in my humble opinion. There you go, just saved VW £££s and their unfortunate owners and garages a whole lot of time.

#Facebookdown

Apparently it happens from time to time, the experts know these things. I hadn't noticed until it started trending on Twitter. So time to print out those photographs, superglue the thermometer, tidy up a bit, remove superglue from the fingers, look at pictures of various super moons, super skies, super sizes, superannuation and Martian salty water. Then there's the freezing of the surplus mince, the cat checking and the odd sock sorting and maybe even picking up and playing some random musical instrument, gentle tooth picking sessions and mulling over the poor answer quotient achieved in tonight's University Challenge. Then a cup of tea and just for a laugh switch the router off and on again. You never know.

Freedom Graffiti

http://loves.domusweb.it/freedom-graffiti/

Syrian artist Tammam Azzam and his personal version of Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” on a war-torn building in Syria. 

Pleasant Blood Moon Sunday

All seems fine but death walks behind you.

It has been a pleasant day here and I've nothing to moan about for a change. We've been here and there, we ate Moroccan soup, sipped wine, overtook tractors, found plants, talked the talk, sat in the sun, took photographs and caught up and reminisced. Then we made plans for waking up early and a dancing in the garden in the dim and strange light cast by a blood moon while an imagined ring of fire blazed around the world. We will make vivid and elaborate wishes. We shall see...

The End

 A great photograph captures the end of the the big  chimneys at Cockenzie Power Station near Edinburgh earlier today. Gone. A coal fired power station as obsolete as...well you tell me. We live in a post industrial Scotland, we don't make things anymore and worse than that we've forgotten how to. We are impotent. It's  called skills fade, nobody talks about it but it's a bigger blight than cancer. Cheap labour in far away and unstable economies do all the manufacturing for us as we sit back drinking shit coffee with all our blank faced service providers and our facilities management people silently importing container loads of things we can't afford to make anymore. We are powered by wind, a legacy of fear and false promises and one fine day it will all collapse around us.