Doughnut Vs Hole

• "Pessimists are people born in a minor key. They like to think they're realists moulded from bitter experience. Optimists, meanwhile, don't have bitter experiences."

A great article from last weekend's Guardian magazine that had me in tatters from laughing then and again just now; Guy Browning wrote last week's "How To" piece on How To Be Optimistic. The last line is absolutely hilarious.

Snowdrops Yesterday, a sign that Scotland truly doesn't know whether to shite or get a haircut, season-wise, this year. It lifted my spirits a little anyway and I predict Daffodils in early February. At least metaphorically. The camera on my new phone isn't bad in macro mode eh? We think we'll enter the Martin Parr photo contest on that site.

Weird English Having lived abroad these years, I foolishly assumed that poorly or questionably used English, was the domain of foreign countries. Today, in Tescos, I was brought to the realization that, in this, I was labouring under a misapprehension. I'll go ahead and assume that these signs hang in every Tesco in the UK.

R.I.P Mr Wilson "Wicked" Pickett Yet again, time claims one of my heroes - is it the age I'm getting to, I wonder? Anywsay, though I tend to shy away from the more well known soul standards (this is not for snobbery, rather because I listened the life out of nmost soul standards years ago before I began my subsequent incessant trawling through the rarer stuff) it has to be said that in the world of standards, this man is viarually peerless. Okay so he was aided and abetted by the legendary Stax and Atlantic crews of the day and wasn't a writer or anything, but oh Jesus Christ, what a voice. He was an incorrigible love man by all accounts, earning him the "Wicked" ticket, I suppose. The story goes that when trying to pen a hit for him to lauch him as a soul growler after he failed to make it as a crooner - Steve Cropper at Stax took in Pickett's live show and was struck by the way Wilson, after every second song, was teasing the women audience members, leading them on with bawdy couplets in that hoary voice. One of his favourites was "wait for the midnight hour, baby, that's right" etc. The rest is, as they say, history. I'm not especially fond of the Mustang Sally era hits, but I happened on an LP a few years ago in Calgary called something like "Don't Knock My Love" from about 1971 and it was amazing - it had the song mentioned in the title and "Don't Let The Green Grass Fool You" which is one of my faves by him AND by the Spinners. He was trying to up his game a little to fit the funky crowd and it has to be said that he pulled it off very well. But if you only listen to one Pickett track you have perhaps not heard before - get your ears on his cover of "Hey Jude" which is nothing short of shocking. It is the song performed as it was intended and as white boys, not matter how funky, just couldn't ever sing it. It also features a truly mythological guitar solo to beat all, by a youthfull Dwayne Allman.I hope The Exciting One finds some peace in the next life. He's earned his rest, no doubt about that.

Starry Nights We just stood outside our new home and loked at the night sky for a few long minutes. It's breathtaking. No city lights to muddy the scene, no clouds to mask the view - you could see every single star in the sky. We were belted by orion, ploughed under by ursa major, poleaxed by Polaris, and seduced by the seven sisters. We are quite, quite exhuausted and we are thankful to be where we are. If we had a tripod and it weren't so nippy, we would be doing some long exposure stuff right now. As it is, we are in front of a roaring fire, enjoying the Constant Gardener, which is knocking us for six almost as much as the stars outside.

Klnker Fires On All Four If any of my readers are in Michigan in the near future, I suggest that they make their way to Cranbrook Design College and take in our my pal Scott Klinker's new show "Crossing Flatland" which is a long time coming. Scott is an unmitigated genius no matter where he goes and I stand by him 100% in everything he does. I've seen some furniture designs lately that appear to be cribbed in whole or part from Scott's designs which I think is a crying shame. Still, I believe that one day he's gonna be the man to beat in furniture design and when he is, we hope he doesn't forget his old pals. In the unlikely event that I make it there before him, I plan to commission him to design every stick of furniture in my domicile and then sit in it with me for a few weeks, getting high or hammered and listening to Abandoned Luncheonette, which I flatter myself, I hipped him to! Stroll on, Scotty.

Glencoe Revisited Long term readers maty recall I took this same photo about a year ago in November. This one was taken around Dec 27th or so this year - it's one of those shots that highlights the great change in any scene from day to day. It's also one of my favourite views of my country.

Home, Again This is the view from my front window now. The light in scotland is pretty amazing you know.

Oh Brrrrrother! Can I just say that I'm pathetically addicted to Celebrity Big Brother? Don't hate me. I'm but a man, my friends, a natural born man. I'm black affronted at myself to be honest, but this shit is like the crack coke of the TV realm and I'm an addictive bastard I suppose. One pipe and I was ON the muthuhfuckah. Dennis Rodman is tops, Pete Burns is fucking awesome and even George Galloway is entertaining.

Long Time Comin' Okay I've been shite lately, I've been starting a new career, having a great festive season, moving home - the whole lot. It has kept me from blogging, but hey, I'm gonna try and be back from now on. I just got internet access at home two days ago - cut me a fuckin break, okay? Here, for your delectation, is a teaser shot of where I'm at right now. I've moved in with my eldest brother - at his country cottage. Close enough to a bit of a town that has all you could need, but far away enough that you can fuckin KRANK the stereo and nobody hears. There are sheep and cows in the fields. The nearest house is outwith hailing distance. It's gonna be amazing in the spring and summer - great garden. I'm feeling more centered by the day, it feels spiritual here. Still, I can't quite beleive yet, that I'm staying in a place called something as Enid Blyton-y as "Ivy Cottage" though - I feel like raiding a tuck shop or going up to investigate the old abandoned fairground run by a sinister man called Mr. Miggins or something. More inportantly, I spent last night with a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, a packet of fags and some stone Northern Soul on the deck, cranked to the point it was rattling the clock of the mantel - for yes, we are coal fired here at Ivy Cottage - a live fire heats the radiators and water. That's quite an amazing experience too - having to worry about making fire - it's a bit of a primitive scene out here.