Weaver’s Bay

My Tardis informed WHW. It’s all written in the past. But it could be true!

Today is our longest hike. Nineteen dang miles. We’re looking forward to a bit of luxury at the end of it all though. A bunkhouse/hotel. Hot showers. Not that we stink. Oh no! But anyway, a nice respite from Tent Land, before our last two days of walking.

And here’s a thing. This constant walking feels like a bit of suffering by our standards. But have a listen to Weaver’s Bay, and imagine what it must have been like during the clearances here in Scotland. People forced to leave their very homes and leave for a completely uncertain future in another land.

I’m imagining that today. This little ramble is a relative walk in the park. Any one of those involuntary migrants would have swapped places with me, without hesitation.

I’m a lucky bugger.

Everything On Gold

So what’s been happening today (in my imagination) on the West Highland Way…

Fortunately, to survive, we don’t have to put Everything On Gold.

As wild walks go, the WHW is relatively tame. For instance there are lots of places to fill up with water and a lot of out of the way little tuck shops, with nobody there, except for an honesty box. Try that one in London!

It’s refreshing that this kind of honesty and trust is still around in these “interesting” times. And it’s literally refreshing to get a bottle of cold (ish) fresh orange when you’re tired after having already walked for ten miles.

The views have been fantastic. And being away from the madding crowd is also wonderful. But people, it’s good to be reminded, can be very decent, given half a chance.

Ranches And Mansions

Back to the future West Highland Way…

Tents. They’re a home of a sort. We are creatures of comfort of course. Not used to sleeping so CLOSE to the outside world. Not used to NOT HAVING a slumberdown, goose feathered, body hugging mattress.

Tents are not Ranches And Mansions.

We may or we may not acclimatise. But either way, we’re stuck with them.

And there is a beauty in hearing the rain patter so close to your head without getting wet. A beauty in hearing a Tawny Owl close by. And the wind in the trees. Of being further from civilisation than usual.

I can overlook the little bit of aching, and the not quite enough sleep. It’s a price worth paying. See you tomorrow.

Too Much Of Everything

Welcome back to the WHW Tardis!

Well, it’s raining already. Yep. Inevitability is a thing. And we’re doing actual hilly bits today. But it’s fair to say that we’re not yet at the point where it’s all …

Too Much Of Everything

Maybe that moment will come, further down the line. We’ll soon be at Balmaha, where we hope to meet up with songwriting blues guitarist, Dave Arcari, and then along a part of Loch Lomond to Rowardennan. That’s where we’ll be losing three of our number. The part-timers! From ten down to the seven who will hopefully make it all the way.

We’ve just climbed Conic Hill, so I’m a little bit out of breath. It’s tougher with a rucksack of course. So you’ll forgive me for stopping to enjoy the view for a while…

Angus

For the next week, welcome to my Time Machine as I write my imaginations regarding the experiences I may or may not be having while doing the walk I am not doing right at this moment, but will be doing once we enter our West Highland Way Tardis thingy. I’m going to have to wangle my song titles into this. Could be tricky. Three, two, one…. Atomize!

So here we are walking happily from Milngavie to Drymen on the first day of our walk. Unlike my original forecast, we are experiencing blue skies. Everyone (almost … there’s bound to me a moaner ….could be me) is in good spirits.

And why wouldn’t we be. The sky is blue…look there’s an Aberdeen Angus frollicking in a field…. and we’re fairly skipping along. We’ve already escaped the northern outreaches of Glasgow, and though the world renowned Highlands aren’t upon us quite yet, we are content.

Only 10 more miles to Drymen. Only 96 more to Fort William. It’s gonna be a doddle.

Indian Summer

I don’t know about an Indian Summer. I’m expecting more of a Scottish Spring over the next week as we start to walk the 100 miles of the West Highland Way tomorrow. Our Irregular Spring is coming to an end.

Dry would be nice, but it likely ain’t gonna happen.

And that’s what happens.

I’ve got organiser nerves. Where are we eating? Will we survive the midges? How will we cope with the wet? Are we well enough equipped? And so on.

Mostly I want everyone to enjoy it. But whatever happens, it will be another chapter in the Great Happening.

See you from my Tardis Writing Desk on the way from Milngavie to Drymen tomorrow ;-)

Miss You When You Go

“Miss You When You Go"…

… that’s what we often hope that people will think of us. That’s what I might have once hoped that Ineke would be thinking tomorrow, when I head off on my big adventure with an all male crew for our walk of the West Highland Way starting Friday.

But really … I don’t hope that anymore. If she thinks about me, I hope it brings nice thoughts of course. Just because I hope she has nice thoughts. They’re better than the other kind.

It doesn’t need to be of me though. It could be of anything. Maybe she doesn’t give my absence a second glance for the 8 or 9 days I’m gone.

Missing someone, or something, will always be a part of the human experience. But it brings a sense of loss. And that shouldn’t be a given. True love wouldn’t wish that experience upon someone else.

Would it?

Potatoman

Sometimes I’ll drive you mental
Sometime’s I drive a van
Occasionally I’m up in space
I go there when I can

I try to keep myself awake
That’s usually the plan
But sometimes I’ve been let down
By weed and temazepan.

I like to be outdoors a lot
I’ll find myself a view
And when the sunshine shines as well
The view is often blue

You’ll often find me writing songs
I’m regular with bran
But don’t ask for help to build your shed
I’m not a handyman

In my head I’m fit and sound
You could call me He-man
More often, when snacks abound
I’m Fried Potatoman


Well, I rhyme words like scan and flan
And ban and span and gran
It’s hard to do it all the time
Coz there are only so many out there.

Forty Two

There’s a number that will certainly fix
Your particular problem quite quick
It’s called Forty Two
And it’s the answer for you
If you’re looking for seven times six.

Your Couldn’t Care Less Heart

Today’s Sunday Song is the new release by another long time songwriting friend, Murray Webster.

Your Couldn’t Care Less Heart is a completely self made project, video ‘n all. Murray, as well as being a very talented songwriter and musician, is also the founder of London Songwriters, introducing and helping develop the craft of songwriting with a large number of very grateful students.

The song (and recording) is excellent, and gets a big tip of my hat. Albeit that my hat is not as cool as Murray’s ….

Shine On You

Shine On You crazy thing.
Shine on when the night is falling
And the song is ending
Shine on when you don’t want to.
You can’t help it you mad fool.
It’s a light that cannot go out.
Even if you wanted it to.
It’s powered by life.

And you are the torch.

So shine on.

Suspicious

It’s Suspicious.

The Skies have been blue for forever. It’s been lovely. But it can’t last. It’s got to stop sometime.

And it is gonna stop :(.

Next week apparently, according to weather reports. Just when I’m about to start a week long walk along the West Highland Way, with my Boys and a couple of friends, camping en-route.

*Shakes fist at the Sky. *

“Why Me!!!!?????” WHYYYYYYYY!

Doh! I’m complaining before I’ve even started.

That’s the spirit!

ps. I’m really looking forward to it though. It’s to celebrate me turning Sixty, and I’m very grateful to the victi…volunteers who are joining me.

Sauly

I’m excited to be taking Sauly on a little bushcraft weekend next month. We’re going to be learning how to make shelter and fire together. Like real men! LOL.

It’s to celebrate his tenth birthday. All being well I’m hoping to do something similar with all the grandweans when they reach that landmark. Male or female!

And Saul is the eldest.

Being the eldest is not something you choose, as I well know. It doesn’t guarantee you any extra respect. It shouldn’t really. After all, you didn’t get any choice in the matter.

But it does, sometimes, make you feel more responsible. Again, not really something that you should feel (you didn’t get any choice….etc) but it seems to come with the territory.

I know that Saul is a great brother and an excellent example to his younger siblings anyway. I hope they maintain their healthy relationships with each other for life. It’s not always a given by any means.

But it’s a great blessing to have, I think.

Fog

The skies outside of my window couldn’t be clearer. It goes on forever.

Fog too, has been, and will come again. It closes in.

Yet the space inside my tiny brain is infinite. And it can encompass both these realities.

Or … it can be the prison that tries to capture them both. Either by trying to hold onto my concepts of reality (impossible) or, if unpleasant, by pushing them deep into an even tinier solitary confinement in that same tiny brain (they will escape).

It’s better when I don’t treat my brain as a prison, and myself as the guard, who both guards and is contained by that same prison.

Space is big. And so is consciousness.

ps. And so is my ability to aim at something with my brain and not quite hit what I’m aiming at. But hey, practise makes perfect.

It’s A Beautiful Game

Life can seem very serious. It can feel very serious. We can carry the weight of it all, very heavily, on our shoulders.

At times like that I’m trying to see that, in reality, It’s A Beautiful Game. Just that. It has a beginning and an end. There are winning days and losing days. But the weight of it all, the good and the bad, is mainly in our imagination.

In a game we roll the dice and then we let go. We see which numbers come up, then we take our turn as best we are able.

It’s always been this way.

Let’s play. :-)

This Is The Life

Well, she did it again. My amazing wife Ineke finished another mini-triathlon this morning, beating last years time by more than 4 minutes.

She’s seizing that nettle of life, and getting every last bit of, um, nettle juice, out of it. And why wouldn’t you? However you choose to do it.

This week’s Sunday Song is This Is The Life by Amy McDonald.

Jack Sorrow

We’re on a roll.

Jack Sorrow is here to ensure that we continue to remember The Great Bearer of the Terminal Scythe. The Dark Knight of Impermanence. The Herald of All Endings. Yes, Death continues to cast its shadow over these here blogs. He (or She!) is inescapable, and will not be silenced.

Also, according to Jack Sorrow, Death has feelings too.

So, please, a bit of sympathy for the one who bears responsibility for the ending of all life forms. A little bit of respect.

And also some appreciation for the way that Death always manages to give the glory, all of it, to Life itself. By keeping Life short, Death ensures that we cannot help but value its existence.

Thank you Sir (or Madam!).

Kane Koo Di Koken Kan

Kane Koo Di Koken Kan is unlike any other song I’ve recorded. The song itself is a bit of stream of consciousness rambling on my part. But the recording was made with the Campbeltown legend known as Robert Black.

He was a great keyboard player and an eighties electronic fiend. And a friend. Inevitably all of Rob’s talent and influences came out in the recording. That was what I wanted to happen of course.

We continue to miss big Rab in these parts. He was just a lovely, lovely fella.

And this song will always remind me of him.

Bag For Life

Well, death is looming large in this column at the moment.

Bag For Life is a tongue in cheek song that I wrote about me being not particularly bothered about what happens to my remains when I’m gone.

When we buried Luna it was simple. It was just him, a deepish hole in the garden, a covering of earth, and a few words spoken in memory. It felt right.

For some reason there is a lot more pomp, ceremony, money, materials, and energy put into the death of us grand humans. It’s expected.

But I don’t expect it or desire it. Though it’s hard to avoid it. There are laws to be kept. And perhaps people will need it as a way of dealing with their own grief. I don’t know.

As I said …. I’m not bothered. As long as I’m actually deid. ;-)

The Moon Will Be Big Tonight

Our cat, Luna, got hit by a car a couple of days ago and died.

I am not a pet person. We got Luna (strange how we talk about “owning” pets, but we do) for our foster son Aiden. Looking after a pet is a big responsibility. Like having a child. And we’ve had many of those kind of responsibilities as you’re probably aware. When we’ve had pets, I’ve tended to see them as a necessary nuisance.

So I was surprised by how emotional I felt when I heard about Luna’s death. Then when I went to pick him up. It was a hit and run, but someone had placed him in a better place after the accident, and kindly covered him with a piece of cloth to protect from the flies and the crows. And then when we buried him. It felt like a sacred moment. The sweat of digging the grave, mixed with a tear or two.

I didn’t expect that.

Yesterday I was playing a wee gig at the library. Someone, without knowing, read a poem called Moon. Again, I was moved.

And I finished that session with a song called The Moon Will Be Big Tonight.

Rest in peace Luna. You shone brighter than I noticed at the time.