Two questions arise. Who produces this webpage, and then who reads it?
I says like this : listen you money-hungering server owners and bloodthirsty porn purveyors, that bleeding FHM website is full of lies and the lassies in it are all bollocks. It is high time they lassies realised what they were doing and put their faith in more sensible employment, such as working in a record shop, or selling programs at the game, and then you shopkeepers with your middle to top shelf nasties, would be put to shame.
And then I says to them, that LOADED website is worse, and everyone that reads it dies after a short illness.
Bernard (Saint) - (d. 1153) Founder of the Cistercian order but best loved as an opponent of Peter Abelard, Bernard of Clairvaux boldly borrowed quotations from the Cluniacs to make himself famous. His guitar playing and populist approach saw him commissioned to stir up solid peasant hatred during the Second Crusade in France and Germany, and he was canonized for this spreading of undue intolerance. He was named Doctor mellifluus, the "honey-sweet teacher", for the fine education he gave to young Wayne of Perth
Cuthbert (Saint) (b. circa 634, d 687) Visions as a sheep tending lad ensured a life of national travel and celebrity for this one time bishop of Lindisfarne. Why British people developed an interest in disturbing his remains after he died is unclear - but Bede describes how Cuthbert's body remained intact, his clothes unsullied and his hair neatly brushed after many years underground. Not forever though - mankind lost faith - and when Cuthbert was dug up again in 1827 - he were but bones.
Gandhi, Mahatma (b. 1869) Studied law at Oxford and crowd control in India. Left Europe to get away from photographs of James Joyce. Was killed en route to prayer in 1948 and has been watched on film by many an audience of disbelieving cineastes. "Look at the state of those rags!"
The story is that the original planners, when they willed the giant motorway under the town, wished to dig a tunnel for the cars so that none of the domestic harmony created by the several thousand adjacent hovels on the ground would have to be touched.
Here we are at Charing Cross in Glasgow and so much for that, because they tore them down. Two birds and one stone, old hovels gone away and new motorway placed in an analytic line from North to South.
The swathe of town they cut was over 100 metres wide, and at the point where I stand (and memorise this composition) the motorway is eight lanes deep and runs about thirty metres below ground level. The noise of all these engines thrashing at once is what attracted the planners to build this . . . yes, that and the fact that it may never stop.
The Northern declivity of the hill of Parkhouse is called Aikey Brae or Yackie Brae. In the 1980s there was a play by The Invisible Bouncers, the theatre group of Alastair McDonald, called Pinky Brae, and it was an exceptional hit, at least in the North East. I'm trying to track down some stuff about the play at the present.
The name Aikey Brae is supposed to have derived from the aiks (oaks) of the area, which once clad the hill. Another idea is that the hill claims its name from Achaicus (or Yochock) a Pictish King.
Until the 20th century, the Aiky Fair was still held in the area, and marked with the removal of the relics of Achaicus’ brother, St Drostan, from Aberdour to Deer, on the third Wednesday in July.
On Aikey Brae, it is said one of the Earls of Buchan fell from his horse at hunting, and was killed. The facts of the case state that this happened because the earl had called Thomas the Rhymer, the great prognosticator, Thomas the Lyer.
Though Thomas the Lyar thou call’st me,
A sooth tale I shall tell to thee
By Aiky-side thy horse shall ride,
He shall stumble and thou shalt fa’;
Thy neck-bane shall break in twa,
And maugre all thy kin and thee,
Thy own belt thy bier shall be.
The brief spell David Balfour spends on Erraid is one of the most evocative in all of Stevenson, I think so. The chapter titled ‘The Islet’ is a Treasure Island in miniature; it is the ghastly pain of Jekyll and Hyde; it’s even its own travelogue. David Balfour, soaking, and becoming more wet and exhausted by the minute, living off mussels, some of which go down well, some of which make him vomit - he never knows which, and the isolation - all are stunning drama.
‘The Islet’ begins with these words: ‘With my stepping ashore I began the most unhappy part of my adventures’; and ends with these words, some of the best in the book: ‘I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.’
Only the first BBC version of Kidnapped makes an attempt to portray the Erraid set piece on film. The 1960 film replaces it with a mean Scots persona created by Duncan Macrae. In RLS’ Kidnapped, this character which appears in the chapter ‘Through the Isle of Mull’ is the impudent Gaelic cheat that attempts to guide Davie.
Lager Shanty: In that order. Another evening of wein, weib und gesang in Sordid Glasgow. And after "Gies a Tune" with DJ Malky Brogan on Radio Clype, and the flicking back and forth of the television in a yawning half-contemptuous manner, what could we do other than run up the starry path to meet Oblivion coming down? Later on, this typical Glasgow scene comes complete with the two shandied lovers slipping each others' tight leashes to go separately in the night, each to an off-sales of their choosing, for more of the Same.
How can I forget Tony Blair on his hind legs preaching WAR to his flock?
In a haze of David Icke Mauve that made him look like a retired Turkish whore rebranding herself as the Mufti of Ankara, very spiritual, very soigné.
How many colour therapists and their inevitable Japanese companions were employed dreaming up that putrid set, in which even his tie matched, even his lies matched?
"We campaigned in Doggerel. We govern in Gibberish. Jack Straw is on pills for his nerves, living in his Jag, drinking Bells through a Shitty Clout. Way to go Jackie Baby."
New Labour twisted my mother's mind so that now she cooks HAGGIS and is thinking of buying me a KILT for my birthday, and my father found that, mirabile dictu, her overwhelming urge to vote SNP was not grounds for divorce under Scots Law.
NO WAY TO THE THIRD WAY!
I'm having it tattooed on my chest next Wednesday (in Govan, at Mucky Malky's Tattoos and Neeps Parlour, just behind the municipal gleaming chrome palace of the BBC)...
Does Anyone Here Remember Scotart? Scotart was featured in the Scotland on Saturday newspaper again. The paper does not know what else to print. The extent of these young artists' achievement is summarised for their cash-money appeal in order to put those with buying power into a receptive state. The victims are 20 - 40 year old lithoids who for the sake of appearing briefly "famous", pose tragically in the colour supplements. As a person develops and the memory of childhood wanes, the question inevitably rises : how can I become the centre of attention once again? For one generation at least, art and letters have become the easy answer. Just as there's no cure for cancer, it's hard to stop the visual and literary productions of the young, witty middle classes taking roots, and spreading the way they do.
To say that language in art and letters have been stunted is very true. It’s not that there’s a lack of eyes to look at pictures, and not that there’s a surfeit of people talking about them, or people reading books, but there is now a self-consciousness which demands improvement on a weekly basis.
When in conversation, one notes that one must say not simply what one feels, but what one considers to be brighter than what has come before. It’s a constant fight out there. A competition is raging, and it’s adjudicated by people who think the brain is for the rational snapping of the jaw, and that ideas are for dissection. The fact is that speech is the ideal that shows us what we are.
All of this, I became skilful at avoiding, but only through the indulgent twisting up of words — I called it my writing! Liska was naturally never a part of it. She couldn’t have taken a part if she had wanted to, she could never produce any of that verbal twat that makes our civilisation as arid as it is.
Liska’s work defied criticism because she defied viewers. Artistically, she and I are the end of the process. We are both speculators, and we both lack ideas. In our work, there are no concepts, just as there is nothing high and nothing guarded. She paints and I write, and these are the ends in themselves. It is as if we couldn’t be bothered with anything, else, any of the shit and smack of the media, of sales, of having websites, twitter feeds, anything that made us a part of that grand, public popularity contest ....
Slept all morning. Children's party all afternoon, Sighthill, Edinburgh. Sweet and polite group of kids. Basket scampi at the softplay. Watched MAKE ME AN OFFER (1955) starring Peter Finch, then all episodes of Nathan Barley. The most ideal weather. Last night, good company, Tadg, Andrew, Kenny. XLV: A type of gramophone record classified by its revolution speed of 45 cycles per minute. Refers also to the Jacobite rising in Scotland. One half of a football game! My boys were so pleased to see me at lunchtime. They wrestled on top of me for twenty minutes, trying to get best position for tickles. The weather is ideal, giving the day an endless quality. Turning to think of the future. Focus on completing a new book this month. 0 + 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6 + 7 + 8 + 9 = 45. Counting in triangles.
This is my favourite photograph of Marcel Duchamp. It sometimes goes under the title of 'Marchel Duchamp's Departure for America'. An artist like Duchamp is unique in everything, and sometimes that comes down to the pure ephemera such as this photograph represents.
Let us look at it in detail.
Does Anyone here Remember Scotart? Scotart was featured in the Scotland on Saturday newspaper again. The paper does not know what else to print. The extent of these young artists' achievement is summarised for their cash-money appeal in order to put those with buying power into a receptive state. The victims are 20 - 40 year old lithoids who for the sake of appearing briefly famous pose tragically in the colour supplements. As a person develops and the memory of childhood wanes, the question inevitably rises : how can I become the centre of attention once again? For one generation at least, art and letters have become the answer. Now the newspapers have bought it to sell it it’s going to be hard to stop the visual and literary productions of the young, witty middle classes taking roots, and spreading the way they do ... poor us ... poor them ... poor everyone ...
What dynamism in our forebears!
Why, then, have we inherited so little of their pep, their defiant, demonic propulsion?
Have we been short-changed genetically, a gamete short of a character?
Not only could our grandparents out-stroll, out-write and out-work us, but they did it with such animal virility that it pales even our pasty, anaemic countenances that little bit more to think of trying to equal them in action.
What did they have that we lack?
What escaped transmission to us, or was it lost in the translation?
I have an idea, but only that.
A tentative, undogmatic notion that I am scarecly strong enough humbly to propose.
I get so tired you see ....
In the public-house to die
Is my resolution;
Let wine to my lips be nigh
At life's dissolution:
That will make the angels cry,
With glad elocution,
"Grant this toper, God on high,
Grace and absolution!"
Buchan — Ythan — Forgue — the Kirkhill of Logie — and the Soorick Burn — the source of the pearl that is found in the Crown of Scotland.
The Ythan — or Ituna as it was known to the Romans — rises in the upper parish of Forgue, from three springs which are collectively known as the Wells of Ythan. Half a mile from these springs, the Ythan receives its first tributary, the burn of the Sorrel — in Doric known as the Soorick Burn. This is near the base of the Kirkhill of Logie, at the summit of which are the final remains of three druidical circles.
It is perhaps surprising to some people that in this remote area of North East Scotland, there were both Romans and Druids — but there were. Both Romans and Druids in their ways were in the business of setting boundaries, and near this spot at the Mill of Knockleith is where the Ythan begins to form that for which it is still known — the boundary of Buchan.
At one time, the Ythan was known for its mussels — called pearl oysters — and in the list of unpublished Acts of Parliament of Charles I, there is one “for repeating the patent for the pearl-fishery in the Ythan, granted to Robert Buchan.”
There is a tradition in fact that large pearl in the crown of Scotland was procured in the Ythan, the story being that it was found at the junction of the Water of Kelly (spit, spit) and the Ythan, and was presented to James IV in 1620 by Sir Thomas Menzies of Cults.
Skene, in his Succinct View of Aberdeen, says that it was “for beauty and bigness, the best that was at any time found in Scotland.”
On account of these pearls which were found in the Ythan, the river was once called “the rich rig of Scotland” and although pearls are still found there, there is no regular fishery for them.
A Note on the Crown of Scotland
The Crown of Scotland is very old indeed. The Crown was remade in its current form for King James V of Scotland in 1540. It is part of the Honours of Scotland which is the oldest set of royal regalia in the United Kingdom.
In 1540, the bonnet of velvet and ermine was added to the crown, but an earlier form of the crown is shown in the portrait of James IV of Scotland in the Book of Hours, done for his marriage to Margaret Tudor in 1503.
This 1503 date is the earliest known reference to the crown and so 1503 is thus the latest date of original manufacture of the crown.
The Crown of Scotland on Wikipedia