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Travels with my Ant

Is it now time to get on a plane here & get off there in some foreign land & all this instant coffee, fast food, instant travel enhances your life somehow?

We all need a break from our routines, but this writer has never had, & probably never will have, a packaged holiday.

I think back to my epic journey as a teenager from Tottenham Court Road, London to New Delhi & I wonder how that time spent on those dusty roads travelling at an understandable pace, helped me measure the distances & the changes in people, cultures, languages ….etc in my own head.

As a youth I enjoyed Laurie Lee’s ‘As I Walked out One Midsummer Morning’ & Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘Travels With a Donkey in the Cevennes’ & more recently Christopher Rush’s mirror journey ‘To Travel Hopefully’ (Isn’t that a superb title?).

Also I read Iain Sinclair’s ‘London Orbital’ & all of these books give first hand accounts of travel as it should be. They all move at their own pace & grant the reader great insights into the distance travelled.

In my own case it is a long time since I have gone any distance but drifting off on my hammock in the back garden, takes me back to all those places I have been in my life.

How fortunate I was to hit the ‘hippie trail’ when I did, as wars, politics, insecurity ……etc have closed down many avenues & countries that were once open to the independent traveller.

Lovers of the Artic Circle

If you like your love stories weird & cut up crazy then this is the movie for you.

I especially liked the fact that at least 3 different actors play the main characters in various stages of their lives.

Julio Medem creates a mental mash of coincidences, fate, love & a darn fine storylines, that mesmerises the senses.

Oh, I nearly forgot it exercises the brain & the mental processes as you try to keep a grip on what is happening.

Thinking Outside the Box(ing Ring)



Slight update from last week's ringside report. Total turnaround this week with exciting bouts including Alex Arthur from Edinburgh becoming the (Interim? what does this mean!) World Champion & a brave superb gutsy perfomance from Gavin Reeves out of the Calezagi camp & taking another world title for that gym.

Later big Enzio defended his title to a difficult opponent. I thought he was awesome, although our keith thought he was a 'pansy'?

Muswell Hillbillies

Lamenting the sheer lack of summer weather. Would Burt Bacharach have written ‘Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head’ if he lived in the west coast of Scotland. I think not!

Remembering images of better summers in gardens listening to the Grateful Dead’s ‘Dark Star’ (on vinyl) again & again.

Later in Muswell Hill gardens en route to Nepal in the early 70s & hearing a soundtrack consisting of endless Steely Dan & Joe Walsh’s ‘The Smoker you Drink’ (I can still hear ‘Rocky Mountain High as I write this!).

My memories of this period among the ex-pat community of Bankies deep in the heart of suburban London was a happy, carefree period in my life. The colony was founded by Dr Hart’s son (Mike?) & my ex-neighbour from my childhood, Harry McReynolds (who may still be in that area now?).

Most of the colourful characters have all drifted back, Alphonse De Zutter is living on the south side, Joe Clark, who actually arrived in Muswell Hill at the same time as myself but taking a different route. Joe lives beside me now & I see him almost daily.

In fact I hitched with a schoolfriend who is now a teacher in our old school.

It is easy to look back with the ‘rose-tinted’ specs, but there were dark episodes. For example, Welsh Viv fell onto a broken pint tumbler the result of over-indulgence. As I left for work as a demolition man the following day I left clear instructions for my flatmates to ensure that he got to hospital asap as he was bleeding to death. I returned from work & he was still there at death’s door. I picked him up & dragged him to the nearest hospital with one of the Clydebank Crouch End girls & saved his life.

I saw this as an omen & I suggested to my friend Martin that we should both return home to live another day. This we did. Later we were to have the same conversation in another part of London in a similar situation. I believe I saved his life that time.

Tartan Lancers of the Sacred Heart

Listening to Clive Palmers’ ‘All Roads Lead to Land’ (What does that mean??) & wondering what secrets he holds in that old brain of his.

He left a successful Incredible String Band, who were to play ‘Woodstock’ for goodness sakes. Off he went to Afghanistan. No one really knew of its existence in those days, where it was regarded as a forgotten outpost of the British Empire. A far cry from todays’ front page headlines, where everyone except George Bush perhaps, has heard of Afghanistan & Iraq.

Later on my arrival in Afghanistan, I could instantly understand what drew people to that fair land, what captivated them & what kept them there, stopping them from travelling on to India. This magical land was like a step back into time, a lost civilisation of the Victor, the Hotspur, Boys Own & Ripping Yarns. Feudalism & the Middle Ages right there in front of you. A pre-industrial society in all its glory.

Of course, I am dwelling on a past time that has disappeared. It was destroyed & it is now a land full of bogus ideologies & modern sophisticated weapons of mass destruction. When I was there all the military owned was moth-eaten WW1 greatcoats & pearl- handled blunderbusses.

As I am getting older I look with new eyes at these apparently doddering, solitary, quiet old men like Clive or Bert Jansch (who took another route through the Atlas Mountains of Morocco in the early 60s). I think of all those ‘Big Hills & Wee Men’ in the book by Peter Kemp.

Rant

People just don’t know how to behave these days. As my mate Jim would know from his experiences at concerts: everybody’s talking, but no-one’s listening.

This is what should happen in order for communication or dialogue to take place: I speak & you listen & then I stop speaking & you have your opportunity to reply & I will then be a listener. It’s about communication & more importantly respecting & valuing the other person’s view.

All the rules that made me what & who I am e.g. not speaking while eating………….etc… are all ‘oot ra windae’. Why?

Is it the pace of life now? There is no excuse for bad manners. If my wife & myself forget & try & speak while eating, we are often corrected by our son. Good. At least he has been brought up properly.

Listening to the kids in the street the other night, I had a ‘Road to Damascus’ moment. I realised why there was this total cacophony of chatter: like monkeys. No gaps in between voices. It’s all ‘me me me’.

Maybe it’s the lack of 2 parents, teachers with no power to punish, no fear of God, no respect for elders, the additives in the food, the steroids in the fast food, or a combination of all the previous excuses.

Tight Connection to My Heart

Weeks left before I say goodbye to my Granpa Beattie, who used to sit & smoke his briar on a seat in the park, where the current Clydebank College lies. I can still see & remember where we both sat 50 years ago. This time I am puffing the briar, the seat has gone, the park is still there, but the college is on the move & sadly I am going with it.

Strangely enough he is coming with me as we are now moving to the spot, where he used to work. My own father worked in the same shipyard. My great grandfather just worked across the road in the public cludgie. He was only to leave his place of work to get married for the 3^rd time @ 82. This meant his son & grandson (my father) would have taken the day off work to attend his wedding. All these old ghosts are around me as I write.

Jazz Rock

When will that jazz rock revival take place. No, I don’t mean acid jazz.

I don’t really need the revival as it’s never really gone away from our house. To be truthful recently I have managed to get some longed for classics like If I & If II & a live If album & some decent Brian Auger cds. I have always listened to Soft Machine & the offshoots & Blood, Sweat & Tears & early Chicago (i.e. only the Chicago Transit Authority (the first) album.

I have also recently got my hands on some Graham Bond & Nucleus cds.

Then there was all that jazzy stuff from the Vertigo label that has appeared at our place…..e.g. Accolade, Gracious, Affinity, Bob Downes………….the list goes on…….even more mainstream artists like East of Eden & High Tide had a lot of jazz raga happening.

Boxing

A slight departure for these pages, but I feel that something has to be stated about the sport in the UK.

Last night although I am a big Amir Khan fan, I was hoping Willie Limond would have held onto his Commonwealth title as Scottish champions in the sport are rather thin on the ground these days due to the silly antics of Scott Harrison.

Although it was a terrific contest the young challenger won. Deservedly so in my opinion.

The next fight on show was an absolute travesty. I am not a fan of Matt Skelton as he just uses his 40 years of fat & evil to bully his opponents. He did so last night to Michael Sprott. This was without doubt the worst heavyweight fight I have ever seen. It is embarrassing that this is the best Britain can produce at this level.

I cannot remember a period when the UK had such rubbish pretending to be heavyweight boxers. I mean Audley Harrison, what a shambles.

Let us hope that Alex Arthur does his country proud next week. Scotland seems to produce some superb lighter weight fighters, I don’t know why, but I am glad that we have boxers to be proud of when they get into the ring.

Grannie was a Twister

As I got Mrs B up to dance yet again @ a recent wedding reception, lots of mixed images flooded my muddled brain.

Maybe this is what happens when you get old? I have also been listening to the ‘Kill Bill’ soundtrack & I think that Quentin Tarantino is as cool as brazil bossa nova.

I decided that ‘the twist’ was the appropriate dance for the Beatles song that the awful band were killing. I smiled as I pictured John Travolta & Uma Thurman dancing to Chuck Berry’s ‘You never can tell’ in the movie. I watch this scene often as it’s so ‘way cool’.

Also if you ever saw Ringo Starr doing the twist you will understand how well it could be done.

Further memories crept in as the reception was held at the Grosvenor Hotel at the top of Byres Road. We lived in a dodgy basement flat underneath when we were first married.
We had such an insane time in that flat & friends including 2 Glasgow Palestine Human Rights Campaign activists & 1 of the happy highlanders have been close friends since then.

I even had a ‘near death’ experience there & I was taken across the road to the Botanic Gardens to chill. We re-lived this event by my wife sitting on the steps outside the old haunt & I cut across to visit one of my favourite flower beds.

This was what brought on the strange smile as we twisted the night away.

Lost My Marbles in Elgin

A quiet weekend away in the high lands with both boys, my wife & my future daughter-in – law. Big thanks for the happy highlanders putting up with such a huge invasion of southern softies.

We did the usual touring route from Aviemore, Granton, Forres, Findhorn, but my life fell apart as we crawled towards Elgin. The power disappeared from my car.

I phoned the breakdown service & it cost me an arm & a leg for blue overall man to sniff the engine & tell me my clutch was goosed. My solutions to my problem were scary, spiralling costs. Nothing would happen until Monday at the earliest. It was Saturday afternoon, so we bit the bullet, fortunately my future daughter-in – law, had her car so all us fatties piled into her economically- spaced vehicle.

We pushed on towards Spey bay regardless.

My younger son wished to visit all 10 million distilleries in Morayshire so we had a circular route through the county. On the Sunday afternoon it was so weird being deserted by my family as they headed back to bankieland & I was left to try & sort out the car situation. I was left in the company of a mad dog, an aged cat, a family of red squirrels, a family of starving ducks & ducklings, a fieldmouse, 2 woodpeckers & assorted finches & tits.

There was plenty of surreal news on the tv about suicidal doctors & all the trappings that comes with such an event, e.g. panels of experts in terrorism, explosives, psychology, islam etc…Weegies desperate for their cheap, Spanish booze & fags remarked on the fate of the burning man ‘Let him burn’. Meanwhile neds in both old firm tops pranced behind serious reporters as per usual.

Eventually late on Tuesday the car was ready & my friend from Aviemore paid for the repair on his card & then took me up to a garage, that was supposed to be on a road parallel to the main road, naw it wisnae! I had to look out for an old Castrol Oil sign & the car keys would be underneath. It was like one of those old Cold War spy thrillers.

The long journey south was equally surreal as the light started to fade & as I approach the Hermitage I saw a hovering haar, that I had to enter with my hand gripping the steering wheel and my nose pressed to the windscreen. I had to stop as I had forgotten to eat or drink for ages. Fortunately me compadre had supplied me with the aged cat’s dinner of smoked salmon in sandwiches & I had a boot full of soft drinks.

I guess I was a little more edgy because the car battery had been disconnected & I only had my own zany thoughts for company.

Fish on Friday

Life can be so strange sometimes. I was expecting my friend Linda to drop off some Ling from Mull. As I had been up north, she had frozen it.

I had told my wife & son that she would be coming up with the fish. I had nipped into another room when a woman arrived at the door stating here is your fish that is £3.90. I managed to intercept my wife & son on their way to pay for fried fish from the Ferry Fryer.

I asked the woman what was the name & address for the delivery. The address was hours, but the name was for 2 of my neighbours across the road. This is a problem when most of the neighbours in your street are related to each other!

Anyway, the Ling arrived later & it is a gift. However, this was not the end of this silly episode. I had told Linda we had huge pampas grass in the garden (Linda laughed at this as she is sure it is a sign of a ‘swinger’- not true in our case, by the way), however I have since realised there is another house further up the street (not related to us at all!) who have pampas grass in their ‘swinging?’ garden.

Finding space in our freezer can be a challenge sometimes, especially for a bag of huge fish. However my wife issued a sharp karate kick, that not only pushed the fish into a gap but also broke the freezer drawer. Her reply was those drawers break very easily. It’s a mad, mad, mad world.

Do the Funky Chicken

Finally got around to seeing Electric Chicken Feathers live. What an experience! I caught them @ Rio Café in Partick, a café that is supposed to serve the best coffee in Glasgow.

I even managed to drag my wife along & she hates jazz. Without a shadow of doubt ECF are the best Russian Jazz duo playing in Glasgow at the moment. Catch them if you can.

I am trying to get Leo, the keyboard player to listen to Jimi Tenor, as I feel an injection of bizarre, Finnish, Funk into the repertoire, would enhance the experience even more.

As usual in Glasgow, people just talk to each other & I was discussing the healthy state of Scottish jazz & how it has always been the case in my memory. The older chap at the next table & myself were sharing memories of Saturday afternoons in the Amphora, Sauchiehall Street listening to big band jazz.

We also talked about my favourite jazz topic, i.e. the difficulties of trying to find British jazz of the 60s, 70s on cd.