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Time to sort out the guitar porn - acoustic, rock, and actual jazz mags.
A small tower block of these things have been sitting in boxes for years. Kept for their guitar tabs, tips and techniques, unused and clinging as if a papery white elephant. Carried from house to house like some Sisyphian boulder as I've moved further and further up the hill.
The thing that has prevented me putting them in the recycling has been my attachment to the guitar tab they contain. Tab that I can't part with even though I haven't looked at it since the magazines were closed and put to one side after being read soon after they were bought.
Many of the magazines are from the late 80s and 90s. In fact many of the artistes featured are also now late. The guitarists may be dead but the music lives on, some of it. Quite a lot of the music sits mute on the closed pages.
Below is one of the more recent magazines. This features Tony Iommi and is from December 2000, it also doesn't happen to have any tab, so easy to dispose of. Unfortunately I can't recycle this immediately as someone else in the house has an interest in Dave from Slade and there is an interview with him within, however unlikely that may seem.
Binning this issue will have to wait. In the meantime I'll continue cutting out the tab from the others, putting that to one side, and disposing of the unwanted material. This will create a smaller pile of magazine detritus that should create less of a cognitive load whenever I have to consider tidying stuff up. I might even get round to chucking it out anyway - after digitising it perhaps...*
* Bloody hell, how much effort would that take!
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After years of study research has finally been published, in the Gazzetta Medica Italiana, of the effect of late night snooker watching on the enhancement of theta brain wave activity.
A number of longitudinal observational trials were carried out across a range of cohorts including control groups. The control groups were particularly tricky as it was necessary to make that cohort believe that the game they were watching was snooker when in actual fact it was golf. The control required a huge amount of effort and lifelong deception, which is far too complex to go into here but is recounted in The Chrononomicon of Machiaveli the Eye Distractor. Golf was chosen as the control due to the games interminable dullness and the possibility that it would send a viewer immediately to sleep.
The longitudinal trials confirmed the theory that theta brain wave activity was entered into more rapidly and with much deeper effect after watching late night snooker.
There was further anecdotal evidence that the activity also promoted weight loss, relaxation, and short term memory improvement, as well has having some type of effect on erectile dysfunction. Although on second thoughts I may have turned over two pages of the published research by mistake.
My own anecdotal experience appears to bear out the research - the sleep related research. Usually I find it is impossible to have a full night of uninterrupted sleep, it being common to wake three or more times. And this disturbance is not due to noisy neighbours or pre-nocturnal fluid intake. However after watching late night snooker for three evenings in succession I have had three solid nights of sleep, which is pretty impressive.
Case solved.
In conclusion I suggest that the Snooker World Championship should be held continuously throughout the year, particularly the semi-final stages.
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A relaxed afternoon for the fox family on their day out.
Here we can see the youngster sunning itself next to a bench in the light drizzle.
The adult is taking a comfort break in the raised bed.
A delightful scene of rural idyll presented to us in our work environment.
This type of thing doesn't appear in any of the listed workplace benefits.
It is one of the things that adds charm and joy to the working day.
And if I can train them to operate a mouse, a keyboard, and score tenders it'll be a double win.
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There's a lot to be said for brevity.*
* The lengths some people will go to for a crap pun...
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Furring on your parts?
A crust forming where you don't want a crust?
Tarnish on your shiny bits?
Lack of adequate maintenance is a terrible thing, always keep up with your cleaning, polishing and fettling.
This poor guitar has spent over a year away from home and has degraded slightly.
I'm not suggesting that the time away caused the problem, no, it was already in need of a clean.
And not just a clean, both the humbuckers have gone microphonic.
Years of abuse, gigging conditions, and an aggressive technique involving punching the strings contributed to this state.
So it's time to check the electrics, replace one of the pickups, and fit some string trees.
Once that's done get out the Autosol, the quad zero wire wool, and the mildly abrasive brush.
Reassemble, restring, plug it into the Big Muff and the Tiny Terror, turn up and let harmony reign.
I suggest antibiotics or statins for the furred parts depending on whether internal or external.
A closer view of the Fender System 1 tremolo.
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It was only after returning from the shop at 8am that an additional meaning occurred to me.
Up until that point I'd only considered 'disk' to be the word on this hilarious free IT advertising t-shirt.
Ideal for slobbing around at home, less ideal when purchasing fresh fruit and veg.
The 'figured t-shirt'.
Fortunately almost all the other of my fifty or so t-shirts don't have alternative interpretations.
Other than to suggest in the eyes of some that I might be slightly past t-shirt wearing age.
That will be the cardigan that gives that away.
Sod that, if some wear purple then the t-shirts shall be around for a while.
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Side cutters, the right tool for the job.
Assuming the job is removing the trailing wire from components after soldering.
Or things of a similar nature, such as these items as suggested by social media:
Nasal hair, ear hair, an unwanted intrusion from a finger through a letter box.*
But not for use with integrated circuits, an example being the NE555. use a socket for those.
For their ideal purpose they really do speed up the job.
* Not really sure about that last one, maybe I shouldn't canvas public opinion next time.
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The neighbour cat has returned.
Hurray!
After suffering a nasty injury he had to be kept indoors for nearly a month.
He's now back on form, the only sign of the unpleasantness is a large patch of shaved fur.
He got a tickled under the chin, did a roll, chased a bumble bee, then posed for the press.
Marvellous.
Unfortunately he couldn't help with the weeding.
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Hearts beating all around, tiny hearts fresh out into the world.
Soft.
The environment is filled with hard, sharp edges.
Corners on corridors.
Rectilinear.
No place to sit.
Unless you are a producer or a product.
Heartless.
This standing around works up a thirst.
Maybe there's some Coke in the machine downstairs.*
* Will this do?
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Creaky old boots need gentle treatment to get them back up to speed.
So why not, after smearing on some saddle soap,* go for a swim.
You'll find it's a good, full-body workout, and develops aerobic capacity as well as strength.
With the right technique some of us old boots can glide through the water much faster than those much younger.**
Assuming you know which stroke you are best at...***
And it does wonders for your ability to pick up verrucas.
* Are you sure about this part? - Ed.
** Most people aren't taught to swim with even a fraction of the efficiency they could achieve with slight improvement to technique.
*** My breast stroke is faster than most can swim front crawl, my front crawl however is slower than a three legged tortoise in a queue for the bar.
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After tedious slog up the western face the task force arrived.
Flag planted they stood back and admired their work.
With no wind the flag hung limp.
At that moment one of the more observant of the group noticed they'd planted it next to a Police Station.
It turned out the hill was already occupied.
They might have noticed that if they hadn't spent all day staring at their feet.
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The sunny compound of our minds traps us.
Bright shiny thoughts, dark brooding, blame laying, responsibility burdening, annoying-tune carrying thoughts.
These thoughts and many more of our own choosing sit growling at us and stop us getting through the door.
No they don't.
This is not some cheap and populist manual of self-help.
Just pull yourself together.
Tsk.
Honestly.
Some people.
The CIA haven't attached electrodes to your soft, squidgy bits.
You aren't being waterboarded.
Get over it.*
* Dialled in from a secret hideaway, will this do?
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Here it is, years in the building, seconds in the uncovering, my subterranean super villain lair.
14 double decker buses in length, in tribute to Evel Knievel.
The height of a football pitch, if balanced on one goal end.
It has the volume of the number of blue whales that can be arranged in formation around the M25, nose to tail.
Primed to launch fuzzy felt missiles equipped with warheads made from Space Dust.*
Commanding magnificent views of hills, trees, and a cement factory.
It really is bloody magnificent.
However, I've reached the limit of my super villain powers.
The time has come to allow someone else the joy of owning this delightful country retreat.
Basically there's a bit of damp and I can't afford to sort it out, no reasonable offer refused.
* Traditional, 1970s Space Dust, not this piss-poor non-carcinogenic Pop Rocks stuff they sell now.
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I can see it.
But then a camera lens is no match for the eye.
And a phone camera lens even less so.
There on the horizon, propellors, making the wind.
Today the propellors are facing me, and the clouds are approaching.
Clouds spurred on by human endeavour.
Past the Arts Tower and up the hill over the houses.
Why are we doing this?
It's part of a program of climate re-creation.
Since we've broken the climate the natural functions have to be manually assisted.
If we don't manually assist then the consequence is extinction.
So we fake it.*
Can you see it?**
* Like this - be aware, this does not hold for those with autism spectrum disorders, let's hope the planet doesn't have ASD.
** Not literally.
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One of the steepest streets in Sheffield, Blake Street.
Across from the bottom of Blake Street is the former residence of Ebenezer Elliott 'the corn law rhymer'.
The pair of chimneys on the top of the Georgian building popping up in the foreground, that's the place.
Obviously if I had a better picture available it would be here.
If Ebeneezer had taken a glance out of one of his many back windows he'd be looking up that hill.
History doesn't record what impact that may have had on his rhyming.
Maybe he only ever looked out of the front.
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Carrying a notepad doesn't always appear to be practical.
Rain, wind, lack of writing implement, these can all be issues.
Are there other options?
Yes.
Why not get a digital recording device.*
You can then walk down the road, chatting away to yourself.
Basking in the glow of admiring glances from those that recognise a free spirit unhindered by embarrassment.
The last sentence may not reflect reality.
And just like a notepad the only time the device will get used is for the recording of the words.
Rarely ever will it be reviewed, listened to, or acted upon.
This message will self destruct in five seconds.**
* Lovely isn't it.
** This isn't one of the features of the pictured device.
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Imagine you are on a bus.
No really, people do use buses, give it a go.
Just imagine - you don't actually have to use one.
The seat is, well, just like a normal seat on public transport.
Not the most comfortable seat but cushioned enough to prevent sudden onset of haemorrhoidal discomfort.
Your head starts to nod with the rhythm of the engine.
The nodding coincides and resonates with your brain's delta waves, the frequency is emphasised and reinforced.
The hybrid engine flywheel soars away over the rooftops.
You have started to daydream.
You are a stroppy teenager and have been asked to wash up.
The pots are washed in an inept and half competent manner.
There is food still attached to the washed plates.
Due to your stroppiness the lack of care is interpreted as an attempt to get out of future dish cleaning duty.
Has this ever happened, has anyone ever really done that and thought they could get away with it?
The bus goes up on two wheels as it traverses a roundabout at speed. This only happens in films, you are dreaming.
Surely such Machiavellian, cultivated, calculated incompetence doesn't happen in the real world?
No, let's not engage with that.
The answer is - those aren't clean, they need washing properly, please do so.
From within a dream that is an easy answer.
Oh, we've just landed after jumping a fly-over, that was a surprise, surely there should be safety legislation.
This could easily happen without stroppy teenagers.
It depends what the aim is and how strong the desire.
Silly power games.
Energy drained.
No benefit realised in any quarter.
That didn't happen.
Don't engage.
Those aren't clean, they need washing properly, please do so.
Put the boot in, gently and firmly.*
* And then you wake.
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Hard on the heels of an incontinent King Charles Spaniel the pursuit begins.*
Then pursuit stops after the realisation that incontinence could mean either of two things.
And it is decided that a more considered approach should be used.
An approach which doesn't include any form of pursuit.
So we pause the sprint.**
* I've no idea what sort of Spaniel it was, but it was a Spaniel.
** Paws print, paw prints, poor, piss poor.
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Location: The Jessop Wing of the Royal Hallamshire, a maternity hospital.
For a building that opened in 2001 the geometric designs on the floors are rather 1960s.
And what's wrong with that, quite a few of us date from the 1960s.
For goodness sake, there's no place for ageism here.
Go on, bugger off if that's your attitude.
Still here?
Ok, good.
Understanding of geometry goes back over 2000 years.
No doubt Euclid used this understanding when inducing labour in ancient Greece.
It's a little known fact that on his days off from the geometry factory Euclid aided in the birthing of the new populace.
So it all makes perfect sense, the circle is squared.
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Listening to the news where journalists allow the PM to define and lead the narrative.
What a pile of crap.
Any chance of some analysis you chimps?
It's interesting how much of the income of these already wealthy folk comes from rental.
Here are some houses in Clegg's constituency, maybe he can tip the PM off.
If they want to reduce their profits to the pittance they'll get from rental in the North it might reflect better.
And with their brass neck they could claim it as a philanthropic act.
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It's probably impossible to tell the difference between these two pictures of the same neck. To the naked eye they actually have quite a different appearance.*
A result of long delayed maintenance...
The top neck has had one application of lemon oil to rejuvenate it.
The bottom neck has had a second application.
On opening the case a few days ago the fretboard had become a grey colour. This is not recommended as it is a sign of the fretboard drying out, and so emergency countermeasures were implemented. This second application of oil may be enough for the moment but I'll give it a few days and see if it has retained that more natural, rich look.
However, there is another small matter to attend to, and that is the tarnished frets. They've taken on a pretty manky appearance, they should be bright nickel silver. Once the fretboard has settled down I'll mask that off with tape leaving the frets visible, then using a metal fret guard on top of that I'll clean and polish the frets back to shiny glory.
Supposedly it is not possible to have too many guitars. That's ok as long as they're been played and cleaned almost continuously, but the reality is a person has to eat, sleep, and go to work. Boo.
* And the original images show a difference, this difference appears less pronounced above.
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Clearly the colour is incorrect.
The Blades are red and white.
The only time these blades will have that appearance is after a rushed shave.
As it states on the insert "Now Britain's Best Blade."
Who does that appellation belong to now?
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A visit to the Jessop Wing of the Royal Hallamshire Hospital.
No, I am not pregnant, this visit was for other purposes.
Take a look at these, you'll probably have seen some of these before.
Yes, the Ishihara test is familiar.
And this is the City University Colour Vision test.
I can see, I can see!
Excellent, you are a textbook and are ideal.
Yay, I win, or something.
Now to freak out some medical students.*
* And get paid fifty quid in the process.
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A highly polished Bulgin knob.
That's a really unfortunate set of words.
And why do they put their name in quotes?
No, don't get distracted by that.
Back to the description.
It's almost as if Julian and Sandy were put in charge of product naming.
This is the first time I've noticed the innuendo - the knob is of the same vintage as them.
Let's play the piano in our country abode.
"What a miracle of dexterity at the cottage upright."*
* As heard on Round the Horne, no that isn't my name (even though it is).
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You gotta flip it to spin it.
Smash My Face Hits.
No, that's not it.
Free with Smash Hits, John Foxx's My Face.*
Underpass, that's one of John Foxx's more well known tracks.
This isn't that.
This is this.
My Face.
On the cutting mat.
It's flexi time.
* A high definition version of this flexi-disk is available on request which can be used for the purpose of testing digital image recognition to play the analogue track data.
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Some notes from the top of a dam wall.
Spontaneity has taken a walk.
All things are now predictable.
The government vetoes EU tariffs on Chinese steel.
Masses of state subsidised Chinese steel floods the market.
The government detests nationalised industries.
So there is little chance of nationalisation, more chance they'll be bought up by the French or German government.
So in national ownership, just someone else's.
And the benefit of running a nationalised industry is lost.
The worst affected places are those with governments that have little interest in infrastructure industries.
This still isn't a surprise.
Welcome to selling the country to the lowest bidder at the expense of home grown business.
The only things left in a few years, particularly in the north, will be heritage freak shows.
Look, this is what a library used to be like.
Look, this is what industry used to be like.
Look, this is what a health service used to look like, how quaint.
Look, this is the 17th century hovel that is the only thing you can afford.
You may be fortunate enough to have inherited piles of cash that have been sloshing about avoiding tax offshore.
Bully for you.
Then you will be able to afford health, books, and somewhere to live.
Whilst the breadth of industry that has been deliberately undermined by our leaders has spontaneously combusted.*
* This is a string of random sentences the like of which, converted into years, ought to be handed out to the bankers and politicians that have been robbing the country blind.
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Nothing is stored here.
If you have lots of nothing then this is the place.
Particularly if your nothing is underlined and exclaimed.
Let's sing a refrain in praise of this new found and infinite storage location.*
I got plenty of nothing
And nothing's plenty for me
I got no car - got no mule
I got no misery
Folks with plenty of nothing
They've got a lock on the door
Afraid somebody's going to rob 'em
While they're out making more - what for
I got no lock on the door - that's no way to be
They can steal the rug from the floor - that's OK with me
'Cause the things that I prize - like the stars in the skies - are all free
* I'm looking forward to the episode of Storage Wars which was recently filmed here.
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Straight let or carrot, this jeans manufacturing plant is right on your doorstep.
Up on the hillside there's cotton which hasn't been populated by boll weevil.
This fresh cotton is mashed up by local schoolchildren who are doing work experience for a local jeans baron.
The denim weaving process is done by redundant mill workers shipped over from Lancashire.
Denim sheets are then fed through the razor fence, as seen below, and cut to size.
The fresh cut denim is then conveyed into the leg-pipes and calibrated for fit.
At this point the process is almost complete.
For custom taste, for that fresh waxed hipster look, the legs can be turned up and ironed to suit.
Derbyshire has such versatile landscape.
Brought to you by the hill, reservoir, and valley marketing board.
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One of the highlights of life, a four leafed clover, blackbirds singing on a summer morning, the triple nut.
What a treat.
Usually in life a single nut and a washer will suffice, here however we have a nutritious triplet.
And no special tools are required to access the protein packed delight.
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