Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Dead, dead, dead - someday you'll be dead

And apparently there has been a much higher death toll amongst the big names than I had realised. I knew about the big ones like Arthur C Clarke and Heath Ledger, but I had missed Michael Crichton, Anthony Minghella, Levi Stubbs (aka Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors) and Geoffrey Perkins. Geoffrey Perkins? Who will carry the HHGTTG candle now that the two great powers behind it are gone!? Where will the new Mornington Crescent be birthed? And who will Michael Moore vilify in the absence of Charleton Heston? Dead in 2008.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Captives

According to Wikipedia, "...Father Christmas was bought by the Coca-Cola company. He remains their prisoner." I just lolled all over my desk.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The accursed 'Credit Crunch' made sense of

I'm so pleased to finally see a clear explanation of where it all went wrong! http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/thereporters/robertpeston/newcapitalism.pdf

Monday, October 13, 2008

Traffic chaos

So. Tramworks are making Edinburgh tricky to navigate, as is well recorded. At the moment the Mound is closed, with traffic diverted down Market Street/Waverley Bridge, with some people going along East Market Street to get out that end.

The High Street is also closed between Jeffrey Street and - well the bottom half seems to be generally closed. Traffic is therefore splitting off either down St Mary's or Jeffrey St, with the latter often doubling back along East Market St to go down New Street and towards Holyrood.

And now, once again, there are coaches being used as replacements for certain rail services; coaches which lurk on both sides of East Market St until they're needed. This is a piece of road which is surely asking for an accident, whether just due to too much traffic or because pedestrians can't see the too much traffic for coaches.

I'm beginning to suspect the Illuminati (or some other giant covert ruling organisation) of some cunning plot to de-traffic the center of town. Perhaps they were disappointed in the failed Congestion Charge and are now making it so impractical to drive in town that people may give up and get a bloody bus. Almost everyone I know who needs to travel into/through/across town has had a good moan about their own personal Frightful Traffic Trauma, and there aren't many people left who don't resent the tramworks. Yesterday drivers were jumpy and careless; it's beginning to feel like LA with the seething miasma of barely-repressed rage in the air.

Something is going to snap.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

ADHD crazy!

So apparently 365,000 children in the UK have ADHD. This would mean that roughly a quarter of UK children have Attention-deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Does anyone else think that's INSANE and suggests, more than anything else, either that the diagnostic procedure is faulty or that the diagnosis is pointless.

If this is something that affects so many young people, I really think it can't he a serious problem. Maybe we need to look nito whether this is an adaptive trait rather than a flaw? Or perhaps we should start picking out children who have blonde hair as well - after all, a lot of them will 'recover' as they approach adulthood.


p.s. While crisps on ricecakes is unarguably carborrific it's no substitute for a crisp buttie and far messier.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Surreality and the Real

It's odd, but I find the universe most credible when it's at its least probable. Tonight I was trying to take some photos of the moon. Sadly, this entails all of the failings in the S9600 so it's never quite worked satisfactorily yet. My battery died midway of course - it always does when I've got it on a tripod - and when I went back out to try again I realised that it was utterly futile.

Low clouds; backlit by the moon, which was peeping through a chink; predominantly sodium light pollution underneath, giving them an red cast. It was like something that might happen when playing with Difference Clouds and Lighting Effects in Photoshop, and as such would never work as a photo - well, unless I had a considerably better camera, lens, and was more experienced at night sky photography.

Oh well. So concludes a day filled with, er, nothing. Unless you count playing Spore (which really isn't All That, but I'm giving it a once through before I despair of ever getting a Good New Game) or wandering through the Quartermile in search of excitement or interesting angles.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Oh woe to the wan- I mean, Bankers.

I mean, really. All that imaginary money they were giving people to buy houses with. It was inevitable.

At least it gives us joy like this.

Well, it made me happy.

Last weekend Arno and his pals were demonstrating swordplay in the National Museum of Scotland. Apparently the session I observed wasn't the best of the day, but it seemed to please the masses.

Rachael's bump has now externalised itself, after a 36hour labour and emergency C-section. Came out quite well, is the general opinion. My instinctive distrust and dislike of anything too young to have a higer education was set aside because she sat nicely for the camera.

Thomas has left the choir and now, pretty much, the country. Which is a pity beacause he's friendly and funny and everyone likes him. He had a big leaving mean a Vittoria's on George IV Bridge last night which I only caught the end of. RIP Thomas (well, not exactly dead but probably gone for good).

And finally, on a lighter note, I (eventually (about 15 months after we started planning such a thing)) had an interview for the job I've been doing since last January. And got it. Now we just need HR to get themselves sorted out and give it to me. I think it might end up as a Christmas present...

Oh, and speaking of Christmas - we've started the Christmas repertoire already! How glad am I to have a distraction from the bloody Carver and chunks of Gaelic we need to do for out mini-gig at the National Library of Scotland? (very glad, BTW)

We've got some rousing Arvo Pärt and deceptively challenging Abbie Betinis so far. Can't wait to see what other bizarre modernities Ollie pulls out of the ether! You can keep up to date with the choir's goings-on at rudsambee.blogspot.com, where Claire1 is our jolly blogger.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Censorship

I do like Carol Ann Duffy. I am particularly fond of her poem Valentine.

I am not fond of censorship, although I do like a poet with a good sense of humour.

Ollie and Helen have just been to Iceland with my camera (whimper). I'll have photos up soon...

Monday, August 11, 2008

Why I want to eat Cliff Richard

Because his guts are sitting in tupperware tubs in Ollie's fridge and they're made of marzipan!

Honest!

Look, here's the show and here's the guts.

And here's why they're funny:


So go and see it, okay?

Saturday, August 02, 2008

Way back in the Long Ago, a teenage version of myself went to see the Jim Rose Circus, in a big tent on Calton Hill. It was scary, it was freakish, it was filled with people who had honed their bodies to a state where they could truly claim to be Performers. Back then, they even appeared on the X-Files. If it said Jim Rose on the tin, it was guaranteed to be entertainment, if not necessarily in good taste.
He's not been back to the Edinburgh Festival for years, and when I saw an advert I immediately decided to go. After all, he can only have become more bizarre in the intervening decade!
So Graeme and I went to see Plague! the musical, which was a touch overlong but generally very funny. Songs will be stuck in my head for weeks. A quick wall up from C on Chambers Street to the upside-down purple cow which the Underbelly install in Bristo Square every year put us in the queue for this year's Jim Rose spectacle. And, after waiting for close to an hour and having just decided to give up and go, we were finally let into the tent.
Pretty lights, a caped man with a chainsaw, creepy voiceover... Ah, thought I, this should be good. Graeme is sure to poop his pants at this!
Oh, how sadly mistaken I was.
After a moody preamble by the man himself, explaining that he hadn';t been doing any shows because he wanted to do something New and Exciting, the show got going. And when i say Show I'm not talking about a Circus or a Freak show; this was one notch away from a Live Sex Show.
Other than a handful of things - face in glass, eating a lightbulb... old favourites - this was nothing more than some passable Metal covers and some very skinny, very grumpy girls doing eccentric things in the nude under the faint veil of a pseudo-satanic plot. It made us squirm because of the constant crotch shots rather than, for example, the Girl Squirting Blue Paint Out Of Her Ass (whitch was quite obviously a bulb of paint up there. I mean, come on! Jim Rose reduced to tacky trickery? What happened!?).
I didn't walk out surely because I was hoping - vainly, I might add - for some redeeming moment which would make it all worthwhile. Instead, we exited the theatre at two in the morning having endured an hour of what was no better than the wank fantasy of an American teen rock wannabe from the early 90s.
If you want to watch girls pulling underwear out of their orifices while an ageing, drugfucked disappointment letches over them, then go see the show. Otherwise, pay money to avoid it.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Killer gulls

We've got a young seagull wandering around outside work at the moment. It's very cute, because it's not yet grown into its adult colouring.
My pal

Yesterday it looked scared and lost. There were no adults to be seen (or heard) - perhaps they were off on a day trip to the seaside, leaving baby at home. Today they're back, and the youngling has the seagull mafia watching over it. When people get close it starts yakking, and the adults start screeching and dive-bombing the passers-by. There's also a trail of babygullpoo across the pavements.

I'm looking forward to taking pictures of lacerated pedestrians. Well, not really...

Friday, July 18, 2008

Explore me!

Flickr has this strange thing they call Explore. After a twisted set of calculations to do with which groups your photo is in, how many groups, how many tags, links to/from the photos, comments, favourites, views... they eventually class all photos by Interestingness. And if a photo is one of the 500 most Interesting for a particular day then it gets into Explore, which is like a showcase for the most Interesting pictures of the day.

Some people are Explore whores. All sorts of Groups exist for no reason other than to have more Groups to add photos to, in the hopes that enough Groups will guarantee a place in Explore. What many people don't seem to realise, of course, is that the Interestingness algorithms are constantly changing and since 2006 having a photo in more than 15 Groups (oh yes, some pictures are in 60+ Groups! I did say WHORE.) then it has a negative effect on the Interestingness. Fools.

My Mother has had a few pictures Explored, although they're all pictures of clouds and trees and other boring 'nature' stuff; she's as puzzled by this as I am. I finally entered Explore a couple of months ago - about time too - and was frightfully pleased when this photo went from posting to Explore in about 12hours:
lolChris
See, I decided to do the 365 thing, and then found myself getting dragged into the Flickr Group Roulette Group, which challenges you to make your photo of the day fit into certain underpopulated Groups - in this case, Flickr Can Has Cheezburger which is for Flickr lolcats. I baulked at the idea, but eventually managed to do something (entailing the vile Comic Sans MS, which apparently people liked :D

Monday, July 14, 2008

Prodigals

When my hair gets too long to stand up and starts to flop, everyone thinks I’ve had a haircut. Every time. It’s puzzling.

The Marktha have returned from Canada – rejoice! Martha (formerly known, for no good reason, as Steve) met Mark (aka Scone, aka Hot Throbbin’) on a holiday to Canada a few years ago and, after a whirlwind romance, was married in 2005. The following year, Mark having comet to live in Edinburgh, they moved to Vancouver, got a kitten and jobs, and other than biannual meetups with Martha’s mum for Hershey’s and general bitching, that appeared to be that. But Martha got homesick and so they abandoned the colonies for the more civilised Scottish homeland. It’s like they were never away. Yay!

Now it’s true, I’m a bit of a Dr Who nerd. But I’m more of a post-1989 nerd – I far prefer the series of original novels that were published between 1989 and 2005 to any of the other media, although I still enjoy both the Original and the New-And-Improved-With-Added-Kissing TV serieseseses (this is like trying to stop spelling bananananana! Help!).

During the post-TV Movie run of the novels, starring the Paul McGann-style 8th Doctor and published by the BBC, probably the most original of the writers – and certainly the most controversial – was Lawrence Miles. Outspoken, original, you either love him or loathe him and whichever side of the fence you live on, you are likely to be vitriolic in your reactions to the other side.

The first chapter of his Grand Plan was Alien Bodies, which introduced a new Power, Faction Paradox, and also the concept of Biodata – kinda like DNA but for your timeline as well as your genetics. The latter has suffused all of Who-land in one way or another since then, but the Faction have had a hard time of it. Miles set up a huge, universe-changing plot in his two-parter Interference, which was generally shat upon by the other authors and the BBC, resulting in a lot of bad blood and no more Mad Larry.

Instead, Faction Paradox were taken out of the Whoniverse entirely. Mad Norwegian Press rescued them and published a number of stand-alone novels over the following years, not just by Lawrence Miles but also Phillip Purser-Hallard, Lance Parkin, Mags Halliday and Kelly Hale. These were all extremely strong works, all separate and often not even featuring any members of Faction Paradox. BBV also produced a set of six audio dramas, written by Miles, and there were two issues of an abortive comic to boot.

And then Mad Norwegian Press pulled the plug. No more novels. Until Random Static came to the rescue, announcing that they would be releasing Newtons Sleep by Daniel O’Mahoney in 2008. Woo! Having only recently picked up the last of the MNP books, it wasn't until we were due to go away to Czechland that I decided I had to have it. [The last time we went on holiday, two years ago, I made a special detour to Forbidden Planet in London so that I could buy one of the previous novels; it kept me going for some time during an otherwise boring holiday…]

Having received the book in time, I had no chance to read it while we were away because we were SO BUSY. So, on our return I picked it up and made a start.

And it was a sloooowww start. The author’s previous Who-ish novels, Falls the Shadow and The Man in the Velvet Mask, had never been in my top ten favourites, far from it, but they were long ago and I knew that the style would have changed. If anything the writing was more dense. I despaired. But I didn’t want to give up – there’s so little Factionalia! And so I kept at it. And it got better.

Probably the first in the series to feature members of Faction Paradox as main cast, they’re only part of a fair ensemble. Set in the 17th Century, we jump across a period of decades, watching characters being manipulated by various Powers as the War in Heaven rages in the background. It’s confusing. The characters are almost all antiheroes, at best. And yet they’re so fascinating: seeing how their actions are governed by their paranoia and selfishness, sitting back and watching as they allow frightful things to happen – a scene where someone is hung, drawn and quartered forced me to put the book down for half an hour in disgust at the glorious gore – it’s absolutely compelling! And as the narrative cantered towards the conclusion I found myself more and more excited by it.

Slow starter indeed, but gosh! I’m tempted to hunt down other novels by Mr O’Mahoney – although I’m afraid of being let down purely because they wouldn’t be set in such a complex world which I already feel comfortable in. In the meantime, I feel compelled to register my enjoyment of the novel.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

Technocomedy and photo-blogging

I've lapsed somewhat, I know. It's because i spend too much time taking and editing photos; by the time I've done with them I've got no energy for words!

So your best bet is to keep an eye on my Flickr if you care at all what I've been doing...

Someone advertised a couple of computers on Freecycle today (see here to find your local network, if you're that way inclined), and since they were named models I Googled them. When I found this I laughed in mockery and wonder at how much out idea of High Technology has changed in the last thirteen years. It's worth skimming all the way through, really it is.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Week of Chaos pt.4: Wednesday

I’ve clearly spent too long in France. I keep forgetting we’re in Prague and defaulting to thinking about us being in Frenchland. We decided to get up early today and do Breakfast; this didn’t happen, surpisingly. We did get out before noon at least. The plan was to go to Wenceslas Square (which isn’t in any way square) and go from there. Wander wander wander. Some very large buildings around here. One rarely sees the horizon – which I’m used to, living in a city, but Edinburgh has considerably more horizon, being built on more and larger hills and having large chunks of green space to split the place up. Postcards were bought, we passed another thousand or so performances of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusic and kept wandering. Stopped for lunch, which was lovely (although we were served by someone who was practically a child and the restaurant wanted us to PAY to use their toilets! I had no cash so slipped away from a tutting cleaner; Helen was less fortunate...), watched the astrological clock thing in action – while hardcore tourists cheered it on – and then went up to the big museum at the top of Wenceslas not-really-Square before splitting up(!). Helen was told when and where to meet us and she went off shopping while Ollie and I went to look at Liliova, an area we had bypassed yesterday. Nobody takes down posters here. They just keep plastering them on top of each other, which makes for some fascinating advertising strata. They’re best when they start to peel around the edges. There appear to be gas lights in the streets as well – I must check when it’s dark and they are lit...

Peeling

Mozart is around every corner. Apparently Don Giovanni was premiered here (Ollie posed outside the venue in question, although I think the Nazgul statue in memory of the piece is far more interesting than any Mozart is likely to be). There are also a ton of puppets on sale, Black Light Theatres on every other block and an astonishing number of Absinthe- and tobacco-related shops. They advertise Absinthe not by how strong the alcohol is but by the mindbending effects of the active ingredident. Weird, yet appealing... The buildings are a tour de force of trompe l’oeil. Very often I have to squint at them to decide whether they are excitingly built or just very well painted to look like they are relief stones, rather than flat painted surfaces – which they invariably are. There’s also a water feature around every corner, some as fountains, some as washing/drinking places. The people of Edinburgh complain that the city is undergoing constant roadworks (even pre-Trammage) and that there is scaffolding everywhere. Prague is, in this, a sister city. While the roadworks are fewer – the trams are well-settled, hurrah! – the scope of the building works take some time to sink in. There is scaffolding everywhere! And unlike Edinburgh, the centre of Prague is almost entirely made of good Old buildings, rather than being a hodgepodge of classic architecture, 60s monstrosities and new builds, so I dread to think what they’re doing. Perhaps it’s a lot of cleaning, as the old buildings still have that industrial patina which Edinburgh has mostly lost over the last few decades; many of the most interesting buildings are pretty much black. I’d also love to see the reaction of the moaning Edinburgers who bitch that the roads and pavements are uneven and a danger to pedestrians/cars. The pavements here are generally made of tiny cobbles, about 2” square and often in interesting patterns. They are not, however, even. I often find myself slipping on broken, torn up pavements and car tyres sometimes make particularly dstressed noises as they pass. We made our way back to Wenceslas Square Boulevard and Helen, turning up rather early in our eagerness not to abandon her. Stting outside a coffee shop waiting for Ollie to fetch some cold milky caffeine drinks, I felt an urge to take photos of the cobbles and submitted to said urge. On looking up from my attempts to make small square stones appear interesting, I realised that there was a Local looking between me and the cobbles wth a look of bafflement on his face. Grinning awkwardly I put the camera down, but we seemed to provide considerable entertainment for the remainder of their stay. Naps have been the theme of the week so far. On Monday we all collapsed for hours after little sleep and a long journey; Tuesday I passed out after dinner, followed by Helen and Ollie fell asleep in the bath. Today I skipped my nap, so I will probably collapse about 2300h, while the others romp around all night. Oh well. Tomorrow we are off to meet everyone and head to Susice; we’re a little sad about this as it’s been quite nice having no pressure to meet Mayors, climb mountains, perform etc.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Week of Chaos pt.3: Tuesday

My head is still a little bit muzzy. You know how your muscles feel after a lot of exercise – not necessarily sore, but achey and tired? Well, that’s how my head feels post-flight, with a side helping of slight headache.

We managed to get out of the house a little before noon and went for a wander to the river and investigate the scary statues we had seen last night. Sadly they were far less creepy in daylight, although we managed to confirm my conviction that they were a Political thing – the statues are part of a memorial dedicated to the victims of Communism. After that we meandered towards the Castle, encountering a number of interesting water features (they may have been for handwashing, drinking... there was no way to be sure) on the way and toying with the idea of getting a funny funicular train up to the top of the hill.

There’s an unusual Christian fetishism at work in the city. We found a church dedicated to the Infant Jesus, a statue which was brought here about 350 years ago (I think) and has become like a religious barbie doll, dressed by nuns every morning. The church he lives in features a museum upstairs, filled with outfits which have been sent from aound the globe and lit like a fabric museum. On the stairs there are numerous images of the more garish sets of clothing which the statue has worn, and the church itself has a large shrine to contain him. The colour scheme is a dramatic black and gold (the whole city is covered in gold, it’s remarkable at first but eventually becomes, like the stupendous collection of architectural styles, a bit fatiguing on the Wonder), and there is one very noteworthy thing which made me happy: behind the altar – bedecked in black and gold statuary, etc. – is a large painting. This may sound unremarkable, but if you think about churches you will remember that the centrepiece is usually a giant, brutal crucifix, hanging above the altar where it cannot be missed. Here, there is a small crucifix to the side of the altar, no more than person-high, and otherwise you could almost forget that this is a shrine to a religion which glories in the torture and death of its God. It gave me hope.

The Castle in Prague is conceptually not dissimilar to Edinburgh Castle; both are a strange mishmash of buildings atop a hill, rather than a large fortress. Beyond that there are few similarities. Here there are countless examples of what look like Government buildings, mixed in with a GIANT cathedral which makes St Giles look like a cheap pretender to the title and a bewildering array of structures dating from all over the past few centuries, arranged to a-maze any invaders it would seem.

I’m concerned by the Illuminati’s unquestioned presence here. I first noticed an eye in a pyramid in the church of the Infant Jesus, and after that I spotter them everywhere – on a stained glass window in the cathedral, atop an obelisk in a square, gilded onto the tops of buildings... am I missing something here?

Getting out of the Castle is a challenge in itself; there is no clear route down, ust a lot of paths which might, if you’re lucky, do more than peter out into a dead end or No Entry sign. When we found ourselves somewhere recognisable there was a rousing cheer, even if it was a little weary. By the time we got to the bottom of the hill there was about enough mustered energy between us to get back to the apartment where we ate and napped.

Later in the evening we went for a wander again, nighttime being far easier on the constitution in warm weather. I found the wacky building I had seen on Kevin's photostream but had left the camera behind deliberately, to allow us to see some of the city at a normal pace. Of course this meant that we had to go the same way on Wednesday night so that I could take photos of things I had seen...

We ended up sitting outside a cafe/bar on the west side of the river. Helen had beer (which she drank slowly, like the English and Czechs do; if I could drink the stuff these days I'd have shown them what enjoying beer means...) while Ollie and I had girly soft drinks. Which were far more expensive than the beer, of course. Usually one gets a half litre (equivalent to a pint) of beer for about £1.25 to $1.40, while a 200ml coke will cost more like £2.00. Dammit!

While sitting about, the others had noticed something lying on the pavement a little way off and were discussing what it might be. When a streetcleaning machine came past and sucked the object up they realised it had, in fact, been a dead rat. Lovely. Two in 24 hours.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Week of Chaos pt.2: Monday

We had ordered a taxi for 0530h; everyone was up, and we got into it and to the airport in good time. Coffee and Cornish Pasties were had, money was changed and we made our way to the departure gate, my anxiety levels rising steadily. Post-security I paused to put my earplugs in and purchase some fluids to take onboard. It was at this point that Helen realised we were due to be checking in NOW and so we made a break for it, pausing only to snatch some juice out of a passing vending machine.

Once on the plane, I settled in for a few hours of possible agony. I giggled at the staff when they were demonstrating emergency procedures, particularly the smirk they exchanged when doing the ‘emergency exits are located here, here and here’ section. All drugged up and ready to go, then! I love takeoff, I love landing, I like turbulence and anything that emphasises where you are and makes it feel less like a school bus. Sadly, my head doesn’t share my enthusiasm, though at least on this occasion the discomfort was less; I felt he need to jiggle my legs the whole way, no idea why, and managed to fall into a sleep-like state for a large part of the flight. Extreme ear-popping was the order of the day and I kept wondering if I was going to be singing with a ruptured eardrum. I was very relieved when we landed and I could take the earplugs out – which had started to hurt – and review the surprising lack of structural damage I had suffered.

While sitting bewildered on the bus into town Ollie befriended a local (with a Scottish accent) who was already helping a couple of Canadian girls find their way around. As a result we managed to get off at the right stop and get the connecting underground into the centre. Our new guide left us at Mustek and Ollie took over, stepping into a Tourist Information place where he got directions to our apartment. We set off (to Helen’s cries of “Ooh pipes, I want a pipe!!”), passing a Tesco on the way (Tesco, in this case, being a multi-level department store with the supermarket section hidden in the basement), with me squee-ing over the trams endlessly, yet somehow we found the place we were going – only to be sent on to the actual apartments a few blocks further away.

The apartment was lovely. Recently done up, filled with IKEA goodness and strange cupboards. Major failing? Poorly equipped kitchen. There are only the very basics as far as cutlery and crockery are concerned (literally – most of these things are Tesco Basics branded!), and nothing at all in the cupboards. I would expect at least salt and pepper, perhaps even some tea? Two large bedrooms with an array of windows (one of which is really a living room with a good sofabed and whose window/door thing sports a pigeon and two eggs on a few twigs); a bathroom, featuring a bizarrely raised bath, and a bidet, of course; kitchen, with small balcony lacking a view of anything other than the surrounding buildings and a corner of a hill and the tip of the castle in the distance; person-wide cupboard/room of the kitchen with a window and nothing else; cupboard in hall with window which opens onto the stair; further cupboard with a mattress; and finally the Other Room, which houses the boiler and looks like it should be a room-sized shower: it’s all tiles up and very smooth-edged but completely lacking in a shower. Pity.

On going a-wandering in the evening, a tramp approached Helen and spoke Czech to her. She looked blank and said ”Olliiiieeeee…”. He quickly told the tramp that we didn't speak Czech (Ollie has an unnerving ability to pick up the basics of a language very quickly), which should have defused the situation nicely; however, the tramp paused – looking thoughtful – and promptly started asking in quite comprehensible English for some money. Helen grinned in terror and thrust 20Kr (about 65p) on him before making a break for it. She then spent the rest of the evening hunting for a bathroom to wash the tramp off her hand.

While walking along the river we heard a cry of “Excuse me!” followed by some English chaps – two from Liverpool which amused Ollie muchly – asking us if we knew where "The Club" was. We’re still not sure which Club this might be and weren't a whole lot of help to them...

We paused momentarily, as Ollie and Helen inspected a peculiar object on the ground, wrapped in a tatty drinks cup. After some consideration there was a cry of “Ewwwww,” as they concluded that it was, indeed, a dead rat – rather the worse for it by the look of it!

Scattered across the city are doggie bags. I don’t mean bags to put your leftovers in, but bags for putting your dog’s waste into. They are in handy dispensers with cute pictures, all over the place! That’s surely a better use for the city’s waste-related money than a neverending stream of newly designed waste containers, all of which are in some way horribly flawed (this, btw, is a reference to the biannual relaunch of Edinburgh's litter bins, which unerringly don't do all of what they've been designed to do)?

Week of Chaos pt.1: Sunday

What a long and exhausting day that was! Well, weekend. Friday was a flurry of last-minute shopping for The Trip and then a (failed) attempt to get an early night before The Recording. The early night was somewhat spoiled by a spontaneous outbreak of Poker in Ollie’s living room which left us frazzled and grumpy.

Saturday morning featured myself, Ollie and Helen trying to get to the church on time – pausing briefly for them to make sandwiches for the choir (awwww how thoughtful!).

Many many many hours of recording later, we ‘wrapped’. Helen and Ollie were both quite satisfied with the outcome so we can look forward to the new CD (which I really hope will get called What Are They Doing?, after the Veljo Tormis piece we’ve been singing, Mis teil tehaske?) being filled with a unique and eclectic variety of music, rather than just a fifth disc filled with folk tunes for our public... let's see how they react!

Post-recording we had another fancy dress party, this time hosted by The Siv. I hadn’t had nearly enough time to create an exciting costume so I didn’t even try; I was also a little dazed from all those hours standing around singing with not nearly enough carbs to keep me going. Ollie more than made up for my lack of effort with his Pierrot costume, complete with accordion for that special Tiger Lillies aesthetic. A million (roughly) photos later I stumbled home, having completely forgotten my plan to snatch a few shots of the Moonwalk as it set off. Oh well.

Sunday was destined to be hellish. I had arranged to meet Ben so that I could a)Pick up a book of mine he had and I wanted to take with me and b)Borrow his old laptop. I managed to get into town and met him at the car boot sale in the Greenside Place car park, which was strangely disappointing. I blame eBay, personally: without leaving your seat it is possible to wander around the largest car boot sale imaginable, picking out the things you want without having people randomly shouting at you; it’s also a great lure for the sellers, where they have no pressure to sell in a couple of hours and are likely to get a lot more for their rubbish. So the car boot sale in person lacked something, primarily anything useful or interesting.

We went for coffee in the new café they built onto the side of St Mary’s (the Catholic one) and were generally quite pleased! The coffee was nice, Ben wolfed down his carrot cake and Robert was terribly happy to get a bacon roll for breakfast. Just as well the café wasn’t attached to a synagogue, I suppose. Laptop and book in hand (well, in bag) we set off for some last-last-minute shopping, before I had to dash home and Get Packed!

On reaching Ollie’s house, it transpired that we had a lot of things to do before sleep could be surrendered to. I had been (vainly) hoping that if we were aiming to be at the airport by 0600h then we might get to sleep before 2300h perhaps? But no. Too much, too much to do – not least of which was Helen getting the recording equipment back to the Music Department. I eventually collapsed about 0030, Ollie (I think) an hour or so after that; Helen says she ended up getting about four minutes kip before having to get moving, which explains why she slept so much on the journey...

There's so much to tell that I am going to split it up by days, so tune in later once I've caught up with Monday.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Anxious? ME?

Last time I went somewhere in an aircraft I was subject to horrific head pain which had involuntary tears of pain streaming down my face and the thought "I wish I would just hurry up and die, rather than suffer this," running through my head. The return trip was moderately less cause for suicidal wishes, but I was very well rested, hydrated and stuffed full of co-codamol, tyrozets and Rescue Remedy, with earplugs for good measure. It was still awful.

In the intervening years it transpired that I had some sort of chronic rhinitis, caused by - well nobody has worked it out yet. I know some things that will make it worse but nothing so far has made it better. The swelling makes it difficult for air pressure to reach a painless equilibrium in my head.

I now face, almost ten years later, another flight. I spent yesterday with a thumping headache due to the change in the weather, pressure changes of this sort being the main cause of headaches these days. I have paracetamol, ibuprofen, steroidal nasal spray, non-steroidal nasal spray, rescue remedy, valerian, skullcap, essential oils to clear passages and, of course, earplugs. The prospect is still causing me some distress...

Furthermore, the weather in the Czech Republic is going to be a good ten to fifteen degrees too hot for my liking.

And there is to be a coach trip up a mountain so we can go for a nice walk. I hate coaches rather like some people hate aircraft. And this is on the day of our concert so we'll have to dash back to our respective hosts' houses to wash and get ready after wearing ourselves out.

I now discover that our carrier, jet2, has baggage restrictions considerably lower than standard. This is going to make it very difficult to carry camera, basics and laptop onboard - it must be under 10Kg and not in excess of 46x30x23cm- nevermind trying to fit clothes etc. into a container which will be secure, sturdy enough to be "handled as many as 15 times between check-in and Baggage Reclaim at your destination airport" and still come in at less than 17kg. A total of 27Kg? I've been known to carry more than that on a daily basis!

I dread to think what disasters may arise when it comes to staying hydrated on the flight. And of course they're sure to dislike my passpost photo, which now looks NOTHING LIKE ME.

So yes, I'm getting a little tense. Which is a pity because I really like flying.
Passport
Me now NOW

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Nerdery

Three Dr Who-related things of note. Disclaimer: Yes, I like Dr Who, no I don't think the original series was the best thing EVAH, I mostly like some of the books because they can be thoroughly enjoyable. So there.

1. Just encountered an amusing quote from Russell T Davies:
[Those rumours about a new Who series get a definitive statement...] Don't ask me about Dr Who, no comment. Except, of course,the Doctor will be gay, his assistant a rent boy, and K9 a condom machine. Russell T Davies 12/11/99


2. A few years ago, just as Tennant was due to kick off, I discovered that a contemporary author of Dr Who (and Faction Paradox, no less!) novels was coming to the Edinburgh Festival. For no good reason I suggested we meet up for a drink and we did so. It was odd but fun.

3. As we are about to go on holiday to the Czech Republic (see Relative Pitch for more information on this) I feel the need for a good new book - i.e. one I haven't read at least twice before. Last time I was due to leave the country I managed to source a Faction Paradox novel I hadn't yet devoured. This time I had almost given up hope until I convinced someone selling the latest FP on eBay (the only one, I might add, to have ever sold it on eBay) to let me Buy It Now. It was only then that I realised the seller was actually the author.

In summary, it's nice to see that Whovians (this may be an official term by now. Eugh.) are far more of a community than some fan groups. Authors/writers and readers/viewers can encounter each other in far more Real ways than with almost any other TV genre. I respect that, even if I do kinda hate what they've done to the stories since putting them back on the telly.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Feline Abductions

A couple of years ago I managed to convince my mother that she was in danger of becoming a Dog Person and had to get new cat(s). I sourced some adorable kittens - by luck, I hadn't met them before we received them - which were ready for delivery whilst she was on holiday in Norway. Oh no! thought I, I'll have to kitten-sit!
Chris and Oscar and Aineko

Eventually she came to collect the babies and has been terribly happy with them, although I gather they are still rather suspicious of her demonic hounds delightful doggies. They're very photogenic and behave like cats in all those important ways which dogs don't.

Except that, last Wednesday, Aineko didn't come home. She also didn't return on Thursday. Friday, Saturday and Sunday all saw the house lacking half of its Bastian complement. And so on, until this morning when I received a call from my mother telling me that the wayward beast had wandered out of the barn this morning, miaowing for food. She sounded not so much excited by this, but puzzled - understandably.

You have to understand that this is not a new thing, for her cats to vanish in unusual circumstances.

Frodo, who I only just remember, disappeared for good when I was about five years old. That's reasonably linear, I suppose. He was mostly renowned for his fabulous eyeliner.

Rover, during the summer holidays on year, got trapped in one of the school buildings across the road from us; we only found him, after about a week, because there were workman around and we wandered across the road and heard him miaowing. A hurried search for a janitor led to a released cat and a Very Happy Ally.

Charlotte went twice; once she got trapped behind the cooker of our downstairs neighbour - which went unnoticed for a while - and another time she managed to slip under the floorboards of the other downstairs neighbours. On that occasion I happened upon her yowling behind a grille in the wall on one of my regular Charlotte-searches (heh heh sounds like Charlotte Churches).

B.B. (originally to be named Bilbo Baggins but he came out female - go figure!) definitely takes the biscuit though. We lived on the first floor and behind out flat there was a flat roof, which the cats used to like wandering around on. One day B.B. didn't come back in. Notices were places around Marchmont, but there was no sign of her. We had long given up hope when, six weeks later (or five weeks, there is some debate), my mother heard a pitiful mewling sound from the bathroom window one morning. Lo and behold! B.B. returns to the very place from whence she had vanished. Much much thinnner than before (but she was always a bit porky) but not dead!

So Aineko is merely following in the pawprints of her predecessors. My mother has some very odd cats...

Monday, May 26, 2008

Oh lordy what am I doing?

Well, that's the exam for this year over.

Since I clearly don't have enough to do (ha! Ahahahahahahahaha!! and further hysterical noises) I've given in to the nonexistent peer pressure and started a 365 thing. May the deity of your choice have mercy on me.

Saw this and thought of Howard

Although what the Suitable For 5-9 Years armageddon could represent I dread to imagine.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Here we go again...

http://cities.uk.com/edinburgh.php appears to have a small piece of Flickr API stuff at the bottom of the page, searching for Edinburgh. The outcome of this seems to be a display of the last five images tagged with Edinburgh being displayed. Shoddy.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Black-balled Medicine

I'm boycotting Black Medicine. Well, I occasionally use the Marchmont branch but not Nicolson Street. It's been my preferred coffee shop since I first discovered it; I've led many wayward souls to its hard seating, extolling the virtues of illy coffee to anyone who would listen... but no more!

An important part of the Black Medicine Experience has always been the staff. Even when there's rapid turnover, over the summer perhaps, there will always be a core team who are competent and friendly - even if only to regulars. People like Natalie or Stewart, coming and going over the years, have been the eye of the staffing storm, lending a tone of consistency and (almost) professionalism to the place and helping to keep the atmosphere welcoming. It's gone now, the atmosphere. Certain members of staff (everyone knows who I'm talking about here, except perhaps the people under discussion) have spoiled it with their accents, cliqueyness, omnipresence and need to change the status quo.

Black Medicine NO LONGER SERVES ILLY COFFEE!

I can't count the number of times I've heard people say that they will travel great distances to get illy, and Black Medicine has undoubtably received a great deal of custom because of their choice of coffee. However, a certain faction has nagged the management enough (and that must mean a truckload of nagging because they do not give easily to change) that the coffee has changed. According to these people, illy is a shoddy and inferior blend. They're clearly insane, on top of being irritating mingers.

This has become such an issue for me that I have ended up with a Starbucks Card. I may disagree with them on principle - being Giant Corporate Evil, but at least they are fairly consistent and inevitably friendly.

Nobody is more upset by this situation than I am...

So, last Friday I was walking up the road with my Frappucino when I saw Andrew lurking outside the Dread Cafe, so I stood about chatting to him for a while. Before we had a change to muster resistance, a scary man with a squint and teeth that would make a dentist cry accosted us. We were expecting a quick sob story followed by a request for money but instead received a 15 minute tale of woe - he's not a junkie although he used to be, he doesn't drink anymore, he's got a job out of town and needs a bus pass and would we like to buy his PS1 which Cash Generator wouldn't take because they apparently don't sell them anymore?

A little while later I saw him harassing the staff in Jordan Valley. They were less patient; I think he may have been by that point as well if nobody wanted to give him ten quid for his toy.

I finally got someone to sit for my cloning experiments. It went so smoothly I'm kinda disappointed now.

Friday, May 16, 2008

NHS: FAIL

I'm feeling conspired against. Appointment to see the Doctor (no, not The Doctor, sadly) at 1610h. I was in a panic about being late but them, as it transpired, actually arrived twenty minutes early. Not wanting to spend twenty minutes sitting in a stuffy waiting room - especially as I had just finished my book on the bus - I wandered about a bit, finally getting bored enough to go in and have a seat about 1600h.

In the play area were two boys, probably about Primary 1. They were playing with a good old-fashioned toy made of bendy metal and wooden beads. The game at hand appeared to be a race: each pushing a bead from the top and seeing whose reached the bottom first. When boy A won, boy B tutted and turned the toy around - impressive! thought I, he's making sure that there wasn't some mechanical bias, or maybe hoping to win next time. Second try, boy A wins again. Boy B decides they should thy two beads at once. By this point I'm very impressed by his gamesmanship. Boy A wins a third time. Boy B announces that boy A should try it with three beads, at which boy A huffs off shouting that boy B is a cheater. Now, I'm not a great sportsman, but did boy B not just grasp instinctively he concept behind a Handicap in golf? And did boy A then very simply deconstruct this concept, showing it to be flawed and thus effectively demonstrating that the 'sport' is really, truly, not that there was ever boy doubt, POINTLESS?

Out of the mouths of babes...

So there I am, waiting. And waiting. I play on the DS for a while, but I really need a good book or something watchable on my phone. Boy B wanders past, stopping just within my peripheral vision, and watches. His mother calls him but he's clearly more engrossed in the game than I am. With a final cry of "But look at the game!" he is dragged away.

A further ten minutes pass. It is now 1620h. I've become bored of gaming (for the moment, not for all time!) and put the DS away. National Geographic and Saga Magazine hold no appeal. The air is beginning to feel oppressive, the low-ceilinged fluorescent lights are gradually giving me a pain behind my left eye. Someone is taken away by a Doctor, the only remaining person who had been here longer than I. A snatch of conversation from the Doctor, suggesting that there have been delays today and apologising for the wait.

Another ten minutes. I feel on guilt about having my phone on, despite the big notices around the place, because I've set it to offline and, frankly, if anyone is likely to die because there's a bit of semiconductor tech in the vicinity then they're probably dead already. But this means I can't, say, wander the internet. In spite of the schemie girl whose raucous ringtone went off and the yah girl who just answered a call... Dammit I'm going to speak to someone!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Confusing advertising, baths and death

4 free light bulbs for every customer, says the advert on the side of buses. Cue map of Europe, with Britain lit up green versus Europ lit up kinda yellow. A bit odd, but perhaps it's something to do with energy saving bulbs being a bit colder in colour than incandescents. It wasn't until I happened to see the ad on the television that I realised they were talking about the bulbs being 'green' because they're better for the environment.

9/10 customers...
say BT; am I the only person who wants to amend the posters to say 9/11? I mean, it's not common for advertising literature to use numerals, is it? Perhaps I've missed a spot of media evolution, but i expect "Nine out of ten customers..."

Andrew complained that I hadn't reported his
recent bath problem. He was bleaching some jeans or something equally Andrew. Probably to make him fit in better with the Skinhead thing, i would think. So: clothing into bath; add Domestos; leave and return once the nice cast iron bath is hideously scarred from the bleach. Cue me phoning to say hi and a spew of Andrew-flavoured hysteria. After a bit of 'check the internet you knob'-style advice from moi he comes upon a simple solution involving lemon juice (ah, those Old Wives had good tales) and voila! the bath is as good as new. Literally, since it's far cleaner than it was when he started. Way to offset suspicion!

Since he thinks he is newsworthy, I should probably mention that he recently had a somewhat more serious accident when his paramour of the moment (to be fair, he probably lasted a few hours; Andrew's idea of sexy fun these days is nothing if not protracted) decided to stop breathing for a few minutes. The moral of this story, kids: EROTIC ASPHYXIATION IS DANGEROUS, m'kay?

Continuing the Death theme, we were recently discussing the emotional trauma/lack of trauma suffered on the death of a pet. Clearly cats and dogs will leave a space on their passing, but fish, snakes, hampsters... the jury's still out. I developed a method to get through the deathdeathdeath which aquarium owners have to learn to live with. I never name my fish, or the shrimp, and when one of them dies without being munched too quickly for me to notice I flush them to a watery grave while playing 1000 Oceans by Tori Amos. A touch eccentric, but it works for me, although there have been bad periods where I find myself getting sick to death (sick to death, see what I did there? LOL.) of the song.

Monday, May 12, 2008

I am related!

It might seem an unusual thing to be excited/confused by, but I am now feeling rather like that having spend some time with a bunch of my Relations. Nota Bene: this is a sad story, wherein I detail my sense of loneliness and distance. As such, please turn on some cheesy mournful violin music to accompany your reading.

Most people of my age, in my experience, have a close family consisting of something like: two parents (possibly separated, which can lead to step-parents, step-siblings and half-siblings), one or two siblings, a few aunts and uncles and at least one remaining grandparent. Very often these people will only be seen at Christmas or weddings, but they’ll be there, at least. In my case, close relations = Mother. No sibs, no Grandparents; I haven’t seen Auntie Maisie for a long time… and that’s it. Some people find it difficult to believe I even have a Mother – presumably seeing me as some elemental force of nature.

On Saturday just past, Mother and I went to Bothwell for a Family Do. Her Father’s Half-Brother’s Wife was having a 70th Birthday which we were to attend, along with the couple’s ten Children, 14.5 Grandchildren and all the associated Husbands, Wives and Friends Of The Family. The last time I saw any of these people was somewhere around 1990, and they’ve grown and bred since. Their collective memory of me appeared to be ‘boy with camera’ and every time this was mentioned I tried to hide my great clunky camera, worn around my neck throughout the evening. My memory of that occasion, a wedding, consists mostly of someone wearing a kilt and being tutted at later for having taken photos at very experimental angles.

Saturday was, for me, something akin to culture shock. As an only child, brought up mostly by an only child, I’ve never quite understood siblings. I see some people being very close and some hating and resenting each other; generally I don’t feel like I’m missing much. But the McGurks are so varied and numerous I couldn’t help but look at them more closely – consequently being almost silent (!!!) for most of the time.

Ranging from Andrew (46) to Julia (20(?)), they are of such differing builds and personalities that you wouldn’t think at first that they are a family. Working in Australia, Abu Dhabi, Spain, studying in Dundee, doctoring in Edinburgh… they’re certainly not stay-at-homes; apparently this was the first time they had all been together for many years. An interesting oddity is that they seem to think of themselves as names and numbers, “Kenneth, he’s number nine,” etc. which is certainly helpful for those of us who weren’t even sure how many there were.

Brief aside: just caught a glimpse of BBC News and apparently 5000+ Chinese people have been killed in some earthquake. It occurred to me to wonder why it is that this number doesn’t cause as much fuss as deaths caused by ‘terrorism’. And car crashes. It’s all so media-controlled, our emotional responses to illness and death. Fifty dead from terrorism VERY BAD NEWS; five thousand dead from ‘natural disasters’, bad news. Thousands dead from smoking-related illnesses VERY BAD NEWS; thousands dead from vehicular accidents/alcohol-related illnesses… well, that’s inevitable isn’t it? And cars are so useful and alcohol is socially acceptable so if some people get ill, die, beat their wives, cause the aforementioned car crashes? Well, collateral damage. Bloody hypocrisy.

So anyway, the McGurk ‘clan’ have left me in a bit of a muddle. There are clearly some tensions between sibs, and they’re mostly as mad as you might expect, but there’s a certain innate camaraderie in places which I cannot help but envy. It’s very hard to express the contradictory responses I’ve been left with, but I think that, overall, I do rather wish I’d had siblings to form that bond with.

Of course, on my Father’s side they’re just as numerous. He was the youngest of eight children, and most of them – long dead for the most part – dropped at least a couple of sprogs, who then went on to sire yet more Scotts… there are certainly second Cousins of mine who are my age, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that I have third Cousins who are at least Ollie’s age by now. They’re dropping like flies, apparently; a first Cousin seemingly died of heart problems at 46 recently, having been suffering from GOUT! Since they are clearly living in the 19th Century, it’s no wonder I never see them and feel somewhat alienated.

Oh, apparently Gout is often caused by high protein diets, obesity and alcohol, while cheese has been shown to help prevent it. Cheese! I should be safe then.

So, next time you are irritated by your brother/sister, spare a thought for poor, lonely me. In the meantime I will make some attempts to keep in touch with some of these people, between twitching and trying to figure out how I feel about Families.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

I can see! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

On Thursday afternoon my glasses went PING! I frantically tried to get an appointment with Vision Express, who I have used for the last few years, and found I would have to trail to Ocean Terminal. Alas, the buses are actually as bad as people say and by the time I got there I had missed my appointment. While there I asked how much it would be to get some frames I had (bought about a year ago from eBay) glazed and discovered that it would be £79! Plus £5 if I wanted to get them speedily. So I investigated further, and ended up with an appointment at SpecSavers on Friday afternoon. I had discovered that SpecSavers would give me two complete pairs of glasses - one could even be prescription sunglasses - for something in the region of £85-£95, so I gave up on using the spare frames. I looked through their online catalogue and compiled a list of possible frames, which I sent to people who might have useful opinions and reply quickly.

Apparently my tear film is a bit pitiful and the surface of my eyes is showing slight dryness. Eyedrops, please Mr Pharmacist!
So I went through the fraught process of selecting frames while blind. In the end I went for Damson and Odie (the latter was actually on my list - w00t!).
The Chad left us on Saturday. I was saddened by this as he had turned out to be the sort of person I would deliberately spend time with. We chatted while I was making dinner on Friday, and despite the subject of religion coming up, he being a Christian, I wasn't stoned to death and he wasn't crucified. It's a rare thing for me to get a good religious discussion.
In the evening Ollie and Jenny and Lorraine and I went to Tesco (yes, this IS something worth talking about, as you'd know if you'd ever been to a big supermarket with me or Jenny). While awaiting the silver carriage, Ollie challenged me to take an 'interesting' photo of a tennis ball that was lying in the mulch. Apparently this was a success. On the way back from Tesco Jenny led us astray and Lorraine and I ended up walking halfway to Fife - or so it seemed - from Cramond. Sunday was a day of nothing. I hate long weekends, they're so dead. I went for a wander around Bruntsfield Links just to get out of the house, but that was about it. Monday was a day off work, but I had Other Job to look forward to, so I couldn't DO very much with the day. I discovered to my delight that Cory Doctorow's new novel, Little Brother, had been released - as usual, under a Creative Commons license. I promptly downloaded it and started reading, while poking around with Photoshop and rearranging my neverendingly frustrating hard drives.



Little Brother is very good. WAS very good. I continued reading it on my phone while sitting on the bus and then, when I discovered that the Other Job was also closed (dammit, if I'd realised I could have Done Something with my day!) I sat and read it in Starbucks. And then finished reading it in Starbucks. Three hours later. It's very zeitgeist-ey, filled with YouTube and Flikr and Google and other references to the Here and Now, but that's because it's set pretty much Now and is very much to do with the internet. I've liked most of Cory's books, but I don't think I've ever sped through one quite so ferociously before. Having just done something similar, albeit over a couple of days, with Erasing Sherlock, - golly I want more Faction Paradox novels! - this is hopefully a sign that, post-Bronte, I can remember how to enjoy reading again!

On my way home after this, addled by thoughts of internet security and being watched by Them, I discovered the Meadows, filled with cherry blossom and people having Fun In The Sun. This led, of course, to a flurry of photos, some of which I was quite pleased with.

Friday, May 02, 2008

Reasons never to work with the public

Overheard in Starbucks, Hunter's Square:

American Woman: "Do you take British Pounds?"

Barrista: "Errr, yes?"

(pause)

B: "Hang on, do you mean British Pounds or Irish Punds?"

(American Woman looks at Barrista as if he is insane)

AW: "English Pounds"

B: "Then, yes. Yes, we do."

(American Woman goes on to order, amongst other things, an expresso...)

B: "So, how long have you been in Edinburgh?"

AW: "Since yesterday."

(American Woman is buying a mug and Barrista is wrapping it)

B: "Where are you staying?"

(American Woman sounds terrified)

AW: "Why do you want to know!?"

B: "Um, just making small talk?”

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Beltane, huh?

Oh what a day Wednesday was. Slight chaos at work with phones ringing off the hook with puzzled old ladies and their relatives. I spent the morning running to and fro trying to figure out what had gone awry. Off to school, where I once again featured as Blanche DuBois, opposed by Tracey's Stanley Kowalski. I don't think Streetcar has ever been so thoroughly entertaining, nor has a rape been so amusedly anticipated. Meet up with Ollie to pick up some music before he dashes off to meet The Chad*, head home and have a quick sing before running up to Calton Hill for Beltane. Shaun, whose ticket I had, eventually arrived in a taxi and we went up the hill... I have to say, I spent a number of years involved with Beltane to some extent or another, and drifted away largely because I didn't feel comfortable with the burgeoning hippy influence. Every year there was the debate about whether the procession should change because it goes around the hill widdershins but, Beltane being the heradling of summer, it really should be going deosil. And of course that argument would drift away when people realised that it just Wasn't Practical. on the site. So, generally, I know what it's all about.
*I should explain The Chad. Many, many moons ago, Ollie's friend Jen used to enjoy meeting men on the internet (latterly, she 'meets' them in Real Life, but since she's eating for two now I think perhaps she's cut back); one of them she ran away from home to live with, in London, but that ended badly and they both swore never to meet people off the internet again (phew! glad that resolution was so easily broken!). One of these men, though, was in Canada and fairly safe because of it. After a while Jen moved onto more visceral encounters and Chad was forgotten... until he Friended Ollie on Facebook. And then announced that he was going to be in the UK and how about he came to Edinburgh to meet Ollie (no mention of meeting Jen; perhaps he realised that he would be in danger of exhaustion...)? Since The Chad was arriving on April 30th, I said we should take him to Beltane, especially as Ollie had never been and Emma had been wowed by the improvement in the ceremony last year. And of course there would be photo opportunities hehehe.
So, Anyway. It all kicked off about twenty minutes late. I made Ollie's gang, Helen Beauchamp & Chris and Shaun get a decent view of the Acropolis and started lurking. Off to the side there were some Christians with a banner of some sort, but before I could take a photo they had rolled it up and scarpered. Probably off to pray for rain on the filthy pagans.
The moment when the drums started I confess I felt it. For that second or so, I could have been swept away by the atmosphere and abandoned this worldly realm with glee. Thankfully(?) I had a camera to look after so I just kept at it. Once the White Women had started their agonising manouevers I scurried off to the Fire Arch, which was the thing I most wanted to capture on, er, memorycard. So I was well prepared long before the procession inched its way into the underworld, even catching some of the ceremony's opening from behind!

Of course, once things were moving people started to cluster around me. Red Men crouching, be-hooded, in front of me, tripod firmly placed and a gradual crowd developing (and a few spots of rain on my screen. Hm....). Annoyingly I couldn't focus on the happenings in front of the Fire Arch, but generally I was very happy with my placement as I caught some nicely Otherworldly images of the May Queen and her coterie passing through. There was an older chap who was in danger of death, though, since he started to LEAN FORWARD and get between me and everything else, apparently while peering at his camera. But I restrained myself, and then went off to find my people and/or go to Fire Point.

I've never been a big fan of Air Point or Water Point. Banners and windchimes don't do it for me, and ever since someone suggested that Water Point enact 'the stillness of a pond' for the May Queen I have had no respect for them. I mean, there's hippies and then there's hippies... I was somewhat sad to miss getting a better view of Earth Point - they seemed to be doing something interesting with big antlered heads fighting - but it wouldn't have photographed well, to I reprioritised. Found Shaun, found Ollie, Stephen and The Chad, then left them all at water point, "Behind the big fish made of tinfoil".

Fire Point is always an odd one. It's on a small flat surrounded by steep slopes up or down, so it's very hard to get a decent view. Since there's a fascinating sense of competition there, having to outdo last year's performance, I though I really had to get a reliable vantage point. Halfway up the hilly bit, tripod set up around me, I was set for a great show. Back when I was first involved with the Beltaners, fire took the form of bonfire, fire sculptures, torches, clubs or staffs, with the occasional fire brether and once or twice a great big wire wall on a chain, filled with fire of course. Gradually poi were introduced - to the point where clubs are now a rarity(!) - and they evolved into double-wicked poit, two-wicked poi, poi with paper rope threaded through to make a WALL OF FIRE; nunchucks, bungee staff (a staff attached to a bungee cord so that, when the wick is first lit, you can create a massive blast of fire in the air) and, the last time I looked, fire fingers (wire attached to the fingers with tiny wicks at the end) and a fire neckbrace thing (with four wick-tipped sticks jutting out from the neck thing).

Sticking to the tradition of excess, Fire Point this year featured lots of poi, a fire sculpture, some more poi, fire fingers, fire skirt and fire horns (they may have been antlers, I couldn't be sure). So I took lots and lots of photos, despite the sky's continued attempts to rain on the Beltane Fire Society's parade.

It was not long after this that the sky stopped trying to rain......

excuse me, my glasses just snapped and I have to do something about it.....

...and started to RAIN. Lordy it were heavy. We shuffled around a bit, reconvened by the Healthy Options van (part of the cheeseburger van, but with Baked Potatoes as well) and put our heads together. Whil we were doing this, a strange hooded (but not painted) man leant into Ollie's face and said "FSHOO", repeatedly. Ollie made the most wonderful faces at this and tried not to giggle too much at the crazy foreigner who had clearly had his brain melted by something. After a while he moved onto me, at which point I realised he was saying "For Sure", but finding it hilarious and over slurring it on purpose. It was a little disturbing because he was leaning in as if he was going for my lips, but he didn't.Ollie and co. went to the pub, Shaun and I meandered and then hid in a bus stop until the rain died down a little before getting a taxi, all the buses having stopped by this point. On my return I had to peel my clothes off as they were pretty much welded to me with water. Bleugh.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

No Videos! er, Yes Videos! well, actually...

I can't decide. Flickr have started letting 'pro' users upload 90second videos. This is causing a HUGE controversy amongst the people who care. There's the NO VIDEO ON FLICKR!!! group (currently 12,908 members)and the We Say NO to Videos on Flickr group (30,118) and the We say YES to Videos on Flickr group (260)... apart from feeling like the opening sequence for Battlestar Galactica I don't think this does anything useful. My first thought was, "Of course no videos on Flickr. that's what YouTube and stuff are there for. Flickr does all it needs to do!" But then it occurred to me that video is art (well, it can be) and that perhaps video has it's place on Flickr too. Except. Well, firstly the videos in question can only be up to 90seconds which, to me, is more restrictive than useful. Second, there are already an unending stream of video hosting sites. Each uses a slightly different encoding or has a new interpretation on the 'standard' player thing, so they're horrendously annoying at times. Third, this is just asking for a never ending stream of wedding videos, holiday videos, children-running-around-in-the-garden-aren't-they-so-ADORABLE videos... Oh god please no... Most importantly, of course, one needs the latest Flash player to make it work, which fucks it all up for anyone who might want to do anything in a restrictive work environment or who for any other reason can't get it. At least YouTube and Google Video are a bit behind the technology. So, really, I'm in favour of Flickr Video in principle but in actuality am horribly opposed. We have video sites multiplying like bacteria for video, places like abinoblacksheep etc. for animation, deviantart for, er, art, and Picasa and Flickr for photos. Generally. So I'd like to keep them a bit separated please. Please?

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Photos? You must be kidding, mate!

Ahahaha! Terrorism! Photos? In public? You must be about to destroy the planet, I'm afraid I'll have to stop you... Best to let the BBC summarize the situation. If you're worried, this might be useful.

My metacortex

I was recently accused of knowing about modes through the use of Google. While I wouldn't claim extensive knowledge of the subject, I'm not completely clueless and had not, in this case, resorted to everyone's favourite source of quiz answers. However, why on earth not? It's now quite routine for people to use a calculator/phone/spreadsheet to carry out the most routine calculations, when even ten years ago it was seen as a bit lazy, and people would complain that the Youth of Today are Not Getting a Proper Education etc. Similarly, there are still a few holdouts who have not placed their lives in the hands of mobile phones and bemoan the modern lack of memorised phone numbers, while the rest of us are relying on the things to store fifteen numbers, addresses and email addresses just for Mum. I, and many other I know, see t'internet as an extension of myself. It's reached a point where there is little that I can't find at least something about using my Special Search Superpowers, so I regularly pull up a Google or Wikipedia search, perhaps popping into the BBC News pages, in order to clarify something I may have heard in passing or seen on a headline. And really, why not? If it's there, and reliable most of the time, and easily accessed (thanks to the ubiquity of broadband and an unlimited data tariff - see how important mobiles are!?) then why on earth shouldn't I use a vast source of knowledge rather than relying on my puny brain? My ideal state, I think, is Charles Stross's character Manfred Macx in his delightful novel Accelerando (available to buy or for FREE download). In chapter 3 he loses his connection to the electronic world and in the process is so cut off from his resources that he is almost lobotomised. I'm not saying that I want an electronic lobotomy, but I long for a state where I can be that connected, nay integrated. The follow-on from this is my disgust at the idea of closed-book exams. A woman at my work is doing an HNC in administration stuff, pretty much just getting her up to date in MS Office. Now, when at work, everyone and I do mean EVERYONE has at some point or another come to me for advice on Word, Excel, Outlook, the printers... most offices have a resident Chris of one form or another. This woman has come up to me a few times for advice on her coursework, since the teaching standards are less high than the testing standards. I know from experience that these softwares are best learned through practical experimentation and experience, but these people are being given the teaching without the practice. I've become a great fan of the Help function in Excel, whenever I can't think of how do do anything, and there's also an extensive online help and advice system. In the Real World you have access to all of these systems: Help, t'internet, Chris... and yet for their exams they have to hold it all in their heads. What use is that!? It's not a useful exam, it's a test of memory. What they should be testing is the ability to learn how to find out! To know how best to use Help, where to look online, who to talk to. This is another area in which the System cannot keep up with the pace of technological change. Welcome to the Singularity.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Southland Tales

While wandering around in HIV HMV with Ben at the weekend we came across a new DVD that caught the eye: On investigation it transpired that this was a new film from the mind responsible for Donnie Darko, starring Sarah Michelle Gellar (aka Buffy), Dwayne Johnson (aka The Rock), Seann William Scott (two of him) and even Miranda Richardson! While I went and asked a friendly member of staff about it, Ben sneakily bought the thing and gave it to me as a late extra birthday present. Awww.

So off to Ollie's house where we ended up not watching in as it's LONG and Ben had to get home.

Of course, I had to see it.

The reviews all said it was a bit confusing. Apparently it had been slated at Cannes a few years ago and completely recut before being released late last year. It's still confusing, but with the same tone as Donnie Darko, where you feel like perhaps you're just not intelligent enough to Get It until you realise that actually it's just very silly.

It's good. I enjoyed it. Even Justin Timberlake was good, in fact it's probably the best thing he's ever done. But it really made no sense. And, as it turns out, that's no surprise since I was only getting the second half of the story! Richard Kelly, writer/director, planned the story as a multimedia extravaganza with back story in comc form and a lot of web content - not all of which came to fruition as dreamed.

So now I have to find and read the comics, then go back to the film and see if I can probe the depths of the subplots. I'm quite happy to watch it again, it's very nicely done and has a couple of satisfying musical-esque moments. Perhaps I will inflict it upon someone else as well this time...

In the meantime, here is my favourite bit of the film. Which has now led to me listening to The Killers.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Oh. Right. Of course.

Monday, April 07, 2008

Overheard at a busstop

"Yeah, if I get my DLA I'm gonna go blonde again."

Thursday, April 03, 2008

La Siv has vocal sex partners

"He sexes me then he eats my crunchy nut," quoth she.

New Deven Green w00t!

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Here's a funny one

Someone is stealing my Helen Sivey. http://www.squidoo.com/Timetraveler A few scrolls down the page you will see this photo. I have no idea why they're done this; at least it links to my flickr as is (mostly) appropriate to the CC-license. It's not even mine, Ollie took the photo and when I took the old phone back I uploaded a few of his photos. The ownership of the image is very confusing. I've been playing with exposures and stuff. It's amazing the effects you can get with a digital camera that would be avoided on film because it seemed 'wasteful', but now it's clever and interesting.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Cocktails and kitties

Ahahaha! I like video editing. It's stupid and I'm bad at it but it's satisfying to force decent audio onto a shitty video.

Busy time, even without the extra pressures of school for a few weeks... Last Wednesday was Ollie's birthday, then Thursday was mine and Saturday featured a Cocktail Party. Cue trip to Makro with Ollie and Shaun-san, WOO! Gallons of mixers and lots of crisps later, we were ready for the party - well, expect that for any Cocktail Party run by someone who hasn't just won the lottery one must rely on the kindness of strangers. No, on the reliability of friends, which is even worse! Andrew was tasked with bringing Bailey's. This was easy for him because he usually turns up to any party with a bottle of Bailey's, sits and drinks it and then leaves when it's finished. He had borrowed some money from Ollie a few days previously, and one condition he was given was that he HAD TO come to the party. So, of course, out comes some excuse about unexpected familial bonding and voila! No Andrew. He will, I assure you, pay for this. I had a ten-to-ten panic when I realised that Helen Beauchamp, whose birthday it was on Saturday and who had been asked to bring some white rum, has not yet materialised and if this continued then I wouldn't be able to make any Long Island Iced Teas! This would have destroyed me. My main reason for a Cocktail Party is to convince people to bring me the right ingredients for a LIIT and having spent three hours mixing a variety of nameless yet scrumptious cocktails for people I was very much ready for one. Cue Shaun-san and a trip to Peckhams for rum and Bailey's, which turned into a Triple Sec run, as the Birthday Girl finally arrived and I decided that it was too late in the evening to be serving Bailey's without causing a queue of vomiters. And finally I had my cocktail of choice. Well, a few of them. Then I got bored and spent the rest of the evening tidying. Am I a party girl or what? Did I mention the loverley camera Ollie gave me for my birthday? Heh heh heh. I'm totally chuffed to bits - although now feeling somewhat inadequate in the gift department - and my friends are starting to feel hounded like a Princess. As are the flora and fauna of Edinburgh. And my computer is beginning to creap under the anticipated weight of thousands of nine-megapixel photos, which come in at 2.5 to 4.5 MEGABYTES. Flickr has never been so slow to upload to... I am now planning to make trading cards of everyone. I think this could be a nasty and torturous excuse for even more photos. :D