Category: Blog

  • Musical Losses…

    Musical Losses…

    Sticking with my current musical theme, but with with a much more sombre twist, the last couple of weeks have seen the loss of three musical greats of our time. Even though their particular types of music and styles were vastly different, each of them was supremely innovative and genre-defining in their own way. They were also all associated with keyboard instruments of one form or another so are, perhaps, a little closer to my own heart than most other musicians.

    First of all, on the 21st April 2020, the world lost a remarkable musician by the name of Florian Schneider. You may not recognise the name straight away (unless you happen to be into electronic music or synthesizers and such things) but you’ll certainly recognise the name of the band that he founded along with Ralf Hutter – Kraftwerk. Innovatively electronic, delightfully robotic and inspiringly creative, Kraftwerk were always a towering force in the vanguard of electronic music and paved the way for countless electronic and synth-pop artists that have followed in their footsteps ever since.



    A couple of weeks later, the sad news broke that David Greenfield had passed away. This is another name that you might not recognise immediately, but if I asked you to think about an absolute masterpiece track from a UK punk band that included a harpsichord in its musical arrangement, you might be able to work it out. Dave Greenfield was the keyboard player with the Stranglers and, while his distinctive playing and choice of sounds were part of what made the Stranglers special in the punk and post-punk era, it’s probably the following track that really shows just how good he was. (And, having rehearsed this track with a covers band many years ago, I can confirm that it’s a lot trickier to get right than you might think!)



    Finally, we come to May 9th 2020 and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need to explain who this guy is. A dynamo, a wild man, one of the founding fathers of rock ‘n’ roll and a musical force of nature, bar none. Farewell to the amazing artist who could get any joint jumping – Richard Wayne Penniman or, as he was much better known, Little Richard.



    Thanks guys – you all made the world a better, more interesting and more musical place and you’ll be missed.

  • I’m still here…

    I’m still here…

    Oh dear. I do seem to have fallen back into my old bad habits don’t I? Over two months since I last posted anything on here. And I was doing so well.

    Or, at least, beginning to do well.

    OK, OK, so I had good intentions. Really, I did! Honest!

    Of course, we’ve all had many other things to occupy our minds and our time since the end of January. One in particular over the last few weeks as I’m sure you know. I shall be trying to bring things up to date and let you all know what’s been happening (or, as it turns out, not now happening) in these parts very shortly.

    However – in the meantime, this is just a quick note to let you know that I am still here. Hope you’re all safe and well and managing to cope in this interesting altered reality that we all find ourselves in. Take care and hang in there everyone!

  • He’s not the Messiah!

    He’s not the Messiah!

    But, by God, he was funny.

    I came to Monty Python relatively late. The original TV series were first shown when I was still pretty young, so I only really became aware of it thanks to later repeats. However, once I knew about it, I loved it. Still do.

    So today is a sad day, hearing about the passing of another one of the comedy greats that brought such anarchic, irreverant, inventive and sometimes surreal humour to our TV and cinema screens – the incredibly talented and very funny Terry Jones.

    As with the Beatles, I think everyone had their favourite Python and, when I was younger, I always favoured John Cleese or Graham Chapman (or, sometimes, Terry Gilliam). But as I grew older and learned more, I came to realise that the whole was greater than the sum of the parts and that Monty Python just wouldn’t have worked without any of them. They were all key in making Monty Python the side-splitting phenomenon that it could be. And I learned that Terry Jones – the slighly unassuming one that I often overlooked in the midst of Cleese, Chapman and Idle’s manic characters – was not only just as talented and funny as the rest, but was also an integral part of what made Python so damned good.

    So bon voyage to Brian’s Mum, Mr Creosote, the patient recipient of Eric Idle’s “Nudge, nudge!” and countless other characters. Thanks for so many laughs.

  • The Curse of Dr Who

    The Curse of Dr Who

    (The Daleks – wondering whether it’s time to call the whole thing off. Image ©BBC)

    Those of a certain age, will remember the first time that Dr Who came around, running from the 1960s through to the end of the 1980s. For those who don’t recall, our friendly, neighbourhood Time Lord spent twenty six years (or thereabouts) working his way through his first seven regenerations, starting with William Hartnell and running through Patrick Troughton, Jon Pertwee, Tom Baker, Peter Davidson and Colin Baker before winding up with Sylvester McCoy.

    Those of you who have a particular interest and who enjoyed this fine bit of science-fiction hokum may also remember that there was a definite law of diminishing returns as the years went by. The first few Doctors worked rather well and often elicit fond memories in nerdy, Whovian types. Particularly Patrick Troughton, Jon Pertwee and – often listed as the best of the bunch – Tom Baker. However, while Peter Davidson, Colin Baker and even Sylvester McCoy occasionally fought a gallant rearguard action, the writing on the wall must have been clear for even the most ardent Dr Who aficionado. With increasingly shaky sets, increasingly ludicrous alien costumes and increasingly shaky plots, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise to anyone when the BBC pulled the plug in 1989.

    Leaving aside the one-off appearance of Paul McGann in a failed attempt to reboot the series in the mid 90s, it was to be 2005 before the twin-hearted, Tardis-driving good guy from Gallifrey reappeared on our TV screens. Blessed with modern special effects, modern production values and some decent new scripts, all under the stewardship of people like Russell T Davies and Steven Moffat, Christopher Eccleston and then David Tennant helped to regenerate the Time Lord’s fortunes. However, the curse of Dr Who was waiting in the wings to strike yet again…

    When Matt Smith took over the role, I fear the cracks were beginning to show. While he mostly had good scripts and interesting stories to work with – and, along with the other cast members, handled them with some degree of aplomb – it seemed to me that a little of the old, twee, slightly shaky, late 1980s Dr Who feeling was beginning to return. This time around, though, it wasn’t shaky sets and alien costumes made of bubble wrap that were causing the problems, it was the story lines and plots. As time went on, they became a little too cliched, a little too juvenile, a little too soft in the middle. OK, so you can make allowances – this is largely a show for kids after all – but the later Matt Smith story lines really seemed to lose their edge.

    When Peter Capaldi took on the role, I was hoping that things might improve, but they didn’t. I ended up feeling a little sorry for Peter Capaldi, to be honest. A fine and accomplished actor, he ended up being handed perhaps one of the most ridiculous incarnations of the Doctor that we have seen this time around, with story lines and plots that rapidly became more ludicrous and which lost pretty much all of the sharpness and polish that Christopher Eccleston and David Tennant had been able to rely on. This was not looking good.

    And so we come round to the latest regeneration – the thirteenth, or even the fourteenth if you include John Hurt’s brief tenure as “The War Doctor”. (We will all quietly ignore the old bit of Dr Who lore that said Time Lords only get twelve regenerations, since that’s a separate problem.) Of course, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when it was announced that – shock! horror! – the new Doctor was going to be…oh, it’s too horrible to say it!…a…woman! But, unlike a surprisingly vocal number of sad sci-fi geeks, I thoroughly welcomed the announcement. I was hoping that it would not only give the whole thing a welcome kick up the backside but also give the show runner and scriptwriters a chance to come up with something really new and fresh.

    Unfortunately, it seems that my hopes may have been in vain. Jodie Whittaker is a fantastic actress and is doing her level best, more than ably abetted by the rest of the cast (including a surprisingly good performance from Bradley Walsh), but they’re still fighting with plastic plots, shaky story lines and – in the latest series – a growing tendency for the whole thing to become a bit preachy. This new series (which began on New Year’s Day) did, at least, see the return of the Doctor’s old adversary the Master, but where the character was previously played with deliciously dark and deranged menace by John Simm (opposite David Tennant) and with a degree of flair by Michelle Gomez (opposite Peter Capaldi), poor Sacha Dhawan was left playing the part of a shallow, cardboard cut-out looney-tune with no depth to the character and no chance of eliciting even the slightest drop of sympathy for him. Add to that the obvious and heavy-handed references to the problems of modern technology and social media (yes, Google and Facebook, we plainly mean you) and a new fondness for trying to shoe-horn in as many historical character references as possible (we’ve already had Ada Lovelace, Charles Babbage, Noor Inayat-Khan, Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison and we’ve only got as far as episode 4), it’s clear that the Curse of Dr Who has struck again. Just like the first time around, we’ve seen a few good Doctors, followed by some good actors trying to make the best of it as the stories and plots start to fall apart around them.

    Still, I suppose at least the sets and special effects are holding up this time around. Maybe they should shelve it for another 15 years or so and come back when they’re all feeling suitably refreshed.

  • That was the decade that was…

    That was the decade that was…

    Well, here we are at the end of 2019 and about to embark on a new decade. Well, unless you’re one of the pedantic types who says that the next decade doesn’t actually start until 2021 ‘cos there wasn’t a year zero. Which sounds mathematically reasonable, but is pretty much a load of cobblers, given the fact that the current calendar didn’t really exist back then anyway. Most people also tend to call the zero years (10, 20, etc.) the start of a decade, so for all practical purposes you lost the argument long ago and should probably stop tilting at that particular windmill both for your own mental health and to spare the rest of us your boring pontifications.

    Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, the end of a decade is upon us. And what a decade it has been. I’m pretty sure that most of us who have lived through it won’t be forgetting it in a hurry, but I, for one, have a number of reasons why I wish that I could. So, at the risk of bringing down the overall levels of New Year’s Eve cheer, here is my bullet-point farewell to the 2010s.

    • 2010 began with my father suffering a stroke on New Year’s Day. This led to around nine months in hospital, during which time we also suffered a couple of very close family bereavements. I also had to have my father’s elderly and ailing dog put to sleep while father was still severely ill in hospital. Not a nice bit of news to have to pass on under those circumstances I can tell you. This was also the year when we had to wind up our business and start afresh due to the lingering economic shitstorm coming out of the noughties.
    • 2011 my father spent this year in and out of various hospitals, before finally passing away at home in October.
    • 2012 surviving my father by around nine months, my mother passed away in July.
    • 2013 I don’t really recall much about it, other than that we spent the year trying to recover from 2010, 2011 and 2012.
    • 2014 – a good thing – we moved to Scotland. Yay!
    • 2015 was spent settling in to our new home and sorting out the sale of the new business that we set up in 2011. Also good things.
    • 2016 the long-running, intensely irritating and bloody stupid fiasco that is Brexit began. Also, just to prove that the UK wasn’t the most thick-headed and benighted country in the western world, the USA elected Donald Trump as President. Trump? Seriously? What the hell were you thinking? Or what the hell were you drinking?!?
    • 2017 a mixed sort of bag, pottering on in Portpatrick, wondering what bizarre political and economic cock-up might come next. Oh, and selling our house. Also, a general election that made the whole Brexit thing even sillier and caused more problems across the board. Well done Theresa May, you monumental cockwomble.
    • 2018 guess what? Yes, we were still trying to sell our house. The whole process, which at first looked like it was going to be quick, slick and easy, ended up taking nearly ten months. We also nearly lost the house that we wanted to buy (since the sellers, quite reasonably, couldn’t just keep waiting around while our ongoing saga kept running and running). However, it all worked out in the end and we finally moved – another good thing. I also discovered blacksmithing, which is also a good thing.
    • 2019 ending the decade as it began, we have been to far too many funerals this year. Both good friends and – most tragically – family in the form of our wonderful nephew Charley who, at the age of only 27, lost his life in an accident at work. On the positive side, Glenda was selected to take part in this year’s Spring Fling art event and we had quite a successful weekend of it. Still, it’s fair to say that the self-employed creative life is a pretty difficult row to hoe at the moment, given the state of the economy and the blithering idiots in charge of the country.

    So, all in all, I’d mark the twenty-teens as a bit of a curate’s egg – only good in parts, if at all. Throw in the myriad failings and problems of social media (yes, Facebook, I’m looking at you), the rise of zero-hour contracts and the gig economy and the increasing disparity in wealth between the 1% and the rest of us. Oh, and not forgetting the rise of populist, right-wing demagoguery and, in some cases, actual Nazis. (Christ on a bike people, we went through this kind of thing before in the 1920s and 1930s – try reading a history book FFS!)

    Now, I quite honestly hope that the rest of you (or some of you, at least) had a better time of it during the course of the last ten years. However, considering all of the above – even allowing for the occasional good things that happened to leaven the bad – I still think I will be rather glad to see the back of this decade once and for all.

    Here’s hoping that the twenties are better for all of us. Slainte mhath!

  • Forging ahead…

    Forging ahead…

    No, no, it’s OK – don’t all groan at once.

    I bet you all thought that I was getting back into my bad old habits didn’t you? Nothing new on here for over three weeks, but there are good reasons for that – we’ve been a tad busy round these parts. There have been artsy-craftsy events (the Winter Kist in Wigtown) to prepare for and attend, various computer-related bits and pieces to sort out, friends visiting, people and places to go and see and, of course, some more forge-related things to do. For instance…

    I mentioned in my last entry on this blog that I just needed to get the anvil anchored down and the job is now done. The observant ones amongst you might also notice that I’ve added a further layer to the supporting plywood-and-worktop sandwich on which the anvil sits. I ended up doing this as, after wandering around it and measuring it against my height, I decided that it was still slightly too low. Now though, it’s just about perfect. Woohoo!

    Previously, I also mentioned that I was soon going to be in a position to fire up the forge. I’d love to say this is because we’ve already managed to restore the big old original forge here, but we’re nowhere near that stage yet. However, in order to allow me to get on and actually do things and continue learning, I am now the proud owner of a very neat, portable bottom-blast forge, as built and supplied by my occasional teacher/mentor in all things blacksmithery, the talented Mr Andy McKenzie of Feather Forge in Glasgow. It looks a little dirty and rusty, since it has already been used during Andy’s week-long blacksmithing workshop that I attended up in Argyll and Bute earlier this year, but that’s fine. It’s going to be getting a lot more hammer (if you’ll pardon the pun) soon enough and it might even be the actual forge that I used back then (although it’s hard to be sure, since there was a few of us there and we had one each).

    So with the main tools of the trade in place, plus a half tonne of good Welsh steam coal in stock and about a quarter tonne of assorted mild steel in various forms to hand, Fineview Forge will finally be ringing to the sound of the hammer. And possibly the occasional muffled swear if I get things wrong.

    Wish me luck!