A Guid New Year

 

To all my readers, commenters, fellow bloggers, and groupies.

 

All together now………

 

Don’t read if you are offended by hippy-shit, blues and bad language.

 

Having a bit of a pre -Hogmanay redd-up in the attic of my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know, I know – i just can’t help myself !!

Curio-ser and Curio-ser

 

 

 

 

An Old Queen’s Christmas Message

 

 

While waiting in the queue at the checkout in the Windsor branch of Poundland, it occurred to one that the lieges might appreciate an alternative to Noddy and Roy as the soundtrack to their festive extravagances.While one’s own preference is naturally for hard core hip-hop, the following may be more to the taste of the lower orders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen ( and Tipsy Ladies !)

Awards

 

I just thought that I should post something in case you started to believe that I had died,and began pestering my wife for my “gear”

In fact, I’ve been rather busy what with some unexpected pearlcasting, supervising the builders ( you’d think that they had never had to build a simple mausoleum in a suburban back garden before !), and enjoying a little sunshine. None of which has occasioned a visit from the muse.

Anyway. Where was I again ?

Ah yes – Awards.

It’s been a bad 12 months for me, I’m afraid. Missed out again on Rear of the Year despite a shed load of testimonials, including some from readers of this blog, averring that I am a complete arsehole. And then, only the other week, the disappointment of the Bad Sex Awards where I was shortlisted (sic) for The Lifetime Achievement award but lost out to a panda.

However.

Point is.

I heard a wee whisper that The New Year List will finally contain Sir Slowhand. Apparently his rather odd political views have been held against him in the past and it may seem a bit of a comedown for someone who was deified in 1964, but – Elton John, Tom Jones come on !

 

 

Not again !

 

 

Yup.

But, whereas last week this was the pinnacle of my achievement , yesterday it was a mere staging post on the way to greater things.

The official excuse was the overdue completion of my Autumn path inspections. But, in truth, no excuse was needed to venture out on such a fine crisp-cold sunny day.

I may see dozens more like it. Or it may be my last. And exactly the same ( in a non-mathematical/statistical sense of the word) could be said by the miserable eyes-down buggers who failed to acknowledge my “Fine day” greetings. Arseholes.

 

The backside of Dumyat

 

Where the Ochils kind of meld into Sheriffmuir

 

 Did I mention that it was cold ?

 

 Lossburn Reservoir

 

The old farm of Jerrah. The earliest farming, arable as well as livestock, took place up here on the plateau, as the fertile river valley was still a swamp

Well, you didn’t think I walked, did you ?

 

Turning the corner to head South down Menstrie Glen, the smell of yeast became apparent in the still, cold air.The Diageo complex in the middle of the pic processes yeast for many of the company’s distilleries.

 

Probably about 7 miles and 1000 ft ascent, but who’s countin’.

 

 

 

It’s 50 years since Aldous Huxley died. I seem to remember Don Van Vliet telling of having sold a vacuum cleaner to Huxley while working as a door-to-door salesman. This may have taken place in reality.

Or it may have just have been part of one of the Captain’s trips.

Or one of Huxley’s

Or one of mine.

 

Strike while the iron’s hot..

 

 

..is, of course the motto of The National Union of Laundry Workers and Allied Trades. Feeling no ill effects from Thursday’s little adventure, and mindful of the fact that the right-wing press (is there any other kind?) were predicting Snowmageddon next week (they must have been reading God’s e-mails), I decided to undertake a bit of overdue Autumn path inspection. I’ve managed the local woods stuff easily enough, and, not feeling quite ready for the “big one” up to Lossburn, I did the Logie Kirk to Menstrie one along the foot of the escarpment.

Nothing really to report. It was a fine day, but with a snell wind.

 

 

 

 

More guitar burning music !

Onward and …………?

 

For the past few weeks I have been a trifle unwell, a condition usually associated with children's birthday parties.

Now, lesser men might have allowed this set-back to turn them bitter, seeing the hard won progress of the last couple of years apparently dissipated in a matter of days. But not me. No, sirree Bob.

 

Bastard

Sorry. Where was I ? Ah right. I’ve been getting about on the level, but anything remotely “uphill”has been more problematic. However, it being a stoatin’ good day, I resolved to head for the hills. That is, in the “mole” sense of the word.

 

 

 

It started off innocuously enough

 

then up

 

 

 More up

and again

 

 Round about this point vertigo set in

 

 Even more bloody up

 

 I haven’t been this high since , dunno….. Isle of Wight 1969 ?

 

False summit

 

The final approach

 

 

“Aw naw. It’s that feckin reservoir again, He’s always going up there”

Yes ? And so.. ?

I see this blog as a haven of cosy familiarity, acting as an antidote to the locational exoticism of, say, the Phreerunner blog. Anyway, I use these local walks to calibrate my fitness. One hour and ten minutes is the par time from my back door to sitting-on-the-dam-wall-eating-a-banana. Today – hour thirty.Room for improvement.

I completed the usual squelchy circumnavigation and trotted off home.

The GPS app (? !) on my portable telephone said 5.31 miles in just under 3 hours at an average speed of 1.78 mph and total ascent of 3609 feet. Quite satisfactory in the circums……….woah there. Haud the bus. 3609 ft ??? In my dreams.

Having consulted one of Her Majesty’s Ordnance Survey maps (non-electronic) I can confirm that the distance is about right, but the height gained was nearer 600 ft. How do these things measure altitude anyway?

 

You’ve been a lovely audience, and I’d like to finish,if I may, with a little ditty that has been going through my head as I write this.

 

No point in posting anything, really

 

I expect most of my demographic will be away in Germany competing in the World Beard and Moustache Championships.

 

It’s been a quiet few weeks here at Loch Woebegon.

I suppose quiet is better than silent

Perhaps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Man finally arrived

Top Gear Live

 

Due to overwhelming demand, a fifth night has had to be added to the dates at Glasgow’s newest venue, The Hydro.

This demonstrates two things.

Firstly, as I have often pointed out, Jeremy Clarkson is an absolute cult.

And, secondly, that the predictive text function on Blogger is a bit unreliable.

 

Belated farewell

 

A few years ago we were up in Edinburgh for a daughter’s graduation, and went for coffee to a little cafe in Nicholson Street opposite the Old College. As I was spooning the froth off my cappuccino, I became conscious of a strange “I’ve been in this place before” feeling . The low ceiling, those pillars, the change in level, the stair in the corner – definitely spooky. Then I realised that this used to be a dance hall/ club/music venue. And that this is where I saw the magnificent Keef Hartley Band back in nineteen canteen. A great gig, only slightly marred by occasional views through the crowd of my ex-girlfriend being , I felt,  ostentatiously affectionate to her new beau.

Keef was from Preston and got into the music business by replacing one Richard Starkey in Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. He also played with Merseybeat legends Freddie Starr and the Midnighters before moving to London and joining cult band The Artwoods. Then it was a spell at Mr. Mayall’s finishing school where he played on the Crusade album with 18 year old Mick Taylor. His own band, featuring Miller Anderson made one classic album (Halfbreed remains in my Top Twenty Greatest of all time) ,  a couple of good ones, and played loads of stormin’ live gigs. He seems to have packed it all in around 1980, went back to Preston, and worked as a cabinet maker for the next thirty odd years. His death, in 2012, seems to have passed me by completely until yesterday.

 

 

 

As far as I can recall, Jon Hiseman replaced Hartley in The Bluesbreakers. Some more survivors.

(Incidentally, Songs for a Tailor is also in my Top Twenty)

 

 

One of the latest graduates from Mr. Mayall’s Academy seems to be finding his own blues “voice”

 

Yes, thanks.

Started some light streetwalking.

Still bored.

Still infested by Poles and Ukrainians

Still pissed-off.

You lookin’ at me ?

Parasites

 

The blog has been seriously parasitised by these referrer spam creeps again, folks.They pick on an old post and then hammer it daily with ludicrous numbers of page views. When I delete that post, they just move onto another.I’ve tried several forums for a solution, but the consensus seems to be that nothing can be done – it’s annoying , but harmless. Well, that’s as may be, but I have always believed that there is no such thing as a free lunch, so these shitheads in Poland, Germany, and Ukraine must be getting something out of it. As if I wasn’t pissed-off enough.

So for all my new fans in Eastern Europe, the land that humour forgot – join in all together now………….