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

21th august 12pm - girly poem

nope, I'm gonna give you my silly poem
it's very girly and maybe a bit ott
but today I feel like a silly kid . . .



is it real, and did we speak
that long, that strong, that tender
in those hours that we would put aside for dreams
on any other day . . .

a teenage daydream
all mystery and promise and new desire
that raw emotion
locked away but safe
behind the mediocre belt
of aged wisdom
on any other day . . .

a soft and sweet, warm and joyous feast
perfectly replacing that vacuum
in the pit of my gut
that made it hard
to draw a cleansing breath
on any other day . . .

I was checking for your mail
hoping just to see
even just a word
even of anger
a heated 'fare ye well, goodbye'
so much, so much better
than no call at all
just so I'd know
you're still in the world
if not for me
but always in my dreams
but not
on any other day

20th august 7pm - today . . .

bogey and me just come back from a walk
it was beautiful out there today
we veered off into the forest
hopping over burns (streams)
climbing up steep waterlogged banks
swishing through the ferns
the sunlight was really strong
but not too much
cos as we moved from place to place
it flitted in and out of the trees
bright light and deep shade

we explored the mosses
soft tiny colonies
of reds, browns, greys, and greens
softer than pillows
springing up again
after the compression
of feet that are too clumsy
for that delicate universe

20th august - 12pm . . .

this post was part of a dialogue between my friend and I. on that day (amongst many others) she was having a particularly hard time dealing with life, love and alcohol . . .


m.
I bit the hand that fed me love and understanding
Why would I do such a thing?
Hopelessly lost in my pain and despair
In my muddle of cider I bit my new best friend.

I do not wish to drink that shit again
I do not want to hurt this my dear friend
I feel such an aggressive little fool
I didn't need to swear to put my point across.

I am finding it hard to live like this
And it certainly isn't "Fun"
The physical pain is manifest
I look to the day of my release
I shall bring it to myself if need be
I like to wake up with the new day, fresh
Not jagged and hurt and shaky and scared.

I want my life back again, my friend
It won't be long
I pray it won't.

p.
you've touched my heart
with your humility
and your humanity
and your so so brave struggle
against demons who
use every dirty trick
to destroy your soul

if it was in my power
I would wrap you in a cocoon
of security and belief
and protect you
from everything
that tries to take
the world
from under your feet

20th august - 11.30am - hello monday morning . . .

v. dim-pigeon is pecking away nonchalantly at the seed on the sill. It's not his usual breakfast spot which is invariably where our smaller avian friends partake of their morning meal but one can not make reservations here. it's first come first served and he or she is so much bigger than them.

the residue of yesterday's turbulent complexities form into tangible blocks, freed from the remand centre of captive memories by the key of peaceful sleep and fresh morning sunlight. I turn the tv on, the regular accompaniment to my breakfast of black coffee and nicotine. but both the noise and the synthetic glare are disturbing, an unwelcome influence in this otherwise quiet atmosphere, and at once, are sent back to their virtual origin, somewhere out there in the aether.

I cut short bogey's regular morning excursion in deference to gill's concerns about the security of her delicate greek guests for whom abject terror reveals its dark form in the presence of the big cuddly dog who barks at strangers. it is obviously not the way well-behaved dogs are meant to behave. polite society has staked its claim, even here, in this secluded highland wilderness.

on reflection, I am spending too much time on the computer. it used to be online chess, an hour or two a day, something to keep the synapses sparking and a guard against the reclusion which could, so easily, surround my existence. a new and intensely personal world has come into being, essentially virtual but as real as the universe itself. I am witness to a new struggle between david and goliath and goliath has no qualms about using dirty tricks. but, as legend dictates, david will win out because he has good on his side, and he has allies that will not abandon him, no matter what.

as I head for the sofa with my second breakfast combination I trip over the dogs' woolly xmas tree which spontaneously chimes its objection with a chirpy rendition of "we wish you a merry xmas". all is calm, muffin's peaceful snoring providing a backdrop of harmony and contentment to the morning scene.

19th august - cameltoe, not the director's cut . . .

the cameltoe, tis a wondrous thing
it doesn't speak
and it doesn't sing
it sits on high
not too far from the thigh
tis the centre of things
for the amorous guy

this post, believe it or not, has been severely edited as it was formerly beyond the scope of human decency
unfortunately, it is one of my favourites . . .

18th august - hey ho . . .

it's yukky out there. drizzle hanging about as if too lazy to actually go to the toilet properly. more a sort of sweat than a fall. it's cold too, a forewarning that autumn is yet to come and what we have left of summer, such as it's been, should not be taken for granted. of course, in the hills, it's not that unusual. no hosepipe bans here. not ever.

I can hear the neighbours packing up their hired hatchback. boots and doors opening, shutting, empty bottles clinking as the detritus is cleared away; footsteps, but no chatter. just a calm and quiet winding-up of a week in the highlands, itself a place of calm and quietude. I will miss the innocent optimism of this young french couple; the excited rendition of their travels when cedric was telling me of the long but enchanting trip through the great glen to inverness and of glencoe and its inherent beauty. lovers, only part way through their life's journey, still with all the energy and enthusiasm of young love.

cedric comes round to thank me for having them. he asks if I would like to inspect the house: bless him. he says he would love to come back, "maybe I bring some friends next time . . .". I haven't the heart to tell him there will be no next time as heather will be moving in to the farmhouse but, nothing's certain in this world.

at this point I'll break off. it won't be long before heather and her dad arrive to help with preparing for the next visitors. let's hope they are half as beautiful in spirit as our departing guests. I will miss them.

16th august 7.30pm - the walk to pigeon falls . . .

ipod, camera, muffin in bag, in a confused tangle around my shoulder, the intrepid threesome step confidently out on to the drive and make off in the direction of pigeon falls. the weather can't make up its mind; there seems to be a front making its way in our general direction with natural catastrophe written all over it. today, however, is the day of reckoning and the sweedens shall win the day. today, we are invincible!

joy is in my heart as bettye lavette growls melodically into the headphones. all is one and one is all, I holistically conclude, as the magnificent highland vista, bogey's enthusiastic bounding and that sweet blues, blend into some kind of heavenly casserole, prepared beautifully for my delectation and delight. it is indeed a moving experience, so much so, that I start to cry from deep within. that damned inner me is getting knocking on the gate and I can't help but let him in, not that I make a lot of effort to prevent him. the music changes and more inner me spews out through my eyes and out my nose. is it joy or is it sadness; it is neither and it is both but there is no single train of thought that presents some sort of clue as to the origin of this unacceptable outburst. I'm a man and men aren't supposed to cry (but these tears I can't hold inside).

half a mile further on, the storm of emotion fizzles out and normal service is resumed though I do feel more in touch with my surroundings, the dogs and friends who have played such a huge role in recent times. we walk steadily on, my movements not dissimilar to those of an aged penguin or perhaps someone who had recently been kicked in the nuts, to accommodate muffin in her carry-bag which swings rhythmically below my waist.

after a short while we reach the falls. despite a brief splatter the rain has held off and promises of sunshine turn into reality as we approach the splashing foaming partnership of fresh mountain water as it powers its way into the immovable array of rock and stone pouring through and over it as it makes it's way down the hill towards the dochart glen.

bogey and muffin go on exploration and I make ready the new camera for its first employment. I had no up-to-date pictures of myself except one that would be more appropriate in the wax museum so I prepared to pose for some natural-looking shots and set the shutter in timer mode. the idea was to depress the shutter and run to the focus point in time to relax, thus giving the impression that I had been there all along. it's actually not that simple when you have an overlong headphone cord and a variety of convenient branches, not to mention my own knee, which do their best to make sure that when you eventually reach the said posing position you are either not in the picture or the expression on your face is anything but attractive. bogey finds this all very amusing and, unfortunately but very generously, also does his best to help. eventually, the shoot is complete. I finish my fag and gather the troupe and we make are way, happy in the knowledge that our task is complete, back home.

and here are some pics from the expedition + the kitchen
why the kitchen, you might ask;
. . . why indeed

16th august 12.30pm - after the apocalypse . . .

the birds are once more twittering on the window-sill; the sky is blue and the cold easterly seems to have lost its chilling force.

my hands are still trembling violently as I attempt, once more, to put my thoughts inadequately into words. three cups of strong black coffee have not contributed in any positive way to my burgeoning inner clam, or calm even. that accidental yet enlightening typo has revealed a useful perspective from which to assess my mental state. the said mollusc's closed condition indicating its effort to fortify its defences against unwelcome threats, and then opening to take in, once more, the promise of nourishment and freedom to flourish in it's own little world. until some bastard scoops it up and eats it.

this morning's turd has not, as yet, announced its imminent arrival so I will go and perform my overdue ablutions sans that implied evacuation.

evidently, there is no crap to mar the developing day's progress . . .
what's left of it

16th august - in praise of those who sooth the troubled soul . . .

for you, saint mandi of brickstone (may your holy feet only tread the carpet of inner peace for evermore)

another load of old tosh . . .

it's 10am. having risen somewhat later than is my habit after an untroubled night, performed the usual, but incomplete, morning ritual, I am, once again, sat at my throne, gathering my reminiscences of recent events and attempting to relate them in some intelligible form. incomplete, because I have left my washing gear in my rucksack which sits guiltily on the dining room table, as a reminder of the two days of brain-shite that is now in the last stages of being washed clean out by the liver of peaceful resolution. in other words, I ain't washed me shiny yellows yet and my mouth tastes like I've been dining on dried cow poo marinaded in essence of diesel exhaust.

an untroubled night because of your calming words when I needed them most. calming, not just because of the content, being that of objective common sense but also because you, yourself, seemed to be at peace with the world and this powerful sensation transmitted through the wire. I imagine stevie, dodgy and the lads contribute greatly to your condition and there is indeed a feeling of friendship and togetherness in that exclusive but welcoming club.

12th august 12.30pm - when you've got your two best people in the world loving you . . .

and on the seventh day he found peace . . .

when you've got your two best people loving you . . .
then everything is right with the world

the dark-ages are over. mr sun has got his hat on and he's here to stay; for the time being, at least

had a small kip which ate the meal of gloom and spat it out.
looking around, all is fresh and new once more. muffin's had her summer haircut which was as much as a little torture for her. she dislikes it intensely while the brutal act is performed but now, now she is sparkling, full of joy and bogey at once involves himself in the ensuing ecstasy of group-love, in it's purest sense, of course.

we have, together, achieved nirvana with nature's powerful assistance; no sombre light to dull this fine moment.

the internet's still down, though. only minutes of online time the whole morning. but there are things to do in the real world. today I will continue organising in the workshop and at some stage, perhaps soon, I will finally be able to shape my pieces of clay for it is essentially my vocation, my occupation, my means of expressing who I am, and it must be achieved. philosophically speaking, for me anyhow, it serves the same purpose as dreams, purifying the constantly flowing river of subliminal confusions and these confusions can make you unreachable and, sometimes, insane.

I will get on.
there's work to be done

and everything is right with the world

12th august 8am - between heaven and hell . . .

and on the seventh day he was pissed off, 6am

I hope that you''ll allow me to be a miserable fuck this merry august morn

tedium's devil has nicked my soul and taken it for a joy-ride. he'd better put it back where he found it or I'm going to beat his fucking ugly head.

last night I said I said I would regret my actions in the morning. well, I was half-right; right about the inevitable physical reaction to too much booze consumed by a body that hasn't quite got the hang of how to deal with it. lungs are fried too; can't get enough air in without it being rejected by this organ that justifiably objects to being constantly abused and taken for granted. a strong black coffee and a fag are employed to deal with this setback which, remarkably, some might assume, does the trick; to a degree at least. it is indeed remarkable that thick burning tobacco vapours should be so much more acceptable to these battered bellows than the cool fresh mountain air.

it's chucking it down, and in the stillness of the early morn, sounds sweet, providing some sort of reciprocation to the residual turmoil of the eve's excesses and self-flagellation. as is the ritual, the dogs have been fed, the kitchen tidied. I have not yet put seed out for the birds as it would soon be washed away by the consistent and heavy fall that looks to have settled in for the day. the birds, of course, do not understand this and twitter impatiently at my window and from their perches as they gather, somewhat impatiently, for their daily sustenance. bugger it; I'm going to do it anyway. there are sheltered areas under the guttering and for those that use the main dining area that is the bird-table, they will just have to have a soggy breakfast. it's not my fault, I'm doing the best that I can.

I feel sorry for the sweet young french couple next door. cédêric et alixandra, les petites grenouilles, the little frogs that have tenderly kissed each other and transformed into prince and princess. and their two bouncy and excited, happy offspring. so much to look forward to, so enthusiastic about their highland holiday, and how do we welcome them? our skybound partners in sin piss on them from above. so innocent, their bright and shining expectation of great things to come, adds a welcome glow to the apparent morning gloom and for me, at least, balance is restored and all is, once more, right with the world.

everyone is beautiful
in their own way

11th august 7.30pm - the day today . . .

it's been hectic, I think
camera got delivered but sans memory card so can't use it yet
huge anticlimax
well, not really that huge

I'd bought heather a laptop as a surprise cos she lives for her contacts and her contact is through the net
the one she already had had a fatal disease
I've got one and it's only fair that she also does
she was over the moon and so surprised but we're good mates
and good mates help each other out
I was setting it up for her and it involved updating credit card details for mac account
looked for wallet everywhere, twice, three times, endlessly searching
nowhere to be seen
phoned the co-op where I'd last used it
phoned macgregors grocery
phoned the police
nowhere
went back to track where I'd walked bogey the day before
bogey couldn't find it
neither could I
got on net to find lost card reporting no.s
net was down
tried again
and again
found them, rung them, cancelled cards
unpacked camera
no memory card
searched thru drawer
and found wallet
I'd searched that drawer I don't know how many times
something weird is going on
the pixies have been let loose

LONG LIVE THE PIXIES!

11th august 10am - goood moornink!

sweet child in time

I could be ticking away the moments that make up a dull day cos that's what it is; dreary and dull. but I'm making myself busy, constructing plans for what will be a day of great activity. the sky is an unbroken damp blanket of dirty white without so much as the suggestion of a drop of fresh mountain rain to break the stillness in the air. a strong black coffee and a fag restores a natural balance and a tentative anticipation of potential positivity creeps grudgingly up my neck and attempts to spark the synapses. this is immediately dulled once more by the realisation that it's turnaround day for the farmhouse and there is much tedious housework to contend with to make it welcoming for the imminent new arrivals. even the dogs are disinterested in their breakfast and wander aimlessly about the house seemingly looking for inspiration. chaffinches and tits picking fervently at their morning feed seem unaffected by the lack of weather which suggests to me that there is a line above which living things can be termed as sentient. perhaps this is where spirituality begins. but I know this is not so; telulah, our great friend tish's aged songbird is indeed a spiritual being and has love in her heart as I do for her.

I've managed to shed another couple of pounds by virtue of having had nothing to eat but two pieces of fruit and half a bag of haribo fangtastics the day before. perhaps now I'll be able to fit into all my strides without that silly looking bicycle tyre hanging over the waistline like a boiled over saucepan of thick porridge. should I grow up and bow to the inevitable and accept the pitfalls of middle-age? abso-bloody-lutely not.

tom arrives with the post and, oh joy, he bears a box which can only be the camera I ordered from amazon. I grudgingly put it aside, unopened, for the time being, not wanting to admit to heather, who'll be arriving shortly, what might be considered as the somewhat unnecessary expenditure on this extravagant piece of kit. well, why the bloody hell not, I mutter subliminally to myself, I need a camera and a good one. you can't take real pictures with a 2 megapixel consumer jobbie and I'm an artist, me.

right, I'm off to do a quick tidy-up before they get here. there is no way I'm going to let her think that I can't look after the place on my own. it seems that there is still a goodly portion of marital paranoia yet to be shed . . .

10th august - friday 11pm . . .

luminescent salmon memories of the day highlight the deep grey skywhales as they trundle gracefully across the western hill-formed horizon towards the night's resolution

or some such bollox

10th august - friday . . .

hi babes
vomit of the day coming up:

. . . it's pissing down out there this morning but there's a lovely fresh feel to the air; north wind I expect. It's just as well cos every room stinks to high hell of stale fag smoke so I open all the windows and pull on a jumper cos I'm getting goose pimples and me nuts have shriveled.

arose early cos the broadband engineer could be here any time from 8. have to look my best for the nice man from stirling. that sounded a bit gay; never mind. you have to be part female if you're living on your own, doing the ironing cannot be a man's job and I wouldn't bother, only there'll be the next gaggle of paying guests moving in on the morrow. my mum used to want to iron my jeans; if she had I would have burnt them publicly in protest just as women did with their bras, allegedly, in those strange days.

I let let bogey out for his usual ramble and rabbit chase while I availed the bird-feeding areas of poo with a stiff brush. I usually wait for rainy morns as it washes away the detritus so much easier and this morning was perfect. bogey was out for quite a while and I was getting a bit worried; he usually comes back when I whistle but didn't show for some time. wouldn't be good for community relations if he were to bite tom who would be delivering the post any time soon; he does get excited when people turn up and can be, well, unpredictable.

I had an extended melancholy moment last night as I was flitting between the computer and the telly. not really sure why; poured myself a scotch and coke but it didn't really do anything for me. it was a bit flat aswell cos I hadn't used the coke for a couple of weeks and, no matter how tight you screw the cap on the gas always evaporates. maybe I should get one of those rubber bung thingies. the internet was frustratingly down most of the evening; maybe the man from stirling can sort it out.

I take out the heavy drawers from the old welsh dresser that sits in front of the telephone point and pull it away from the wall. that corner of the room is cluttered with all heather's bits and pieces. at some point I'll have to box them all up. she won't be needing them till the new year but I could use the space myself though I'm not sure what for. the studio's a bit congested; maybe I could spread things around; maybe move the bookcase in there.

gill, my neighbour, will be going into the village at some point to collect the guests' bedding from grants laundry at some stage. if the broadband guy's done his thing I'll probably go in with her. still haven't got round to doing the ironing. must do that today or heather will beat me when she comes tomorrow to help with preparing the farmhouse for the new arrivals. her dad's giving her a lift these day as there's only the one car which I need to get, well, anywhere. I've been looking at landrovers down at lix toll garage but won't be able to afford one till probate's settled for mum's estate. hopefully, she didn't leave her money to the egyptian taxi driver she had an affair with a few years back; but that's another story . . .

9th august - and yesterday was going so well . . .

well the day ended with a bang, or a splash rather. As usual, I took my pint of squash up with me and placed it on the bedside table. As usual, I availed myself of my outer layer and dumped my day togs on the floor by my bed, climbed into my shorts and subsequently the bed. Muffin had snuggled up into her sleeping quarters underneath and Bogey was lying comfortably, gently snorting away, where the ex used to reside. I reached up to switch off the bedside lamp, a sleek naturally rusted steel affair with a painted opaque glass shade. Having successfully operated the switch I managed to somehow drag it on to the full pint of pink liquid and deposit the whole kaboodle on to my pile of clothes. The next five minutes or so were filled with a sufficient amount of ooh-ing and aah-ing interspersed with the odd 'BASTARD' at several decibels above what one would consider a reasonable noise level for that time of the day.

At this point, I would usually have been in ultra relaxation made, contemplating the day's events, what was on the agenda for the morrow; I might even have been considering having gentlemanly sex with myself. the ensuing panic and unplanned laundry and housework operations put paid to all that. Despite all that I did get a good night's sleep.

I awoke at 8.15, somewhat later than is my habit but fresh and ready for the day. Did the usual bathroom things and selected some fresh clothing and made my way downstairs. Tom, the postie, brings the mail which I quickly examine, hoping nothing inconvenient will be plaguing me in the near future. The morning ritual continued first by putting on the coffee, then letting Bogey out to chase the rabbits and relieve himself in the long grasses on the other side of the road. He waits like a caged tiger behind the front gate and I have to be really quick opening it if he isn't to push the whole thing over with his 40kg of pure muscle and exuberance. I stock up the bird table and outdoor cills with seed and check the fatball hanging in the foliage aware that a fair section of our local avian population are shuffling about expectantly amongst the branches of the surrounding rowan and beech trees, call Bogey back in and give the dogs their breakfast. I roll my first fag of the day and by this time the coffee is ready.

I take this 'breakfast' ensemble into the studio, light my fag and take a sip, and check my emails and calendar. This morning Heather rang and we had a long and fruitful conversation about out future plans. I told her I'd have no problems with her moving into the farmhouse and, contrary to my previous attitude, allowing her lover to visit her. Up to this point, I had been threatening to beat the living shit out of him and trash his beloved racing car, but common sense and a cooling of my anger over past events has now prevailed and I'm willing to let things continue on their natural course as they would ultimately do. The less aggravation the better for all of us. I'd even buy her a range cooker and help with converting the farmhouse into as good a living accommodation as my cottage.

And that takes us up to the point at which I am writing this little note. The weather is beautiful; fresh and sunny and all bodes well for the day. Chaffinches and coal tits peck away happily on the window cill. This month the young ones have ventured out on their own and sometimes with their mums and dads though the majority now seem quite independent and capable of looking after themselves.

I'm going to roll my second fag now and refill my cup. I'll check out the chess, make my moves then get on with the day's chores. Today is going to be brilliant . . .