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.