Party on

I want to party! The trouble is I am not sure I can cope with the aching head, and er blackouts. Its getting close to my birthday, and I feel the need for a good night out. I was ill with flu on my birthday last year. I did drag my sorry body into the West End of Glasgow to get a bottle of Sake. I then got sent to another shop close to the Kelvin bridge, but I felt the effort was worth it for traditional birthday bottle of Sake. The people at the store were surprised, because they very rarely sell Sake, but that day they had sold three bottles. Perhaps I have two Doppelgangers, or just one who really likes Sake. I had a Chinese in a restaurant on the Great Western Road. I tried to order something different, by asking for "chicken in a pot." The curry came in a source pan. There is a war going on inside me. One part of me thinks I could spend a profitable evening reading "the power of ideas" by Isaiah Berlin that I borrowed with the a Sandman graphics novel from the library, when I was trying to impress the chick at the library desk. Who will win? The "scholar" or the wild drunkard?

Zorro

I like to read when I am on holiday. I usually make some attempt to make the book relevant to the holiday. For example I read "Zorro" by Isabel Allende when I stayed in Marbella. I would like to point out that Isabel Allende is a famous literary figure and journalist, so I wasn't just reading airport book trash and boys own fighting book. I had a really good relaxing two days in Marbella. It is a good place to read and just hang out. Wikipedia claims that "well heeled" people holidaty there, but the credit crunch and total collapse of the once might pound,now means that plebs like me are allowed with in the town walls.

1984 again, or perhaps not

Have I read 1984? I have read a number of George Orwell novels, so I can't believe that I haven't read 1984. I have read War and Peace. Oh dear either I am faker, or my mind is going? Thanks Charlie.

How to Win every argument

I have just finished reading "How to Win every argument". by Madsen Pirie. I am not sure why I bothered to read the book. I always just use the phrase: "I am right. You are wrong, so get over it" from Bill Hicks.

From a sandcastle to the Universe

I have a few more memories of Tangier to share with you. I writing this in Marballa, a pleasant town on the Costa Del Sol in Spain. There is a sandy beach here. Last night it was cold and the wind was howling. I saw that someone had created an artistic sand castle close to the beach front. It had clearly been made by an adult, because of its clever high towers. As night came down, the sandcastle was hidden under a taupalin. What I thought? When I was a child I used to build castles with friends. As the tide came in, we would try to stop the water destroy the castles, by pouring sand on the walls. We would always fail, and our constructions would always be destroyed. The next day we would start afresh. At the time I thought that this was fun. However, as cynicism seeps into my old bones, I now think that we were modelling existence. Whatever you do, it will be crushed and cleansed by the waves of time. The only option is to start again. What a wonderfull metaphor for life in the ever expanding Universe. I did wonder whether I should sneak to the beach after the pub and piss on the hidden sandcastle, just to help its creator see the agents of chaos always win.

Afternoon in Tangier

After the excitement of the morning´s tourist activity, I spent some of the afternoon reading the novel: the final programme by Michael Moorcock. More of this later, if fate will it and I can be bother to download my memories. I now want to talk about time in Tangier. I did assume that the time in Morroco would be the same as in Spain. Things turned out to be more complicated, because Morroco and and Spain treat summer time in different ways. As far as I could tell in the winter the time in Morroco was the same as in England during the winter. Nearly every clock in Tangier showed a different time. The only place where the time was correct, as far as I could tell, was in the Cafe Paris and in the dirty cafe at the bottom of the ferry port. Electronic clocks outside banks in the city were different, even the clock in the departure lounge of the ferry port was wrong. People didn´t seem to care, but by God did I worry about the lack of a consistent time, and whether I was on it.

Wasting but not wasted in Tangier

And so I was finally in Tangier. The truth be told I am not sure I really wanted an adventure like holiday. I think I would have been happy to sit on a beach somewhere, and occasionally lift a finger to get a another bacon roll or glass of beer. This type of holiday requires planning, that I never seem to have time for. Also my guidebook kept warning of street hustlers, that make any walking about in a city a pain, because they keep stopping and telling you the same tale about how they used to work in London, and they want to recommend a place to eat. The book, the rough guide to Morroco, mentioned fates even worse, such as getting mugged. I wasn´t in a positive mood for this holiday, even though I had originally decided to decided to visit Tangier early last year. Actually, according to my guide book, there are beach bars in Tangier, but frankly I could only forsee ba things happening involving confusion, vomit and a beating, from spending an afternoon at a beach bar. On the first night that I arrived I had a quick wonder around, and not just to hunt up some beer. There were lots of restaurants and cafes close to the hotel. Only one person tried to talk to me, although the streets were full of people. So that was a good sign. Anyway dealing with the emotional blackmail of street hustlers has helped me become a colder and less emotional person, so perhaps they are helping me. I had one full day in Tangier. I started by finding the Paris square in the city, because this was close to the hotel. I found the place, but it wasn´t much of a square, but did have a clean view of the sea and the docs. There were a couple of cannons pointing to the sea. I had some mint tea (like a mohita but with no alchol) in the famous Cafe Paris. This cafe was a place where political deals used to be cut in the early part of the twentith century. I sat on the leather seats and plotted, and I decided that Spain is no longer in the EU. Although Morroco has the reputation of a place where dope is freely available. I didn´t smell anything on the streets. I have certainly smelt more weed on a Liverpool bus, or in this cyber cafe in Spain where I hammer this tale out.

Ferry to Tangier

In my quest for a cheap holiday I travelled to Spain out of season. One problem with this was that it was raining as I waited to get the ferry. The rain was nice Spanish rain, rather nasty soul destroying Glasgow rain. I hadn´t planned anything, but I managed to get a ticket. Things went down hill, after waiting around to get a boarding pass with no information, the ferry I had picked was cancelled because of bad weather. I looked at the sea and saw some ripples and felt the light rain. This is like "leaves on the track" Spanish style. When I was sitting on my bigger ferry and it was swaying from side to side, that perhaps if I was more of a seaman I would know that the sea is always calmer in the habour. The journey took 4 hours whcih was twice as long as I expected. So I didn´t look like Jason Bourne in the last Bourne film, when he escaped to Tangier on the ferry. He stood on deck, while I didn´t move from my seat the entire journey in case I fell over. They wouldn´t let me leave the ship when we go to the port, because I didn´t a stamp, I should have got one on the ferry. I had to rush back on board and hunt for the pursor, up and down steap slippery stairs, as big lorrys spewed filthy black fumes over the decks. As I got out of the ferry building I got caught by a hustler. I stupidly didn´t have any local money with me and I didn´t see ATM machines. So even though I knew the correct TAXI fare to the hotel, as well as the rip off fare, I still ended up paying more that the rip off fare and ended up in a big argument at the door of my hotel. To protest, I decided not to eat that evening. I sure showed that hustler something!

The journey to Tangier

I guess my real journey to Tangier started when I read various novels by the "beat generation", although perhaps my main interests in this trip were less literary. I first flew to Malaga. I think I will know when I have grown up, when I go to bed at 22:00 before having to go to the airport by 6:00 the next day, rather than staying up late watching bad karate films and drinking beer. Still how else can a holiday start? From Malaga I got the bus to Algeciras. I should have planned this better, because the journey took about 4 hours. The bus journey was very scenic, because the bus goes by the coast and there are many mountains to look at, if a passenger tires of reading his book. I stayed the night in Algeciras. There is a big ferry port at Algeciras and it is one of the main ways to get into Morocco. My hotel overlooked the ferry terminal, not very classy perhaps, but cheapish. I was talking to an elderly English couple in the lift, they said the people at reception told them it was not a good place for an older people to wander around at night. I did want to reassure them that it wasn't so bad, I only got stopped once by one prostitute when I was looking for the hotel, and prostitutes are easy to brush off. If you live in the UK, you worry, when you see lots of people hanging out on the streets. This is normal in Europe and doesn't mean you are going to get beaten to death by hordes of cider swilling neds.

Jim Bean cola

When I lived in Salt lake City, a guy across the hall from me occasionally used to invite me into his apartment for drinks. His drink of preference was whisky and coke. I don't drink much whisky, but I prefer it neat. I certainly don't like these fancy cocktails of ice and whisky. However, drinking coke and whisky, while listening to someone talk about their problems getting the correct pension from the US army was fine. When I was in Tesco today I found they were selling 12 Oz cans of Jim Bean cola. This brought some memories back from Salt Lake City. Anyway to cut a long story short, Jim Bean cola tastes a bit nasty. I am going to have invite a "guest" over to generously offer them a taste of the US.

beat tour randomness

And so I finally get to visit the interzone. My body is collapsed with exhaustion and disolution, so some time in the Sun is required. I am flying to Malaga tomorrow. Then on Wednesday I am going to take the ferry over to Tangier for a couple of days. Burroughs's will Perhaps William appearance. spirit an make

The Killing Joke

I have finally given up any pretence of checking out any books from the library, but graphic novels. I spent part of this weekend reading "Batman: The Killing Joke". This is a famous graphic novel written by Alan Moore. Some parts of the book were very disturbing. The poor librarian who got stabbed. And what did batman do to the joker at the end. I could see the influence of the book on the recent batman films.

boring post with pink floyd

I was talking to my mum on Sunday. I was having problems telling what I had done in the last 2 weeks. Work, eat, drink, and sh*t, doesn't really make a great conversation. I think I am becoming a boring person (or an even more boring person). Does a boring person obsess about listening to Syd Barret play "vegetable man"?

Scottish tea scandal

I like living in Scotland, don't get me wrong, but sometimes national pride can take a weird path. While I have been living here, I have always bought Scottish Tea. I am not sure what I was thinking. I have never been to the highlands, so perhaps there are mighty tea groves up there, however ... I just happened to actually read the packet for Scottish tea. It is designed to be drunk with Scottish water, but the tea comes from Kenya. What? I can't remember buying English tea, when I was living in England or the US. I usually just get the supermarket generic brand. Given the amount of tea I drink in a day this makes fiscal sense. I am not sure why I am complaing, I actually buy Scottish tea, because I like the blue colour of the box.

comic

When I was a student at University a long time ago, I worked at the National Nuclear Corporation over the summer. One day I heard am overweight older guy tell a woman about the new Batman comic. "It was vary dark," he said. She didn't sound impressed or interested, and I thought this guy is not going to get a date out of this conversation. I was walking to work on Friday, thinking about the Watchman graphic novel. The power of he story still had me in its grip. I am looking forward to the new film. How did my life end up with me spending 50% of my reading time reading graphical novels? There is good graphics novels section in Hillhead library. I have slowly being sampling the books. This weekend I finished a volume of the Sandman series. The book was a reworking various myths. I also read about the "invisibles". Thus book was all about time travel, drugs, sex and violence. So my kind of topics. A couple of weeks ago I read "the quitter" by Harvey Pekar. Pekar is famous for the "American Splendor" comic and film. The quitter was about his early years and explains how he ended up as a clerk.

Onion scandal rant

As I get older I am starting to ramble a bit about quality of the food I eat. I am not a hard core food snob, but I am just not happy eating sliced white reprocessed bread. This food advice is coming from someone who just ate a steak and kidney pudding from a tin with 2005 printed on it. One food weakness I have is that I really love pickled onions. I assume that pickle onions can't cause me any harm, as chocolate and beer clearly do. here I assume that the bad breath and the need to fart are not bad things like getting cancer. It just amazes me at the supermarket to see jars of pickled onions at such different prices. Some jars cost three times as others. Are pickled onions going the way of caviar. I sometime get the cheap onions (credit crunch and all that), but then they don't have the right "kick". Even worse some jars don't taste good at all. The onions just look back at me and taunt me with their cheapness. For example I really like the onions in the jar on the left. But it is going to be a bit of an ordeal to eat those in the jar on the right. hopefully someone will read this post and send me a lifetime supply of pickled onions. I am such a blogging whore.

Washington toilet scandal

I lived in London for years. The streets are not paved with gold. I was lied too. I was in Washington DC last weekend for a small amount of R&R. I walked around the main mall area. There were a lot of seats set up for the inauguration on the 20th. However, unlike in the picture, all the outdoor toilets were locked with plastic twine. I though if that I broke the string the FBI would arest me and send me to Guantanamo bay. You may not think that doctering a photograph to show free toilets is not a big deal, but the picture was taken in the cradle of democracy.

Another pagan vicar

Although I have spent many years purging Christianity from my system, I still like to listen to "Sunday worship" on radio4, before I get up. Perhaps this is just a case of "plan B". That if my dissolute life gets too out of control, and I awake in a room full of empty bottles and bloodstained condoms, that I will see the light from some part of the sermon on Sunday workshop broadcast on the radio. I will get up and hunt for a church full of priests, rather than a church converted into a pub. If I find a friendly vicar, I will move my shaking body next to him, and whisper "save me! And I am ready for a woman in a bonnet, with a basket full of flowers. Which one is mine?" So you can imagine my disappointment when on the radio this morning, during the service from Glasgow cathedral, the priest started talking about how there was no sun when they walked into the Cathedral, but that the sun would be up when they left. Apart from the vicar's total lack of insight into Glasgow weather, it seemed very pagan to me. Normally, I am happy to hear the sound of the ancient pagan Gods, but what if I needed to be saved this weekend? I feel the need to write a strong letter to the Glasgow Herald newspaper.

New years and Constantine

I didn't go out of my flat for new years eve or new years day. I didn't speak to anyone. I am not complaining, I was trying to relax. I can't always be bothered to speak. I did enjoy the health unreality of it. I did read a collection of Constantine hellblazer comics called "the family man". When Constantine is running away from the family man serial killer, he gets a coach from Victoria station in London to Liverpool. I used to do the same thing when I lived in Liverpool. I guess that is why the comic, seems so real for me, apart from the lack of demons and serial killers in my life, and that I am not a powerful magician. I need more Constantine comics. I am not sure if I can be bothered to walk to the library.

Christmas Lectures

I have to admit I have enjoyed watching the Royal Institution Christmas Lectures this year. Although the lectures are aimed at a young audience, I did admire the way Christopher Bishop explained things. This may be because the lectures were about computing of course. What amazes me the most was how enthusiastic the audience were to be involved. This may be because if they got to go to the front, they would be seen on TV. They even had Bill gates come in via a video link to answer questions. Bill gave the children some ideas of how the future of computing will develop, so they will know what will not happen.