Use Passing Places to Permit Overtaking

A perfectly executed bank robbery

2012-01-19T19:17:00.002Z

The latest from Birmingham, Alabama’s Dan Sartain – his 5th studio album – is a perfectly executed bank robbery of a record. Get in, get the job done, get out again, no messing about. As the official press release says “13 tracks delivered in under 19 minutes! That’s an average strike rate of a new tune every 1 minute and 30 seconds.”

Sartain’s sound has been described as everything from rockabilly to punk to – memorably – “hillbilly thrash”. One review of his Dan Sartain vs The Serpientes record said it sounds “as if Jonathan Richman wanted to be Hank Williams instead of Lou Reed”, Which about sums it up.

From the very first chord of opener “Nam Vet” til its breathless conclusion a whole one minute and thirteen seconds later I was transported to the world of noisy gigs in sweaty wee clubs; in other words the best kind of gigs. For “Now Now Now” young Dan is joined by singer/guitarist Jane Wieldin of the Go-Go’s to deliver arguably the album’s strongest track.

The ghosts of The Ramones are never far away in this record; indeed Johnny and Dee Dee appear to be looking over Dan’s shoulder most of the time checking to see if he’s got it just right. And he surely has. Neil Young and Crazy Horse wouldn’t have too much trouble joining in too – tracks like “Swap Meet” and “Boo Hoo Hoo” ring with a primal energy which is completely out of step with much of the manufactured output we hear from at the moment. The fact that most of the songs sound very much alike is only a negative point if you don’t like the Sartain sound; and if you don’t like that then there’s something far, far wrong. I’m thinking of getting one of the lyrics on a t-shirt, track 9 in fact “Fuck Friday, Fuck Saturday, Fuck Sunday. Fuck you.”

Keeping it real. 5 stars.

Source: http://godisinthetvzine.co.uk (http://s.tt/15ivk)
Author: Bryan Gregg

Don't stop believing...

2011-08-01T00:00:00.002+01:00

Okay, that was a different kind of journey; this one's called I-Journey and it's where I'm at with the blogging right now:

2011-06-23T17:21:00.001+01:00

The latest Wordle...

2011-06-12T13:03:00.003+01:00

Hope I die before I get old...

2011-06-12T09:33:00.005+01:00

Jings, it's a thought isn't it? Not the Who per se but the dieing and getting old bit.

I was having a shave in the shower this morning on my new wet'n'dry electric shaver thingy and was struggling to get anything resembling the closeness of a blade. Victor Kiam, where are you when I need you? Anyway, I digress...as I was trying to get the thing to take away that tricky bit under the chin, just at the top of the neck I was reminded of a visit, many many years ago to the old folks home my maternal grandfather was in.

My dad and I had gone along to see Grampa Michael - who used to drive a white beetle and wore a beige Harrington jacket (not always at the same time) - in a council run care-home in the South Side of Glasgow. He was getting on by this stage and had started to have real difficulty with the day to day stuff. He was in need of a shave so my dad got out Grampa's wee battery shaver and suggested I do the needful. I'm not sure how I old I was at the time but I remember finding it really tricky and dad & grampa having a wee chuckle to themselves about how you needed to get the skin taut and maybe press a wee bit harder with the shaver than you perhaps felt comfortable with. It's only now as an adult I realise how tricky shaving someone else actually is - it's hard enough doing me. But once again I'm digressing. The real point I was getting to is one which came to me under the water jets this morning as I remembered the episode: there's no way you're getting me into an old folks home. The reek of piss, the smell of cooking, the slow decline and the lack of dignity...no thanks.

I'm not suggesting the live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse bit - though two out of three as Meat Loaf reminds us ain't bad - but maybe a wee "dodgy handbrake near a cliff" moment might be called for when the time comes...

The big cd shelf tidy paused for multiple sensational @FRabbits interludes. This guy was impressed... #music

2011-05-29T23:44:00.001+01:00

Hey, all y'all, remember this. Important stuff. #singletrackroads #driving

2011-05-28T09:34:00.000+01:00

It's the vinyl countdown...

2011-04-15T20:40:00.000+01:00

.Woah! Getting seriously excited about Record Store Day tomorrow. Heading down to Glasgow for the duration in anticipation of seeing Iain Shaw, Admiral Fallow and Frightened Rabbit all doing their live thing.

I know it's the night before and therefore hasn't happened yet but it's so good to be able to get excited again by music and the communal enjoyment of it. Music has been my overriding passion for as long as I can remember. Certainly I was hooked long before acquiring Guns n Roses' Appetite For Destruction way back in 1987. Johnny Cash on dad's car stereo was almost certainly to blame.

Now, almost a quarter of a century later I find myself - in the style of a grumpy old man - lamenting the passing of 'all the good stuff'. Though to be fair I'm not sure if I mean Britpop and indie or the 1960's.

Over the last 18 months or so I've become completely absorbed by the music of Admiral Fallow and Frightened Rabbit. Their lo-fi, folk tinged melancholia, very much like the old Heineken ads, reaches the parts other music cannot; reflective, thought-provoking and uplifting in equal measure. The only problem with these guys is that they're not internationally famous yet. For reasons I've yet to fathom. I know, as well as anyone, how subjective musical tastes are. Indeed they must be. But I'm staggered that neither the Rabbits or Admiral Fallow have yet penetrated the 'mainstream consciousness'...maybe it's better that way.

I don't know which way to turn...

2011-01-04T15:01:00.002Z

*a reposting from my Tumblr account*

I blogged, some time back, about my plan to maybe, possibly enter a short story competition. At that point I already had the bare bones of the story - I’d extended a very brief piece I’d done at the writing workshop mentioned in that earlier post.

The theme of the competition is “A Wrong Turning” and, alas, it appears that’s what I’ve taken. Certainly I’ve reached something of a creative cul-de-sac, if not a complete dead-end. Though arguably they’re one and the same thing.

I digress…indeed I should probably be spending time on the story rather than doing this, but I’m stuck. I’m loathe to extend the turning/journey/road analogy further but I really am at a bit of a crossroads with the thing. I’ve got around 1500 words. Many of which I like, I even like them when they’re put together into sentences and paragraphs! The trouble is, as I often find with any story writing I do, it strikes me that the words would be better spoken or read aloud - a play, or a screen play perhaps.

Entering the competition has, somehow, become important to me. Not necessarily because I want to win, nice though that would be, but because I’d like to try to see through a story or piece of work from start to finish.

With blogging, whether that’s been about music, campervans, teaching or whatever, it tends to be more diary-like: events happen, they’re digested and discussed, something else happens (or not) and that’s that. They are in and of themselves and because they’ve actually happened (gigs, trips, etc) it’s easy enough to recount them and to try to make them interesting, perhaps even humourous. The problem I have with story-telling is that I tend to become,as one of the workshop leaders put it, “elliptical” in my narrative: i.e. I ramble on all over the place without ever necessarily getting to any particular point and it all goes a bit stream of consciousness-y. I like to think of that as the Irish ancestry coming out there, if not trips to Ireland itself: wandering off on the back roads and byways (perhaps stopping here and there for a Guinness and a packet of cheese and onion ‘Tayto’) before getting to somewhere nice - a second hand bookshop, say, or a convent-run delicatessen in Clonakilty - without necessarily having set off in that direction.

The more observant amongst you will notice that I’ve done it again.

Where does all this get me then? Surely a story needs a beginning, a middle and an end? Especially if it’s a short story - even more important to get in, do the business, tie it up and get back out again quickly. Much like a bank raid or a Buzzcocks single. Short stories aren’t, it seems to me, about copping out with a “dot dot dot” type ending, a “to be continued” vibe hanging over the whole enterprise like a coldly calculated Disney/Pixar/Dreamworks animated series…

Or maybe that’s just me? Maybe it’s okay to leave things up to the imagination of the reader. I know that, personally, I’m always hugely disappointed by an unsatisfactory conclusion. I can moan to my other half for days when a book - or film - ends in what I’d consider a half-arsed, careless, lazy or just plain lame fashion.

Starting, now there’s another problem. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” - that, for me, is poor. A well-known, for sure, starting line but a poor, indeed lazy and meaningless one as well. “It was the day my grandmother exploded” from Iain Banks’ The Crow Road on the other hand, now there is an opening line. I mean, you just have to read on after that, don’t you? What kind of soulless monster would stop reading after an opening sentence like that?

I know the beginning has to be carefully considered but if I even attempted a start like Banks’, I’d just be off into the realms of the contrivance…never mind the fact that I’ve now done over 650 words on this displacement posting alone.

Ach well. I suppose I should really get back to it. I know! Got it at last! “It was the best time when my worst grandmother exploded…”

Give us this day...

2011-01-04T13:09:00.002Z

Well, that's something I wouldn't have found myself doing five years ago, voluntarily eschewing the delights (sic) of the nearby mini-market (!) and heading to the kitchen to actually make some bread rolls. From scratch. Without using the breadmaker.

It's an experimental recipe, I grant you. Indeed it's one that I'll not share until I see if it's worked, lest I receive a host of messages saying "you put what in it?!" Let's just let nature and yeast take their respective courses.

I'm working on the principle that, since I understand the basic science behind the bread-making process, I can adapt it a wee bit to suit my mood and purpose. Here's hoping anyway, otherwise tonight's burgers are going to be served minus their jackets!

Scents and sensibility...

2010-11-24T19:30:00.003Z

Fitting, really, that this jpeg should come courtesy of the Jewish Malt Whisky Society (.com) who were clearly trying to describe an aspect of the taste and smell of a particular single malt (turned out to be a Sazerac Rye, 18year old) - pencil shavings, cinammon and vanilla. Jings, sounds bloody marvellous. Anyway, I googled - as one tends to do these days - images for pencil shavings and this was my favourite (on page 1 of about 14squillion).

Why did I google pencil shavings? I'd just been helping the wee man with his homework and he needed the sharpener unjammed. He was having a multi-media experience, researching homework - polar bears - online then writing up his findings in his jotter and I was thinking as I stoked the fire that it was great for him to be able to do this, to have the world's information at his fingertips; when all of a sudden it struck me - though the web has given us many things it has also - so some people lament - led to the demise of some key skills: handwriting, spelling, grammar and punctuation.

What's more, if we keep digitising at the rate we're going, someday, perhaps sooner than I'd like to think, we'll have no need of pencils and their associated shavings and sharpener jammings will be lost forever...

What then for the Kosher quaffers? "Hints of I-phone 4 with top notes of polycarbonate?" "Oy vey! No! I'm getting cinammon bagel and a hint of kevlar..."

Breakfast of champions...

2010-11-15T17:25:00.006Z

So. For no good reason I was singing away to myself in the shower this morning, it was "Honey Be Good" by The Bible, erstwhile home to singer-songwriter genius, Boo Hewerdine.

It's a fantastic song but I've not heard it in an age so I've no idea why it popped into my head. However, there's always a however, it got me thinking...

Never a good idea.

Inspired by "Get It On" on BBC Radio Scotland, I decided that Honey Be Good would be ideal in a "breakfast" themed show. What else, I wondered to myself, might make it onto the playlist? The shower's never the best place to start writing lists so I had to wait until I came out to write them all down.

Obviously I'd start with Suzanne Vega's Tom's Diner just to set the scene, then maybe Breakfast by Eugenius. I could stick Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something in there too. Obviously no good breakfast is complete without Orange Juice, so maybe Rip it Up followed by You're So Vain by Carly Simon, for the "clouds in my coffee" - appropriately enough featuring Sir Mick of Jagger on backing vocals, so we're alright for a little Brown Sugar with our caffeine rush. Oh, and not forgetting The Milkman of Human Kindness from Billy Bragg to pour in too.

At this point the seasoned breakfaster is looking to move up to something a little more substantial. Perhaps a Sally Cinammon-danish courtesy of The Stone Roses or even something from Pastry Cline. Apologies. Maybe anything by Muesli Elliot? Again, sorry.

A lighter option, of course is to head towards the Beastie Boys' Yo-gurt! Bum Rush The Show topped off with something from Lemon Jelly. Tori Amos' Cornflake Girl or perhaps something from Oat-is Redding or Po-rage Argainst the Machine could help pile on the carbs.

If you're still hungry, of course, there's always Sugar Puff Daddy or Damien Rice Krispies, whilst those of you looking for a cooked breakfast could do worse than Smokey Bacon Robinson & The Miracles or something from the Eagles, maybe one of Glen Frey-up's compositions

Echo Beach by Martha and the Muffins or Paul Young and his Little Bit of Toast might go well with anything by the Jam or Marmalade...washed down with a mug of Hot Chocolate.

You might want to finish off by paying compliments to the chef on the way out...Sam Cooke.

There are no gardening mistakes, only experiments...

2010-11-14T13:07:00.005Z

I've just been outside to collect some wood for the fire...cold day here in the Wild West...the old garden's looking a bit sorry for itself. It's suffering at the moment from what might be called seasonal neglect: i.e. it's cold, damp and dark outside most of the time so I can't be arsed going out and tidying the beds and what not.

Ho hum. This is not the work ethic one requires if one is to, as Jake & Elwood put it "live, thrive and survive..." or even keep up with Giles & Sue as the do the Good Life. Nevertheless, it was lovely the other night to be able to nip out to the onion bed the other night when I realised I'd none in for chilli. The onion sets weren't particularly successful this year - I think the bed needs some manure or something - but I still got a couple of wee ones for the dinner.

The great success that was our greenhouse/polytunnel thing, however, is no more. The stormy weather of the last few days has ripped the plastic and snapped the support poles beyond repair. I'm a tad miffed to say the least - we had loads of tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuces and wee leaves from there this year, to say nothing of a couple of lovely squashes, green peppers and this magnificent micro melon!

The other point of the tunnel was as a wood store - living in one of the wettest parts of the UK, it can be a bit of a trial keeping the fuel dry: tarpaulins don't cut it as they don't allow air circulation and a well engineered woodshed is outwith my capabilities and free-time at the moment. We'll need to investigate an alternative solution for next year, both for produce and wood storage. In the meantime, the dry wood we do have can come into the house and the glut of green tomatoes will be enjoyed as chutney over the festive season. Farewell polytunnel, you've done us proud...

Smashing...

2010-11-04T12:05:00.003Z

...pumpkins.

Well, with the madness of Hallowe'en behind us, the pumpkin festering gently in the porch needed to be put to some use. A wee visit to the Torlundy Farm shop at the weekend saw the kids tucking into a winter-warmer type bowl of spiced pumpkin soup. The Christmassy smells sold that one to me so a wee Google brought up this gem from Valentine Warner

Assistance from the youngest child in the chopping department (supervised, honest!) helped get from this...

to this...

in little over an hour and a half. We didn't go for the serving it in the pumpkin idea, seeing as we'd already chopped it up and roasted it with cinammon, cloved and nutmeg before even finding the recipe!

It was really, really lovely...and we've got tons left to freeze. The addition of home-made bread added an extra wee warm glow.

Just to watch him die...

2010-10-31T19:44:00.001Z

(this really should have been posted in the first week of October...)

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, to the loudest acoustic evening of your lives...

The Airborne Toxic Event's Mikel Jollett didn't actually say this in Edinburgh last week but he might just as well have...I think the acoustic guitars maybe lasted until about midway through the second song when they were ditched in favour of the full on post-punk-Jam-Clash-U2-if-they-were-any-good wig-out.

My god (that'll be Billy Connolly or Chic Charnley then) this lot are good. That perhaps drags understatement into a whole new sphere. The Airborne Toxic event are fantastic: energetic, tuneful, melodic, exciting, inspiring, grinning, bouncing, anthemic, clever, funny, mesmerising, throbbing and loud. In short, absolutely everything you could ever want in a band.

Any band, yes, any band who have the sheer cajones to segue from their own "Missy" into Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" then into a rockabilly/punk version of "Folsom Prison Blues" has got to be worth seeing. The energy of the Cash cover in particular reminded us all where Johhny Rotten and co. got their ideas from. In my mind's eye, as I watched Mikel and the gang, all I could see was this:

Really. That good.

Obviously I could go on and on and do a full gig-review and all that kind of thing but really, for a flavour of just how fantastic they were (and are) the other fans who've seen them over the last year or so provide a great variety of positivity here.

One reviewer, though, reminded me of part of the evening which should be adopted by other frontmen at gigs: one particularly talkative punter near the front was chatting all the way through the opening couple of numbers and clearly, in such an intimate setting, was making himself heard by everyone from the drummer to the stewards at the back of the hall. Mr. Jollet proceeded to lob a plectrum and a volley of abuse in his face much to the delight of the crowd - "that's the great thing about Scotland, you either wanna love someone or beat their f***in heads in!"

Yup. The Man In Black would be proud, after all, Johnny shot a man in Reno for less...

You'll be betrayed by your accent and manners...

2010-10-12T15:40:00.003+01:00

Well that was an, albeit brief, education.

Seeing as how we are, in actual fact, in the city (Edinburgh) I thought I'd start this blog with a wee Jam lyric. The musically inclined amongst you will spot that indeed I have...but it's from 'Strange Town' and not 'In The City'. How the memory plays tricks. I'd convinced myself that "they say don't know, don't care and I gotta go mate" - Mr. Paul J Weller's tale of a young man coming to London from the outlying provinces -Woking in his case - and finding the big city a tad unfriendly, was told in 'In The City'.

A quick Google gave me pages of lyrics for the song but not the ones I recognised. What on earth was going on? Searching for the lyric rather than the title brought me to Strange Town...whaddya mean all The Jam's songs sounded the same?!

Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is we're in, what for the kids at any rate, is a strange town. Much uncharacteristically tight hand-holding and country-comes-to-town gazing up at high things and double decker buses as we walked from our hotel to the playpark in Princes Street Gardens.

I once wrote, many years ago now, on another blog, about how a trip to Ireland had been measured in playparks on account of the wee man's obsession for a swing and a seesaw. It's easy to see the attraction. You get to run about mad, jump on things, make a racket and bounce up and down without so much as a sideways glance from the parentals.

It's a bit like being a child in a primary school. I josh.

The park diverted the weans for a good forty minutes before a wee grey squirrel had them tearing off in hot pursuit. Their hot pursuit, however, soon had the little rodent tearing off in the opposite direction...

Onwards then towards the bright lights of Lothian Road in search of some child-friendly sustenance. Having gotten over the shock - and major disappointment - of our old BC (before children) haunt, The Traverse Theatre Cafe Bar, being closed...

...I took the munchkins across the road, past the newly funked-up Usher Hall, to the Filmhouse.

Six o'clock on an October Sunday and it was heaving - a real cross-section of folks, all tucking into hearty looking (if a trifle lentil-friendly) fayre...a tad on the pricey side though and none of the spaghetti bolognese that the youngest had been requesting...I don't think the veggie lasagne or chickpea curry would have satisfied her somehow. Och well, across the road once more to cheap & cheerful Dario's for pizza and pasta. Sometimes simple is best.

On the plus side, we returned to the Filmhouse later for ice cream and a pint. Vanilla for me, IPA & Guinness for the wee ones...

Edinburgh. Done.

You wear loose clothes and you try to stay cool...

2010-09-29T22:31:00.002+01:00

This is magnificent. Hymn #101, Joe Pug.

Is there anybody alive out there?

2010-09-22T23:07:00.003+01:00

Radio. Justify the reason behind your style.

So. That's Springsteen and Teenage Fanclub already and I've not even started my story yet. Seems everyone loves a bit of radio.

More to the point, and admirably demonstrated in Fort William on Monday night, everyone (still) loves Auntie Beeb.

In these times of voter apathy and the supposed 'me first' culture, I was truly gratified to hear such a groundswell of opinion in favour of what is, for me, the classic communication medium. It very near brought a tear to the eye.

Before anyone starts to worry, I've not simply been approaching random people and asking whether or not they listen to the radio. No sir. I was the one approached in the street and asked that very question.

How rude!

Tbc

Various Malarkey...

2010-09-22T22:45:00.002+01:00

Hmm. Possibly some of the above to be hosted at tumblr in the near future.

Poems, stories...who only knows what. We shall see.

We all love a bit of malarkey...

Watercolaaar studios...

2010-09-20T10:24:00.001+01:00

On International Talk Like A Pirate Day it was fitting that the brilliant Mt. Desolation gig at Nick Harper and Mary Ann Kennedy's Watercolour Studios in Ardgour should be identified by an old dodgem car flying the Jolly Roger.

I love the idea of Captain Jack Sparrow, Long John Silver or Captain Hook thundering around with a pikie on the back trying to ram the Admiralty...

Arr me hearties, walk the plank and avast behind...scream if you wanna go faster!

Wee Edit: Simon Willis has blogged the gig here...

Are Friends Eclectic?

2010-09-16T23:13:00.001+01:00

I would just like to point out that, since the last post, I've finished my 'mix tape' : it includes contributions from people covering Madonna, Thin Lizzy and Leonard Cohen.

Don't say you weren't warned...

and I love the PRS cheques that you bring*

2010-09-16T05:39:00.003+01:00

image via http://www.nicolecifani.com/

I'm currently involved in the setting up and organising of a book festival in the village. On the whole it's been an interesting and rewarding process, though the committee structure and the two-and-a-half-hour meetings are beginning to grate now.

We've got some great stuff happening. The most eagerly anticipated - by me at any rate - is certainly our "Evening of Uisge Beatha" featuring the oft-mentioned (on this blog) Tom Morton presenting his Malt & Barley revue, a whisky tasting with an Islay, Speyside and a Lowland malt and a showing of the 1949 classic "Whisky Galore!"

Having finished all of Ian Rankin's books (obviously those would be the ones he's written, I've not been and ransacked his shelves or anything) some weeks ago now I've recently discovered the joys of a further two Caledonian crime writers: book festival guests Allan Guthrie and Stuart MacBride and they're both appearing at the festival, reading and leading a writers workshop so that's all to the good...

I've landed (albeit at my own suggestion) what - for me - is the plum job: choosing the music to play in the background. Great stuff. Regular visitors to the blog and my Twitter feed will be aware of my fairly catholic tastes but, as a former hospital radio presenter, I know that personal proclivities must oft be subserviant to the tastes of the people. Why else would self respecting DJ's play Michael Buble?

So it is that I'm tasked with setting the mood, creating - if you will - a suitably literary ambience. I'm thinking that The Vaselines "Rory Ride Me Raw" might not quite set the right tone.

Obviously the sweary words are out, which kind of puts half my record collection in the Family Fortunes "uhh uhh" bin. But I'll try to be as obscure as possible.

At hospital radio (and when I'm playing stuff in the house for one of our Deuchars IPA fuelled dancing about sessions) I like to try to get from song to song as subtly as possible - not in a Fatboy Slim mixing style or in an obviously linked way like Maconie&Radcliffe's Chain. Though I do love how the Chain can get you from, say, Fools Gold by the Stone Roses to California Girls by Dave Lee Roth.

Gold-Aztecs were big on it-Roddy Frame of Aztec Camera brilliantly covered Van Halen's Jump on an early EP-Dave Lee Roth sang the original version, since you asked...

I digress, as is often the way.

Yeah, getting from song to song subtly isn't necessarily of the utmost importance here. No; what I'm looking for is more of a vibe - a sense that all of the songs are right and that it doesn't matter where in the sequence of songs you come in, or indeed zone out.

That philosophy is the kind that might get me from, say Thirteen by Big Star to Nina Simone covering Leonard Cohen's Suzanne: two tracks and artists with, apparently, little in common but on closer inspection both carrying the same languid, leisurely, thoughtful delivery which - I hope - will mark the whole "set" at the book festival.

I, for one, am looking forward to the challenge. Now, how do I segue into NWA's F*** Tha' Police...?

*The Beautiful South, Song for Whoever

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz...

2010-09-12T09:29:00.000+01:00

...I wonder where the burdies is? They say the burdz is on the wing, but that's absurd...the wing is on the burd.

I remember my dad and grampa telling me that wee rhyme. It came to mind this morning when I was hanging out the washing; the garden is awash with twittering swallows and blue tits. It might be just about time for the swallows to do their heading 'sarf thing and that means, for us here in the wild west, the nights will soon be 'fair drawing in...'

Aye. It'll be winter soon enough...

Off to find the old walker's lost boot...

2010-09-11T11:09:00.000+01:00

We know he is a whizz of a wiz if ever a wiz there was...

2010-09-02T21:44:00.000+01:00

I'll explain later...

Roaming (not very far) in the gloaming...

2010-09-02T20:55:00.002+01:00

02092010809.jpg
Originally uploaded by singletrackroads

That's the thing about low-light photography, it's tricky to get any quality to the shot and still capture the essence of what it was you saw that prompted you to get the camera out in the first place.
Or maybe it's just my crappy camera. Or my inherent lack of patience. Or photographic skill.
Anyway, this is the very jolly burst of nasturtiums (the kids call them variously 'nurse-tur-shrooms', 'mastushrooms' and 'nur-star-shums') outside the greenhouse.

There're lemony bits, deep reddy-oranges, golden yellows and some lip-sticky scarlet tones. The bees have been very taken with them and they add a wee splash of colour and a peppery twist to a salad...or, yes, 'tis true, a homemade fishcake.

I love my garden.

I'd say she was his sister but she doesn't have his nose

2010-08-24T20:00:00.002+01:00

Since I first heard them on LastFM where they came up as a recommendation, I've been smitten with Frightened Rabbit. Their plaintive vocals and jangly melodies combine in a beautiful bittersweet union which leaves you punching the air and singing along about improbable things... like lepers and being poked in the iris.

Having not yet had a chance to see them live and, having nothing else pressing to do one night last month, I took the chance of a jaunt down to Stereo in Glasgow to catch the Rabbits frontman, Scott Hutchison, play a charity gig.Though slightly shambolic in places, this subterranean sweatfest of a show was an absolute cracker. There's a good review of it here at Spinner Music - though I'd have to question the use of the word 'vitriolic' to describe the crowd's singalong to "Keep Yourself Warm"...the reminder of the segue into Jay-Z's "99 Problems" is a welcome one though, not an encore you expect to hear at an acoustic singer-songwriter's gig.

There were a few real highlights in a night of general excellence, from the singalong stomp of set-opener "Old Old Fashioned" to the mass gathering of "Steves" (below) for the song "Nothing Like You" which, when first played in Ediburgh, apparently, was unnamed, resulting in the audience christening it Steve. Obvious really. Almost as obvious as the fact that some of the "Steves" were women who were almost certainly not called Steve, Steven, Stevie or even Stevo. Steph(anie) at a push....

Jaw-dropping-unable-to-concentrate-on-anything-else-long-enough-to-hold-the-camera moment of the evening went to the gorgeous signed performance of "Poke" (from which the title of this post comes) from the band's second album. A member of the audience, near the front, announced to Scott that she was an interpreted for the deaf and would like to sign her favourite Rabbits song for the audience. And that's just what she did. It was lovely to watch - I'm fairly sure sign-language isn't usually so expansive but her exaggerated, flowing gestures meshed perfectly with the tempo of the song and gave the whole experience a floaty, balletic feel.

Those familiar with the song's lyrics would undoubtedly have been intrigued, as Mr. Hutchison proclaimed himself to be, to see how the young lady handled a particular slang term in the third verse...

Since I went to this, now almost eight weeks ago, I've had the Rabbits on near-constant repeat in the car. The live album, "Quietly Now!" and debut long-player "Sing The Greys" are particular favourites. I'm really, really looking forward to seeing them at the Barrowlands in December; more perhaps than I've looked forward to a gig in a long time, which is saying something.

When a band, or in the case of the charity gig, a musician gets things this right, this charming, this lovely, it's really hard to see how people could fail to be won over by them. Frightened Rabbit - catch them before they're bigger than Jesus...which, as Scott and the boys know, is "just a Spanish boy's name"

GraveMaurice's Flickr set from the gig.

Tank, fly, bus, walk, jam, nitty gritty...

2010-08-23T22:10:00.003+01:00

For those of you wondering - and I know you're out there - "hey, just what exactly did happen to those delicious looking blackcurrants harvested just a few weeks ago?" I can exclusively reveal that they gave their all to join with their friends from the worlds of sugar and water to provide us with a glorious, gloopy coulis/jammy/compote type thing...

"All well and good," you might say as you try to stop the drool from ruining your best shirt, "but what are we supposed to do with that?"

How about dolloping a load of it on top of a delightful homemade cheesecake? Oh yes.

The Song Remains Inane (sic)

2010-08-12T22:11:00.009+01:00

Funny how the human brain works, isn't it? Well, mine at any rate...

My wee boy, who shall be eight in just over a week, was asking tonight about Napoleon...my knowledge, I must ashamedly confess, of the man is limited. My brain, however, did its usual Rorschach's/mind map thing and - as I suspect most people's would - told him that "at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender."

Childish I know, and I've promised to help him find out a bit more but it got me thinking. What on earth were Agnetha and Anni-Frid (albeit directed by Benny and Bjorn) playing at with those lyrics? Not only, it transpires, did Napoleon in fact surrender at Rochefort some four weeks after the battle of Waterloo, but how does a lovestruck female "meet her (sic) destiny in quite a similar way"? At what point does a Swedish maiden give in to the combined might of an Anglo-Allied army...or should we not ask?

Silly, poor or just plain stupid lyrics have always been present in music: see Joe Dolce's "Shaddap You Face" or anything by Black Lace for evidence of this; but I wondered just how much 'pop' music contains such inaccuracies?

Take, for example, the undoubted song-writing genius that is Paul Simon. His 1973 hit "Kodachrome" (1973, eh? The same year Waterloo was written...hmm) contains the line "everything looks worse in black and white." Really Paul? Can I just ask you for your thoughts on, say, the zebra?

Then of course there's the late, great Sam Cooke. A favourite of mine, for sure but even Sam wasn't averse to the odd idiosynchrasy in his lyrics; 1960's Chain Gang springing quickly to mind. This, let's not forget, is a song about a prison gang out working on, presumably, the railroad or enduring some equally arduous task. "All day long they're singing hooh! ahh!" Are they now? Really? That sounds a tad on the jolly side to me, Sammy. "Hooh ahh!" is Al Pacino's excited battle cry in Scent of A Woman - hardly indicative of hard labour...

Lastly - for now - it's the turn of Starship. 1985 saw the release of the (admittedly Bernie Taupin-penned) single "We Built This City". Here we get examples of both inaccuracy and inanity: witness "Marconi plays the mamba" or "Knee deep in the hoopla sinking in your fight" for the silly side of things. It's not until the chorus, though, that the band start to really test our patience: "We built this city on Rock and Roll" they gleefully proclaim.

Oh, really? Did you learn nothing from the tale of the Three Little Pigs Mister Bernie Taupin? We all know the dangers of building with not only straw but sticks as well! Are we really to believe that your 80's hair rock proteges thought double-four time would be a more suitable construction material for a whole city, never mind a house for a pig? Somehow I doubt it...

I'll remove my tongue from my cheek now...night night.

So come on, come on, do the growth-promotion with me...

2010-08-12T14:07:00.003+01:00

It's about that time when the blackcurrants have fallen (or been gently plucked) from their branches and thoughts are turning, as with the strawberries, to how to make them even more productive next year.

The BBC said this about pruning the blackcurrants on their gardening site:

Pruning blackcurrants

Blackcurrant bushes need constant renewal to ensure heavy crops. Older branches will bear fruit, but quantity and quality decline with age.
For this reason new bushes are planted deeply so that the plant produces vigorous young branches annually from below ground.
These are then used to replace older ones cut out after harvest.
Each year remove about one third of the oldest stems - the bark is very dark to the point of being black - and any that are weak or very low.
Always cut back to ground level or to a strong new shoot.
You can combine pruning with picking the fruit, or wait until winter.

So the boy-child and I have been out doing just that. The stems hadn't gone too dark but were certainly much darker than the newer growth so we'll see how it goes. One of our bushes was, literally, fruitless this year so we can't do any worse regardless of how cavalier we've been with the secateurs.

The Disappointing Tatties

2010-08-11T16:22:00.001+01:00

That's going to be the name of my new folk group. It's certainly looking like a better use of time than planting the scabby leftover potatoes from the shop and seeing what return they give.

A fairly poor yield from some of our shaws suggests we might be better off with seed potatoes next year. Having said that, we splashed out on onion sets this year and so far they look as if they're going to be fairly rubbishy. What a lottery it all is. Still, much more fun - and satisfying - than a trip to the produce department of one's local supermarket!

Death By Chocolate...

2010-08-11T16:12:00.002+01:00

...is one thing, but these sleepy, slightly stoner-esque wasps are trying to do themselves in by overindulging on sticky end of season strawberries. Before I came out with the camera there were about six in there!

The berries are past their best now, so it's time to take the BBC's advice and get deadheading and runner-chopping in preparation for next year when it starts all over again.

Absence makes the harvest grow faster...

2010-08-11T16:05:00.001+01:00

Housesitting in various 'airts and pairts' over the last three weeks or so has meant that, other than watering, our own garden has been somewhat neglected.

So it is that we've come back to a bumper crop of peas, the beginnings of a tomato fest, one or two tatties and the odd mutant nettle.

Nothing, however, could have prepared us for the craziness of the courgettes. Look at the Bonne Maman jar to the top right of the photo for some idea of scale here...

Ill communication

2010-07-25T14:32:00.000+01:00

Mobile phones, eh? Ubiquitous technology, ever advancing, ever increasing in number and, consequently, edging out the old ways be they proper grammar and punctuation, speaking face to face or - heinously? - the vanquishment of the Red Telephone Box.

The attempts by BT - for surely it is they - to sideline the iconic edifices range from the downright bizarre, "Sorry, this phone box no longer accepts coins", to the economically driven: "If you DO have coins and you're lucky enough to be in a box which accepts them then, please, put in at least 60pence to make a call"! Okay, so your sixty pee gets you a thirty minute UK call but, for goodness sakes, most of the time the public telephone would have been used in the same banal way we now use the mobile: to let people know we're running late or that there's been a change of plans. Even the most rambling of us would struggle to stretch that out to half an hour.

This particular Local Hero style kiosk is on the tiny Hebridean island of Muck. Needless to say, as the knot of blue rope tied around the upside down door testifies, this chap's out of action. I've no doubt this will probably be a permanent measure. This is sad for all manner of reasons, not least because it represents the end of an era in terms of improving the island's links to the outside world.

At a storytelling session earlier this week, the island's previous laird - Lawrence MacEwan - told us how up until as recently as the mid 1950's Muck was phoneless and relied on the post office on the neighbouring island of Eigg to light a bonfire to let the Muckites know when an important telegram had arrived! Far more exciting than checking for messages on your Blackberry.

Perhaps this box can be saved for purposes of posterity and practicality, if not, and if the current patchy mobile coverage doesn't improve, it may well be time for the Eigg postmistress to break out the firelighters once more...

Is the next line 'bom bom bom a dang a dang dang'?

2010-07-21T17:08:00.000+01:00

Rules are there for a reason...

2010-07-19T10:45:00.002+01:00

In his book, McCarthy's Bar, the late, great Pete McCarthy lists one of the rules of travel as being: never pass a pub with your name on it. Clearly a man with his priorities in the right place. Today though it's another of his maxims which has come to haunt me: never go anywhere without something to read.

Admittedly this takes on far more significance if, like Pete, you're trapped on a tiny island accessible only by irregular cable car. It's also worth bearing in mind when you turn up to a National Trust for Scotland visitor centre in torrential rain for a children's event only to have the kids wheeched away and be told you're not needed.

Since reading McCarthy's Bar I've taken smug delight in always having a book or two with me. That'll teach me. With heavy heart I hit the gift shop only to be confronted with the usual Highland array of tourist tat. I was half hoping to find The True Story Of Whisky Galore by Roger Hutchison who wrote the excellent Calum's Road. Alas the closest I came was a book on what's worn under the kilt (nothing, it's all in perfect working order! Barum tish) and a selection of volumes detailing how best to match a tartan to whatever tenuous clan connection you may have. Ach well, I suppose they know their market.

Here, this one looks interesting...it's by A. Local, 'Extraction and Digging Deep: A Century of Milking The Tourist Dollar'

Britain's got talons...

2010-07-17T09:46:00.006+01:00

The other week I was outside a well-known supermarket in Dumbarton. Also outside were a selection of birds of prey, I thought initially they'd been attracted by the two for one offers on fresh melons but it turned out they were there to promote the work of the Loch Lomond Birds of Prey Centre.

There were around a dozen birds there, by far the most impressive of which was a very chilled looking eagle owl. I was thinking what a shame it was that the wee folk weren't there to see when a wonderful idea occurred - why not take them there? Sheesh. Who knew?

So that's just what we did...albeit about a week later. A meander down through Strathyre forest and Callander brought us in the back way, avoiding all the traffic we'd been hearing about heading for the golf at Loch Lomond. The centre itself is in the back of a garden centre of all things, there must be a good reason for that but I'm damned if I can think of it.

We were shown round by a group of teenage volunteers, led by a girl of about seventeen who, she told us midway through, hadn't done the tour for over a year but with her relaxed manner and informative delivery it seemed to us as if she did it several times a day. She managed to get across loads of great information and wee asides without ever doing the whole patronising-know-it-all thing.

The children were amazed to learn that the European Eagle Owl (the one I'd seen at the shops) has a grip strength in its claws over three times that of a Rotteweilers jaws whilst my own personal favourite tale was that of another owl, Cargottow, the African Spotted Eagle Owl. Apparently, some time ago, he -yes, he - had looked after a rock for about 18months thinking it was an egg and that in nurturing it he would impress the ladies he hoped to woo (to wit, to woo even). He eventually gave the rock to a prospective mate as a gift...we weren't told if she was impressed or if she just thought he was a bit of a twit (to woo).*

*Owl Fact from the visit: Tawny Owls are the ones which do the comedy twit twoo call, the males twit, the ladies twoo.

After the owls it was on to the raptors, including Orla the Golden Eagle who captivated the kids just by sitting there - both of them decided she was the best thing in the place. My other half and I were more keen on taking Brodie, the seven week old Tawny Owl fluffball home with us. I don't think that until that point I'd ever seen an animal with eyes bigger that its head but Brodie had a darned good go!

All four of us were thrilled to have the chance to stroke Smudge, a Little Owl by name and stature. He came out on one of the guides gloves and sat nicely while we all gave him a fuss...it was easy to see why he's such a popular bird with the sponsors.

A venture like this can stand or fall on the quality of its dealings with the public. We left with the impression that the staff and volunteers are committed, knowledgeable and enthusiastic. Most of all they're keen and happy to share what they know and bring some of their passion to visitors young and not so young.

Open seven days, 10-5.30 (5 on Sundays)at the incredibly reasonable price of £3.50 for adults and £2.50 for kids, it's well worth a visit and the chance to see these incredible animals.

Nature's bounty

2010-07-17T09:44:00.005+01:00

That just never fails to be an entirely satisfactory experience: picking strawberries for immediate breakfast consumption. Throw in the waffles, yoghurt and freshly made coffee and Saturdays just don't start any better.

Economies of scale

2010-07-15T07:48:00.002+01:00

I'm no businessman but even I can see that if you're using 'leftover' pots, homemade compost and a packet of seeds which cost 39pence, then if you get only one courgette with a normal retail price of over 70pence then you're onto a good thing.

I worte a few weeks ago about the wee ones' courgette planting and the other day we harvested ten of the lovely things...

As they say Stateside, you do the math.

Imagine my delight in the greenhouse last night then when I saw the cucumber plant...

The plant itself was bought for £1.50 and the last time I bought a cucumber it was seventy nine pee, so even if we only get those two you can see there, we've broken even. Like the Mastercard ad, though, the satisfaction gained from watching them grow, and helping to be a small part of that process, is priceless.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever

2010-07-13T15:09:00.001+01:00

Some people know just how to win over a punter. Even if the musical content turns out to be duff (which I'm certain it won't), Erland & The Carnival have triumphed with this brilliant packaging wheeze - a mish-mash of letters from those old stencils everyone used to use at school.

It won me over, as did their live session on the Janice Forsyth show the other week. Catch up with them on Twitter...

You gave up on easter for your vegan chums...

2010-07-12T09:35:00.000+01:00

The next line of this song, Not One Bit Ashamed by the mighty King Creosote, goes "It's not good enough, not good enough." The very opposite is always, in my experience, true of a live gig by the man himself.

This photo's from a recent outing to Oran Mor as part of the West End Festival, which I'd not got round to posting due to excessive gardening activity (see rest of blog).

I've written lots about Kenny (Anderson, aka KC) in the past and this must have been about the tenth time I'd been to see him live. This was billed as a solo-show, just Kenny and his guitar and accordion - though clearly not simultaneously; that really would be a heck of a show.

Admiral Fallow opened proceedings with an excellent set and were not shy to show their influences. Echoes of King Creosote himself mixed with another Fence star, James Yorkston though the most striking resemblance, particularly on the vocals, was to the sublime Frightened Rabbit. Some heavy duty talent to live up to then. They have an album out just now with the worrying title, "Boots Met My Face" - hopefully a reference to a trip to the cosmetics counter in a well known high street pharmacy chain rather than a late night encounter in a dark lane with a group of neds. The singer was a wee bit mumbly on the night so I couldn't make out the song titles but this one, Squealing Pigs, rings a bell and is a lovely, jangly song which starts in that almost sound-of-the-sea way that James Yorkston's best stuff does. Highly recommended.

Mr. Anderson was in typically charming mood. Shorn of beard, he looks even more cheeky and elfin than usual and kicked off in contrarily quiet and almost downbeat fashion with the beautiful "And The Racket They Made". Such quiet contemplation is normally the stuff of mid-set slow downs but KC used it to grab attention in the way a good teacher does: speak quietly and they just have to listen. A reverential hush gave way to rapturous applause as the last chords were plucked.

Never playing a song the same way twice and often delving deep into a back catalogue of over forty (!) albums, a King Creosote gig is always an entertaining experience where one learns to expect the unexpected. Tonight we were treated to the use of a rattling toy elephant as percussion, a new song written in collaboration on which the ink was still so wet Kenny had to read the lyrics from a big "This Is Your Life" style red book in front of him and a blistering guest appearance on moothie from legendary man-about-the-west-end, Kenny McCluskey. So talented is the former Bluebell that you actually want to take up the harmonica because he makes it look so easy and sound so damn good.

Throughout the evening there had been occasional references to Kenny's Fence Records right-hand man and long time collaborator, Johhny "Pictish Trail" Lynch so it was no great surprise and no small delight when he was persuaded to join KC on stage for a couple of encores. It's always a delight - tinged with awe and envy - to watch talented musos just slip into comfortably matching each other's playing and harmonising as if they were a well rehearsed act; this was no exception and a reprise of "Not One Bit Ashamed" brought the sweaty subterranean proceedings to a close.

www.twitter.com/fencerecords

www.twitter.com/pictish trail

www.twitter.com/AdmiralFallow

Yeah, none of that weeing or anything!

2010-07-10T12:58:00.000+01:00

No pop, no style: all strictly roots

2010-07-09T12:08:00.005+01:00

This is better. Much better. I wrote recently about my abortive strawberry runner potting up. My other half suggested I should have waited until there were roots coming out of the pot before severing the new plant's ties with the main crop.

Yesterday was that day.

Into the damp garden between downpours with the youngest who wielded an Opinel under parental supervision to slice through the - tougher than expected - runners to leave us with three new plants.

And, as it turned out, a rather nice way to tie up a wee flower bundle from her own bed in the garden...

Hey, I never claimed to be a flower arranger.

Cordial relations...

2010-07-07T22:03:00.006+01:00

Into the midge-ridden garden again this afternoon with the wee folk to take on one of the summer's lovelier tasks: the gathering of the blackcurrants!

A much healthier haul today than the sour, hard spheres harvested for the freezer at the t
ail end of last week. As the soft inky globes dropped into the colander we could all smell the essence of Ribena and we can't wait to use them in a nice sorbet or (middle-class spoiler alert) a coulis type thing to put on our waffles.

Next up is to find out how best to promote growth for next year - hard pruning or leaving well alone? The advice on the web is a veritable tangled bramble bush of contradictions...

Eggshell blue...like a bunny rabbit's eyes

2010-07-07T12:03:00.008+01:00

It's easy, all too easy, to grumble about the paucity of today's television, particularly when it comes to comedy. All too often we lament the passing of great shows like Only Fools and Horses whilst managing to forget the aberration that was Sorry. For every Good Life there's a Joey.

Thankfully, albeit surprisingly, the BBC's Children's Department is addressing the issue. Like a funnier Little Britain, "Sorry, I've Got No Head" is, according to The British Comedy Guide, "a fast-paced and irreverent "grown-up" sketch show for children, in which all the roles are played by adults." Their glowing review continues:

You'd have thought a sketch show made for children's TV would be a bit simple and patronising - this comedy is neither of those things. It's just like a normal sketch show, but without any rude words. In fact, it is better that a lot of the sketch shows that are aimed at adults!

As an added bonus, Sorry, I've Got No Head isn't written or performed by obscure unknowns - far from it - British comedy fans should recognise nearly all of the cast (James Bachman and Marcus Brigstocke in drag in the Little Britain-esque Jasmine and Prudith sketches are a particular joy).

The aforementioned dragged-up Bachman and Brigstocke are indeed a joy; here they are in glorious action...

Why the long face?

2010-07-06T10:26:00.001+01:00

Four year old's lovely felt pen horse drawing...the late, great Bud Neill would be proud.

Old Town, Top Rankin...

2010-07-05T23:09:00.001+01:00

The party's finally over. For both Inspector John Rebu s and myself.

Since a stint in hospital for physio last autumn, where I picked up a copy of Fleshmarket Close in the TV room I've been hooked on Ian Rankin's detective series. Never normally one for crime novels - and sometimes not one for fiction of any sort, depending on my mood - I soon discovered the tales of the non-comformist officer to be unputdownable. One reason undoubtedly being that the prose is far less clunky than the stuff I've just typed...I digress; the 450 or so pages were finished around four in the morning having only picked it up at around nine the previous evening.

I'd be hard-pressed to say exactly what Rebus' appeal is. Certainly the few episodes of the TV adaptation I'd seen featuring the spectacularly anaemic performances of John Hannah in the title role had failed to impress, though the later incarnation featuring the impressively world-weary Ken Stott as our favourite DI is a far better watch.

In terms of the books, my previous exposure to the world of the crime/detective novel started way back with the amateur sleuthing of The Hardy Boys (alongside their faithful sidekick, Chet Morton and his 'jalopy', anachronism fans) and more recently has taken in the harder edge of Denise Mina's Glasgow-based work. A few years ago, whilst living in Edinburgh, I got heavily into the Quint Dalrymple series of "future fiction" by Paul Johnston. Although set some thirty years in the future of a vaguely dystopian Edinburgh, the fact that I lived and worked in the city at the time - just yards in fact from the main characters residence - gave the stories a certain resonance; so much so that being out alone after dark having recently read any of the books gave one a certain feeling of disquiet in the city's streets.

These forays into the underworld, though, have been few and far between. Normally I'm more content to stick with humorous travel writing: Pete McCarthy, Tim Moore; 'mad' fiction: Chris Brookmyre and a general random selection of Scottish writers such as Des Dillon, Iain Banks and Alans Warner and Spence.

John Rebus has, for me, been a welcome break in what has been the twelve or so months from hell. The familiarity of the setting - Edinburgh, the easy humour and wit of the writing, the musical references and the pace and quality of the story-telling have all been contributing factors in my immense enjoyment of the series. Mr. Rankin is an immensely engaging writer and brings the warmth and personality of his tweets to the page at every turn. Sadly, yesterday, I finished the last one, 1993's The Black Book. It's actually only book number five in a series of seventeen so you can see that chronology wasn't important to me. I'd been picking the books up in charity shops, second-hand bookshops and online for several months and had always planned - once I got a fair way through the 'set' - to read the last one, Exit Music last, regardless of the rest. Unfortunately for me I found Exit Music for a few quid some months before I'd tracked down Tooth and Nail and The Black Book and, unable to resist the lure for any longer, read the final instalment before the two earlier ones. No matter.

I've finished the lot now, though, and feel strangely bereft. Where next? Doors Open? The Complaints? Read them both already - my brother in-law and I have even mentally cast Doors Open for the big screen! (James McAvo y as 'Westie' and Stephen Fry as 'Professor Gissing', right?) I thought perhaps I'd revert to my travel idiom or perhaps read one or two of the various tracts which have been piling up since christmas without yet - as with so many of Rebus' own bedside books - making it to the top of the pile. A quick library trip in the lashing rain today saw me return with these chaps...

Murder, humour and the tyranny of the round robin xmas letter. Not necessarily in that order.

Any further suggestions welcomed: @singletrackroad

Bella cucina!

2010-07-05T18:53:00.000+01:00

Is this what's meant by fusion cuisine? Umbria meets Uddingston in a classic cappuccino-caramel log coalition. Tasty.

Strawberry yields for breakfast...

2010-07-04T15:17:00.001+01:00

Our first crop from the ten or so plants in the bed. The slugs have had a wee go at one or two of the precious rubies but overall they're a healthy bunch with a great smell. The fruits, not the slimy slugs...

Looking forward to this lot with some waffles, yoghurt and a cappuccino.

Pretentious? Mais oui...

Anyone for tennis?

2010-06-28T22:48:00.001+01:00

Into the second week at Wimbledon and the strawberries look as if they're thinking about putting in an appearance in time for the final.

Double cream at the ready...C'mon Andy!

Tiger tiger burning bright

2010-06-28T18:06:00.000+01:00

What in the name of the wee man is that?

This spectacularly emblazoned little creature is currently resting on a branch of our broom plant in the garden. The four mohican style tufts on its back and the array of hairy spikes look fearsome enough to deter all but the most intrepid predator.

Almost certainly, further investigation would reveal the little black and orange striped chap to be perfectly innocuous, but then that would rather spoil the fun. Grrr!

Shutting the stable door...

2010-06-27T13:07:00.001+01:00

The rocket has decided to blast off at such a rate that our consumption has been unable to keep pace (such a middle class problem that!)

The youngest and I have spent a wee while rooting out the offending leggy runners and harvesting what we can for the salad spinner.

Waste not, want not.

You're twisting my melons man

2010-06-26T17:51:00.000+01:00

One of those 'ach, what the hell' horticultural experiments.

As any fruit fan knows, your standard melon comes with a myriad of seeds which require to be scooped out before munching can begin.

Not for us the drying out and threading onto a necklace though. Oh no. This year I've decided to actually plant some. This lot seem to be doing well enough in the mini greenhouse.

Hopefully they'll come to something and get to the stage where they'll need nets to support the fruits.

If we even get one tiny Galia I'll consider that worthwhile. In fact I'll consider it a miracle - the seeds were from a Honeydew.

Here they come...

2010-06-26T17:37:00.000+01:00

Now this is more like it. The much anticipated sight of the yellow flowers signalling the imminent arrival of the courgettes. You can just see one of the fruits forming behind the petals there...

The wee people planted, ahem, thirty seeds. All of which have done very well. We've already given a load of plants away to neighbours and our youngest's nursery but with an average yield of even say six fruits per plant, we're still looking at the best part of EIGHTY of the green blighters!

Ratatouille anyone...?

It's all gone to pot...

2010-06-26T17:29:00.000+01:00

One of the garden's most satisfying sights: the potted up strawberry runner.

Effectively a 'free' strawberry plant from one of the already established ones. It appears, however, that a good deal of care must be taken to ensure the new plant is fully established before cutting its lifeline from the mothership...as I discovered to my cost earlier in the week. Nothing quite so disspiriting as a spot of premature cultivation. Oh well. Hoping for better luck with this chap.

How do they do that?

2010-06-11T18:29:00.000+01:00

How come peas and beans know that they need to send out their feathery tendrils to find some support to keep them upwardly mobile?

The endless fascination of the garden in action continues apace.

Fly away home...

2010-06-11T18:22:00.000+01:00

Comedy ladybird in maroon and cream colours reminiscent of perhaps the London Midland and Scottish Railway, redolent of the steam driven pleasures of a bygone age. Or something.

Why, that very nearly looks organised...

2010-06-10T12:29:00.002+01:00

Veg beds in full effect and all that. Leeks, onions, rocket, dwarf peas, courgette, beetroot, wee tiny spring onions and of course the strawberries at the front.

It's like Percy effing Thrower, as a friend commented last week.

I'm sure that's not quite what they meant by Blue Peter.

I don't even like the Beatles...

2010-06-05T18:00:00.004+01:00

But I suppose if their Strawberry Fields looked as good as this I might forgive them. The excitement mounts in anticipation of Wimbledon, purely so we can eat the strawberries with some cream and a glass of something sparkly.

Meanwhile over by the porch, the weather's taken a turn for the worse as the Snow in Summer finally arrives with a flourish...

You're the devil in disguise...

2010-06-05T09:43:00.003+01:00

Or at the very least, Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Brilliant want ad from the local Freecycle group:

"wanted: fake blond moustache and matching goatee beard"

There's nothing more to add to that.

A wee toty garden...

2010-06-01T06:56:00.002+01:00

I've just come across this lovely, lovely blo g. It's all about a little vegetable garden in Bath. As opposed to gardening in a bath, which is just silly.

The blogger has adopted 10 rules to garden by. Number 5 may find almost universal agreement...

5. Accept that celery is the devil’s food

I'll be sure to check back regularly - if only to make myself jealous.

Twitterific! Check out my new badge...

2010-05-30T14:51:00.003+01:00

Buy local! Handmade Twitter style badge for my jacket from the Woodland Pottery in Strontian. Lovely.

Roll back the years with...

2010-05-27T14:48:00.005+01:00

...a tomato plant. Of course.

What a great smell it is, pinching out the side shoots of those gro-bag tomato plants. It takes me back almost 30 years to my grandpa's greenhouse on the South side of Glasgow. The heady combined aromas of tomato plants, creosote and grass clippings make for an amazing olfactory memory. As a matter of fact, a cousin of mine visited a few years back and I made him sniff the inside of our shed to see if he'd agree that it smelled exactly like our Grandpa Michael's and prove to my other half that I'd not quite lost it. Thankfully he concurred. On the smell, not the losing it.

On the gardening theme, a neighbour gave us a couple of these yesterday:

Celeriac plants. Good stuff for mash with a nice fish dish. The celeriac itself of course, not simply the planty bit. I digress. He'd no instructions for what to do with them so I just bunged them in the greenhouse for want of any better suggestions. A quick flick through Grow Your Own Veg by the BBC's Carol Klein recommends getting them planted out around now with a view to harvesting in mid-autumn. Sounds good. Especially the labour-saving mention of only watering every 5-10 days.

Apparently it's "hugely versatile...and can be used in soups and salads...the French grate it into a Dijon mustard mayonnaise." What? All of them? Is it compulsory over there? Good grief...

Gotta love those pollenating insects...

2010-05-24T12:58:00.000+01:00

How does your garden grow?

2010-05-18T15:22:00.002+01:00

I think, if you're a proper gardener, that there's always something needing to be done in the garden. Whether it's weeding the beds or mulching the borders, Gardener's World would have you believe that the world's not right until you've been out with the spade and the secateurs and to hang with any jobs from the real world.

There may well be a grain of truth in this. If, however, like me you're just messing about at it and trying your luck* then one can manage the incredible feat of pottering about and appearing simultaneously productive/constructive and yet shambolic and disorganised.

This, of course, may be no bad thing. Too much anal retention can't be good for either the garden or the digestion. Are regimented rows of seedlings and well drilled lines of saplings really doing much to advance the cause of human happiness? Laissez-faire and devil may care, that's me.

Real gardeners (yes, retired folk really) would no doubt be horrified at my planting regime - points to consider: do I have space, do I have any soil/compost? Answer = yes? Bung in the seeds regardless of instructions to the contrary. I prefer to think of it as a kind of "control method", checking whether those seed packet instructions really are accurate is a true service to the horticulturist I think.

No, no, don't all rush to thank me. It was nothing...

* many years ago, the Beechgrove Garden used to talk about, what I took to be a form of cultivation called "keanamata gardening" - it's only recently I've discovered this seemingly exotic form of horticulture to be for the "keen amateur". Oh well, another bubble burst.

Un jour tres beau dans le jardin

2010-05-18T09:20:00.001+01:00

Heavens above. What have things come to when my first thought on a glorious day like this is 'excellent, I can get the washing out!' ?

Still, hard work over, time to fire up the Gaggia...as Gene Hunt would never be heard saying.

In a Scottish country garden

2010-05-12T20:06:00.000+01:00

'cause the rest of us can keep it tight forever...

2010-03-20T18:16:00.003Z

This is a tremendous video for a great song by a magnificent (and criminally, yes genuinely criminally, underrated) band...

Shed 7 - Disco Down; get in!

Calling...civilisation!

2010-03-09T17:03:00.003Z

I've been looking sporadically on YouTube for years for the old Outer Hebrides Broadcasting Corporation sketches from Naked Video. Thankfully it doesn't disappoint even after all these years.

Many, many thanks to The Croft for bringing this to my attention. Skip ahead to 2'48 and enjoy.

Hallo, hallo, hallo...

"GLOW and ACFE Uber Alles"

2010-02-25T19:29:00.002Z

This is very, very clever. That's all I'll say about it.

...and true love will find you in the end...

2010-02-14T21:51:00.002Z

Obviously, from previous postings, I'm well disposed towards the magnificent Swell Season anyway but this really takes the biscuit. A beautifully shot (16mm cinecam) performance of their plaintive "In These Arms" posted by the band on their Twitter feed earlier today...

In These Arms from banjo bandstand on Vimeo.

Home Mix-taping is Reinvigorating Music?

2010-01-26T18:41:00.005Z

Mixtape.jpg
Originally uploaded by singletrackroads

Mibbes aye...

I ranted (hey, there's a shocker) about home-taping articles at the start of the month there and then last night I found this great old flyer in my bag...

We need more of this sort of thing in the world, particularly if people move increasingly towards downloads and thereby by-pass cover art and the creativity inherent therein.

I've no idea - yet - what I'll put on the tape that I know I'll send, heck I don't even know if I have a tape to record onto but I know, in High Fidelity stylee, it will be done with love.

No Bonus For RBS

2010-01-25T21:00:00.000Z

Self explantory really.

Legendary politcal activist and protest singer Billy Bragg....blah,blah,blah...any fan of Bill's will tell you that he's always been more of a real-life chronicler and love-song balladeer than a fist waving, ranting political polemic kinda guy. Though, understandably, ranting tends to attract more attention than singing sweetly...

Anyway, Bill is - rightly - outraged at the potential payment of bonuses to high-flying RBS types in light of the fact that we, the UK taxpayers, own 84% of the bank and, as such, have a right to veto. The web is, at the moment, full of Bill's Campaign (he's even got himself a website all about it) and he's omnipresent in radio and tv interviews.

Fair Play Bill I reckon. I've long thought that the country would be a better place with BB for PM.

Facebook campaign anyone?

And a big shout out!

2010-01-21T21:53:00.006Z

First time lucky and all that...with my sister visiting for youngest daughter's birthday, we decided to request a shout out from Stuart on the Radcliffe and Maconie show in celebration of the lovely pink sponge being constructed (do you construct cakes?) for said birthday celebrations...

Having started earlier in the day with a selection of glittery-starry-pink-iced cupcakes:

...I felt it only appropriate to mark the creating of the fairy-princess masterpiece with a request on national radio

Radcliffe and Maconie giving a big shout out to Maisie mouse.

Toe curling...

2010-01-17T21:48:00.003Z

The sentiment contained herein is an admirable, albeit obvious, one. I shudder, however, to think how many teachers' CPD courses will be including this clip over the next few months and cringe further to think how clever and innovative so many dark-ages professionals will think it...I can almost see the self-satisfied-aren't-I-clever? look on the face of the person delivering the session.

Ach well. The firewall gag's a good 'un...

Cold snap

2010-01-15T09:02:00.002Z

How exciting. Following on from this post from a few weeks back, the BBC have decided to use the photo that I sent to them as part of their "wow, don't the Highlands look spectacular in the snow?" featurette on the Highlands & Islands microsite. Which is nice.

Rather weirdly, of all the possible shots of the Highlands and Islands, two of these ten are from Strontian!

Anyway, fame at last...

Back to black...ice

2010-01-15T01:06:00.005Z

The recent spell of wintry (wintery?) weather, tracked obsessively and extensively via Twitter using the #uksnow tag has led to some interesting mobility experiences for me.

Still not 100% sure of the stability of my knee following the reconstructive surgery, I've been treading rather gingerly on the ice. Isn't doing something 'gingerly' a great idea? Certainly worth investigating...

Anyway, long story short and all that, at the start of the week I was walking back over from the other side of the island and I had my mp3 player blasting away in my ears to keep out the cold. Using the shuffle function, well, you have to do something to add excitement to your day, I was treated to a bit of Northern Soul courtesy of Tammi Lynn. Clearly even I wasn't about to attempt a backflip or fling down some talcum powder and pull a headspin. And throwing shapes on grit is just so undignified. I did, however, have an image of club nights in Edinburgh, attempting (though more often watching others) to look as if I could pull my weight in the foot-stomping dance stakes.

No sooner had the thought entered my head than I found myself involuntarily auditioning to be one of Ms. Winehouse's backing dancers as my bad leg went from under me and I struggled to regain my footing with a rather natty shuffle-slide in the style of another who often did things Gingerly...

Fred Astaire

Via DanceFusion

Stop! Woah, yeah, wait a minute Mister Postman...

2010-01-11T11:30:00.016Z

Okay, okay, I admit it. I used to collect stamps. Albeit in a very half-hearted send away for a hundred non rare but fairly obscure impressions from the pages of comics like the Beano.

For a certain generation, the name Stanley Gibbons carries a particular resonance. Countless hours were frittered away trying tp make those dashed "stamp hinges" work without sticking them onto themselves or, worse still onto your fingers and clothes. Heaven forbid you'd crinkle a Djibouti Olympic Squad first day cover through the careless application of a gossamer layer of sticky hinge!

In a (surely doomed to failure) bid to make philately the new rock n roll, the Royal Mail have issued a set of stamps featuring classic album covers - actually, that was ill-informed. I was about to go off one one about who decided these were classics, etc, etc but I've just followed that there link above and the Royal Mail assure us that:

This stamp issue salutes this unique art form and celebrates

some of the greatest examples, used by UK artists.

So that's fine then.

I heard a piece on Radio Scotland just before Christmas where one of the artists, the brilliantly named Storm Thorgerson who was, as we say on the West coast, 'doing his duster' on the issue (aha, wee stamp gag there) of artistic integrity being compromised. I can completely understand his point - I stopped agreeing with him for a minute when he went on about consultation, my thinking being that surely if you've designed the artwork and signed it over to the record company then it becomes public work and you lose control over it, after all, where's the artisitc integrity in a badly done screen print on a cheap gig t-shirt?

However, I have to agree with old Stormin' Thormin's point on the suitability of artwork being used. He said that as a designer he had come up with a concept which would work on a lovely 12inch by 12inch record sleeve - clearly the man has plenty of soul - but would perhaps be compromised on a CD cover and, by extension, compromised further still on a 2inch square stamp. You cannot, after all, beat the thrill of vinyl.

Having looked at the artwork it's clear to me that, for example, Primal Scream's Screamadelica still manages to work on a small scale - the simplicity and the primary colours stand out like a piece of child's artwork, similarly the clean lines and lack of clutter of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells cover art and the iconography of the Clash's London Calling - itself Ray Lowry's homage to the King -but, as Storm says, the pieces of finer detail, whilst still incredibly well reproduced, just don't have the visual impact that they were designed for in the first place. The Stones' Let It Bleed, complete with its Delia Smith cake, just doesn't grab the eye in the same way as the original LP sleeve.

All of this got me thinking...can we not just have billboard sized stamps?

Ice with your Rum?

2010-01-10T15:20:00.000Z

Well, a light dusting of snow at any rate.

Rum and the Cuillins from Muck.

Keep the home fires burning...

2010-01-09T09:04:00.003Z

This is what's needed this morning, blogging by the woodburner whilst listening to Danny Baker...

...though your nose is a chillin'...

2010-01-09T08:51:00.002Z

A Flickr set from the last few weeks...I'll tag them properly later.

Winter Wonderland
http://www.flickr.com/photos/38322479@N08/sets/72157623171562874/

A selection of things from the set

(By the way, if the set link doesn't work, try copying and pasting it from this email into your browser's address bar.)

Flickr is almost certainly the best photo management and sharing application in the world. If you'd like to see what I use it for you can check out my profile page or browse my photostream.

That's for to take my sister to the picture show...

2010-01-05T08:02:00.004Z

The BBC's Outnumbered is consistently brilliant, perhaps never more so than in the recent Christmas special.

The whole thing was magnificent but, right near the end, they completely randomly had a family singalong to the excellent Felice Brothers "Frankie's Gun" - it's priceless and you can see it at 8mins 12s on this clip.

Then, when you've established that it's clearly one of the best songs you've ever heard (because your ears are saying "hey, is that someone mashing up an accordion version of Bat Out Of Hell with Knockin' On Heaven's Door?") you can go here and download it for free.

And after that, you can see Bono rather touchingly forget the words to the aforementioned Dylan classic in aid of Dublin's Simon Community.

Pining for the fjords...

2010-01-04T15:39:00.001Z

Strontian going for the full on tourist brochure look in the snow today...

Clearly the man's an idiot...

2010-01-03T05:52:00.008Z

Image via Wikipedia

Okay, okay, so - clearly - my "Top Ten" list from the other day should have included The Stones' brilliant Exile On Main Street but it seemed a trifle obvious (that'll be beacuse it's a brilliant album then, eh?). It must be included. So, too, must its direct descendant - The Black Crowes, "Shake Your Money Maker" - sure, it's pretty easy to spot the influences, Exile-era Stones, Sticky Fingers-era stones - I'm being unfair, there's plenty of Faces in the mix too! It really is a superb record.

I did make it clear the other day that, as with Tom Morton's list and those in High Fidelity, it (the list) will change depending on day, mood and company and it's certainly a topic which can make you - well, make me at any rate, wake up in the middle of the night and think, "How did I manage to leave out Billy Bragg's 'Victim Of Geography?" I'll tell you how, it's because it's a compilation of two of his albums and I didn't think that would count. Yes, I'm aware there's nobody arbitrating this and that if I really wanted I could just include a load of 'Now That's What I Call Music' albums but you have to draw the line otherwise anarchy ensues - the revolution is, after all, just a t-shirt away.

But Billy goes in there now. In in place of what you may ask? Nobody. I'm not bumping King Creosote or Son Volt out of my list - this is, to labour a point, today's top ten. Canada's Barenaked Ladies also need to climb aboard with their fabulous debut, "Gordon" - it should probably be on the list for the title alone so when you add their clever, innovative 'acoustic hip-hop(!)' to the mix the case becomes a strong one. "Enid", "Brian Wilson" and "New Kid On The Block" call to mind The Housemartins and The Smiths jamming with a flamenco band over a few too many beers. Which can only be a good thing.

The Lost Soul Band's magnificent "The Land Of Do As You Please" is one of those definite desert island "If I only had this I'd be quite happy" albums. Very few people have heard of the band, fewer still own the record but it's a tremendous example of lyrical craft, beautiful singing and a country-soul-blues-rock magimix holding it all together. Definitely a keeper as they say. They said that about Alan Rough too.

Keeping it nicely parochial, Phil Campbell's hard to track down debut "Fresh New Life" **I've just broken off from writing this nonsense to track down and read a blog by someone genuinely talented, Phil himself - if you don't know his work...actually I'll come back to that in a minute** - is one of the greatest records you'll ever (probably not) hear. My writing abilities don't stretch to doing it justice. The music speaks for itself as does Mr. Campbell. His life-story type blog at his Myspace is a genuinely affecting piece of writing, made all the more vivid because, for some of it, as they say, I was there man. Phil's never had the recognition his music and talent clearly deserve though I've yet to find anyone I've lent his stuff to who's not said "that guy's a genius." Go, find it, listen. Hey, turns out it's no longer hard to find.

Where are we at now? Six today. Hmm.

Okay. You want more obscure Scottish artists? Nae bother. The Radio Sweethearts - Lonesome Blue - proper honky tonk Hank Williams-esque country...from Lanarkshire. Like it says on the sticker on the album "It's hard to tell if you're listening to a country classic or a Sweethearts original" - praise indeed.

The Swiss Family Orbison - eponymous album from ex-Danny Wilson man Kit Clark with ex-Deacon Blue and current BBC Sportscene (!) man Dougie Vipond on drums. It's somehow very obviously Scottish pop-rock. I'm not even sure what I mean by that but no doubt you'll kind of understand.

Right, last two onto my Desert Island - Mojave 3's "Excuses For Travellers" A brilliant album which, if you were lazy you might describe as lo-fi acoustic chill out, but that would be a dreadful thing to do.

Last but not least and by jings this is tricky, I need to dance about a bit on my island so I'm taking a compilation album and there's nothing you can do about it. It's even a double CD so there! Put down the talcum powder and bring out the cheesecloth shirts. A bit of Northern Soul - The Best Northern Soul All-Nighter...Ever! Amazing sounds, Al Wilson's "The Snake", Frank Wilson's "Do I Love You?" and Sliced Tomatoes by The Just Brothers - songs to get a corpse dancing.

Right. I'm away to listen to Johnny Cash. He's not on the list? Ach, there's always tomorrow's list...

Lazy Articles About Home Taping Is Killing Music Journalism*

2010-01-03T01:01:00.005Z

Image by Heinrock via Flickr

I'm going to sound like a complete curmudgeon here because I actually quite like this article from the Times about mix-tapes and a cassette revival. I mean, in many ways it's a wee bit like a post I churned out myself some months back. And that's the thing. Not only have "C90s are back!" type articles been doing the rounds for a good while now, but Nick Hornby's "High Fidelity" has whole sections - nay, damn near the whole book - devoted to the subject of the mix tape and, as much as I love that book, I don't want to sit and read poor imitations of it in a national newspaper.

Bah. Humbug.

* Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that should be "are" but pay attention at the back there!

I wanna jump right in and see what that big ocean's got...

2010-01-02T16:19:00.004Z

I feel I may have to revise yesterday's lists as it's patently obvious that The Swell Season are probably the best band in the world at the moment. This is stunningly beautiful.

Fife get over excited

2010-01-02T15:17:00.004Z

Lovely wee documentary on the Fence Collective here from the BBC...

And here's a brilliant website featuring head Fence-ster King Creosote, Bandstand Busking...

And be a model pupil tonight babe, I wanna get ten out of ten...

2010-01-01T11:10:00.012Z

Image via Wikipedia

I've written before about the joys of discussing music and musical tastes and it's a topic that never fails to arouse my interest. It can, at times, give vent to one's inner totalitarian as you question how someone could possibly have all the Coldplay albums yet have no time for The Reindeer Section or how anyone, anyone could find anything positive to say about James Blunt (other than the fact that he seems to have been quiet for a fair old while now).

The oft-mentioned (on this blog at any rate) Tom Morton has, in traditional end-of-year-reflective-stylee produced a couple of "best of" lists over the last few days on his Beatcroft blog, Top Ten Live Albums and an End Of The Decade inventory. Both contain albums I think I'd enjoy, both contain artists I've never listened to before (Elvis Perkins - great name! - and Leo Kottke, though I have always meant to follow up old Leo having had him recommended to me by a colleague around 13 years ago now!) and both have got me thinking.

Certainly in terms of live albums I've never been a fan - I used to buy bootleg tapes at the Barras of gigs in and around Glasgow that I'd been to. The sound quality was generally awful but because I'd actually been to and enjoyed the gigs I was buying recordings of, I could forgive that and relive the event. In terms of live stuff now, it's fairly easy to find mp3s online and you can often acquire great live cover versions - King Creosote and The Bluebells doing "Cath" together, Ray La Montagne and Damien Rice with the Bee Gees "To Love Somebody" spring to mind as great examples but otherwise I tend to avoid live stuff unless I'm hunting down something I've actually heard (KC as mentioned above having seen him do the song at Oran Mor as part of the Homecoming after show party being the most recent example).

As for just general "best of" lists, well Nick Hornby has long recorded the male obsession with lists, best ofs, top tens and so on and, as he so often does, has hit the nail right on the head. It's not done for competition - though the Barry character brilliantly played by Jack Black in the movie version of 'High Fidelity' certainly uses his lists as a "look how much I know" musical obscurist snob exercise - which can sometimes be no bad thing; I particularly love the exchange in High Fidelity between the outrageously opinionated Barry and the mild mannered Dick around "Little Latin Lupe Lu". If you've neither read nor seen High Fidelity, Barry namechecks the song and Dick says "Mitch Ryder and The Detroit Wheels?" to which Barry snaps "No, the Righteous Brothers!" "Oh" says Dick with a look you can even picture in the book which just seems to say "oh, you poor soul, you've never even heard what I regard as the definitive version and your life is undoubtedly the poorer for it" - I get that feeling a lot...

Anyway, onwards to the lists! Now, I reckon that if you're going to be going for the whole "of all time" thing, then, very much like Desert Island Discs, it needs to be something you'll not tire of; the kind of thing where if you only had those records and nothing else to listen to, you'd still be happy. My (and as Tom says "It'll change tomorrow"!) top ten albums of all time just right at this very minute and in no particular order...

King Creosote - KC Rules OK - Faultless genius

Roddy Woomble - My Secret Is My Silence - Haunting, beautiful, very Highland without being twee

The Kevin McDermott Orchestra - Mother Nature's Kitchen - lyrically wonderful, in live format the songs are incredible, Kevin's a lovely guy, what else need I say?

The Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am That's What I'm Not - has there ever been a better debut album? I came to this late but by jings it's a belter

David Kitt - The Big Romance - under-rated Irish genius

Foo Fighters - Foo Fighters - brilliant first album and the perfect snowboarding accompaniment

Frank Black - Teenager Of The Year - ex-Pixie with an eclectic 20 track masterpiece

Son Volt - Straightaways - Alt country cracker from ex-Uncle Tupelo man

Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True - This would probably get in just for Alison to be honest

The Lemonheads - It's A Shame About Ray - With or without 'Mrs. Robinson' on the reissue, it's just brilliant. 'Frank Mills' and 'Alison's Starting To Happen' would grace any album

Elvis Costello via last.fm

Close but no cigar (today at any rate): Stone Roses - Stone Roses - It may be sacrilege to say this but though I love the Roses (once trekked round the country to see them four times in twelve days) the whole album's not perfect, I can't be doing with 'Elizabeth My Dear' or 'Don't Stop'; Guns N Roses - Appetite For Destruction - One of the first albums I played to death (I've owned 3 copies now!) but I don't think it's a Desert Island job; Kate Nash - Made Of Bricks - Not my usual bag but I've played this to death too and it's great, 'Foundations' and 'Mouthwash' are already pop classics and 'Mariella' is magnificently eccentric; Kris Drever - Blackwater - I never tire of listening to this but if I'm taking Roddy to my island this is a wee bit similar; Idlewild - anything by them, impossible to choose between their albums, not a duff track amongst them.

Top ten for 09? That's tricky too and I can only think of five...but off the top of my head (and, again, just for today) Airborne Toxic Event - a majestic, soaring record calling to mind early U2, The Smiths and The Jam. Enough said. Ian Brown - My Way - A great album, thumping basslines and that legendary swaggering delivery; Idlewild - Post Electric Blues - superb fan-financed rock monster; Paolo Nutini - Sunny Side Up - A great feelgood album, standout tracks all the way and 'Comin' Up Easy' could easily be vintage Al Green; Vetiver - Tight Knit - Lo-fi acoustic chill out is a dreadfully lazy way to describe an album, the sort of thing The Observer Music Monthly might do but there you go: Vetiver, Tight Knit, Lo-fi acoustic chill out.

But everybody wants to be the one just climbing out...

2009-12-31T07:24:00.002Z

I defy you to listen to this and not love it...

I've been working on a cocktail called Grounds for...Demolition?

2009-12-30T08:38:00.009Z

Image via Wikipedia

I've mentioned before how much I love listening to Danny Baker on the radio. Imagine my delight when, a few months back, I discovered he was back on Radio 5 Live of a Saturday morning with a typical blend of quizzes, phone-ins, random guests and the occasional mention of football.

One of the current features (all of which are eligible for comment by listeners, regardless of how long they've been running or indeed any other new features which may have been introduced that day) is the saving of football grounds from Danny's Totalitarian State Wrecking Ball. Mr. Baker's theory is that we have too many football grounds in the UK and that 20 would, as the road safety folk say, be plenty.

The upshot of this is that listeners can call in and try to save the ground of their choice - when 20 are saved, the rest cease to exist! Many grounds have fallen already, some big names like Anfield and Goodison are no more whilst some of the "wee teams" from North of the Border (Brechin's Glebe Park, Alloa's Recreation Ground) have staved off extinction through the cleverness of their supporters. Intriguingly, any purely football related suggestions (cup finals being played there, Pele or George Best once graced the turf, etc, etc) are liable to immediate anhilation due to lack of colour! Eccentricity triumphs in Danny's Brave New World.

So it was that after many weeks of searching the web to ensure that my memory hadn't failed me, I was able to call in to save Partick Thistle's Firhill Stadium. Eccentric? You bet.

Why should we save it then? asked Danny. Let me tell you...

Some years ago, we had a brilliant management team of the great John Lambie and his assistant Gerry Collins. Many, many colourful tales emerged from the John and Gerry era - a concussed striker led Gerry to tell the boss "Gaffer, he doesnae know who he is!" "Well tell him he's Pele and get him back on the park!" - some possibly (!) apocryphal but the one I thought I remembered definitely happened. Here's the Sunday Herald's version of events:

Banned from the touchline, Collins appeared at a subsequent match standing, complete with hard hat, in the building site that was to become the Jackie Husband stand. His voluble contributions and throwing the hard hat into the air when Thistle scored attracted the attention of the referee. Collins produced his letter from the SFA and argued that the ban did not extend to the terracing. He had eventually to succumb to the rule of law but had shown his mettle.

Image via Wikipedia

Not only did Gerry attract the attention of the ref, he was also spotted by the crowd. I don't think we helped his bid for anonymity by chanting his name!

This seemed to please Danny and his team and I was fairly certain it was job done but I was thrown a bit of a curveball. Mein Host asked me for a "generic" reason to save Firhill, what feature does it have that would make other supporters say "at least that still survives at Partick Thistle"?

Who'd have thought that dangerous, condemnable wooden seating in a 100year old main stand would ever come in so handy? Phew. Call off them wreckers!

...but the fire is so delightful...

2009-12-23T11:56:00.000Z

Wow and indeed wee. Nevis Range looking fairly spectacular in an Alpine stylee from the Farm Shop at Torlundy.

Road chaos appears to have hit the country though meaning that although there's any amounts of snow over the other side of the country at Glenshee the road is, as ever, closed rendering it impossible to reach the slopes. Don't you just love this country?

You said "Be there or be square"

2009-11-19T21:49:00.002Z

The marvellous Idlewild play a cheeky wee acoustic version of City Hall from their excellent new album, Post Electric Blues. Just thought I'd share...

The Fly - Idlewild 'City Hall' FlyTV In The Courtyard on MUZU.

Quick edit: I left the video playing and a brilliant version of Little Discourage came on afterwards. Well worth watching...

I swear I saw this...

2009-11-05T17:42:00.005Z

Sidewalk Instructions

Spotted on a lower East Side (I think) sidewalk on a recent visit to NYC. A sense of humour is always a good thing, no matter where one finds oneself. I'm not sure how funny I'd find it, however, if I was a sufferer of the following complaint, bearing in mind this is merely the subway station version of the ad - on the way into Manhattan from JFK we saw this ad blown up to building size! Them's some big ol' piles...

...or are you just pleased to see me?

2009-11-04T14:19:00.000Z

A recent trip to NYC showed just how all those travel writers come across their seemingly implausible tales of encounters with 'colourful' locals which add that oft needed human interest element to the traveller's tale...

A shopping excursion - a must in the Big Apple - took me to the Empire State Building in search of a modelling kit of the eponymous Manhattan landmark. In these security conscious times, no chances were being taken and entry to the skyscraper's gift shop could only be gained after passing through an airport-style security check, complete with walk-through scanner and baggage x-ray.

With nothing to hide I removed my coat and put it in the tray for scanning. Cue 'colourful encounter'

Security Lady: excuse me sir but do you have like a package in your jacket?
Me: There's a guidebook in one pocket...
SL: (not bothering to check the vefacity of my claim)Oh, okay. What about the other pocket? A brick or something?
Me: Er, my glasses case is there, it's quite bulky.
SL: (still not checking) Oh, okay, no problem. On you go.
Security Man: (classic 'Noo Yoik' accent) A brick? A f###in' brick? You kiddin' me?
SL: Well you never know what people are collecting these days...

Ach just stick it through as two slices of toast...

2009-10-26T10:28:00.000Z

Okay okay. Our own fault I know for going to Asda in Clydebank but come on..."we never usually sell any cereal" hence they didn't know where to find milk for it. Or how to put it through the till.

The pack is still well within date too, which mean that they obviously have thrown out all the other packs they've had in the cafe which has been open for over a decade now.

Full-on fry up instead, anyone?

More of life's good, free things

2009-10-15T09:11:00.000+01:00

Apples from the in laws tree in deepest Lincolnshire.

This is just a few minutes haul. Loads of windfall in too bad a state to eat and yet more still on the tree.

I'm thinking crumble, tarte tatin, chutneys...or maybe we'll just eat the lovely things.

The best things in life are free...

2009-10-11T14:13:00.001+01:00

Ahh. A trip to the library - surely the greatest of the free public services alongside the NHS? - and a walk back along the riverside where myself and the youngest one collected an array of conkers, acorns, beech-nuts and red-berry type things (rowan and A.N. Other).

A perfect autumnal Saturday.

Signs o' the times...

2009-08-31T20:46:00.003+01:00

I Twittered (Tweeted? Twatted?) about this earlier but I just had to put it here too. Signs, with their often poor spelling and grocer's apostrophes are a source of endless fascination for me (as indeed they clearly are to this Flickr group) and it was with no small sense of joy that I spotted these chaps in Raigmore Hospital in Inverness.

The first begged the question: are we not all, in our own way, "International People"? The second, and here it may just be my warped sense of humour, struck me as just a tad sick...

Puff-in, and out again

2009-08-07T14:11:00.000+01:00

Breathe. Rare moment of peace and tranquility here. Glorious summer afternoon at Gallanach, south of Oban as we sit sipping vending machine coffee outside the dive centre whilst partaking of their wi fi. Should we be partaking? I know not. My phone auto connected and I've just gone with the flow.

The munchkins seem content to scoot up and down and old ship's gangway chasing each other with spades and dandelions.

Not too sure I'd fancy the diving myself. A bit too tight on the attire front methinks. Much better to sit in the sun with a hot beverage, even if it is of the sub standard variety.

Oh dear, I fear it may be too late...

2009-08-07T13:40:00.000+01:00

The First Aid advertised may be too little too late to save the latest victim of the dreaded bends at the Puffin Dive Centre near Oban.