So, that's where They Might Be Giants got Birdhouse In Your Soul from.............
The 1st day of summer is upon us, what with it's oppressive heat and cloudless skies. I suppose this sums it up perfectly.............
Except it fails to mention the sunburnt blondes, the hideous fashion disasters and pissed up neds shouting and breaking bottles outside your house........ I feel certain that John Sebastian held back on those verses to improve the songs commercial potential ;)
Clairwil needs a few helping hands with a little project she has going. No expertise is required, just enthusiasm. If you're in the Glasgow area and fancy a bit of 'secret gardening', then either get in touch with Clairwil or simply turn up on the night (tomorrow).
.......................and you wasted every day (B. Janowitz)
Get the covers on and all into the pavillion for tea and cake! Looks like it's going to chuck it down for the rest of the month. I simply can't wait until Autumn, when we can finally stop pretending to be appalled by the shitty weather, acting as if we've been short-changed by what the elements throw at us.
You'll all be glad to know that I've decided to spare you my book reviews. They're as tedious to write as they must be to read. To this end, the final eight 'books that should have been in the BBCBig Read, but weren't' are;
6 - Ham On Rye by Charles Bukowski
7 - Focaults Pendulum by Umberto Eco
8 - Q by Luther Blissett
9 - The Gospel Singer by Harry Crews
10 - The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
11 - Death and The Penguin by Andrey Kurkov
12 - The Quiet American by Graham Greene
13 - Death In The Andes by Mario Vargas Llosa
Sorry, nothing hugely exciting in there. Some of them are utterly inspirational, books that I have become obsessed with. Others are what I'd simply term as 'darn good reads'.
Songs Of Summer No10: Avenue - St Etienne
A note to the binmen and my neighbours: WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCKING BIN SHELTER GATE AFTER YOU!!!!! Thankyou.
Well, it looks like a new face has entered the fray with regard to the disgusting shitehole that is my back court. I thought I'd pretty much sussed out the problem with the rubbish build up and the crap strewn bin shelters. I assumed it was to do with lazy tennants, poor quality bin bags, badly desigend bins and opportunistic wildlife. Enter the newest gladiator to the fray, our very own bin men. Yes, the chaps whose wages I fucking pay to lift my refuse. I may well be putting two and two together and getting five, but it does seem like a bit of a coincidence that the garden path was clear of garbage on Tuesday night, yet this morning I was awoken by a bin lorry, and only an hour later looked out my window to see a variety of product wrapping and other detritus strewn across the back path again (see photo)
You really don't want to see the nick of the shelter itself. Not sure what to do other than get obsessive, camouflage up and hide in the communal garden, waiting for the true culprits to present themselves. I have a feeling it's not that simple, and it is indeed an unholy alliance of bad design, tennant negligence, slapdash binmen and scabby pigeons and magpies. I don't know, maybe I'm being too picky. Maybe that's how most people live, happy to ditch their crap any old place, as long as they don't have to look at or enter the 'midgies' for fear of catching something unpleasant. I dread the day I find the first bin bags to be left at the back door of the close. I don't intend to let it get that far...............................
I'm getting on to the GCC and insisting on bigger, covered bins. If this is a problem for them, then all I can say is they have a cheek claiming what they do off me in council tax.
Songs of Summer No 8: JC - Sonic Youth
That's always the problem with good weather. Yes, it's warm, bright, great to be outside in, but the downside is if you've decided to have a day indoors through lack of funds and general lethargy.................God, It feels like you need to take a bath every couple of hours..........
So, as we all open our windows, draw our blinds shut and consider walking about 'nekkid' (I do apologise for any unpleasant images that might throw up), let us raise a glass to British summertime finally getting it's arse in gear and making us all feel icky and uncomfortable...........
Anyway, in keeping with Saturday nights 'hot under the collar' ranting, I'd like to move onto the subject of theft. Now, I'm no copyright law obsessive, all my music, movie clips and photographs are free of copyright. Why? Well, they're not consistently good enough to be worth it. I also make no money off my 'work' and wouldn't expect to. If someone uses one of my better photos for illustrative purposes, I don't mind. It would be nice if they had the manners to name me as the creator of the image, but I'm not gonna get all moist downstairs about it. In most cases, it'll be a case of 'what I don't know won't hurt me'. The problems arise, of course, when some oaf claims your image as their own. This is where I ought to be a little more careful, but beyond defacing what I put up with 'watermarkings', I don't really see what other options are available.
Now, I haven't had any problems personally, but an acquaintance through the speedway has found herself in a bit of a pickle. She takes photographs at Ashfield from the terracing, and damn fine they are too. So good in fact that some spotty little herberts with Bebo sites have lifted her photos and put them up on their pages. This wouldn't be a huge problem, but said delinquents seem to have gone to Bebo and complained that it is they who hold copyright on the images, even though it's patently obvious they didn't take a single one of them. The upshot of this is that the photo hosting site this woman uses has blocked her out while it 'investigates' the possibility of copyright violation. It's obvious to a blind man running for a bus who the real offenders are, but seemingly Bebo haven't the wit or intelligence to realise that a couple of their members have been telling porkies. My belief that 75% of those on Faceache or Bebo are total arseholes hasn't been changed by this particular incident.
The sheer brass neck of it is shocking. Taking and using someones pictures is one thing, implicitly claiming them as your own another, but complaining to a site host that the person who took the photos has had the nerve to claim copyright on them?
It's like something out of Kafka or 1984.
I suspect there may be a vendetta at work here. It's something that defies logic and can only conceivably be driven by arrogance and spite. I wish the lady in question well, and can only hope that she enjoys her revenge.
Songs of the Summer No 7: Wouldn't It Be Nice - Oldham Brothers
I hope you can forgive the 'hot and bothered' tone of this post, but that's just what I am right now. I can barely move without working up a sweat. It's cooled off as little now that night has fallen, but the haze that has enveloped Glasgow in the past few days seems to be sealing all the heat in. It feels like it anyway....................
I hear ice cream vans in some parts of England are being forced to curtail their 'jolly jingles' to blasts of no more than four seconds at a time. "What a travesty!" I hear the reactionary press holler, hastily reaching for their well thumbed book of heart warming 'This isn't our country anymore' clichés. They seem to be under the impression that these guys tootle about dispensing joy to all and sundry. Sorry folks, this isn't the 'Good Humor' man we're talking about here. Have you ever been served by one of the surly fuckers? Oh, and their jingles aren't 'quaint', they're a fucking earsore! Do I have to hear the fucking bastards at all? Can they not get something done about the coronary inducing volume they play their jingles at? See when some prick in a big yellow van parks outside my front door and lets rip? I'm not thinking of buying ice cream, cheap fags or pirated dvd's off him. No, I'm thinking of gouging out the fat cunts eyeballs with his ice-cream scoop and having them with my spaghetti hoops!
Then theres the bins. Like Clairwil, I seem to have utter cunts for neighbours. The bin shelters in my back court are less than ideal, it has to be said. They're open, the bins are too small and have no lids, but how does that prevent anyone from performing simple tasks like putting refuse in the bins and closing the shelter gate behind them? It doesn't, but it seems many human beings are more than happy to inflict their filth on others. One last thing, I know in these days of watching the pennies and cutting ones cloth to fit, that sacrifices need to be made. It's an Aldi microwave curry instead of classy M&S ready meals, it's a packet of gristly looking 'Tesco Value' mince instead of a pound of the butchers finest.............What it doesn't mean is buying 'so thin they're transparent' bin liners. Bin liners are dirt fucking cheap anyway, even good quality ones. If you see a roll of 200 going for about 50p, take it as read that if they don't split half way to the bins, they'll get ripped to shreds by the local wildlife in seconds flat, thus decorating the back gardens, both communal and private, with your unattractive personal detritus. You thick cunt!
Anyway, I bought a sunflower plant today, so I have no real right to be so grouchy.
Poppy and insect, East Fortune Airfield
Three days of bliss. Nice weather, good food, fine ales and wines, and a full-to-bursting memory card in my camera. Should I live long enough and rack up enough Tiger Tokens, I fully intend to find somewhere to retire to out that way.
Yeah, nice dream...........
Anyway, heres a rough guide to three days in God's country.
Friday - Pick up caravan from officially the most depressing place on earth. The guy's an ex haulage contractor and his wife keeps Alsatians. The yard the caravan is kept in can best be described as an accidental scrap yard. People park their caravans and forget to pick them up again, cars rust away amongst the weeds and thirty years worth of accumulated lorry parts lie corroding, open to the elements. Meanwhile, the dogs go mental in their caged 'runs' and you begin to realise that at least the caravan will never get stolen or vandalised.
Arrive at East Fortune Farm, say hello to the hens, the goose, the donkey and the horse. We're in the overflow from the main site. No bad thing as it turned out. Watching hens running around is one of life's simple joys. It's also damn funny.
Saturday - Go to the bike racing, but it wan't really enjoyed. My dad used to run the racing side of the meetings there until a few years ago. When my mum got sick, he packed it in, but you can just tell he doesn't approve of the way other people do things. Two minutes into the sidecar race and he'd had enough. A bit of bad judgement by an official and a fuck witted rider almost caused an almighty accident, after which he decided to take a stroll round the paddock and talk to some old aquaintances. I spent the rest of the afternoon dodging rain showers and practising my 'action photography' with varying degrees of success.
St Abbs Harbour & mini Tsunami
Sunday - Off down the coast to St Abbs, via some of the less well known coastal roads and farm tracks of the area. Popped into Eyemouth and for the 2nd time I failed to be impressed. It's just not a place I like very much. There were seals in the harbour again and someone had set up selling fish heads to be attached to poles and fed to the waiting animals. Last time I was there, the seals were a bit more energetic and playful, this time they just floated about and waited on someone to serve up their tidbits. Slightly depressing really.
St Abbs on the other hand was a joy. It was damn busy, what with divers and daytrippers and so on. There was a fair old wind kicking up and waves were battering the outer harbour, sending up sheets of water some thirty foot in height. I could easily have spent the day watching the breakers rolling in.
Monday turned out to be a stunning day. A short run out to a local motor museum, then an Iron Age hill fort was about all we managed. The six quid entry to the museum seemed a tad steep, it wasn't really all that big, but it was just about worth the entry as there was plenty crammed into the space available. North Berwick was jumping, mainly with OAP's and families down for the day to make the most of the weather. A slightly indulgent lunch was enjoyed in a rather dinky wee tea room (Hot pancakes with fudge sauce, maple syrup and ice cream!), then it was back to the caravan to hitch up, say goodbye to the beasts of the field and skulk back to Glasgow and the rain.
Apologies for my absence folks. I could make up some sort of plausable excuse regarding work, but anyone who read my 'Life & How Not To Live It' post a while back wouldn't be fooled for a moment. I could also give the usual 'family commitments' BS. No, instead I shall tell you the truth of the matter. I have been consumed by the desire to download as many old Commodore 64 computer games as possible. While my Playstation siezes up with rust and dust through lack of use, I'm merrily bashing away at games that were made between 15 and 25 years ago for a now obselete system. Early mid-life crisis? Possibly, but fuck it! I'm having fun............
A few things I've observed;
The music!! It's amazing............It's something I never really thought about as a spotty young Herbert, but considering what they were operating with, the soundtracks for some games are astounding. All hail SID
The one hassle with downloading these old games is that they've had 'intro's' tacked onto the front of them by various gangs of 'code crackers'. Boring!
You have to re-think how you relate to the games. Some of them wouldn't look out of place today, but others have dated very badly and whilst still fun to play, you can't help but sneer at their quaintness. Racing games are worst for this. The cars sound like dying wasps and often the sense of movement is dreadful, like driving a tractor on the M8.
My suspicions have been confirmed. The Spectrum really was a hopeless pile of shite! Monochrome hell and laughable attribute clash. You'd have more fun with a pencil and a piece of paper.
I don't miss tape multi-loads. Can you imagine that nowadays? Load a game, then load the first level, play it, get killed, then have to rewind the tape, re-load the intro screen, then start the whole fandango again. All told, about half an hour of 'fun'. I used to do it, usually through gritted teeth, mainly because I'd just shelled out a tenner for the bloody game. I was gonna get my money's worth, even if it meant I had to play all night to get as far as level 2.
I have heard that Nintendo intend to allow emulation of old C64 games on the Wii. Mind you, they're charging about £4 quid per download, which is more than many old Commodore games ever sold for in the first place. Theres money to be made from old rope, don't you know..........
Your correspondent has been a little quiet of late. He's been pre-occupied with various little things that have stopped him from transferring his admittedly banal musings to the virtual page, and he apologises for, well, whatever you want him to apolgise for..................
I couldn't help but notice that Google are celebrating the 'first day of summer'. Very odd, considering that in the past month and a half, Scotland has seen more summer weather than it did all last year. It's certainly getting along for the summer solstice, so maybe that's what it's all about. I think it's another name for 'the longest day'
Fucking Hippies!
I can do without the confusion you know! Anyway, I thought summer in Britain was an arbitary day somewhere between late April and mid August, where it was sunny and warm for a bit and failed to rain for any more than half an hour. Shows what I know............
Anyway, I'm tired and can barely hit the right keys..............
I'd almost forgotten what a long spell of decent weather is like, considering we didn't have any at all last year.......... Summer has landed and I dare anyone not to have noticed.............. Ok, it's corny as hell, but theres nothing better than coming home from work, opening the kitchen window, turning the radio on, making dinner and slugging a very cold beer as you go. Watching the sun go down behind the flats across the way is just an added bonus. Living in a big old ground floor tennement for so long, I sort of missed the freedom to open a back door and catch what's left of the day at my own leisure.
The next project will be to gut the planting boxes out in the back garden, fill them up with fresh soil and seriously think about something to plant. Yes, I do realised I've just jinxed the weather for the next two months, so enjoy it while you can!
Ok, I'm off to recover. I swear, I'm never playing football again!
