B'day



Yep, as the calendar year draws to an end so to does my personal one, Hogmanay also being my birthday. Not been the greatest year for the world or myself personally and the holiday period for me has been overshadowed by personal events which my parents, family and friends have been quite wonderful in dispelling for me. On the other hand, despite some blows I'm healthy, so are the furry girls, my family and my friends so quite frankly all other considerations are secondary to that.



Off for an afternoon birthday treat to the movies to finally see the Lemony Snicket adaptation (the books are fabulous and I commend them to adults and children alike - very Edward Gorey-esque and also with some educational content for the sprogs) then I am going to spend a Hogmanay evening with some dear friends. I hope the New Year may bring better fortunes for us all and wish you all best hopes for health, peace and love for you and yours.





gaudy decor courtesy of animatedgifs.net once more

Films of the year



Return of the King has come top of the BBC's Film 2004 viewer's poll. Although I am glad to see Lord of the Rings taking top spot for the third year running (I've been enjoying the extended DVD myself an the gazillion hours of extras which includes a deleted scene where Sauraman and Gandalf do wizardly battle dressed as Emperor Penguins and throwing Toffee Crisps at each other) I am a little puzzled since Return of the King was released in December 2003, so technically it ain't a film of the year, is it? Or maybe they run the poll time for 12 months from a certain date rather than a calendar year? Or perhaps the Elves put a spell on the timekeepers. Actually it's a pretty good list for the top ten since it also includes the Incredibles, Hero and Lost in Translation, all of which were fab films and brightened my year up. Garden State, Hellboy, Kontroll, Skinned Deep, Switchblade Romance and Tokyo Godfathers all slotted into my film sprockets rather well in 2004 too.



Just caught the Phantom of the Opera movie last week with Mel and that won't be joining my Best Of List. Watchable enough nonsense, but the music is often very dated and visually Joel Schumacher has simply filmed the stage musical (so it does not flow, it comes in pieces, very lazy) and he has raided a large back catalogue of other movies for the look. Heavy-handed cribbing from Cocteau's classic Belle et la Bete (and Coppola's Dracula which referenced the Cocteau rather more artistically) which is one of the best movies ever made and liberal borrowing from many other movies. Plenty of borrowings (or outright steals) from the 1920s classic silent version of Phantom of the Opera with the incomparable Lon Chaney Snr (the man who would have been Dracula if not for the untimely death. If not for that Bauhaus would have been singing 'Lon Chaney's Dead' instead of Bela Lugosi). The 20s version is visually far more stunning than this paint-by-numbers hack job - the scene punting beneath the Opera is gorgeous; Chaney's make-up (he did it himself) is astonishing and the early colour photography section in the Masque Ball is ravishing (Chaney's Phantom appears as a luridly-coloured Red Death and the scene ends with him pursuing the lovers to the roof of the Opera, cloak billowing against the 20s Paris backdrop - stunning). Well, it filled a couple of hours okay and Melanie certainly enjoyed it.



On the movie front BBC4 is running a Mel Brooks night. In between shows Mel is on a link to Alan Yentob via the web. On the run up to the screening of the Producers Yentob asks him how the film was made. Well, says, Mel, there was a lot of hard work night after night, cutting those little square holes into the edges of the film... He then take a black comb and does a Hitler impression (hey, this is Mel Brooks after all - you know Hitler is going to end up in there even in a short link) and says that Hitler has been good to him. Not so good to other Jews but he's made a great living out of him for years...



I love Mel Brooks. Okay, so the last few movies may not have been that great (apparently he is trying to raise funding for Spaceballs 2 now - oh dear. Please, Mel, forget it and do History of the World Part 2 instead, I beg you - hell I'll even help you write some of it! My scripting rate are very reasonable.) but he's still Mel Brooks; if he was a city the UN would list him as a World Heritage Site. Dear old Mel is up there in my personal Comedy Pantheon along with Spike Milligan, the Pythons, Ronnie Barker, the Goodies and Bill Hicks. But now time for the Producers: all together now, "Springtime for Hitler and Germany; winter for Poland and France...". One of the funniest scenes ever in movies. And Mel has two other entries in my personal top ten of funniest movies ever: Young Frankenstein and possibly the funniest film ever made, Blazing Saddles.

White Christmas



Yep, it actually did turn out to be a white Christmas, at least back on the west coast anyway. This is the view from my parent's home. Generally I prefer living in the middle of the city but there's a lot to be said for living somewhere with a view, and the family home has a pretty darned good one, especially since it is built on a hill and so gets a clear view over the rooftops towards the extinct volcano range of the Campsie Hills, which I've biked over more than once (it was certainly easier in the old MG than the bike!). There are some flats in Edinburgh which command excellent views, even in the city centre, but they also command spectacular prices.







On Christmas Day the snow had hardened. Dad and I went out into the back garden to erect a new bird house (one of Mum's presents from Dad which she loves) and the snow on the back green was all crisp, cracking under our feet with a satisfying sound. Clear blue sky and bright sunlight but very, very cold. A little Robin redbreast came poking around the new bird house looking for some Xmas lunch - family home, snow, Robin; it was like a Christmas card! Sorry, didn't manage to get a picture of the bird since he was just too darned quick for me.







This was Boxing Day, as the setting sun began to turn the snow on the hills a rose pink. Sometimes you can see deer wandering around in the parkland near the fields, but they must have Xmas off since I didn't see any. The other picture is a really odd shadow on the clouds which was almost perfectly rectangular. Rather odd, but then again perhaps it isn't a shadow at all but some alien spacecraft on it's way to a seasonal anal probing session (or perhaps they were just beaming down to Glasgow for a really good curry).



It was a pretty quiet time actually - normally my folks play host to a fair chunk of the family for Xmas dinner but this year it was just the three of us. Naturally I was pampered and over-fed on my mother's fantastic cooking and baking. Almond and sunflower seed loaf covered in mushroom and herb sauce, all home-made. Nothing beats home-made, especially your mum's cooking! Some things you never grow out of (okay, there are a lot of things I never grow out of, but you know what I mean). Home-baked layers of shortbread with fresh cream and strawberries, garnished with freshly-made strawberry puree. You have to hold your spoon just so to crack the shortbread layers then scoop it up with the cream and the strawbs. Temptation to lick the plate clean is pretty overwhelming (yes, it is that good - you wouldn't raise your eyebrows if you'd tasted her baking!).



Managed (all too brief) visits to some of the rest of the family while I was back home too, which was great. Good food, wine, some nice pressies and best of all time with my mum and dad. Also found out my cousin Malcolm had just left Sri Lanka before the dreadful Tsunami hit the island. When you've had all that you have to ask who needs riches, really? Hope you all had a good time as well.

Fondest wishes



Dear chums and readers, it's almost time for me to head off back to the west coast and sunny Glasgow to be fussed over and fed wonderful home-made delights in over-large quantities. Snow is threatened and it may actually be a white Christmas which will give the hills you can see from my family home a nice touch (but makes it a bugger for travelling!). My best and fondest wishes to you all with peace and joy for most ... Oh, okay, for all! Have a good one, folks.





graphics courtesey of animated gifs.net - thank you

Speak to me



Reading on the Beeb today about a new talking search engine from a Scottish-based firm called Speegle. The results are read out (with a choice of voices) which to some may be a novelty but I imagine it could be useful for anyone who has vision problems. Tried a few searches but the site is very busy at the moment, no doubt with people like me trying it out :-). The voices are all rather artificial, which is not overly surprising - not quite Stephen Hawking, but certainly not natural either. However, taking the glass half-full view it could be seen as a step closer to a more natural human-machine interface - after all if the user were able to talk to the computer and hear the response it may make life easier, not only for visually impaired or disabled users but also for the increasing numbers of 'ordinary' folks who are getting web access but aren't overly au fait with IT.



When and if that happens can you imagine the accessories companies will offer us? Have your computer talk to you in a variety of famous voice: movie stars, singers, models. Perhaps you will have a small virtual representation of the person as well. Seem far-fetched? Well, look at the money being made from customising mobile phones now.



DOWNLOAD VIRTUAL VERSION OF MOVIE STAR AND SINGER MISSISSIPPI D'ORLEANS. VOICE INTERFACE MAC, WINDOWS, MOZILLA COMPATIBLE (VIRTUAL GRAPHIC AVATAR WITH REALISTIC FACIAL RESPONSES ALSO AVAILABLE, WINDOWS ONLY) - CONTACT WOOLAMALOO VIRTUALSTARS ONLINE NOW! TOP VIRTUAL STARS THIS WEEK: WINSTON CHURCHILL, MARILYN MONROE, KYLIE MINOGUE, LUCY LIU, HOMER SIMPSON. SPECIAL OFFER ON DAVID BLUNKETT, ROLF HARRIS. FREEBIE OF THE MONTH: HELP YOURSELF TO PARIS HILTON (YUP, WE HAVE TO GIVE IT AWAY). COMING SOON: BORG VOICES (AVAILABLE IN NASTY BORG OR SEXY BORG QUEEN); K-9; STEPHEN HAWKING. SINGING MODULE DUE EARLY NEXT YEAR - TEACH YOUR VIRTUAL VOICE INTERFACE TO SING (may not work with certain model voices).



And for more fun just think on those late-night cable adverts telling you of the amazingly gorgeous and sexy virtual girls just waiting to download and chat to you RIGHT NOW! And all the swapping of virtual interface stars via file-sharing sites - anyone got the adult-hacked version of Christina Ricci?Ah, technology, ain't it wonderful?

A time for giving



As they normally say at Christmas time. Found a good way to give the idea of a gift this year to some folks but help out others at the same time. Oxfam offer the opporunity to purchase a sort of vouchers deal in the name of other people. You select a 'gift' in the name of the person you wish and your money, instead of buying a shiny new toy or DVD movie will go to Oxfam. You can select a wide range of 'gifts', from ten quid upwards, including chickens, water purifiers, blankets. It's probably too late to get your voucher and card for Xmas now (I think I just made it) but for those of you who will be going to see relatives etc over the holidays but after the Big Day and you're still thinking what to I buy for my aunt/uncle/cousin etc who I see twice a year why not think on giving them one of these gifts? If you are a UK taxpayer they can even reclaim the tax to spend on folks who need it. What a bloody brilliant idea.

Neverland



No, not the dodgy Michael Jackson retreat where suspect actions are alleged to take place, but the nice version of Neverland as written by Scottish author J M Barrie. One hundred years since the first performance of Peter Pan is being marked. While not everyone can go to the play, you can check out the recent Johnny Depp movie Finding Neverland which was an utter delight. A warm celebration of the power of imagination.



And talking of delights, I caught Garden State last night and can tell you it deserves the high praise this debut movie is receiving - it has an unrushed, mellow feel to it and the notion of aimlessness and lack of direction and connection, of feeling out of place in your own life and equally out of place if you go back to your old home town is one many can identify with. Written, directed and starring Zach Braff, mostly known for the TV hospital comedy Scrubs and co-starring Natalie Portman (who is perfect in her role) it's highly recommended.

This year's Christmas artwork from the always-excellent team at Saint John's church in Edinburgh. This year they have taken the controversial topic of identity cards (which the disgraced former Home Secretary David Blunkett was pushing heavily along with various snooping legislation to 'protect' us all). They have cleverly mixed this topic with that of the Arab-Israeli conflict - the identity card reads Christ, Jesus, Nationality: Palestinian Citizen, DOB: 25 DEC 0000. I greatly admire the artwork the team here create throughout the year - they always call for peace, toleration, understanding and love between people of all cultures and belief, the abhorence of bigotry, hypocrisy, fear and hate, normally mixed with a wry and knowing humour and yet sometimes they attract complaints from those who do not (or choose not) to understand the message but choose to be enraged by it instead, something I understand myself. And yet every time they hit on a message that speaks to even a devout unbeliever like myself because they speak of simple truths that everyone really should know, so I don't think they should worry about slings and arrows from the complainers, because their message is good and I am glad that they mount these artworks here in the middle of the city (they also run an excellent fair trade shop, bookstore and a lovely cafe). No Christian I, but I wish them peace and best wishes for their special time of year.

only about 3.30 but there's the moon out already, hanging above the ridge of the Old Town while the sun sinks rapidly in the west. The shadows lengthen in the valley of the Gardens and the temperature drops even further as the brief daytime nears its close. The last rays of the rapidly dying sun make the sandstone of the Balmoral's clock tower glow; a warm, golden radiance in defiance of the approaching cold of the winter night. Neither encroaching darkness nor cold seem to bother the kid's in the Winter Wonderland who are having a great time. I pickup some very nice hand-made gifts from the German Market and the kind lady at the wooden toy stall gives me a nice wooden Christmas decoration with my purchases. She did the same last year too and was very pleased at how well-received some of their wooden toys I'd bought before had been. They really are wonderfully colourful and as traditional a children's toy as one could buy; so very different from the mass-produced, plastic novelties, I love this stall. The aroma of hot gluwein and freshly-baked waffles is in the cold air and there are unusual creations to marvel at in the booths.

Christmas in Edinburgh



Out to do some Chrimbo shopping this afternoon. Very cold, crisp and clear winter's day here in Scotland's capital; the sort of cold you can feel tightening the skin on your face, as if someone were pulling back the flesh of your cheekbones (vain people in LA pay for that sort of treatment you know!) and the breath of children and adults alike trails from their mouths like a little foggy afterthought to respiration. Met up later on with Melanie who was also in buying pressies and went for hot coffee and yummy chocolate-covered marshmallows (tastes so much better after a couple of hours walking in the clear, cold air).









The gorgeous carousel in Princes Street Gardens - a proper, old-fashioned carousel covered in gilt, with hand-painted horses and lights all over (yes, I've had a go before, I couldn't resist it. In fact I once took a date on it - I thought it was romantic, she didn't get it at all, no wonder that date went nowhere!). In the East Gardens, right next to the Robert Brother's Circus Big Top is an elve's village (I looked for an Arwen for myself but didn't find one) and these extremely relaxed reindeer who were utterly unperturbed by those of us with flash cameras snapping them repeatedly and children yelling).

Man does not live by bread alone....



Sometimes he needs to toast it. A great story in the Edinburgh-based Scotsman (you have to subscribe, but it's free) detailing a vision of Jesus appearing to an atheist in a toasted crumpet! Never had a religious appearance like that in my foodstuff although I did once think I saw a lion in my chocolate bar when I was younger. Then I remembered I was actually eating one of those old Cadbury's animals choccy bars... Perhaps religious leaders, always keen to brainwash - sorry, I mean reach out and connect to - young people could consider a similar choccy bar for kids but with saints instead of animals? Plain chocolate for the dour protestants, garishly adorned ones for Catholics. Islamic bars would have the problem of a sudden dip in sales during the holy time of Ramadan's fastings and police would probably keep confiscating them without charge all the time anyway.





Nah, I can't see it myself - most major religions seem to deal as much in human suffering and misery as they do in spiritual salvation, so chocolate delight is perhaps not for them. On reflection perhaps only the Buddhists could do it - after all, once you've eaten your chocolate bar you are left with a warm feeling of contentment and inner peace :-).



Rubber soul



On a completely unrelated tale in the Scotsman this week (at least I think they are unrelated, but with chocolate and sex who knows?) it emerged that the Asda-Walmart store in Edinburgh's Chesser area sells far more condoms than in any other of their stores - apparently one condom for every four square feet of shop space every fifteen minutes. No-one is quite sure why this should be so and I suspect some sexologists and athropologists are already planning papers on the phenomenon. I must confess that Chesser is only a few minutes from my own comfortortable crypt, but I cannot claim any responsibility in this matter

Xmas bestsellers 2



For those who have already devoured the Luigi Node (see earlier) may we suggest the Illiterati Trilogy by Robert Sheadams and Robert Adam Stilton? In many ways a forerunner to the Luigi Node in that it manages to pack in just about every conspiracy theory ever thought by any manic paranoid anywhere, the main plot crosses time and space as it reveals a stunning conspiracy to keep the general public blinded to the massive range of conspiracies being enacted all of the time thoughout history by distracting them with a huge book of conspiracies while immortal penguins plot the world's destiny unseen... I see plans within plans...



For the serious fantasy buffs there is the long-awaited new book in the Chronicles of Tommy Agreement, Silver Service Waiter; yes Stadam Robertson has completed the Spoons of the Earth at last. Our intrepid hero, Tommy, must seek our the fabled Spoons of the Earth or else the Great King's Banquet of the Mystical Healing will fail, leading to a breaking of the peace treaty, spilled dessert and a bad review in the local newspaper's food column.



The Singularity Beard Implosion from Radab Omerts tells the tale of an up and coming SF&F writer in Edinburgh who, after leaving his webcam on one night, finds his voluminous beard is actually writing much of his critically-lauded fiction while he sleeps. Soon it becomes apparent that the beard had more than story-telling on it's mind as it begins to engineer a singularity in human society by fusing cutting edge SF, real ale and the innards of an IPOD linked to the web via a live journal. Can young Chaz stop the beard before it's too late and those white IPOD earphones feed a single cyber-entity into every person on the planet?



With apologies to Charlie Stross for that last one and I'll stop abusing the excellent Adam Roberts' good name in these spoofs (sorry, Adam - I dearly love your books but with all the spoofs you've written recently you were the logical choice for a seasonal spoofing; spoffing is a contagious disease (and if you use any of these ideas for another spoof I want a cut!)).



Alas we do not have the time and space to discuss some of the other most popular books of the previous year, such as the lavish coffee table Fart of the the Discworld in which Terry Pratchett explains the role of flatuelence in his fiction; The Wife and Pie, a semi-surreal novel in which a young wife is shipwrecked alone in a lifeboat with a talking pie for company; the amazing novel Quicksilva which is an astonishingly well-researched and written novel woven around the history of skateboarding and surfing clothes and gear; the Famous Five People you meet in Heaven, in which a recently deceased man runs past his waiting dead relatives and friends when he gets to heaven because he wants to meet his favourite five dead heroes (including Jimi Hendrix and Ben Franklin); An Extremely Long and Tedious History of Nearly Everything in which the genial author explains the entire history of the universe in only 73 trillion volumes and not forgetting the remarkable Doctor Strange and Mr. Horlicks in which the Marvel Comics magician is relocated to Georgian Britain and teamed up with the maker of the malted milk drink to calm a mad king, fight devious Faeries and an even more sneaky and underhand foe - the French.



With even more apologies to the real authors abused for seasonal japery once more.

Living art



My former colleague Olly, who has long had an interest in street art, has now put up his urban art gallery, with stencils, spray etc included. Well worth a look - you've heard of the word on the street? Well, Olly's giving you the art to go with it :-). I especially liked this one for eldery passengers:





although I thought it may also be a warning sign that you are entering an area of people armed with two swords.

Do the Jabba



Nice piece on the Beck's (as in beer) Futures art prize on the Beeb's entertainment section - one of this year's entries is a performance piece featuring a life-sized Jabba the Hut (with bikini-clad slave gals judging by the picture). I was going to comment something along the lines of 'who said popular mass culture can't be high art?' but then realised I knew very well it was the Arnoldian school and the numpties who followed them.

Half-life



The excellent Cory Doctorow at Boing Boing brings us this tummy-warming image of Half Life cookies! Although, on looking a little more closely they do resemble the flag of the Isle of Man as well...

Affirmative



Voting is now open to all to select a contender for the Carnegie Mellon Robot Hall of Fame for 2005. One vote per person and you can select from real-world robots and science fictional ones (including Dr. Who's robotic chum K-9 and the great Bender from Futurama). Vote now before the machines take over the world and perhaps they may be nicer to you when they rule humanity...

Baby elf



Nice news for once - an article on the Beeb's news site tells us that the ethereally gorgeous Liv Tyler has given birth on Tuesday to a baby boy, as yet un-named (surely Aragorn must be a good choice?!?! Heh). Very good timing as well considering the extended DVDs of Return of the King have just come out a week ago and one of the key scenes is the one where Liv's character Arwen has a vision of the son she and Aragorn will have, should she choose to stay and if the darkness is defeated.

Folk remedies



Several chums and colleagues all offered various homoepathic-type remedies for my stinking flu. Echinacea and garlic were the most obvious. I have tried these before and found them to be as useless at curing flu as any flu 'remedy' bought from the chemists (garlic I love - don't believe all they say about vamps disliking it - but although it does have healthy properties it doesn't cure colds). Hot curries and chilli are good for preventing cold anf flus I have always believed and there is now some medical evidence to support this, claiming that the peppers help to 'burn' the germs and viruses. Obviously I have not been eating as many curries as I should have been.



Therefore on the way home from a dreadful day at work (I should really have phoned in sick but couldn't face the hassle this causes) I walked rather than catching the bus to get the blood flowing a little. Not far from my flat is a new bakery/pastry store, The Old Bakehouse, which also has an art gallery in the basement. Delicious pastries and artwork? Now how cool is that? Groovy. Anyway, I nipped into this little Italian-style bakery on the way home and treated myself to a couple of extremely fine pastries, one of which was a cream-filled pastry swan of the lightest choux pastry. It was my hypothesis that this was the homoepathic remedy most suited to my own peculiar physiology. I am uncertain that these luscious pastries actually alleviated my symptoms, but goddam it they made me feel so much better for a little while, administered (for medical reasons) along with several hundred CCs of damned fine coffee (Ariel may suckle at the caffeine teat of the Dr Evil's Starbucks company but I brew my own, and very good it is too - this month on the Sumatra Blue Lipsong from Whittards; so aromatic, each bean rolled on the thighs of native ladies). Naturally I had to share some of the cakes with Cassie as she is a Cakey Cat and she did the Big Eyes thing until she got some pasty to munch and some of the cream to lick, after which she curled up contentedly against me and purred, all of which didn't cure my flu but did make me feel so much better.



And fuck it, I wanted those yummy pastries. Okay? Any arguments? Better not be, you should never get between a Celt and his cakes you know. Mmmmmmmm.....cakes.......

Bestsellers



It's that time of year when we at the Gazette help your Xmas shopping lists by suggesting to you some of the bestsellers of 2004 from time to time. Top of the mass sales to huge numbers of non-discerning people was the Luigi Node by Adman Frown. A convoluted conspiracy thriller revolving around the legendary first man in the Renaissance who used Pi and the relation of the circumference to the circle to create the most perfectly rounded pizza (hence 'pizza pi(e)'). Within the mathematics governing this perfect pizza is a code which reveals the GPS co-cordinates for the location of the Holy Grail. After the code is found on a secret web site - the Luigi Node - it sparks a worldwide search in ancient locations in Egypt, Paris, Rome, Roslyn and Auchtermuchty. But there are shadowy powers who will stop at nothing to conceal the Truth. One secret organisation within the Catholic Church have already killed President Kennedy who knew the location of the grail and threatened to reveal it (why do you think his White House was called Camelot?) while Angels, aliens, crystal healers and the Rotarians all mobilise their own secret organisations to be first in the race.

Reconstruction



Cool toy for the discerning kid this Xmas comes via a story on Boing Boing - a CSI inspired skull for reconstructing the face. Just the thing if you want your kids to grow up to be reconstructive forensic specialists. Coming next Xmas presumably is the mass-grave body identification kit for kids of all ages. Fun for all the family !



Angry Red Planet



The great Kim Stanley - call me Stan - Robinson, who we've had the honour of hosting a couple of times in the bookstore, has written an interesting piece on Martian terraforming for Wired, while the equally great SF writer, Fred Pohl discusses the physical adaptations we may need to survive on Mars.

Stone-age sauce



Archeologists have pushed back the timescale on the world's earliest hootch. The record was previously held by a discovery in Iran dating back nearly 7 & 1/2 thousand years (how ironic some of the world's oldest booze-making equipment was found in a land now run by virulently anti-alcohol Muslim clerics. Maybe they're so uptight because they really could murder a chilled beer?). Now the latest find pushes the earliest alcohol making back to 9,000 years BP (Before Present as is the normal notation these days in archeology and related fields - don't say this blog isn't occasionally educational) with a discovery in China. Basically making booze is at least as old as human civilisation and probably predates it. Cheers. Amazing the fascinating facts you can unearth when you're stuck at home with a miserable flu.

Electoral shenanigans



Is there a mysterious link between the murky goings-on in the Ukraine's - for want of a better term - election? Adrock has found an astonishing link that the world's press missed - or perhaps they don't want us to know.... It's amazing the conspiracies a man with a big hickey can uncover when he puts his mind to it (may we suggest a cravat for the hickey?).

American Dreaming I had a dream recently where I was on holiday in New York, being shown around by my dear chum Lili, even although I know she lives in California, not NY. However, it was my own nice little twisted version of New York, all set on various hills, with lots of tall but crumbling Gothic buildings. Don't recall too much except for the fact Lili and her girls were taking me to a Masque ball at a brooding building which sat amidst an orchard of dead trees on top of a hill. The building was reminiscent of the hotel in The Shining and had once upon a time been a school for girls, but had been closed after a series of tradgedies many years before. The ghosts of many of the teachers and girls still walked the halls, which were, naturally, all lit only by flickering candelabras and we danced to a string quartet in our dark red and black velvet finery while the sound of little feet and faint voices were heard and the mirrors often reflected more than should have been there. Some folk may find this a disturbing dream but I loved it and woke up in a great mood.

Things ain't what they used to be



Or at least, so says Peter Bogdanovich, who is someone most folk will only know about if they are, like me, movie buffs. He has been proclaiming the lost art and craft of movie making and telling us all how modern movies are all CGI spectacle and hollow and worthless. In the case of some of the blockbuster-type releases I think he has a point, but not all use of CGI is to the detriment of a film - look at Lord of the Rings which managed to combine CGI, traditional model-making, special make-up and costume to deliver a film both sweeping and epic but with intimate, personal sections. Or the CGI used to re-create Rome for Ridley Scott's Gladiator. Or the clever and quirky use of modern effects by the likes of Jean-Pierre Jeunet in his films from the wonderful Delicatessen right up to the glorious Amelie (and I suspect in his new film due here in January). Besides the Hollywood of old that Bogdanovich mourns was more than happy to indulge in widescreen effects extravaganzas when it suited them, often subsituting spectacle for substance - Cleopatra for instance?



And leaving the effects aside, although many dire time-wasting movies are indeed pumped out the fact is that there always were plenty of mediocre films in the past too - he is being selective with both his past and present memory. What about Chris Nolan's stunningly intricate Memento? What about Bryan Singer's excellent The Usual Suspects? L.A. Confidential? Donnie Darko? American Beauty? These are all among my top twenty films and all are within the last decade or so. And these are just English-language films. What about world cinema? He doesn't mention it - either because he has no interest in it or else he knows it would contradict his diatribe of decay. What about Crouching Tiger or Hero? Cyrano de Bergerac?



There is always someone bemoaning the lack of quality in modern artistic endeavour. I'm sure someone probably went around in the 30s moaning about these modern talkies not having the heart of silent films. We get similar complaints in the world of literature. The truth is that there are always reams of mediocre output in all arts and mediums, but it is the fine, few jewels that shine out, regardless of the time. Imagination and love of craft are far from dead.



It's also worth noting that Peter needs column inches because he has a new book to plug. Or gee, am I being cynical?

Morning Moon



Slumped inside my big, black winter coat on the upper deck of the bus at 7am this week, heading along Princes Street. Pitch black - the sun won't be up for another hour and a half at least. In the east the v-shape made between Calton Hill and Arthur's Seat as you look along Princes Street frames a tiny bar of deep, cherry red against the darkness, signalling a distant sunrise on it's lethargic way. The city is at it's darkest in these last couple of early morning hours before the dawn. The floodlights which normally bathe the Castle on the Rock or the monumental buildings aren't on; the Xmas lights are all off (save for the huge tree on the mound) and you become aware of the large areas of deep darkness. There are few structures along the south side of Princes Street because of the large area of the Gardens which lie in a valley between the Old and New Towns and this also means few streetlights on that side either. This means there is a huge area of darkness, deep and unknowable right in the middle of the city, as if there was a strange shadow lying there. Raising my tired head the dim outline of the Castle and above it, visible only because of the lack of the normal lights was a slender sliver of crescent moon, right above the battlements at 7am, shimmering as clouds past in front of it then cleared once more. So little foot or road traffic then either, the whole city is at it's darkest and most quiet, a very different face from the usual masks the city wears by day or night. You can feel the age of this ancient city's stones, like a deep, dark presence which normally slumbers in the rock beneath the streets, in the old lanes and caverns and homes that were built over and then over again during the long, long centuries. The midnight hour may be the Witching Hour but the deepest, darkest time is in the heart of the Scottish midwinter, a few hours before a pale dawn.

Oh my Gentle, Gay Jesus



The moral minority have been mounting their High Horse of Indignation once more. A theatre group are staging Corpus Christi in Saint Andrews here in Scotland. Some Christians are outraged because the play deals with a homosexual Jesus and disciples. Okay, I'm not religious but I can understand that wouldn't be your cup of communion wine if you are a Christian. But if you don't like it why the hell go and see it???? And why then complain to the police and attempt to make them use the embarrassingly archaic blasphemy laws to try and have the play shut down? The same democratic rules which allow freedom of worship (which even I believe in regardless of my lack of religious belief) are the same ones which allow for freedom of speech. By making such a song and dance in the media these silly buggers have just raised the profile of the very event they were so outraged at to begin with! Numpties. And so nice to see what some of those protesting Christians who believe in brotherly love, turning the other cheek and in not judging lest they be judged were outside telling anyone who would listen that homosexuality was a sin etc, etc. Well, seems to me from what I remember dimly of the dire (and dull) Bible classes from childhood that one of the central tenents of Christianity is that everyone is a bloody sinner. And I also seem to recall that Jesus went among the people most estranged by the God-fearing religious crowds of his time, such the homeless, the ill and prostitutes because he felt deeply that everyone, especially those society turned its back on or held in contempt, had to be embraced.



Not a bad credo to live, regardless of your spiritual outlook and one which falls on deaf ears of many of those who profess to be followers of Christ. I can only assume that someone who had acted like that in his time would, if he were here now, go among the same outcasts again - the homeless and prostitutes once more (because in 2, 000 years they're still with us) and doubtless gays, lesbians, addicts and anyone else who needed his help. And as for the head of Christian Voice saying that no other religion is subject to this kind of thing because they would go bananas, well, he is partially correct in that Muslims would get a little stroppy (rather like the Christian Voice folk have in fact) but I think he's way off when he says Buddhists would explode! What sort of Fundamentalist Buddhists has this numpty been speaking to???? Don't recall Buddhists going on Crusades or suicide bombings. Ah, the whole thing leaves that ridiculous taste in the mouth left after the bollocks caused by Christian institutions on the release of Monty Python and the Life of Brian. It does make me wonder how weak is their faith that they can't deal with things like this without getting so hot under their starched collars? Surely if your faith was strong enough this would just wash past you? Indeed you could always just turn the other cheek.



Oh, and I had a quick look at the site of Christian Voice and was disgusted and sickened at their virulent homophobia. What happened to love thy brother? These people are the worst forms of hypocrites, using religion as a vehicle for dispensing hate-filled views. Well, they are allowed to have their viewpoint, but if they can spew this reprehensible hate out then they shouldn't be trying to stop other people from voicing (or performing) theirs. Like I said, hypocrites. Although I did agree partially with their quote from Matthew about man not living by bread alone. I agree with this - I would have some fine, farm-fresh cheese and some nice Brodeaux direct from my wee French guy's deli with my bread.



As a special peace offering here though I offer you all the lovely Christian joke from the book and film of James O'Barr's The Crow: "Jesus walks into an inn and hands the inkeeper three nails before asking him if he could put him up for the night." Yep, I'm sure they all think I'll burn in eternal damnation, but since my soul isn't as filled with hate as theirs I rather doubt it. Besides, Uncle Nick and I are on good terms you know (we often bump into him at the bar during Alice Cooper gigs - he has good taste in music but he does draw the line at hanging around with a fiddle in Georgia, which you really can't blame him for, can you?).

Mirror, Mirror on the wall



Not been paying enough attention to the extra pages on Neil Gaiman's blog - an announcement from publishers William Morrow that they will be publishing tie-ins to go along with the eagerly awaited Gaiman-written and Dave McKean-directed film MirrorMask which is coming via the Henson company and is (very vaguely) set around the worlds of Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal. Being a huge admirer of both artists' works I am dying to see what they produce. Most regular readers will have heard me raving about Neil's works over the years (and the occassions when I have been lucky enough to host author events with him, or even, shamelessly namedropping, being treated by the publisher to dinner after the gig with him) and the Alien has been pretty darned keen too (witness Ariel, James Lovegrove and I verbal wrestling because we all want to review the new Gaiman, although this did give birth to a rather interesting (and hopefully good) and unusual style of multi-person review/discussion). Dave I have never met but hopefully some day will. His artwork for the likes of the early Violent Cases or Signal to Noise is simply superb and his covers for all of the Sandman books are fascinating and beautiful. In many ways he reminds me of Terry Gilliam - not so much in his artistic style, but in his rather wonderful imaginative take on things. It will be interesting to see the film - I know Neil has been having all sorts of back and forth problems with various movie-related shenanigans over the last few years and it is good to see him working with a mate and long-time collaborator and with a very fine company such as Hensons, so I do hope it all turns out well for them both. You can see a trailer here.

Band-Aid



The new version of Band-Aid's Do They Know It's Christmas? has gone straight to the Number One spot in the UK singles charts (such as the singles charts are these days), although for some odd reason it's only available as an import in the US (although it can be downloaded). Naturally there have been some revisions to the original release from the mid-80s. When the new generation sing 'do they know it's Xmas time?' they then have to add to coda: 'yes, at least among the many Christian communities in Africa' while the line 'feed the world' now has the rider 'except for the parts now to unsafe to sned aid angencies into because of bloody stupid US, British and Fundamentalist actions'. Seriously though, feeding the world makes a hell of a lot more sense than bombing it. It's also much cheaper (grain is a lot less costly than guided weapons - although Bill Hicks once said why not use that technology to feed the hungry and have laser-guided bananas dropping from bombers?) and the end results tend to be more stable, i.e. people who have had their lives saved, are happy and grateful instead of resentful and full of hatred. Perhaps we should be asking Bush and Blair (both supposedly devout Christians, although I suspect Jesus would not care to share their views) is they know it is Xmas?



Seriously, I hope it does well, but the real shame of it is that this gesture is still needed, that Band-Aid and Comic Relief (only in Britain would we run a major charity by comedy, you have to love it). From that original single of course came Live Aid, which was just an incredible event for millions of us at the time; it really looked like popular culture and ordinary people making a difference in the teeth of disasters which governments responded so weakly to. And although the shame of the world governments is that this new attempt has had to have been made, it is not right to say the events of the mid 80s didn't change things - a hell of a lot of people are alive today because of those movements and that can't be a bad thing. Now if only our governments would put a tenth of the effort into helping other people instead of bombing them.

A slight case of overbombing



As the old Sisters of Mercy album once put it. Except this time the aircraft are really bombing for peace - the Thai government is dropping vast quantities of origami cranes (birds not the engineering variety) as a peace gesture. One of the more unusual stories this week. Critics say it won't do anything to calm troubles, but it would be nice to think it may. It certainly beats the sorts of bombs we've been dropping in a certain sandy land to 'bring peace'.

Movie time



What can I say about the Incredibles? Other than the fact that it is incredibly good? Yes, I can hear you all groaning from here, but I am contracually obliged to go for the obvious, bad pun. The story is excellent, with a first half which is probably a little dull for the youngest audience members but will ring bells with the older ones (past glories, lost youth, is this my life now? What happened to me?) and a wonderfully action-packed second half which manages to mix up family life with superheroics and supervilliany in a splendid mix. There are references galore for the trainspotters - the supervillian has a volcano lair with rockets and even a monorail system right out of Bond's You Only Live Twice. The animation is stunningly good. In fact it often doesn't look very CGI to my eyes (a problem is that no matter how good sometimes CGI is still obviously CGI); it kind of looks more as if they have filmed models, the texture and appearance seems so solid and three-dimensional, especially the exterior scenes. Animation and superheroes, two of my favourite genres fused and a witty script with excellent characters, how can you go wrong?



Caught I Heart Huckabees this evening with Mel. Another winner in the movie stakes, although even I consider some of it to be pretty weird and freaky, which is saying something. Very good fun though and great performances all around, especially from Lily Tomlin (nice to see her on screen again) and wee Dustin. There are several websites for Huckabees, including a pseudo blog written by Tommy Corn's character, which is the sort of nice touch I haven't seen on a film's web-marketing for a while (Memento, one of my top-ten movies, also made innovative use of the web medium). There's also one for the Huckabee's company and of course the existential detective agency at the heart of the proceedings.

Read



From the same people who bring you (among various charity sites) the Hunger Site, which regular readers already know because I periodically bang the virtual drum, comes a site very close to my little literary heart: the Literacy Site. As with the Hunger Site all you have to do is click on the donate button once a day. It is free and clicking merely opens a window with small adverts (not pop-ups!) for the companies who sponsor the programme. You don't have to click on the ads, but obviously it helps and I can honestly say I have picked up a few very nice and unusual gifts from them in the past. While the Hunger Site donations provide sustenance for the World Food Programme, the Literacy Site provides food for the brain and the imagination: it gives books to the poor.



I'm all for everyone being able to read (and not just because my living depends on it beign a bookseller but because reading and writing are among the highest accomplishements a human being may make. Reading and writing alter individuals, communities and entire civilisations. Reading rewires your brain and opens your eyes to the world) and am painfully aware that not everyone has equal access to books. I was lucky enough to have parents who took me to the library regularly since before I was old enough to go to school and who never tried to control or censor what I read; if I wanted to march into the adult section of the library and read something more challenging then they let me. Comics, magazines and books of every type, old and new. I can't imagine the person I would be if I hadn't been born a reader to parents who let me indulge in this. I doubt I would be writing this today. Without literacy we wouldn't have the web or blogs so actually no-one would be reading this. Books are the key to a literate society as well as simply being the most marvellously enjoyable objects, so why not go and click now?

Blue moon... You saw me standing alone... Without a deepspace probe of my own...



This was on the BBC's site this afternoon. This remarkable and quite beautiful image was shot many millions of miles from our little planet, so far even the light from it seems to dawdle slowly back to us. What little light there is, so far from the warming glow of our life-giving sun. This is the small moon Mimas, orbiting closely to the astonishingly beautiful rings of the giant world Saturn. The Cassini probe has just given us an incredible image to look at. Think on what you are looking at. Think on what it took to get this image from the cold, far distance of the solar system. Think on the fact that these are images no previous generation of humans have ever seen, beamed to us across vast distances. One day, hopefully, explorers will be there in person and take in this majestical vision with their own eyes. Science fiction? Only for the moment - but bare in mind the image you're looking at was the provence of the imagination only a couple of days before.

The Xmas craft fair is back in town. The German stalls are nearest my work, set up around the huge stone base of the Scott Monument with the aroma of fresh waffles and Gluhwein permeating the frigid air; bright lights and music dispel the winter darkness. More craft stalls and small booths along the rest of the West Princes Street Gardens, including the wonderful Cheese From Scotland, back once again. Down in the valley of the Gardens, between Old and New Towns the Winter Wonderland is out for the kids, with rides, booths and the open-air ice rink. In the East Gardens the roustabouts are busy setting up the Big Top for the circus, right below the Castle. The huge pine tree is up on the Mound and the lovely, plain white lights outline the stark, bare branches of the Gardens' winter trees. You can see your breath misting in front of your face and there is that wonderful feeling of tautness across your cheeks from the chill air as you snuggle into your warm, winter coat.



It's a joyful experience to wander here in the deep, dark night of the Scottish winter (this picture was taken at 4pm, to give you an idea of just how dark it gets and how early here; perhaps 4 or 5 hours of proper daylight, less if it is overcast - great for us Gothic vampish types! You can just see the last fading light to the West) - little oasis of warmth, light and life. It's even better when you're walking it with your parents (who have earlier treated their wee boy to lunch). And so home, feeling happy and with a bag full of mature cheese from Arran :-)

Silent Movie



Went to the excellent Lamb Chop concert last night with some chums at the Usher Hall here in Edinburgh. My first time for this very unusual - and often largely unknown - group; I went along on Brendan's recommendation. First time in all the many types of gigs I've been to where the band sat with their backs to the audience. But then the lights went down and other than the small glow of lamps to illuminate the music sheets you couldn't see them at all. Why? Well, you see Lamb Chop perform to film - silent movies actually. Not a live soundtrack per se, more of a performance of their music (kind of Indie, hard to define really) to the movie; a live musical-motion picture interaction in real time. The whole performance for me was enhanced by the fact the film was one of the greatest classics of early cinema, F W Murnau's Sunrise. A deceptively simple tale of temptation and love this remarkable film utilises multiple montages, model work, metonymy, overlapping dissolves, over-cutting of two distinct shots. Today these are all a part of any film-maker's reptoire, but this movie was made in 1927. Murnau - director of Nosferatu, was most certainly a man ahead of his time and it is easy to see why he was esteemed as a genius during the silent era of moving pictures. It's often refenced even today (it is one of the first film's the 200-year old Louis goes to see in Inteview With the Vampire). Add in some very good food in All Bar One (very nice bar off Lothian Road, marred only by the amount of people in suits and ties from the nearby financial district) and beer with some chums and you have a very good night.



The previous night saw the last official meeting of the year for our SF Book Group, where we discussed the Booker-prize winning author Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, which some of you who have been reading for a while may recall me discusssing last year because Atwood reacted with annoyance to reviews which referred to her book as SF. She responded somewhat haughtily that she did not write SF and it dealt with 'robots and rocketships' or words to that effect. So Oryx and Crake (and indeed hear earlier Handmaid's Tale) are not SF. Despite dealing with advanced genetic manipulation in a future setting, environmental catastrophe and a corporate-run world, it's not SF. How odd then that in many places it remined me of William Gibson. And there are many areas which seem to have grown from the fertile ground of HG Wells and the Island of Doctor Moreau. In fact there was almost nothing here at all which had not been written (often many times) by SF writers going back a century and a half.



This is not to say that the book is derivitive or bad however - far from it. It is an excellent read, taking these concepts and running with them, using an absorbing narrative whereby the events leading to the situation at the beginning of the book (a ruined Earth and humanity) are revealed in flashes, piece by piece, building to an interesting ending. As with the Handmaid's Tale I found this to be an excellent piece of SF writing. Sorry, Margaret, but it is SF... Although the important label to put on this novel is not the one of genre but of 'damned well-written, thoughtful story'.

Mutant Power!



Very pleased to see a book I thoroughly enjoyed and gave a glowing review to winning a major prize: Mutants by Armand Marie Leroi has become the first science title to take the Guardian First Book Award. The prize is worth £10, 000 and is likely to lead to a big increase in sales for a book which has been out for some months now, especially since Waterstone's are rushing out large scale-outs of the book to their stores across the UK (the judging panel also included input from some Waterstone's reader's groups - now wouldn't that be a nice thing for our wee SF Book Group to be involved in for SF awards like the Arthur C Clarke?). I blogged on the book back in the summer (seems so long ago now we are in the Bleak Midwinter), so I won't go on at length here - if you are interested my review is posted on the mighty Alien here.

It is interesting to note that the Guardian Prize has often bucked the trend of most major literary prizes in that it considers many types of book and not just the normal 'high literature'. The astonishingly good debut novel of high magical fantasy that I have raved about recently, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell was also in contention (an excellent review here by my esteemed colleague Andy Sawyer, a librarian but not an orangutan (although in his hearts perhaps he is)). Chris Ware's fabulous Jimmy Corrigan graphic novel won the prize in 2001, which set the literary tongues wagging - imagine, a graphic novel winning a literary prize!!! Gosh! Cue an increase in graphic novels sales and a huge increase in coverage in the (non SF) media waking up to what the rest of us knew for many years: graphic novels are often the repositry of very adult themes and remarkable story-telling. Dan Clowes and Joe Sacco were soon being discussed in the broadsheets. Naturally, those of us who know these things already had been selling large quantities of these books already, in effect running in front of the emerging bandwagon.

H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

Opening the books



Interesting note in the Bookseller this week to the effect that MI5 are allowing a historian access to write about an organisation so secretive it makes the Masons looks affably extrovert.

"The Security Service (MI5), the agency that deals with national security, is to open its books to historian Christopher Andrew for an official history to be published by Allen Lane in 2009.



Andrew "will be at liberty to present his judgements" about what he finds in the MI5 files. Stuart Proffitt, publishing director at Penguin Press (of which Allen Lane is the hardcover imprint), says: "No security or intelligence service has ever opened its archives to a historian as the Security Service is doing now." The book will be "the most important and influential book about British history in the 20th century for many years".



Andrew is professor of modern and contemporary history at Cambridge University. He is the author of several books on intelligence matters, and broadcasts frequently. His agent is Bill Hamilton at A M Heath."

Source: the Bookseller

Dare I suggest that they invert Donna Tartt's global best-seller title and call it 'History Secret'?? You'll note that the proposed publication date means it is likely certain Prime Ministers will have left office by then, just in case there are any more damaging stories about the misleading of Parliament and the British people on the road to war (alas, not the Road Less Travelled I am ashamed to say). Just coincidence of course. On a related topic one of hte internet job seraches I have going sent me details of MI5 recruiting recently. How times have changed - once upon a time our intelligence services were officially non-existent, although everyone knew about them of course. Then they placed bizarre ads in the pesonal columns of the likes of the Times and you had to solve it to track them down and apply. Or else you were recruited directly from Oxford or Cambridge because obviously that's where good spies come form, like Burgess or MacLean... Makes you wonder why they never thought about that, doesn't it? If the Old School network of Oxbridge graduates often turned out to be homosexual communist traitors why didn't Mi5 and MI6 think to recruit from perhaps Glasgow University instead?

Not as vital to national security perhaps, but last week's Bookseller also featured our own Alex, being given a jolly from publishers in his new role at Head Office. Nice picture of my former colleague Bob McDevitt of Headline who drove them all around Islay, home of the finest single malts in the known universe and various distilleries. And people whigne about the amount of free books I blag...

Neurosex



Aimless, nocturnal browsing (full moon keeping me awake once more, must have a good howl) brings me to this very interesting and artistic (as well as sometimes naughty) site, Neurosex. No, it's not a porno site, although it does have some erotic imagery - just have a look, it's pretty groovy.

Freakazoid



Go to the Dollhaus then check out the archives. I don't know much about art, but I know what I like and I love it freaky. Actually the first part of that is rubbish as I do know a bit about art, but then it wouldn't have sounded so good...

Naughty books



That got your attention, didn't it? Dirty minded lot! But I love you anyway. Came (so to speak) across an interesting book today called O: the Intimate History of the Orgasm by Jonathan Margolis. I would have jolly well thought it was an intimate history - most things conerncing this matter usually are. Quickly scanning the book I find my Fascinating Fact for Today, which is that right here in prim and proper 18th century Edinburgh there was, among the number of gentlemen's Clubbes one specifically for masturbation. Really, I'd have thought a proper gentlemen would have had a servant to do that for him. Well, I always knew there were a lot of wankers here, but I didn't know they took it so seriously. Lili apparently has a chapter all to herself, although I suspect it will have to be updated now that she has Mr C and all five speeds of her 'friend' working. On other naughty book news I realised that even an experience bookseller like myself can no longer tell the difference between teenage girls books and adult 'chick-lit' titles without checking the computer. Although on closer inspection the teenage versions are a little more grown-up and mature although littered with drug, profanity and outrageous sexual license references. This may save a generation of girls form growing into limpid Bridget Jones-type readers preferring something meatier, but it may also make them all drug-addled sluts. So, it's a win-win situation for us single booksellers, really. And I'm thinking Lili and Alexa have all the ingredients between their blogs to make a best-selling teen girls novel.

STATE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT - MUCH FUN HAD BY ALL

Today the ancient ritual of the state opening of parliament was performed as it has been in this kingdom for so many years. As with many of the ceremonies we hold in the UK this often perplexes our overseas readers, so we at the Gazette thought we should perhaps explain this venerable British ceremony to you.

After having a jolly nice breakfast and a read of the morning papers the reigning monarch – in this case her Britannic Majesty Queen Elizabeth II by the Grace of God, may God Bless Her and All Who Sail in Her – makes their way to the Houses of Parliament. After a robbing ceremony in the Lords section of the House, where she is surrounded by enormous artworks depicting our Glorious British History (such as Arthur, Merlin and other important aspects of our national history) the monarch proceeds towards the House of Commons.

The Commons is, of course, the chamber where the elected representatives of the People (those folk Prince Charles likes to keep in their place apparently) meet to hurl obscenities at one another. Some cynics say that it is just a chamber where Fat Cats fill in endless slips demanding money from the Gravy Train of Public Funds, but this is simply not the case – they have their offices for that. Since the 1600s, although the Sovereign is still the Head of State, the supremacy of the Parliament has been paramount (indeed this was made explicit by a rather vulgar man called Mr Cromwell who had a disagreement with Charles I about the exact role of the Head of State, which lead to the aforementioned Head departing from the Shoulders of State. He was a vulgar man, and if alive today would almost certainly be subject to penalty under the anti-yob legislation). As such, although Queen, she must ask permission to enter the chamber.

This has been done for centuries in the same, simple but dignified manner: her Majesty has her servant Black Rod knock on the Chamber door three times. For those unfamiliar with the archaic terms used in the British Parliament, the Black Rod is a public office from the Tudor period. Its exact origin is unclear but it is thought to come down to us from the time of the famous Queen Elizabeth and involves a large, strapping, black manservant and a very large Unicorn horn. Even Virgin Queens need some fun, you know. Why do you think the Unicorn is on our coat of arms? After Black Rod has knocked three times the Speaker of the House will open a slot on the door and whisper: “who’s there?” To which the Queen will reply with a most carefully crafted Knock Knock joke. Each new Opening requires a fresh new Knock Knock joke and the Queen’s Jesters in Extraordinary labour for many months to ensure a new punchline for each occasion.

This is followed by the Sovereign raising their voice and calling, “little politicians, let me in or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your House of Commons down.” It is worth noting that in the long centuries of parliamentary history here this threat has never, ever been carried out – even Henry VIII balked at it; it is more in the form of a ritualistic rather than actual threat. The Speaker of the House will now defend the rights of the House over the Monarch by answering, “Not by the hairs of your inbred chinless chinny chin chin.” (This part of the dialogue is most unfortunate given the age of the present Queen since it is well known many elderly women suffer form unsightly facial hair problems and are sensitive to the problem, although not, it should be noted, sensitive enough to shave). Having thus established that Parliament is therefore supreme over even the Monarch the ritual is concluded, except for several hours of procession in glittering costumes (well, Dimbleby has to have something to witter on about on the BBC coverage), a light lunch at which the Monarch shows there are no hard feelings over the old Civil War and Charles I head thing by supplying all the Members of Parliament with a Steak and Kidney Pie (or two for John Prescott) and a pint of Newton and Riddley’s finest (or four for John Prescott). There then follows the Queen’s Speech, which is not actually written by the Queen or anything she actually has any say in whatsoever as it is written by the government and details what they are going to do in the next session of parliament (well, maybe, if they get round to it – it’s kind of like electoral promises you see, some of it may be quietly dropped if found to be inconvenient or if Tony doesn’t like it).

THAT QUEEN’S SPEECH

As the full Queen’s Speech takes seventeen hours to conclude in full (including encores) and is as dull as a religious broadcast on Radio Belgium we thought we’d bring you the highlights. Her Majesty’s Government (by which we mean Tony and his select few unelected mates, we wouldn’t let those buggers in the Cabinet have a say, scruffy lot) shall introduce new Terror Legislation. This is designed, as the name implies, to Terrify the People in order that they will happily sign away more civil liberties, erode human rights legislation and deflect attention away from the quagmire of Iraq by Scaring the People Shitless so they’ll vote for anything if they think the government will protect them. And any security leaks in the meantime can be blamed on illegal refugees and asylum seekers. Why not? It worked very well for Cousin George over in the former colonies recently, you know. And he and Tony are such good chums. There were also vague promises to overturn the decay in our beloved National Health Service and education caused by the previous administrations, although we suspect that here they spin doctors, who do have a short attention span after all, forgot that they were the previous administration. There was also the correct quota of Humbug, a number of Blah, Blah, Blahs and the required number of Harrumphs as dictated by ancient protocol. This, dear overseas readers is why Britain is the Mother of Parliaments and is therefore better than everyone else, including her own citizens it appears and so anything Tony does in the world is okay. Really.