7'ish . . .
and twenty minutes later
nuff said
slow start to a dreich day . . .
saturday 29th september
7.30am
the girls are a slow rising today. "we do not move when we are in total snooze mode . . . and, anyway, it's saturday, it's the weekend!"
how do they know? certainly, I did not tell them; no socially-conscious mouse or casual spirit has paid an overnight visit to pass on this information, at least as far as I know.
the dormitory light is activated and 'yellow submarine' is, somewhat mercilessly, blasted through the speakers. sleepy heads rise without apparent connection to the torso, displaying distinct expressions of bewilderment tinged with annoyance. sometimes, I can be so cruel.
eventually we trundle out into the dark morn. camera-laden, I lead the way but the still half-asleep sisters are not keeping up and there is more sideways movement than forward progression. ignoring this I continue down the lane in the hope that, having remembered to bring the camera, the deer will make themselves available for this wildlife voyeur to record on 'film'. unhappily, but as expected, that opportunity is not forthcoming but there is, at least, the chance to try some low-light shooting and the light is perfect to capture the magical atmosphere.
on our return, famished from my demanding physical effort, I cheerfully decant the contents of the yogurt pot into last night's ashtray. despite the ingestion of two cups of strong black coffee and the usual accompaniment of two seared nicotine and tar wraps the gearbox still seems to be stuck in low ratio. outside, the postman has drawn up in his hired van and as we come out to greet him he presents me with a mysterious package plastered with chinese symbols and I try to remember if I might have ordered some exotic potion,maybe powdered dingbat hip or some other alien concoction in a moment of reverie. still deep in my own personal dreamworld I take in his forecast that it will be a beautiful sunny day. I look up and wonder if he might have imbibed some of the contents. it turns out to be nothing more exciting than the spectacle frames I ordered a couple of weeks ago.
oh well . . .
clearing out and moving the big cabinets upstairs today and then trying to find a home for the tons of unwanted culinary hardware and out of date comestibles. what fun!
in a rut, deer?
friday 28th september
7.14am
thought for the day:
mnnnngggggjtfl87,567***
a couple of weeks ago, to celebrate this virtual leap into the literary bath dressed in nothing but the traditional virtual birthday suit, I ordered refills for writing implements of such obscure nature that they had, many blue moons ago, been consigned to a domicile at the back of an unopened and dusty filing cabinet drawer in a forgotten corner of the junk room, seemingly, for perpetuity. I, once again, must sing my song of praise for this miracle of internetting, aware that this rendition has been rendered(?) oh, so many times already. two of my favouritest implements are now in constant use at my desk and in the kitchen for no less distinguished tasks than illegible scribbled notations and shopping lists. ah, if only those past and present masters of the calligraphic arts could see me now.
I cursed myself earlier for not taking my camera on our morning stroll. it seems that every time something momentous occurs I have nothing with which to record the event and when I do remember, there is nothing to note but the constancy of nature though that is more than enough for this meagre correspondent. this time it was the troupe of eight red deer gracefully making their way through the brash crossing the track to disappear into the breaghaid albainh (pronounced bredálban) forest. meea and leeloo were also thrilled at this potential social event and went tearing off down the hill to make friends but the deer were blissfully ignorant of their efforts and continued purposefully on their travels. this evening they will return when the light is fading as is their habit. at the break of each day they will take the same route from their nighttime rutting grounds to their grazing area high up on meall sgallachd (mel shcályach), the hill on which we live. through the night, now the rutting season has arrived, one can often hear their screams, as they do to each other things I dread to imagine though they seem quite relaxed and untroubled come the morn. beverly hills must be a bit like that. in the absence of any true recording of this morning's observations I have taken the liberty of displaying library photos of some of the subjects referred to in this piece with the certain promise that a true rendition will be forthcoming in future accounts, happily, not including any wild transatlantic activity.
that's it fer th'noo
7.14am
thought for the day:
mnnnngggggjtfl87,567***
a couple of weeks ago, to celebrate this virtual leap into the literary bath dressed in nothing but the traditional virtual birthday suit, I ordered refills for writing implements of such obscure nature that they had, many blue moons ago, been consigned to a domicile at the back of an unopened and dusty filing cabinet drawer in a forgotten corner of the junk room, seemingly, for perpetuity. I, once again, must sing my song of praise for this miracle of internetting, aware that this rendition has been rendered(?) oh, so many times already. two of my favouritest implements are now in constant use at my desk and in the kitchen for no less distinguished tasks than illegible scribbled notations and shopping lists. ah, if only those past and present masters of the calligraphic arts could see me now.
I cursed myself earlier for not taking my camera on our morning stroll. it seems that every time something momentous occurs I have nothing with which to record the event and when I do remember, there is nothing to note but the constancy of nature though that is more than enough for this meagre correspondent. this time it was the troupe of eight red deer gracefully making their way through the brash crossing the track to disappear into the breaghaid albainh (pronounced bredálban) forest. meea and leeloo were also thrilled at this potential social event and went tearing off down the hill to make friends but the deer were blissfully ignorant of their efforts and continued purposefully on their travels. this evening they will return when the light is fading as is their habit. at the break of each day they will take the same route from their nighttime rutting grounds to their grazing area high up on meall sgallachd (mel shcályach), the hill on which we live. through the night, now the rutting season has arrived, one can often hear their screams, as they do to each other things I dread to imagine though they seem quite relaxed and untroubled come the morn. beverly hills must be a bit like that. in the absence of any true recording of this morning's observations I have taken the liberty of displaying library photos of some of the subjects referred to in this piece with the certain promise that a true rendition will be forthcoming in future accounts, happily, not including any wild transatlantic activity.
that's it fer th'noo
of hormones and comestibles . . .
wednesday 26th september
mostly morning in between doing other bits and pieces
a shroud of mist envelopes ben lawers in a matter of minutes. moments ago the vast white swathe was framed, clearly defined, against a luminescent blue sky illuminated by broad beams of soft cadmium yellow reaching out from the east. the sharp outline of that summit giving false prospect, as it invariably does, of a clear day. in the few moments it takes us to travel halfway along our brief morning stroll, this once opaque blanket has dissipated into an almost translucent gossamer-thin wisp that obscures all but the very edges of the western sky though the sun is still free, for the moment at least, to spread its sparkling autumn rays.
a doggie interlude . . .
it has come to my notice that leeloo has been paying more attention to cleaning herself of late. her transition to womanhood is starting and I will pay more attention to their protection for the next few weeks as they will be more vulnerable to infection. I suspect that meea is also coming into season though she is not displaying any obvious signs. as they are litter sisters I am assuming their hormone cycles will coincide, at least, approximately. sometime soon I will have to test for pinking around her vulva, not a very blokey task to have to undertake but needs must.
they are now each consuming the equivalent of between four and five cans of wet food every day and have not, as yet, reached the end of their ninth month. their appearance belies their actual size because of their perfect proportions and it is not until seen next to bogey, himself an impressive beast, that their true size can be appreciated. how fast they will continue to grow is not certain but I have read that they will not reach full physical maturity until they are two and a half years old.
keeping slim? . . . fat chance!
in the meantime, I, who have allegedly reached at least physical maturity, am constantly in the grip of extreme hunger now that the chill is in the air, and consumption of foodstuffs, beneficial and otherwise, is well on the increase. during the summer months I would, typically, intake a total of one yogurt and up to five pieces of fruit before dinner. today, for example, I have eaten an extremely thick cheese sandwich albeit between two pieces of ryvita, three pieces of toast and butter, a tin of vegetable soup, about a dozen pieces of licorice (the sweetie variety), a yogurt and two pieces of fruit; and it is only half-past two. this constant cycle of shoving food down my neck and the resulting size increase in the gut department is threatening to weaken my defences against the lethargic offensive that I am still determined to neutralise. thank the gods there are no choccies in this fortress. of course, even mild fluctuations of temperature can have the same unwanted relaxing effect so I find myself between a cold and a fat place.
the quantity illusion and heartwarming consumables . . .
(or the joy of punctuation)
25th september
9ish in the evening
meea, aka tasha, aka telulah is relaxing at the end of the decking
whilst leeloo, aka teea, aka . . . (I am certain there were other guises that have exited the memory department) and myself are trying to keep warm despite the currently redundant portal which shields us not from the elements due to its open nature.
that's right; had to leave the bloody front door open cos the sodding dog wouldn't be able to get back in again.
it may be that the constant identity changes are somewhat confusing the quantity issue in regard to the doggies of whom there are, and have always been, only the two. it may be that bogey and muffin, who now reside next door with the former spouse have been added to the original sum thereby producing four. it can only add to that confusion that the said b and m were once resident in this place subsequently taking a vacation in tropical dunfermline and returning once more to our more temperate (and bleedin cold, brrrr . . .) dochart glen; only this time, next door. it could also be that I may have reported one of our communal walks on which there were indeed four dogs present.
my dear canine companion has at last deigned to plonk herself by my feet, bless her cotton socks, so I'll just deign to shut the door. good; we shall now move on to tonight's events, unenthralling as they are but rewarding all the same. [you will notice I am using far fewer commas and possibly making just as much (or little) sense]. you will no doubt have noticed my addiction to all things punctuational which has now manifested its ugly countenance in the form of parentheses [or brackets (as they are known in more colloquial circles)] . oh thrills; once more, the double enclosure variation!
I have just had the unusual pleasure of taking in the 'scotland today' programme which this evening featured the small whisky producers industry (not 'small whisky' though you already knew that but it did give me the excuse to use yet another pair of parentheses; and here is the closing chappie :)
notice how the happy face has appeared by pure coincidence (of course)!
back to the point . . .
apparently, such is the growing demand for whiskies in countries hitherto inactive to any significant degree in terms of the importation of these fine products (china, south america, etc), that the future is apparently quite secure. indeed (and here I am forced to use, once more, the comma), 90% of the said produce is exported and single malts from the smaller more specialised distilleries are benefiting from this overdue acknowledgment and appreciation from our foreign cousins.
and from one warming comestible to another . . .
though I am by nature a modest fellow I must take credit for the production of what may be the best chili con carne ever produced on this side of the atlantic; po
ssibly on the whole planet. what is more, I have produced enough to feed me for another three days. having also partaken of some glasses of warm chianti (and here I am, once again, obliged to use both parentheses and commas for I must state that I find chilled wine, especially of the red variety, most distasteful and loathsome to the palate), I find myself at once in a truly cooperative state and ready to embrace any soul who might wish to shelter in this abode. or knock his block off, depending on the nature of his intended visit. you will notice I have used only the pronoun 'his' as those of the female persuasion are far too deadly and should be insulted or even approached not without due caution. many a poor soul has been fooled into thinking otherwise and has paid dearly for his miscalculation.
oh, that was fun!
health warning re the above mentioned heavenly feast
DO NOT LICK THE SCREEN!
25th september
9ish in the evening
meea, aka tasha, aka telulah is relaxing at the end of the decking
whilst leeloo, aka teea, aka . . . (I am certain there were other guises that have exited the memory department) and myself are trying to keep warm despite the currently redundant portal which shields us not from the elements due to its open nature.
that's right; had to leave the bloody front door open cos the sodding dog wouldn't be able to get back in again.
it may be that the constant identity changes are somewhat confusing the quantity issue in regard to the doggies of whom there are, and have always been, only the two. it may be that bogey and muffin, who now reside next door with the former spouse have been added to the original sum thereby producing four. it can only add to that confusion that the said b and m were once resident in this place subsequently taking a vacation in tropical dunfermline and returning once more to our more temperate (and bleedin cold, brrrr . . .) dochart glen; only this time, next door. it could also be that I may have reported one of our communal walks on which there were indeed four dogs present.
my dear canine companion has at last deigned to plonk herself by my feet, bless her cotton socks, so I'll just deign to shut the door. good; we shall now move on to tonight's events, unenthralling as they are but rewarding all the same. [you will notice I am using far fewer commas and possibly making just as much (or little) sense]. you will no doubt have noticed my addiction to all things punctuational which has now manifested its ugly countenance in the form of parentheses [or brackets (as they are known in more colloquial circles)] . oh thrills; once more, the double enclosure variation!
I have just had the unusual pleasure of taking in the 'scotland today' programme which this evening featured the small whisky producers industry (not 'small whisky' though you already knew that but it did give me the excuse to use yet another pair of parentheses; and here is the closing chappie :)
notice how the happy face has appeared by pure coincidence (of course)!
back to the point . . .
apparently, such is the growing demand for whiskies in countries hitherto inactive to any significant degree in terms of the importation of these fine products (china, south america, etc), that the future is apparently quite secure. indeed (and here I am forced to use, once more, the comma), 90% of the said produce is exported and single malts from the smaller more specialised distilleries are benefiting from this overdue acknowledgment and appreciation from our foreign cousins.
and from one warming comestible to another . . .
though I am by nature a modest fellow I must take credit for the production of what may be the best chili con carne ever produced on this side of the atlantic; po
ssibly on the whole planet. what is more, I have produced enough to feed me for another three days. having also partaken of some glasses of warm chianti (and here I am, once again, obliged to use both parentheses and commas for I must state that I find chilled wine, especially of the red variety, most distasteful and loathsome to the palate), I find myself at once in a truly cooperative state and ready to embrace any soul who might wish to shelter in this abode. or knock his block off, depending on the nature of his intended visit. you will notice I have used only the pronoun 'his' as those of the female persuasion are far too deadly and should be insulted or even approached not without due caution. many a poor soul has been fooled into thinking otherwise and has paid dearly for his miscalculation.oh, that was fun!
health warning re the above mentioned heavenly feast
DO NOT LICK THE SCREEN!
where mojo gone?
tuesday 25th september
7.30 am
soulless in wester lix
. . . from that first waking moment that dissolving dark shroud of night has been failing in its attempt to radiate its promising half-light into my guarded mind. the proof, as if one was needed, is that there has been not an inkling of that familiar warming tension when even the most meaningful selections from my list of music fail to spark and I am striving to find more than just words to use in making this feeble entry. I am spewing out these meaningless utterances from a too high, too surface-borne, part of my consciousness; but I continue in the hope that somehow I can inject this soulless offering with a spark of spirituality, with something more than just the nicotine and caffeine powered outpourings from this motorless vehicle.
I attempt to regenerate this spark searching through my playlist. j.j.cale offers some hope, jeff beck's 'cause we've ended as lovers' seems to get those juices flowing, but it is a false hope as his virtuous guitar work eventually demands too much attention and the basic requirement for simple sadness or joy, either would have done, is consumed by a far too complex array of what would have been, had I been in the mood, a perfect composition. too many commas; that must surely be a symptom of this fractious semi-literal offering. another beck piece, the same progression, the same anticlimax; disappointment again, then 'greensleeves', that beautifully simple musical jewel that encompasses in but a few moments, the optimism, the pain, the joy of that elusive age, allegedly written by that most unlikely of composers, henry the eighth, promises to bridge that lifeless flow. the unwelcome ditty 'I'm henry the eighth I am . . .' mercilessly seeps from the memory bank and breaches the fragile defences of this desperate cool heart that longs to be cocooned with that unattainable warming shroud. 'in my place', coldplay; by the tenth rendition, it is, at last, starting to happen though the commas are still very much at large. it is, perhaps, a symptom of this interrupted stream, this clogged artery through which the soul's blood cannot pass freely.
content that I have, at least, made an attempt to continue the day's journey with the complete package, I round up this pathetic jumble and pack it as neatly as I can in the hope that the virtual postman will deliver it safely to your door. the dogs and I will take a little walk down the track and we will get on and see what the day has to offer. I think I am going to rename them meea and leeloo.
sunday 23rd september
8.00 am
I have just spent too much cash downloading toons . . .
of late, music has become such a major thing after years of drawing nothing from it; but life, as it is now, demands this wafting of such a hypnotic breeze through the airwaves, almost constantly. it's crazy really; I had thought that my passion for things of the heart had all but expired but, it begins to be clear, clear that it had only been a hibernation brought about by lack of stimulation. now, there is so much sensuality on tap, there is hardly time or space to draw a breath; but the energy is stronger and more all-consuming than any drug; it adds solidity to the burgeoning construction of this citadel that is my life. it fills every corner of this place and gives me the sensation of being enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and belief in good things to come.
a thin layer of moisture tellingly covers my eyes. 'alone again or' has just started playing. "I could be in love with almost everyone, and I will be alone again tonight . . ." so many tears of joy in this place. seeing me, people might be under the impression I was having a nervous breakdown, but they could not be further from the truth.
yesterday I collected heather, bogey and muffin and, as you can see from the pics, bogey got on like a house on fire with teea and tasha. yesterday, on seeing my 'ex'-family for the first time in weeks, my heartstrings were severely tested and, I must confess, I am still in love with those sweet beasts. in good time all will settle down and, please the gods, I envisage a happy community will occupy this hallowed place.
there was a rainbow out on the track this morning; I was pleased to see where it met land, a hundred yards down from lix toll garage on the A85; it is not often one has the privilege of seeing where a rainbow ends. I take that lucky vision as a portent of good things. I wonder if any vehicle was blessed with this apparition and whether it had sustained any damage bumping into that pot of gold. of one thing I am certain; it will not be covered by any earthbound insurance policy.
when the levee breaks . . .
friday 21st september
8am
I am finding it difficult to get the little grey cells moving these days
maybe it's because my mental energies are concentrated on keeping the dogs happy and 'bringing them up properly'; maybe it's because I'm concentrating on getting things done around the house, clearing heather's stuff out, establishing this space as my own, soaking it with my own personality. that's difficult in itself as I am feeling ugly and old which really fucks me off because I despise my own self-indulgence. there are underlying confusions involving projects which are not advancing as they should, readying the pottery for work, for example, which I have done virtually nothing towards resolving, decanted a few boxes, the sum total of several weeks in which I could have got it up and running.
I am not feeling particularly lethargic. something about it frightens me. something about undertaking significant projects on my own frightens me. I'm coming to realise that this is the first time in my life that I've been on my own with real responsibilities and that I'm actually quite capable of dealing with them and that frightens me. I am living in a paradise with everything in the world that I need and that frightens me. it must be the 'something's bound to go wrong' syndrome or, maybe, I just do not feel as though I have earned it. I feel that getting off my arse and doing it will not change that feeling though, in reality, (a club which seems loathe to accept me as a member,) it probably will.that is why, today, I will get something sorted, I SHALL DO IT! get that damn trench dug, put up shelving, clear up the mess. it will help clear the mess in my head. I guess. essentially, it's just a question of sifting through and dealing with one thing at a time and, though it never seems that way, time is something I have plenty of; or maybe, that is the root of the problem. next month I'll be fifty two, moving swiftly downhill from the half century that should have accumulated so much more accomplishment. the depth of things that a man should be able to achieve in all these years and I have only skimmed the surface.
enough of that crap . . .
I will be picking up the babygate I ordered from fraser's today. the idea is to keep the dogs from getting upstairs and to restrict their domain to the lower level. we will all have to deal with their distress when they suddenly find that nighttime cuddles are no longer on the agenda, at least, no longer on the bed. there will be an awful fuss tonight, the trauma will be unbearable, their happiness uncomprehendingly shattered; desolation and despair, an emotional torture inflicted upon those innocent souls for no apparent reason. I am already worried about tasha. she has become quite aloof and no longer hangs around her sister as she did at the beginning. whines and whistles occasionally cut the peace for no apparent cause but, the book says, do not pander to her, acknowledge her distress but do not look her in the eye, do not comfort her. kindness from cruelty and all will be well in the end. I hope so.
a chilly breeze cuts through the open door reminding me that summer is now just a memory. tasha wanders by, on her way to the water bowl or, perhaps, outside to relieve herself. at least their toileting problems seem to have been resolved. we shall take a wander down the lane and then get down to today's chores.
the pottery awaits . . .
of toilet habits and their consequences . . .
monday 17th september
'crazy man michael' (fairport convention) softly finds its way into the aether. the bird-table and window-sills have been topped up with seed and I take a sip from my fresh cup of delicious havana blend coffee, second roll-up ready to spark and all is, once again, unified and looking good . . .
tom has just delivered the mail; this time no fearsome bogey the lovely but insecure bouvier to greet the wary postman, just the friendly curiosity of my calm and untroubled new menagerie. he's bearing the lens hood I ordered and, as is not that infrequent, an envelope addressed to one of the other properties on our track. it will be a pleasant little stroll to 'pine cottage', especially with my new little family; any excuse for a little bit of exploring for my inquisitive duo.
yesterday morning's promise wasn't quite so encouraging: until I pick up the baby-gate on friday, teea and tasha will be sleeping with me upstairs; I just couldn't leave them out what with the incessant whining and desperate scratching on the bedroom door on that first night. one of my two lovelies had helpfully evacuated a full bladder on the bed, soaking the quilt, duvet, sheets, mattress cover and the 'body-form' foam layer. there is also the now soaking wet doggie-duvet which I had unsuccessfully attempted to convince them was their sleeping quarters; one of the girls had thoughtfully taken this to be their upstairs toilet. by mid-afternoon all the misused bedwear is clean and safely airing above the hot water cistern; but there's always some advantage to be gained in, seemingly, negative circumstances. washing the duvets and quilt in the old days would have meant taking a trip to the village to get them dry-cleaned but, with the assistance of this wonderful new virtual world of communication and knowledge, I learned how to cope this arduous task with my humble domestic laundering facilities: a 'delicates' wash at 30º followed by a cool tumble-dry with a couple of tennis balls in the drum kept the down from clumping and they turn out as good as new.
today I'll get their registration papers sent off to the kennel club and make an appointment for the vets to get them checked over and micro-chipped; I'll also arrange to have them spayed. then I'll be hunting through my files to find the marriage certificate and property disposition as the house(s) are in both our names. then there's much hoovering to be done picking up the sticky remains of their doggie snacks which are distributed throughout the house. when I go to drop my post off I'll get some shopping, including some fabreze for those lovely doggie smells that have wafted their way into every corner . . .
oh the joy of it all!
this morning's birdies . . .
sunday 9th sept 8.30am
mr robin's being brave today. he twitters and shifts from one side to the other on his little feet expectantly on his perch on the lower branches of the rowan tree as I distribute the seed on the window sills and birdtable that stands in the small garden at the front of the house. soon, the whole scene will be amass with fluttering of tiny wings as the local avian population emerge suddenly, as if from the very aether, to partake of their breakfast feast. I'll always be there for you my little friends . . .
my morning ritual is expanding and coincidentally, but not unexpectedly, so is my waistline. there is no immediately apparent connection but there is a balance; the desired with the undesired, the positive with the negative, resolution and deconstruction.
as many of us know only too well, there is a price to pay for self-indulgence. the elements of this self-destructive game we play charge a physical price, seemingly on a never-never account, but, in reality, immediately accountable, usually the next morning. in my case, a night of weed and the odd whisky and coke, leaves me with a head and body that, at the start of the new day, is incapable of achieving anything more productive than going through the motions, running on automatic. all quite harmless in the general scheme of things but at this age of saga holidays and promotional offers for stair-lifts and encouragement to make provision for loved ones for the time of one's unavoidable and imminent departure from this life, day-to-day considerations are, necessarily, nudged out of the equation and a plan must be made, however generalised, for the long term.
well, bollox to that.
I ain't dead yet.
I have to do something about the munchies, though.
the new itunes update is installing, at the conclusion of which I shall play that most charming rendition of sweet classic soul, sweet bettye lavette's heart-squelching album, 'a woman like me'. here she is now . . .
the forecast is for rain, I can feel the pain . . .
well, I can't actually; I can only feel the joy. that warm, shaky feeling in my gut as my emotional gears start to engage and the day's prospect veers from hazy anticipation toward a solid promise of fine things to come.
21th august 2pm - weather or not . . . WARNING: FOUL LANGUAGE ! (slightly abridged)
well, the weather wasn't . . .
anything really
I don't firkin believe it
right in the middle of my train of thought the phone goes and I leap to pick it up
"this is a free message by britain's no.1 mortgage provider . . ."
F**K BASRAD (BASRAD?)
bucking fasrad??
as I was saying so eloquently not so many moments ago . . .
oh right, now the weather's abso-bloody-lutely gorgeous
the su'n shing
(oh god, I'm having a stroke)
the s u n i s s h i n i n g
and hardly a cloud in the sky
just after the walk of gloom
but gloomy do I feel?
not, abso-bloody-lutely NOT
I was just going to say that most of the pics are of bogey cos the scenery wasn't that forthcoming in the artistic department
and there's one of ringo, I think it is, (they all look the same to me).
still, we all had fun
yes, I'm coming up monday
abso-bloody-lutely definite
and don't worry about being pissed last night
it was still you
or some gorgeous bird with a very similar voice
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