Photogags

Cumnock Council to review tourism strategy

Fran and Anna re-incarnated in time for panto season

God just had loads of red sky paint to use up

Scientists discover new world where OAPs actually do live in the past

Proust...

...had his scent of amandines, but me? I live in the Modern Age, I've got MP3s to remind me of stuff.

The reader of this blog (hi, pal, howya doing?) will recall that I noted here a few weeks ago that our only begotten son was off to Australia.

That passage has now come to, er, pass and I therefore find myself bereft of a useful flunkey to transfer music from CDs to my MP3 player.

This totally unsatisfactory state of affairs has resulted in me having to perform the task myself and me alone. Long story short, I came across a Django Reinhardt album I'd forgotten about. Anyway, I've been listening to the master at work again, affording me a fresh opportunity to become totally depressed about my own plank spanking and, er, where was I? Oh, yes. Memory.

Listening to Django again reminded me of a story from long ago, back before the last Ice Age, when I was settling down on the floor, beer can in hand, at a student party. I was joined by a heavily refreshed guy I sort of vaguely knew and we were soon partaking in the communion that was current in those days, that is, passing round a home-made cigarette containing an interesting and quite challenging blend of selected herbal tobaccos.

The host of the party, very much against the temper of the age, had selected an album of Reinhardt, which I recognised, having been previously introduced to his work by a total nutter who knew more about the guitar than was clinically advisable.

This, remember, dear reader, was at a time when the "music scene" (man) was ruled by popular beat combos called Led Sabbath, Deep Zeppelin and the like, who tended to specialise in 15-minute guitar solos of the genus widdly diddly.

Anyway, my party companion started grooving along and asked me if I knew the identity of the guitar player. I gave him what chapter and verse I'd gleaned on Django including the fact that he didn't have full use of his fretting hand because of an accident, thus leading him over time, to develop his particular percussive arpeggio style.

Or words to that effect.

Imagine the pause as my refreshed party mate takes time to process this intelligence. And then he turns to me and says "It's a tragedy in't it?"

"What is?" I say.

"Well," he replies "can you imagine how good he'd have been if he haudnae been a bit spastic?"

Y-e-e-s.

Here's a link to Django playing a bit spastic. It's just a track, despite being on You Tube. Just shut your eyes and listen:

Oh dear...

I had meant to post the clip below last week but didn't get round to it.

At that point, Rangers were still in Europe and Wattie might have still sweated on the prospect of an immediate UEFA ban, but after Tuesday evening's events at Ibrox, such worries will seem to Wattie like a distant, fond memory.

I'm fully aware that if you, dear reader, don't follow Scottish fitba then the foregoing will make no sense.

Let me just apologise for that and warn you that the next bit is going to be even worse....

Yes, we all know that "Downfall" been mashed up to bits, but there's still something exquisitely funny about a clip that has as its subtext at least two readings of the word "hun."

Ahem, again...

So-called "news" papers have been full this week of the "news" that Jack McConnell has suddenly discovered anew the delights of Wishaw and won't now be departing to Malawi. 


The reasons might have changed, but the story is the same as we reported back in days of yore: http://thejaggythistle.blogspot.com/2008/10/malawians-wil-struggle-through-somehow.html

Departure promised for new sub generation

Admiralty sources confirmed to The JT this week, that HMS "Astute", an attack sub,  to be stationed at Faslane, will be the last conventionally configured class of sub.


"To be honest", a  spokeshornpipe told The JT, "it's becoming increasingly difficult to justify the cost of these hi-tech exercises in post-imperialist dementia to the public." 


Finally bowing to the inevitable conclusion: that it makes no fuckin' sense to waste money on these pointless thantic tributes, the Navy announced plans this week to develop a new type of submarine, the Surreal Class. "The new class of sub will take the whole mad process to its logic conclusion - the creation of a class of weapon that expresses the sheer insanity of its purpose in its design."

It is expected that HMS "Ftaang, ftaang, biscuit barrel" will enter service on the 12th of never. 

Inside: You wouldn't think a cutaway could express class relations would you? You'd be wrong.
Have a look at this BAE cutaway of the Astute, note there are two eating areas, one for the officers and one for the scruff. It's like having two canteens in a dustbin, it makes no sense...

SWS Flood warning! Weekend shopping in Dumfries may be affected!

According to The Herald...

"Scotland will almost certainly suffer a deeper recession than the UK as a whole for the first time since the Second World War, according to a leading economic think tank."
The Herald, Wednesday 18th November, 2009


Any thoughts on that, John? 

John?