It just works

My new Mac is spectacularly effective, in a particularly unspectacular way. I've connected most of the devices I own to it and found that they work, but up to today the old scanner lying in the corner of the room was reproaching me. It was always a nightmare to set up on Windows, as it never seemed to remember any settings from one session to the next, and usually overwrote drivers for something else. It also insisted on the use of various bits of crapware that you had to install.

On the Mac, I connect everything up, start Image Capture (seems like a good guess), and blow me if it doesn't tell me that I have an Epson Perfection 1250 there mate, and do I want a scan of that thing that's on it?

I am three

Thanks to Rog's post, I've just realised that my blog is three years old today. I'm a little surprised that it's got this far. I did have a vague vision when I began of myself penning terse little pensées, but of course that didn't happen, and the blog is all the better for it.

Lucky visit

I visited Glasgow yesterday without any clear aim, but struck lucky when I joined a tour of the Necropolis. This has been one of my favourite bits of Glasgow for a long time, but I had never realised that the Necropolis was consciously modelled on Pere Lachaise. Or recognised the symbolism of the Bride of Sighs that you must cross to visit the city of the dead, with the Styx being played by the now-vanished Molendinar Burn. How could I miss that?

Gary's back

I've been missing the War Nerd for a bit, but I'm glad to say he and the Exile have a new home. Kinda cute to see the guy growing moist-eyed over the recent Georgian conflict. Armoured columns and air support--ah, nostalgia!

Good weekend

I passed a much more interesting weekend than normal, thanks to a visit by Rog. Amazing what two determined anoraks can fit in. Among other things, we were berated by Will Self, looked around the city of mad towers that is Edinburgh, and watched the Waverley from the top of the Titan crane.

Rescue

Somebody today found a young bat inside the office, huddled next to an internal door. A phone call to the RSPCA produced advice: let it hang on a tea towel, take it outside and let it take off. They can't take off from the ground, apparently. Not sure if it has to be a tea towel.

I wonder if this means that bats have moved in to the building (which is only a couple of years old)? Do they like modern offices?

The Count's clips

Count Arthur Strong was as good as ever last night. The show contained clips of the Counts' appearances on television over the years. Sadly, I instantly knew which Dr Who story was involved (Tomb of the Cybermen, since you ask).

Somebody at work went because a friend got free tickets because they were in the clip of Ask the Family that was shown.

Good read

I'm currently enjoying Black Swans, by Nassem Nicholas Taleb. He caters to a number of my prejudices, which is always pleasing. He writes entertainingly too. And he's probably right, despite being a bit too rude about statisticians.

Better data

I nearly bought a house today. To be precise: I nearly bought the flat across the landing, but my offer was bettered by somebody else. It's actually quite a promising thing though: I thought my offer would be much too low, but it only missed (apparently) by a small amount. The solicitor was very pleased, as it gave them some idea of what flats like mine are worth (less than they estimated a few days ago). So they now have better data, albeit with a sample size of 1.

Poor thing

The office this afternoon is greatly concerned by a dog left in a camper van in our car park. The van has been left by somebody though--I certainly can't remember seeing it before.

Very British. Would they be so concerned if somebody left their children in there?

Quite good

I've just transferred my Thunderbird email from PC to Mac in about 10 minutes, thanks to some instructions from Mr Sunpig. It only took that long because I hesitated over how to make a copy of a folder (Command-C then Command-V, stupid!).

I was about to gloat about how wonderful Macs were, but Safari crashed just after typing the paragraph above. Still, no harm done.

Safari crashed again just after typing the last paragraph. I hope I'm not stuck in a loop: I want to go to bed now.

Still here

I've been quiet for a bit.

New Job continues well. The office atmosphere is good, with helpful and competent colleagues. This may not seem much, but it's more than I've experienced since about 2003. It's interesting how workplaces acquire a certain mood and a set of unspoken rules. This is mainly through managers recruiting in their own image. Lunchtime walks and deer sightings help make it fun too.

In other news, I now have a Mac, and find it great. I have pondered this move before, but Vista was the final straw. And I'm not alone there.

Nature notes

Leaving work last night, I got my first sight of the deer that are said to live in the woods outside. Young roe deer, by the looks of them.

Lying in bed this morning, I watched a squirrel tearing bits of twig off the beech tree outside my window. I guess it's building a nest - or is it too late for that?

Arty types are not web designers

These days we expect online booking systems to just work. But the one for the official Edinburgh Festival is rubbish, and I can't book anything. They don't seem to answer the phone on Sundays either. Just how hard is it to spend your money, eh?

For steam men

Being lucky when I got the train home from Glenfinnan meant that I shared the platform with this train. Interesting to see the sheer amount of steam coming from various bits of the carriages (to work the brakes?). All those figures being romantically obscured by steam in old films are not exaggerated. It didn't keep the midges way though.

Cool plane

Last night and tonight, somebody has been offering pleasure flights over Edinburgh in a Dakota. What a nice thing to do.

Nice weekend

Saturday's walk up Ben Cruachan was unexpectedly continued into Sunday, due to the absence of a train back. This sounds like a disaster, but it was a lovely summer evening to be waiting on a station platform in the woods. After a bit, I wandered off and easily found myself a B&B.

The forced stopover meant that I got to wander round the absurdly picturesque Kilchurn castle on Sunday morning. Then to Dalmally, (birthplace of Labour leader John Smith), and so home.

Stalin and the bomb

In Our Time continues to be excellent. Lysenko this week, who I knew nothing about, but I really should have. A small gem from the programme concerns the development of the Soviet nuclear bomb. Stalin forbade the use of Einsteinian physics (since he knew it was wrong). Beria later reported back to him that they were getting nowhere and wanted to use more productive methods. Stalin relented, reflecting that "we can always shoot them later". What a wag!

Absolutely

Currently enjoying the long-awaited DVD release of this cult comedy from the early 90s. Maybe its Scottishness biases me, but I do think that it's better than Python.

Meall na Fearna

A delightful walk yesterday to Meall na Fearna (just East of Ben Vorlich). I came up with the wizard wheeze of doing it from Callander, which seems to be my default destination these days. It's a longish approach that starts up a picturesque road behind the town, takes you past some forestry and sheep pastures to the wonderfully named Arivurichardich, then insists that you climb to a col at 600m before descending to start the hill proper. The col must be reascended on your return, making this reminiscent of the famous Bealach Bearnais.

I meet one other walker, on his way up Stuc A' Chroin, who paces me to the col, then I have the rest of the walk to myself. Perhaps because of this, there is a lot of wildlife to be seen: a hare, a hind wandering past, and a group of wild goats.

I feel hugely satisfied, possibly even euphoric afterwards. Is it just the fine weather? Or the smugness of planning and executing a fairly long day out without blisters, tiredness or mishaps?

Reading Michael Palin's diaries this morning, I reach his account of filming bits of Holy Grail on a hillside above Callendar. Maybe I walked past the constitutional peasants.

Lifting big things

Clydeside's shipbuilding history is slowly getting some kind of a memorial, though it is spread between several sites. The Titan crane at Clydebank opened to the public last year, and I visited it yesterday. Growing up in Glasgow, the crane (and by that I mean a hammerhead like the Titan) was a natural symbol of strength and technological prowess. The thing that I made most commonly with my Meccano set when I was wee was a crane very like the one you see. I was most directly inspired by the Finnieston crane, mind you. (Oddly, the default construction for me in Lego was a rocket. Nasa really missed something by not giving theirs a square cross-section.) Climbing to the top of this symbol is easy, in a shiny new lift, and there's a fine view along the river. Towards town, somebody is still making ships--Yarrows at Scotstoun is knocking up some new destroyers.

Maybe the basin in front of the crane should be preserved too. So many famous ships started out here. There's a notch at the end where they lengthened it to stop the Queen Mary from sticking out into the river.

Digital bus stops

I've just discovered MyBusTracker which allows you to see real-time bus information for your favourite Lothian bus stop. It's a pity not all the buses are fitted out yet.

Oppie and the bomb

I've been enjoying watching Oppenheimer over the last few evenings. This series was produced by the BBC in 1980, which means that I have a dim memory of it, but was too young to really appreciate what was laid before me. What has made them release it on DVD now I don't know, but I'm glad that they have. It's a real period piece in a way, up there with Tinker, Tailor in its almost insolent slowness and care in building up its subject. Can you imaging anybody now making 7 hours of television that principally featured lots of people in suits sitting round committee tables and smoking a lot? (Admittedly, with one good explosion.) Jack Bauer would save the world several times in that span.

I particularly liked the Groves-Oppenheimer relationship, which could have been just cliche, but instead was subtly portrayed, and left you with respect for both of these very different men.

It's just a pity that the budget for this release didn't stretch to some extras on the DVD (I know these are often rubbish, but this was a case where you could have done something good), or to improving the colour quality of the video sections, which can't possibly have been that bad on broadcast. A missed opportunity also that the original production didn't try to explain more of the physics of what was going on. I looked up my copy of Clive James on Television, and he thought so too.

Sunny

Suddenly, it's summer. I shouldn't complain, but it was rather hot today. I wanted to round off the weekend with a hill, so found myself in Callender heading up Ben Ledi. The town was tolerable when I arrived, but later was full of Glaswegians getting sunburn and buying woolly jumpers. The walk was good, though it was the first sweat-fest of the year. I reckon the snow might have been a problem only a couple of weeks ago.Sitting on the unusually still and sunny summit, I wonder why the Trossachs (which I can more or less see) were considered such a beauty spot. Because Victorian Scots could go on an excursion on just such a bank holiday and sail down Loch Katrine?

Today

New Job seems very good so far. It's only the second day, but coworkers seem pleasant and the setting is lovely. We went for a walk through the sunny parkland at lunchtime and watched a foal with improbably long legs. Aw!

I also get to experiment with some new bus routes, which should keep me amused for a while.

And so back to the flat, and the chance to hear Ed Reardon's Week, which proves that all Radio 4 comedy is not atrocious.

Unicorn hunt

Today seemed to be Historic Scotland day. I have a friends card and don't use it often enough. So, off to Doune castle, where I confess I was looking for Python locations. However, I did learn about Robert Stewart, who ran Scotland for 20 years, though without being king.

Returning via Stirling, I popped in to the castle, as I've not been for a few years. Odd how this has changed so hugely since I went there as a kid (the past isn't what it used to be). There is currently a long term project to reconstruct the royal apartments. I was rather swept away by the tapestries that are being made for this. They are copies of the Unicorn Tapestries in the Met in New York. Tapestry for me is one of those archetypally dull things. If you see one in a museum it's a case of "Yes, very nice, where are the paintings?" But these are astonishingly beautiful objects in amazing condition. Works of art, in fact. You can watch the weaving too: it looks a pleasant but tricky task, surrounded by bits of wool and photos of the originals. A few of the finished copies are on display and they're not bad either. I enjoyed this article about cleaning, the smell of wet wool, and reclusive mathematicians.

A shy hill

Some time ago, I blogged about my ascent of the Lammer Law (with no oxygen, mind you). I discovered shortly after that this is not actually the highest point in the Lammermoors, with that distinction being held by Meikle Says Law. Clearly, another trip was in order.

Meikle Says Law is undoubtedly one of the most retiring, shy, and self-effacing of the Scottish hills. I don't think I saw the summit at any point in the walk, until, a few hundred meters from the top, and with that it-must-be-here-somewhere feeling, I spotted a trig point above the heather and walked towards it. The way back was almost equally unrevealing, though its pushier friend the Lammer Law kept getting in the view.

The trig point had a recent sign attached warning you not to damage it. I thought the OS didn't actually use these any more, but obviously they do, and MSL is actually visible from somewhere.

A perversely satisfying walk.

Work again

I have acquired a job. No, really this time. It is with the people who didn't quite offer me the last job, but is a different job. Doing proper stats, I hope. My four months or so of semi-idleness is at an end.

In other news, I had a pleasant shopping expedition yesterday to Tiso's. Not only did I get an unexpected discount, but I clocked Iain Banks talking to an assistant.

Jinxed

There! I shouldn't have mentioned it. The almost-a-job-offer has melted away like snow in the spring sun. There was a long silence, then a downward revisal of the salary to a level that I suspect they knew I would not accept.

Bah!

Arty day

I enjoyed the Glasgow Art Fair yesterday. I even bought some art, a linocut, for the first time in several years. And isn't the internet amazing, it can be found here. The work is better in reality, though. The colours nicely capture the oddness of snow in the city, and the use of the different colour blocks is clever.

Some nice extras too in the form of some free talks: by Tom Normand on Scottish photography, and by Calum Colvin on his work.

Even losing my return ticket and having to stand in a queue with my picture to buy a new one didn't dampen my good mood.

Scarf dating

No matter how sad and nerdy you are, the internet can instantly put you in touch with somebody more so. I have been overdosing on vintage Dr Who a bit recently, but this page brought me up short and encouraged a brisk walk in the fresh air. Theming your site around Tom Baker's scarf is one thing, but having a diagram of its stripes, together with annotations of which bits were cut off in which episodes...

Maybe

Oh, and I've just been sort-of offered a job. At the interview yesterday, I almost managed to perform my normal trick of talking my way out of it, but not quite. Hope I haven't jinxed things with this post.

Is our climate changing?

I enjoy reading some of the more skeptical blogs about global warming. Especially on a day like today, when I'm meant to be doing some real work (i.e. work that earns me money).

I enjoyed the survey of historical weather scares in Anthony Watt's blog. Particularly the global cooling scare from 1975. A lot of these may be to do with the nicely named Pacific Decadal Oscillation. It's all a salutary reminder that the world is Always More Complicated Than That. And it doesn't mean that global warming isn't real, just that you might have to look harder.

Words

I got to use the word "polytomous" today. It makes being a statistician almost worthwhile. I'm still not sure where to put the stress when pronouncing it though (my use was in an email). My paper dictionary doesn't include it, and it baffles the spell-checker.

I'm still working on an excuse to use heteroscedastic, or leptocurtic.

You mean I have to do this myself?

I keep changing my mind about whether recruiters are the best thing since sliced bread, or just completely hopeless. As a person who is really rubbish at finding jobs on my own, the obvious solution is to get a professional to do it for me. A few years ago, when starting on a previous bout of joblessness, I was warned to ration my use of recruiters, because they would pester me all the time. Fat chance.

Steven Campbell

I'm taking advantage of my half-idleness just now to go to lunchtime talks. Today we looked back on the work of the painter Steven Campbell, who died last year. The talk was significant for me as he was one of a remarkable generation at Glasgow School of Art in the early 80s who were held up as an example when I was at school. He was in the same year as Ken Currie, who won the annual Newberry award. Since Steven was also clearly exceptional, they invented the Bram Stoker award for him. These and other figures meant that when learning about art in the 80s, I had some local examples that gave me a connection to new developments in painting. As a result I never questioned that figurative painting was worthwhile, and am probably still working out of an enthusiasm born at that time. Scotland in the 80s could be a right miserable place, so some genuine heroes (mostly working class too) went down very well.

To be honest, I've never been a completely consistent fan of Campbell's work - it often seemed overblown and a little pretentious. Today's talk did address this somewhat: he was more versatile and thoughtful than I probably gave him credit for. Now what we need is a proper retrospective.

Midweek mountaineering

Just for once, I made an accurate assessment of the weather forecast on Wednesday, and predicted good weather in the West. And just for once, I was able to act on it, given my present state of semi-employment. My reward was a walk up Beinn Eunaich and Beinn a' Chochuill on a clear, crisp day that felt more like spring than February. These are next to Ben Cruachan, which is always a photogenic chap, and looked almost Alpine yesterday with its snowy corries and horn peak. Look:

Fine views towards the cloudier part of Scotland too. This is looking towards Beinn Eunaich, with Beinn Lui prominent on the right. I think that's Ben More and Stob Binnean poking up in between.

I need to get a decent digital camera: I could have taken twice as many pictures, but ran out of memory.

Oh, and Loch Awe has to be a contender for more picturesque station in Britain. It's ridiculously small, squeezed between the loch and a huge mock baronial hotel, and has a cute (presumably original) iron footbridge.

Rudolph knew his pictures

During my visit to Prague in December, I learned about Rudolph II and his famous collection of paintings. I'd only vaguely been aware of this before, but learned a lot during my visit to Prague castle, where they are trying to reunite as many of Rudolph's paintings as they can. This is a big task, as they have been scattered by such forces as: bickering relatives, disgruntled Swedish armies who need to get some looting in before peace breaks out, and objects ending up in different countries when an empire breaks down.

I'm now going to see references to the man everywhere. Last week Melvyn Bragg did a program about Rudolph's court. Yesterday I went to a show in the Queen's Gallery in Holyrood Palace, and what should be there but Breugel's Massacre of the Innocents. It was part of the royal collection in Prague, where R had the dying children painted out and replaced by animals and bundles. Charles II later bought it. Him and his dad were responsible for a lot of the good gear in the royal collection.

The conclusion

My telephone line had a fault, quite apart from my old phone being very dodgy. Two BT engineers called this morning, and after ritual sucking of teeth and some impromptu reconfiguring of the window shutters, an ancient Bakelite box was revealed, bearing the inscription GPO. I wonder why these junction boxes are traditionally placed in bathrooms? One of the engineers reckoned that it had been there for fifty years.

The wizzy new cordless phone took a ridiculous time to charge, and somewhere in the confusion, I swapped it for a traditional one. I'm happy now.

Shopping

I must be getting middle aged, because I will use the flimsiest excuse to visit John Lewis. However, my excuse this time was quite a good one: my house phone completely stopped working this morning, and I felt that wasn't a good state to be in. It has been a temperamental beast for some time, with the ring coming in a random variety of patterns, often having crappy and very directional sound quality, and usually requiring several attempts to actually dial a number. But I forgave it all these because I got it for nothing.

So for under £20, I now have a digital cordless phone with caller display and who knows what else. I do resent the fact that it needs a power source though. The traditional phone was a very elegant design in that respect, needing only the tiny line voltage to make it work. The modern home is full of plugs with step-down transformers.

Today's art

I expected to like the current exhibition of Carol Rhodes' work at the Modern Art Gallery, after leafing through the accompanying book. However, this is an example where reproduction is very kind to the work. I expected large monumental landscapes, but they were quite small, looking rather forlorn in the large rooms. They also strike me as lazy and dull, combining a number of pretentious features: the lack of frames, the deliberate "naivety", and an ironic distance from the subject. At their best, there is an echo of Edward Hopper, but only just.

Never mind. It was free and the cafe downstairs is excellent.

A dose of art

I should be more grateful for living in Edinburgh. There aren't too many places where you can pop out on a whim to see some Turner watercolours. These are part of the permanent collection of the National Gallery, but are only show in January when it's dim. Mr Vaughan was very kind to do this, but he obviously never realised that the light in a gallery could be artificially controlled.

I like the way the Portrait Gallery always has some wee exhibitions in the gaps between the headliners. In particular the quirky things they put on next to the cafe are always a delight. They currently have some portraits generated from death masks in an Edinburgh collection. The results are eerie, beautiful "photographs" of people who, in most cases, died before the invention of photography.

I am a lazy blogger

The parents seem to be settling down now and need only occasional maintenance. The weather is classic Northern Europe in January: dark (I have the lights on and it's 11am), damp, and cold. (Surely, ancient humans used to hibernate? If not, surely they at least spent a lot of time in the cave under the prehistoric version of a duvet, living off body fat?) I also keep forgetting my password for Blogger and it's quite an exercise to reset. But enough excuses.

Still here

I know, I've been a bit quiet recently. A mixture of giving up my job, having to be nursemaid/butler to aging and ailing parents, and visiting Prague over Christmas, probably accounted for this. It's been a miserable month or so (though Prague was good). I just hope 2008 gets better. Focus on the positive: at least I don't have any more commuting.

Lucky

The man ahead of me in the newsagents has won £97 in the lottery. Unfortunately, they don't have enough cash to pay him.

Nostalgia

Today reminded me of a lot of my childhood. It was raining when I woke, raining on the train in to work, raining and only half-light all day, and is still raining now. Ah, my country!

I work with professionals

Apparently, there's some kind of football match on today.

Our office backs onto the Radisson hotel, where the Italy team are staying. Friday afternoon consisted of female coworkers shriekingly speculating if any of the team had their curtains open.

If you swaped the roles of the sexes here, the behaviour would of course be quite unacceptable (think Les Dawson, circa 1976).

Joan Eardley

I expected to like the Eardley show that is currently on at the NGS, and this can be a prelude to disappointment. Luckily, this was not the case, as it is excellent.

I was quite carried away by a roomful of paintings of children from Townhead. It never really occurred to me that they encapsulate an era that was almost over. Townhead was mostly demolished to build the M8. JE's paintings are now a record of a world where children played in the streets and seemed to have a sense of togetherness that you'd be hard pushed to find these days. The children would all be about 60 now.

Go home!

A particular pet hate of mine came up today. My colleague, J, arrived at work full of some cold-like infection. Several people I work with have gone down with (presumably) the same bug recently. She took great delight in pointing this out, and in speculating who would be next. When the obvious question (why did you come in?) came up, she proudly stated that she hadn't had a sick day this year, and she certainly wasn't going to start now! Well, thank you J, the rest of us will sacrifice our health to your perfect record!

Later, I heard her talking on the phone to the other office and telling somebody else with lurgy to go home. She seemed unaware of the irony.

Back to the future

I really enjoyed the current exhibition of Basil Spence's work at the Dean Gallery. For one thing, I live near several of his notable buildings, including the gleaming white ex-garage in Causewayside, where, coincidently, I bought some beer this morning (it's now a beer/wine merchant). The whole show was a succession of "I didn't know he did that". By the late 70s and 80s I think he had become a bit embarrassing, like an eccentric old uncle who you have to be polite to at Christmas, so I didn't know anything about the man, despite encountering many of his works. But recently, that rule has kicked in whereby a building that survives maybe 40-50 years will be appreciated on its merits.

Not featured other than in passing was the Natural Philosophy department of Glasgow University, where I spent a lot of 1990-94. This could be because they screwed it up quite a bit during an unsympathetic refurbishment in this period. This was just before BS's star was in the ascendant, so there were few dissenting voices. At least it's still standing.

Happiness is...

...finding a fiver in the pocket of an old pair of trousers that you are about to throw away.

Dave's busy day

This morning in work I have a long rambling impromptu conversation with a colleague about life, work, education, the Civil Service, and me. It's one of these exchanges when some things fall into place. I realise what it is I don't like about this, and my last public sector job. Maybe I should just look elsewhere--my previous best job was in private industry, and I think that it suited me better. Despite the greyness of the day, I feel happy. Self-knowledge is always worthwhile.

This evening, I attend an event at the Queen's Hall. David Lynch is promoting his new book, and answering questions from loads of art students about transcendental meditation, film-making and everything else. He is supported by Donovan, who sings and reminisces about being with George Harrison and the Maharishi in the ashram. Another odd Queen's Hall experience for me, almost up there with Stockhausen. I got the invitation through work, as well as an invitation to the after-show reception, so my life seems briefly glamorous.

Good to see

There's a nice exhibition of Alasdair Grey's work in Cafe Cossachok in Glasgow. Great to see some original versions of book covers, and some very early work from the 50s. It's just a shame that somebody of this status has a retrospective in the downstairs room of a restaurant (albeit a very nice one).

A quick visit too, because it's only on till Saturday, and I only found out on Tuesday, and I'm busy.

More please, but organise better next time.

Good for my soul

I don't often do any data entry, but I am at the moment. It makes you realise both what boring work it is, and how you don't really understand your data unless you've got personal with scribbled-on bits of paper.

It becomes clear, for example, that some respondents in a block of multiple choice will fill in all of the first boxes. Or, just to break the monotony, will let the responses zig-zag down the page from one extreme choice to the other. I suppose you could exclude some obvious piss-takers like this, but how many other misleading responses would you still take as valid?

Here we go again

Fuck it's Monday again. I hate working. It's much more fun to play with the crappy camera on my computer. The weather's a bit grey today, but the view over the rooftops still gives me some pleasure.

Diaries, blogs

Am reading some of the Alan Clark diaries. By rights I ought to despise this car-crazy Tory, yet I am oddly fascinated, and have the distinct impression that I would have liked the guy if I ever met him.

The diaries often have a gloomy tone, so it's probably not something I should spend too much time on, being in a rather dull patch myself at the moment.

My people

Just been to view a house in Glasgow, and very nice it was too. Suddenly, moving seems like it could actually happen.

On the suburban train both going and coming back I encounter chatty Glaswegians. Going out is a cheery drunk with a dog who happily broadcasts his life to the carriage. Coming back, an arty lady talks at length on her mobile about her recently collapsed relationship, her planned evening of cookery and aromatherapy, and how she needs to collect that painting soon. I'm much cheered by the whole experience: Weegies talk to you in a way that East coasters don't. Personal problems must be shared with all.

Open yesterday

The best bits of Doors Open Day yesterday.

The Glasite meeting house was very austere and Presbyterian, and I'd never even heard of it.

I'd often speculated on, but never seen, the view from the many-windowed room on the corner of Queen Street and St Andrew's Street. It turned out to be owned by the SNP, and to be like an old working man's club inside, with Formica tables and emulsioned walls. However, the light and the view were excellent.

I also enjoyed seeing inside Parliament Hall, and working out what a bit more of that complex of buildings does. Some of the staff in the court of session re-enacted the trial of Madelaine Smith; a curious mixture of amateur theatricals and realistic detail.

Ask Mr Tufte

My current favourite time-wasting site is that of Edward Tufte, who has narrowly edged out the Exile recently. If you don't know, Mr Tufte is something of a guru in the matter of presenting information, so I suppose it's almost relevant to, but more interesting than, work.

His discussion boards are diverse and intoxicating, taking in radar maps of migrating birds, color charts for farmed salmon, and why PowerPoint is crap (this pleases me, because I think it is).

When worlds collide

What do you do when you have to fill a job vacancy that is a medieval relic, but you have a strict set of guidelines on the advertisement of public sector jobs?

Well, you just put it in the Herald, as The Lord Lyon King of Arms was today. I might apply.

I am two

I notice this is my blog's second anniversary, and my 200th post. Frankly, I'm surprised it got this far.

Sheep may safely graze

I went up the Eildon hills on Saturday. It was a lovely walk, though hardly gets in the door as mountaineering. The sheep are a bit of a giveaway really: you don't expect to reach the top of a significant hill and find them munching contentedly. If this goes on much longer, I'll start doing Marilyns.

What do you want?

There was a squirrel on the wheelie bin this morning. Just a grey one, of course. They're just fluffy-tailed rats really.

How it was done

As an occasional military history anorak, I was delighted to discover Brent Nosworthy's book on Napoleonic battle tactics. A lot of accounts of battles are useless because they leave you no wiser about how things were achieved. Mr Nosworthy fills this gap with a wealth of information about, say, the Prussian thinking on attacking infantry squares post-1806.

And I discovered that Henry Shrapnel invented the shrapnel shell. How could I not now this?

First time

I heard somebody introduce themselves by using the term Scottish Government today.

Good game.

Falkland Palace is just a tiny bit disappointing: a lot of the interest can be seen from the street outside, and the interiors were mostly 19th Century reproductions.

More interesting is the world's oldest tennis court, which is in the grounds. That's royal or real tennis, of course, not lawn tennis (another 19th century innovation). I like that the idea of a serve is to get the ball onto the roof of the gallery, and that you get points for knocking the ball through the holes in the end wall. And the word "serve" originates because one's servant would start play off to save one from bending over in one's fine clothes.

Impassable for motors

They have a lot of cool old signposts in East Lothian. Nice to see such enthusiastic use of vulgar fractions. If a man walks from the sign to Woodhead, how many miles is he from Gifford? Express your answer as (a) an improper fraction (b) a decimal.


This one was grubbier, but more informative. I liked the obsessively accurate direction "Edinburgh 20 7/8". No doubt as a counter-blast to those hot-headed fools who claimed it to be 21 miles.

Art

I manged to get to some of the main art exhibitions for the festival today.

I'll write some more about some of the big shows later, but some of the wee ones are cool too. Maybe it's just because you start without any expectations, but the small groups of work in single rooms are often excellent.

Among its blockbusters, the NGS have got together some prints by William Blake, and very fine they are too. In passing, I wonder if anybody has done a critique of, say, Songs of Innocence that considers both the word and the image? Those literary types shouldn't think they've annexed the topic.

The portrait gallery has a lovely selection of pastel portraits next to the cafe. What else can I say - they are exquisite and beautiful things.

The Queen has also done us proud and put on Amazing Rare Things at the gallery in Holyrood. (I suppose it's not a small show, but hey, I'm on a roll.) This is of natural history illustrations, whether part of Leonardo da Vinci's studies in red chalk, or a rich cardinal's cabinet of curiosities. The lack of an aesthetic party line or agenda about 'Art' is very refreshing. I noticed both here and in previous extracts from the royal collection, that HMQ has a lot to thank some of her predecessors for. George III in particular seems to have had an excellent eye (or been very well advised). I doubt the current members are enhancing the collection much.

Nature ramble

I originally set out yesterday to do something boyish and mildly obsessive involving Munros, but plans went sideways, and I ended up on a pretty ramble round some hills near Pitlochry. Some middle-aged men were twatting around with landrovers in the woods, but I left them to their tentative off-roading. It was, after all a day for wildlife. Spot of the day was a red squirrel which ran across the path, then watched me critically from high on a tree trunk. Dragon flies and butterflies were all around in the woods, and up on the moorland, I spotted a lizard trying to get warm enough to move.

Dahling!

I've just had lunch in a local cafe. While there, two people did something very un-Scottish. Person 1 was at a table at the end of the room. Person 2 came in from the street. Person 1 walked into the middle of the room with arms outstretched. They met in front of where I was sitting and did all that "mwah-mwah" stuff. The other diners rustled their Sunday papers and tried not to notice.

They'll not be local then.

Art in the rain

It's a wet Saturday in August and I'm trying to get round some of the exhibitions that are on for the Festival. This is only partly successful, as everybody else is trying to do the same. In the Portrait Gallery Ricky Demarco is working the crowd at an exhibition covering his work with Edinburgh Festivals past.

In the city Art Centre I admire Joyce Cairns' painting Shoes from Majdanek, which shows a huge pile of shoes discarded by the victims of a concentration camp. Some other visitors take a shine to it, thinking it's rather fun "That's a lovely idea, lots of shoes. Lovely colours!" Should I tell them? But what do you say? No, it's not fun, it's a searingly painful reminder of the Holocaust?

Eventually I get wet feet and go home to watch DVDs.

Fine stuff

I can usually be relied on to be behind the curve when it comes to technology. It's no surprise then, that I've only recently got interested in Flickr and Youtube. Yes, I know, so 2006. Youtube endeared itself to me the other night when I discovered some clips from the Innes Book of Records. I've not seen this stuff since it was first broadcast in all its surreal oddness, captivating me and bewildering my mum ("But what does he do?" was the main comment I remember).

No patience

When I was wee, my mum always made me wait when boarding buses and trains. "Let the people off first!" she admonished. And I always do. Recently, I've encountered a lot of people who are not so considerate. At both the Glasgow and Edinburgh ends of today's journey, there was a wall of jostling people displaying no patience at all.

This must be a sign of approaching middle age.

Most people start with the letters

I've just bought a Tusitala Stevenson. It had been sitting in the window of the second hand bookshop down the road for a couple of weeks. I've been curious about some of RLS's more obscure works for some time, so it seemed a good omen. I find myself briefly in another world. "Most people start with the letters" says the book shop man rather cryptically. I must look blank, because he explains that the volumes of letters are the most awkward to find, therefore if you care about getting a uniform edition, it's best to acquire them first, then look for matching versions of the more commonly found volumes. Of course. I don't like to mention that I am no bibliophile and only want to read them.

It has started

I'm hopelessly confused about when the various varieties of Edinburgh Festival officially start, but that's an academic point. When you cross the High Street and see it blocked by the great horde of luvvies and their followers, you know that it has all kicked off. High Street is now off-limits for a month, unless you want to be endlessly detained by jugglers, mime artists, rickshaws, leafleters (is that a word?), and people advertising their one-person show about Mao Tse-Tung.

Ridley can remember it for you

I was reflecting recently on my never actually liking any books by Philip K. Dick very much. He is tremendously popular, and this in itself is a disincentive (I'm a contrary soul). Let's see, I've read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, of course, and The Man in the High Castle. Both books that are better talked about than read, and whose contents I can barely recall - never a sign of high quality fiction. But after reading another glowing account of the man's oeuvre, I got Valis out of the library to see if I could settle the matter. Don't try this at home, folks. It's unreadable. No doubt some will claim that the confusing jumble of philosophical ramblings is a touching and witty account of a descent into mental illness (or something), but I don't buy it. It's drug-addled tosh, and I think we all know it. Dick's reputation has been falsely raised by the successful films that some of his books have become. But face it people, Bladerunner works because Ridley Scott took a promising idea and realised it more fully than PKD ever could have.

Stick to the painting

I've just heard Howard Hodgkin interviewed on Front Row. He sounded a miserable old sod.

Better now, thank you

I've not been in the best of spirits over the last few weeks, so it's a pleasure to record a very enjoyable Glasgow Fair weekend. This is mainly because I managed to get out for a decent walk yesterday, after several weekends of rotten weather. I think I'm basically like a dog: in need of regular walking to stay in top condition.

My day trip was to the Lui group again, to do the big chap himself and Beinn a' Chleibh behind. Despite forgetting my camera, and wearing new boots (scope for very sore feet), it was a very satisfying trip. The walk from Cononish is very quiet - does everybody do these hills from Glen Lochy now? What a great view they're missing. Anyway, I have the famous corrie to myself and only hook up with other walkers on the summit. Beinn a' Chleibh -which looks like a playing field from the top of Lui - is then an easy walk. There's an interlude of that easy companionship you get on hilltops. It's clear and all the summits are out. Over to the north, Ben Nevis sez hi. I sunbathe on a rocky slab for a bit before turning for home.

I felt fine after this exertion, but I must have been more tired than I realised. I spent this morning in bed, cautiously stretching muscles and reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which I'd randomly picked off the shelf a few nights ago. It's a book I hadn't really got before, but it comes up much better the second time round, and perhaps finishing it in a sitting helps. No illicit substances (tea?) were involved.

Scary guns

Saw two policemen with automatic weapons in Queen Street station this morning. A unique experience, and not one I thought I'd ever see.

Farewell Fopp

I feel bereft by the departure of Fopp. When I was a student at Glasgow, I would be pulled across Byres Road to look for cheap Ivor Cutler tapes (this was 15 years ago). Quirky stock and simple prices led to quite a few discoveries over the years. I knew high street CD sales were getting shaky, but didn't think it had quite come to my favourite music shop closing.

Excuses, excuses

Just been on a little trip down Ipswich way, where I used to live. It was mainly distinguished by the variety of train delays. There has been severe weather of course: cue a couple of hours running very slowly past some wet fields near Grantham. Then there has been a derailment on a bridge near Ely, which is proving very tricky to sort out, as some empty trucks are hanging above the river. And how do you get a crane in to such a marshy landscape to lift them out? Over to some Network Rail engineers.

And this morning, coming back via Cambridge to avoid the derailment, we were held up by a swan on the line.

Right inheritance

I'm currently enjoying Joan Fisher Box's biography of her dad, the statistician R.A. Fisher. It's impossible to study stats without getting to know something about him, but the full story is even more interesting. One surprise for modern readers is his activity in the field of eugenics. At this point we all shuffle nervously, because as modern liberal citizens we don't talk about that embarrassing stuff any more. Fisher talked about it a lot though. He served on a Royal Commission in the early 30s on the problem of the number of mental patients, which much exercised the government of the day. Their final report suggested a program of sterilisation (albeit voluntary). That was about as close as we got in this country to fully fledged eugenic laws. It was ignored by the government and that was that.

Reading the wikipedia article on eugenics filled in some fascinating detail. I liked the Nazi justification of their eugenic policies by the great success that many US states were already having with their own version.

That wet stuff's a bitch

Monsoon-like conditions greeted me this morning. Fleshmarket Close had a burn running down it. I more-or-less dried out on the train, but then Glasgow was about as wet.

Coming home was dry until I got to Newington, when there was a fresh cloudburst. I sheltered in a close (or was it a pend?) with some bewildered tourists.

Nature watch

We've not had any bird watching for a while...

From the office window I can see that some seagulls have raised chicks on one of the rooftops opposite. They are nondescript balls of grey feathers, which hides them rather well against the gravel covering of the flat roof that their parents have made home. All this in the block next to Central Station, and about eight floors above the traffic. No doubt they are being raised on fish supper remnants and discarded kebab.

We hear a lot of bleating about the fragility of the natural world, but some of it is incredibly tough.

It's Monday, bah!

This weekend was the last Munro party of an old friend, so there was a gathering of aging reprobates in Glencoe. Dave's last hill was Stob na Broige, at the other end of the Buachaille from his first, Stob Dearg. A pleasing symmetry. The day was miserable, as is standard for such events.

My boots died on the last part of the walk out. I think they're going in the bin.

Back to the Kingy for a meal and ritual abuse of the other walkers we met (Did ye see that guy? What a twat!).

Great to meet some old faces again, after too long a gap.

A Sunday of gentle rain and reminiscences followed.

Aarrgghh!

I thought I had become accustomed to how crap the drama and comedy on Radio 4 can be, but Blood in the Bridal Shop plumbed new depths. Variously described as a drama and a comedy, this really was dire. I enjoy a challenge sometimes, and decided to listen to all 15 minutes of it rather than switching off at the end of Front Row, as I would normally. This felt a bit like trying to hold your breath underwater: you end up diving for the off switch with bursting lungs.

War art

A couple of exhibitions recently have pointed me to the work of Edward Baird (1904-1949), a little-known painter from Montrose. When I visited Kelvingrove last, I found his Unidentified aircraft, which feels as strong in its way as any of the images in the Imperial War Museum. He also had some work in the recent exhibition of works from the McManus in Dundee: a fine portrait of his father in law playing chess with ghostly pieces. Neither of these can be found on the web, so you'll have to take my word for it. He suffered from ill health and died fairly young, before he could complete much of what he was obviously capable.

My musings on Baird came from visiting the Dean and Modern Art galleries yesterday. They have quite a nice show of graphic work from WW I in a corridor, with German on one wall and British on the opposite wall. Odd how the German work looks much stronger (Otto Dix, Max Beckmann) that the victors. Is this just because we've been trained to see it in terms of the original work that these artists later did? Whereas Augustus John's stock has rather diminished, and who now would want to look at his rather limp and unfocussed image? The work by Eric Kennington still looks good, though he could be illustrating anything.

At the circus

More signs that I am working inside a le Carre novel: somebody today told me that they were sending me something via the "overnight bag".

Fellow traveller

I wondered what the woman on the train was fumbling with in her bag. There was something furry in there. As we waited to get off, a fancy rat popped its head out and had a good look around. I wonder where she had taken it.

If in doubt, eat chips

I bought chips on my way home tonight, and entered the close with a nice warm newsprint-wrapped parcel and a sense of anticipation. At the top of the stairs I was unable to open my front door. How odd: the key just won't turn in the lock. Peering through the keyhole, I can see that part of the lock is out of line. I've no idea how that happened, but it is. I instantly get a vision of an evening spent phoning for locksmiths, waiting for locksmiths in the drizzle, paying locksmiths, explaining to the landlords what has happened...

Call me shallow-minded, but at this point I decide that I might as well eat my greasy food while it's hot. I do so, and very fine it is too. I then have "one last try" at the door, and it opens.

Hills, Mottes, Poles

A pleasant return trip to Biggar in the Clyde valley, this time to ascend Tinto Hill. A lot of walking across farmland and along disused railways (and why did the Borders lose quite so many lines?) was involved.

If you've been paying attention, you'll have guessed that while hills may form the stated reasons for my trips, the real interest can come from many other areas. The Coulter Motte was on my route, and it is a fine example of a site that is historic but not actually much to look at. If the word "castle" conjours up for you vast curtain walls, bristling with fenestrations and drawbridges, then go and look at this. It's a not-very-big heap of earth which once had a wooden building on top. This must have been about as small as you could make a motte and bailey castle without being laughed at. I wonder if it was just impossible not to build this way in the 12th century, in the same way that Scots baronial seems to have been expected in the 19th.

And in 1940, General Sikorski reviewed the Polish forces in exile from a stance in Biggar main street. So there.

On my doorstep

Spent a pleasant hour or so this morning in the Meadows watching the start and finish of the Edinburgh 10K race. It's hard to ignore really, as I can lie in bed and hear the PA system, albeit in garbled form. Interesting to see the range of body types and running styles. Of course the top runners all look much the same. I do wonder if the elite men are shorter than the elite women, or was it just the ones I saw?

Continued fine weather

Yesterday's outing was to Kinlochleven. Despite a lot of hanging around the West Highlands with scruffy climbers about 15 years ago, I had never begun a walk here. My companions were set on a Corbett nearby, while I took the chance to ascend Sgurr Eilde Mor. And very fine it was too. Not a lot of wildlife, other than two ptarmigan and a large party of wrinklies. Despite the hill's name, there were no deer.

The Cobbler from the shelter stone

Emptying my camera of images, I found this from a couple of weeks ago. The bright hazy day made it hard to tell if the picture was any good at the time. And I felt oddly disinclined to blog afterwards.

Gay Rumsfeldian surrealism

That's the opinion of one of Prospect's reviewers about 300. A neat summary, indeed.

The writer points out that basing a film on a graphic novel is to distance the work rather too much from reality. I wonder if this is why--other than some eye candy--I didn't much like Sin City either.

Questions at tea time

Why are there always 11 fig rolls in a packet? And why that cardboard tray? Are they all produced in the same factory?

Bad one, eh?

I've got electricians in the flat at the moment. They are bemoaning the state of the wiring and the actions of previous workmen. "Shockin' this, Andy!" Not literally, I hope. As I only rent the flat I think this is genuine and not just to convince me to shell out lots of money.

A poor effort

My reactions to Sunshine went through several phases. Firstly: Danny Boyle has made another film, isn't that great? Then I read some reviews and they were very mixed. I formed an opinion that I would hate it, as it was based on some pseudo-scientific bullshit. In the event, I didn't mind the bad science much, but it was a poor film. I couldn't get over how badly told the story was, with lots of trendy action shots that were so blurry you couldn't see what had happened. And here's a tip: if you set your film in an unfamiliar environment, try to put in some establishing shots that explain where the different scenes of the action are, rather than just confusing the hell out of the viewers. And yes, I'm thinking of that long model shot in 2001 that perfectly sets up the situation on the Discovery. There are lots of references to Alien, 2001, and Solaris, but nothing emerges that isn't done better in one of those films.

Some nice visual effects, but not enough to save the day.

Make sure you don't confuse this with the rather fine film of the same name that I discussed a wee while back.

Come and get them!

I rather enjoyed 300 last night. Some fantastic images, and some ridiculous distorted history. One aspect that I see some others have picked up on is the portrayal of Xerces the drag queen with his painted eyebrows and lots of bling. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but we do end up with Thermopylae being seen as a clash of two gay stereotypes. Given the film's avoidance of some of the other habits of Spartans, this seemed odd.

The Spartans were a bunch of asocial nutters who happened to do something useful in 480BC. This could have made an interesting film. Trying to cast them as saviours of freedom is a bit of a sick joke. The War Nerd says it better though.

My Saturday

I'd been grumbling a lot about not getting a chance to do much walking in the West. What with living in Edinburgh and the weather frequently being better in the East, I've pretty much mined out everything along the A9, but have plenty to explore along the A82. However with lengthening days and high pressure forecast over the weekend, it seemed stupid not to do something yesterday.

I took the train to Tyndrum (that's Tyndrum Lower, for the anoraks among you), and attacked the Ben Lui group. This is another instance where in my previous walking life I've mysteriously omitted to visit to these excellent hills. I chose Oss and Dubhcraig as the somewhat easier pairing, but these hills seem to have a scale that is not only measured in meters, and it was no pushover. Ben Lui tended to dominate the whole day, blocking the end of the glen in a rather Alpine fashion that few British mountains can emulate. The picture above is from Ben Oss. The high pressure haze meant that few more distant hills could be seen, which is a pity, but it was sunny for virtually the whole day, and that's not common, you know.

An hour or so before the train arrived was pleasantly spent in the Real Food Cafe in Tyndrum. And no, I'm not writing a gazeteer of West Highland eateries.