Prince Billy, Celik and Rangers
It has been a week of events and I thank Celtic connections for brightening up January in an otherwise dark part of the world. At the Roots Manuva gig last week I came across an acquaintance who had a spare ticket for Bonnie Prince BIlly at the Fruitmarket which would prove to be a much better gig - mainly judged on the energy levels of the main performer. Unfortunately Rodney gave the impression he was having a bad day - or rather, had had a good night, the night before. Domino man Wil Oldham (AKA Bonnie Prince Billy) had the venue in his hands on Sunday night with an incredible vocal performance with fantastic sound quality perhaps aided by the acoustic qualities of the largely bearded crowd.
On the Saturday between I had the enviable task of visiting Glasgow Rangers Football Club, world renowned for its friendly welcome: especially to Celtic, Aberdeen and Hibernian (the latter being the favoured team of my nephew who I escorted). Despite the drudge of Scottish Football, its' terraces are brimming with creative patter. As well as horrific tribalism and hatred. Due to Rangers' current disagreement with Her Majesty's Revenue and Custom Officers, the away fans were coming up with gems such as "Harry Redknapp does your taxes", "Revenue, Revenue... Inland Revenu-e" to the tune of 'let's get physical' and, financial mess aside, the inspired "you live in a shite hole, we live in the capital" (I started questioning my loyalty to my newly adopted team at this point). Rangers new signing Mervan Celik came on to much hilarity at the Govan West stand but the home fans had the last laugh with a 4 -0 final result. We left, glad for the prospect of a walk to warm us up, and me disguised in red, white and blue. Which was totally coincidental.
Posted by stupot at 04:50 PM Tuesday 31 Jan
Goggle Box to Google Box
I just contacted TV licensing to let them know I don't have a TV or watch live TV in my house. And yes, ok, I feel a bit smug.
When I moved back to the flat there was an apologetic cathode ray tube which had been left by a lazy tenant which was promptly given to the charity shop. It didn't fit the decor - I'd rather have been without. There might be little character in today's TV schedule but when it was off it was distinctly characterless - depressingly black and empty - the living room looked cheerier without. I'd just OD'd during my 4 months at chez Megson and was happy to give it up for a bit in any case. I had a short stint on-the-wagon until Niall's ridiculously over-sized flat screen came to stay for 5 months while he worked abroad. It didn't take up as much depth but it took up half the wall when it made itself at home: it's shadow created a small micro-climate. It was fun to have but far too easy to collapse in front of. The TV has now gone and, for the first time in my life, I am a radio, internet and papers kind of a guy. I'm not saying it's forever but, like smoking, I can't say I miss it.
Posted by stupot at 11:56 AM Sunday 27 Nov
A Scottish Revolution
I'm writing a proposal for a series of programmes for the BBC around Independence. I have confidence that it is a worthwhile venture and I'm busy making inroads into the corporation. I am also positive it would help people understand the subject of Scottish Independence more clearly, driven by conversations on the ground, facts and, crucially, with no hidden agenda.
Posted by stupot at 01:40 PM Saturday 26 Nov
Security
I can feel eyes, low to my right, as I stand at the bar - waiting on unaccomplished staff to find another wine glass and some change. I turn round and he's staring up at me so powerfully that he looks cock-eyed. His body is not tense though, he's quite calm apart from his head which is straining up toward mine, eyes boring into me. There is no emotion in his face - "having a nice night?" "not bad" I say - "long day - just having a wee one to finish up". "What do you do?" he follows up with, and I give him a quick breakdown. "how about yourself?" "Security" says he, tight-lipped. I ask if this is in Glasgow and he shakes his head. silence. "...further afield?". He nods yes. "OoooKay' I feel my self saying turning back to the bar, my eyes wide at his social skills.
"Do you understand what I mean by security?" he asks after a pause. "ehm, you weren't giving much away" I venture. "Close protection services" he says. "and not locally?" I add. "Abroad". He works security for private sector in Afghanistan. "sounds dangerous," I try. "so, so." "well paid though?" it's the line he's been waiting for - "how much are you on?" I tell him and then he throws in his bounty for a days work - one thousand british pounds. Each day for Four months. "Sounds very dangerous."
He's still looking at me, head slightly to one side. I'm too tired for his intensity and for such a laboured conversation leave him to go back to the table where my colleagues await their drinks.
Posted by stupot at 12:15 PM Sunday 20 Nov
Rocked my World.
I met the boys in a lay-by near Gateside. We layered up with gloves and waterproofs and headed towards the quarry. Calum had phoned the day before, still fairly fresh from mineral spotting in Mozambique for the best part of the summer. Terry and Calum have been coming to the hole for 10 years but this was my first outing. I heard a lot about it and it didn't fail to deliver - even as a complete novice, the limestone deposits which had been blown out of the bedrock we littered with fossils and, eventually, with prime mineral deposits.
The weather was slightly drizzly but still, a trait well known within the world of quarry. Looking down on the space it was reminiscent of Blake seven or Doctor Who from the seventies - probably due to them being filmed in similar spots. A dormant JCB sat in the middle of an eerie silence. The guys honed in on a spot and started hammering at the layers exposed by the mining. And I sat and drew as Calum described the place as being a lagoon somewhere near the equator 200,000,000+ years ago in Pangea. That one sentence altered my complete take on the world.
Posted by stupot at 02:44 PM Sunday 30 Oct
dripping with grafitti
St Peter's seminary lies just north of Cardross, before Helensburgh on the Dumbartonshire coast. The setting is slightly elevated, amidst woods and by a large burn which acts as the soundtrack to an otherwise lifeless space. I knew of the work of Gillespie Kidd and Coia before I knew of their name, my school in Ardrossan being close to St Peter in Chains Church on the south beach. I've since known of them via St Brides in East Kilbride and the BOAC offices in Sauchiehall street, Glasgow.
Continue reading "dripping with grafitti"Posted by stupot at 10:33 AM Sunday 23 Oct
FOLIO 14
The lovely Hollie at Folio 14 has published a wee interview with me today on their site.
Many thanks Hollie!
Posted by stupot at 12:58 PM Wednesday 12 Oct
A National Question
Last week I went up to Forres with work I'm doing with the Art School's Centre for Design Innovation. It's a relatively new project and I'm still fully getting my head around it. After meeting the team and being part of a day designed to look at and understand what the Centre is, we headed to Aviemore where there is a live project on-going with a major tourist attraction. Weather continued to be outstanding, but with it came the huge gusts of winds characteristic of the country.
Continue reading "A National Question"Posted by stupot at 11:28 AM Sunday 2 Oct
Eat and be Thankful
GLASGOW - ARROCHAR - DUNOON - GLASGOW
105 miles
Today was a lesson in eating.
We've not been on a long ride for a while and although we had stocked up on gels and had had our porridge, we still failed - on an epic scale - to eat nearly enough food. We burned 10,000 calories between us yet all we ate on the ride from Glasgow to Dunoon was 4 gels each, 2 coffees and a piece of shortbread/ fruit slice. You don't have to be the nutritionist for Team GB to work out that does not equate to the required amount.
Posted by stupot at 08:09 PM Saturday 24 Sep
KC and the sunshine band
I managed to delete the photo's from my phone and the drawing never got finished (I was enjoying myself with friends, give me a break) so there is no image to accompany this post. The gig, though, was one of the best: 24 hours after the Mercury music prize had been given to Polly Harvey for her Let England Shake album (which I enjoyed in part but got thrown off the studio dock), wee Kenny was back in Scotland for a good old ho down at the Grand ole Opry.
We had a pint next door as the queue retreated - only to find another one inside, formed by committee members, to ensure a civilised experience at the bar. It was slow and odd but we managed to get out of it as the support act were finishing behind us. We viewed the great plains of Arizona, painted all around us as the main attraction came out (John Hopkins and King Creosote). It started slowly but beautifully with some great tunes from Diamond Mine before lapsing into some older pieces (accompanied by more fence collective) - occasionally sung in harmony with a loud, unstable and relentless drunk in the audience - not a lot of fun but the King was disparaging if polite which had a calming effect. This was added to by a communal shooshing which calmed things down. A seagull and seal impression were thrown in for good measure. Finishing with Sinead O'Connor's nothing compares to you was a stroke of genius which Laura was fast to guess. The next long queue - to get signed records - was well worth it. All hail the king.
Posted by stupot at 09:43 PM Tuesday 20 Sep