Reet Petite

I'm afraid it's time for this blog to undergo a major philosophical shift, to alter some of the preconceptions and assumptions about reality that have underpinned it from its first sprouting of vaguely-music-related nonsense, back in 2007. In short, the moment has come to confess "I was wrong" about so very, very much.

Today, in fact, this blog will experience what I can only describe as a "Top Gear" moment. Although without any of the enormous success, viewing figures, awards, salaries, etc,etc that Top Gear has garnered. Obviously. Or indeed Jeremy Clarkson's supreme displays of "wit" and "wisdom". Nae mind, eh?
(Still lashings of prejudice against 'hugely-overpriced and over-rated for what they offer' Fender basses, though. Got to maintain some scraps of continuity and good sense, after all - but even I have to admit the Japanese-built 'Marcus Miller' model is really nice, ok?)

Anyway, what I've tried to do, sporadically, in the past, is take a look at 'reasonably-priced' musical equipment that, however unfashionable or untroubled by a big-name 'badge', delivers great value for money - semi-pro (or more) quality on a restricted budget. That sort of idea.

But I've fallen in love.

And love can do strange things to a man. But more on that later. First, I'd set myself a challenge...

In the middle of last month, I said I was going to try out a bunch of small, lightweight 'practice' amps for the purposes of low-volume personal monitoring at acoustic gigs. Finding myself in that rare and joyous state of being child-free during daylight hours, I hastened across the Forth Bridge to annoy the lovely folk at Red Dog Music in Edinburgh (yet again), where a fair array of wee bass beasts could be put to the test.

But who cares?

Seriously, there's no point in going into any great detail. Almost anything 15w-20w will do the job perfectly, as long as you're not being ridiculous and expecting an astounding tone or the ability to reproduce a colon-shaking low 'B' with perfect sonic clarity. Sure, Line6 have finally made something that sounds quite good, has - as you might expect - lots of features, and might actually be worth buying, but it's a little bulky for the bassist who wants to amble gigwards. The Peavey 158 is smaller, lighter, and passable in "vintage" mode, but don't flip it into "modern" unless you truly detest the people you're gigging with. If you like bright colours, why not buy an Orange? It simply doesn't matter - cheap and cheerful, so long as the speaker doesn't start farting when you turn the volume past '3', is absolutely fine. But who really cares? There's so little to choose between them. These are the Kia Picantos, if you will, the Nissan Micras, the useful, economical, yet characterless urban anonymobiles of the amplifier world. They're low-powered, tidy, unspectacular - and start to rattle in an unpleasant and worrying manner if you drive them slightly too hard.

For those with the patience to seek out something a little different, I personally reckon the coolest thing you could possibly turn up with would be one of these - a good old Marshall Bass 12 from the 80's...assuming you can find one in decent working order. Looks brilliant, sounds...pretty good,actually, and so much better than most of the stuff Marshall have been knocking-out since. It's like a classic Mini Cooper S, only without the rust issues. Well, some of them.

To anyone feeling smug at this point about being wealthy enough to afford the impeccable pedigree, incredible lightness (4.2kg!), and immense price (over £400) of the tiny MarkBass Micromark, let me say three things: Small 'acoustic' gigs are often in the sort of venue where beer seems unfathomably spillable, and it's 6" speaker won't handle a bottom 'B' significantly better than something you could find for under £40 second-hand. I would also love to have one, dammit.

Forget all that, though. Imagine, having chugged around in a Toyota 'Yawnis' with a couple of over-tired children in the back for several hours, you could climb straight into an amazing blend of the best Ferrari, Aston Martin & Lamborghini supercars and head off down one of those impossibly perfect roads that only exist in car adverts - you know, the completely empty ones, where the weather's always perfect, and the perfectly-coiffed-and-attired driver is guaranteed perfect sex with their perfect choice of perfect partner as soon as they arrive - at their perfect shared home in a perfectly dramatic-yet-safe-yet-romantic perfect location, and the planet stays perfectly un-warmed. Oh yes.

In a far more prosaic, not to mention ugly and entirely-non-sexual bass-playing manner, that's precisely what I did next.

One of the staff beguiled me (ok, pointed at the thing) into trying a nearby Ampeg SVT3Pro. And lo! it was, unsurprisingly, absolutely incredible. So it bloody should be, too, at the price (anything from £620 - £1000+ online, £699 in Red Dog). All the features and "POW-ERRR" you could want, and more tone than...anything I'd ever plugged-into before, frankly. So much fun I can't adequately describe it, yet this is not the object of the passionate desire I declared earlier. Oh no.

You see, nestling snugly atop the next speaker cabinet was a much quieter, less flashy, entirely valveless cousin of the roaring, snorting, rack-mountable SVT3.

Allow me to introduce the small, but exquisitely-formed Ampeg Micro-VR: 200 watts, a (mere) 3-band EQ, limiter, FX loop, pre/post eq line out, and could easily snuggle down in my rucksack any time it wants to.

The tone was fantastic - hardly had to shift the controls from "12 o'clock" to make the mediocre Cort 5-string (decent neck, a few minor fret niggles, only £279 so fair enough, really) I was using sound wonderful - full chords, harmonics, fingers or plectrum, the works. Cue lots of bad Tony Levin impressions (mostly "US" period Peter Gabriel) from me...I even dared to apply my thumb in public (a mercifully rare event). The quality and range of sound was a delight - even after messing-around with the "Murcielampeg" SVT.

Then there's the look of this delightful little box - I'm usually a 'form-follows-function' kinda guy, relatively unmoved by aesthetic considerations, but this thing's so danged cute - I mean, take a look at this line-up:






Can hardly spot the Ampeg, can you? Hell, it's almost up there with one of these little fellas:

(ok, so nothing's ever going to be quite as cute as a Red Panda, but c'mon, the Micro-VR comes bloody close. No? Really? Ach, yer a hard-hearted lot, so ye are).


At this point, I handed it over to a (disgustingly) young pro who was up on tour from Druggy-Guardianista-London-by-the-Sea, (aka Brighton). I won't begin to pretend he was dressed from head-to-toe in all-white motor-racing kit, but for now we might as well call him 'Jaco Stigtorious'. He was, I'm afraid, playing a Fender Precision through it, but the Ampeg was sounding so exceptionally good I'll let him off with it - this time.

There is, admittedly, one major stumbling-block that's threatening to destroy our budding relationship - it costs £329, which is at least £300 more than I could justify spending on...anything right now. And yes, at that price, there are plenty of other powerful, high-quality compact amps available (e.g. Ashdown, Hartke, etc, etc). But all the ones I've tried simply can't begin to match the Ampeg for tone and clarity. It's supercar-intensity fun in an incredibly attractive, bit cheaper and more practical form - like a Jaguar XK, maybe?

Anyway, I suppose what I'm trying to say is this - sod the sensible low-end stuff, I adore brilliant Ampeg gear which I can't possibly afford, and I want it really, really badly. What can I do? I'm in love.

And on that bombshell, it's time to end this blog post - goodnight!

p.s. A wee update - just over a week later, I've been back to visit my little object of passionate desire again, only this time I was very rude to it. I asked the guys in the shop (how many plugs can I give them in one post?) for the cheapest bass they had - a no-frills Yamaha RBX, as it turned out. Nothing wrong with that, Yamaha's are always solid enough, although this one was one of the worse examples I've encountered (quite a few minor fret niggles, thin and harshly-trebly neck pick-up, that sort of thing) - and powered up the Micro-VR. Could the super-amp make this built-late-on-a-Friday-afternoon Toyota Yaris of an instrument sound like an AC Cobra at full throttle?

Oh yes.

In fact, it did it so successfully that a couple of customers came over and started asking about the Ampeg...which I tried to demo to the best of my almost-no-retail-experience abilities. They seemed to like it - I certainly hope they bought one, after the amount of aural punishment I meted-out to the rest of the shop in the process. Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away...can't think why.

Video Killed The Radio Star...

...except it clearly didn't, if the latest figures from RAJAR (Radio Joint Audience Research, apparently), and articles like this one are anything to go by (I know, it's the Daily Mirror, but occasionally they do come across a fact by accident). Then there's the strength and diversity of internet radio stations, improvements in D.A.B. (digital audio broadcasting), radio-via-digital-television...

But that's beside the point.

Tonight, I'm delighted to announce the Official Global Launch of my very own, personal, YouTube Video Channel!

[cue confetti cannons, wild cheering, awe-inspiring laser display, and vast-waste-of-money fireworks. Or not. More likely the latter]

I'll understand if this may all seem a little underwhelming at first. There are, after all, currently only two videos on the channel that are actually of/by me - one of them a bit of improvised fun plinking away on a cheap bouzouki, the other a montage of my own photographs of the Lake District Hills around Derwent Water, (over-adorned with 'Ken Burns'-style 'pan-and-zoom' effects, naturally), accompanied by 'Wood, Water, Stone', a meandering piece of music I wrote and recorded over a year ago. 'WWS' is, though, available in three - yes folks, that's three! - different viewing resolutions, to cater for lower-quality internet connections. Here at WWW.YOUTUBE.COM/ANDYHGILMOUR (that's just not a snappy name, is it?), we care about our viewers, we really do!

Then there's the small, but unavoidable fact that I am an utterly insignificant speck in the glittering firmament of creative endeavour, thus quite possibly indulging in hubris on a ridiculous scale. I'm fully aware of my relative unimportance in the musical universe, but why the hell not? Embrace the opportunities presented by the new technologies, say I, especially if they're available at no extra cost - and when the necessities of parenthood impose severe restrictions on your 'real-world' lifestyle, too.

I was tempted to take the silliness a lot further, by sending-out press releases trumpeting the birth of my video channel to the world's media (easy and cheap these days), but...well. Maybe next time.

Still, I'd like to think that I've got something, however small, to offer - and if you don't like my stuff, maybe you'll find music you do enjoy tucked-away in the 'playlists'. There's quite a range of material, from the glorious, overblown, symphonic metal-covers-of-80's-songs of Northern Kings, to live performances by master saxophonist Jan Garbarek, bass legend Tony Levin, and the jovial brilliance of Jethro Tull. There's even a spot or two of Hardingfele (Hardanger Fiddle), for all the traditional Norwegian folk music aficionados amongst you. Ok, so that might be only me...ah, well, nae mind, eh? It's available if you feel the urge.

And that's about it, I suppose. No great expectations, which seems pretty sensible to me.

I hope that people at least take the time to come on over and have a look. If they decide they like what they see and hear, well, that'd be fantastic.

You never know, I might even add some more of my own creations (please, try to contain your excitement). Judging by the speed I work, that'll be some time next year...

Exposure (live at the Leith Isobar)

Monday night was fun. A most enjoyable gig with Mr. Lennon (I plug this guy so often I should be charging a percentage), albeit it felt quite strange to haul my bass (and accoutrements) down to the station, and catch a train over to Edinburgh just to do a 45-minute set, in an "intimate" (pretty full, but that's only about 30 or so folk) wee venue. Years of psychological conditioning to expect 4-hour ceilidh-insanity marathons have clearly taken their toll.

It went very well, too, and provided the unexpected personal bonus of catching-up with old friends - although our 4-star (out of 5, he hastens to add, even though he knows full well you should never pay much attention to crits, good or bad) review in the Edinburgh Evening News was more than a touch over-fulsome in its praise of our efforts. Yet more evidence that you can't believe anything you read in the press these days. I mean to say, all those reports of our hard-working, decent, upstanding, honourable Members of Parliament playing fast and loose with their expense allowances? Poppycock! Next thing journalists'll be putting it about that Lady GaGa (oh, the appropriateness of that stage name) isn't just a Christina Aguilera clone peddling sub-Britney Spears p-p-p-pop retreads. Or that Michael Mcintyre is more than a self-regarding, bobble-head-doll of vacuously mediocre 'observational' comedy. Absolutely ridiculous, so it is. And don't get me started on how they're saying that charming President Ahmaholocaustdenier might have rigged the Iranian elections. Shameless, our modern media, so they are...

Alas, I haven't got any photographic record of the event, so this archive shot of the pair of us from a decade or so ago will have to do instead. The hair's changed a bit (a lot shorter and greyer), and I don't jump around quite so much (or at all, depending on the relative level of pre-existing, children-induced fatigue) any more, but I was using the same, trusty Hohner Jack V headless bass (originally bought to play on Citizen Cain's "Somewhere But Yesterday" album back in 1993 - how pathetic was that plug for my dim-and-distant past?), albeit de-fretted now - so the picture has a hint of authenticity to it.

Also, I learnt an important lesson that night.

Never, ever, if it's in any way within your power to determine it, do a gig without some kind of amplifier.

I've been pondering the question of ideal gigging set-ups for a while, and I never thought it made much sense to own more than one bass amplifier. Have a small pre-amp, sure, for carting-along to gigs such as this one - I always carry a Hartke Bass Attack (micro-review of this handy item buried in an earlier blog posting here) and a Behringer D.I. box (in case the Hartke inexplicably fails) anyway, but what the hell's the point of owning a "practice" amp, too? Don't people know how to use a volume knob/headphone socket, huh?

Well, I was wrong.

Except I'd argue there's still no real point to having one for, well, practicing. Rather, they're an essential for small (drummer-free) gigs where everyone else has instruments that make a fair bit of acoustic noise - especially if you're going fretless, as I was that night. There were several points in the gig where I was stuck playing-by-numbers, hoping that my too-easily-wandering intonation didn't intrude. The sound guy wasn't keen on putting much bass through the monitor, which was fair enough - it was primarily a vocal rig, the singers/guitarists were the key focus of the night, I hadn't brought a compressor (naughty bass player!), and it wasn't 'my' gig. Although having said that, the monitor in question was a very solid powered unit with a nice big speaker which could have handled it no bother, but that's both whingeing and a digression... Allegedly I got away with it, no audibly cacophonous finger-mispositioning occurred as a result, but it would have been nice to feel a little more definite about it at the time.

All entirely preventable, for the sake of a bit of hunting around on Ebay, and spending about £40 (according to what was available on there today, anyway). That should be enough to purchase a solid wee Marshall B25, say? Or something similarly around the 20w mark (because that's all that's required) by Trace, Laney, Kustom, Carlsbro - whoever. Who cares? Brand name doesn't matter - the key factors for me are size and weight, i.e. it must be under 10kg, otherwise what's the bloody point? Sound doesn't really matter (it's only there to give definition and clarity after all), as long as you can either run a parallel output of some sort from your pre-amp into it, or it has its own D.I. out for connecting to the main desk, then that's fine. This does, of course, give me a perfectly good excuse to go around testing all sorts of tiny bass combos just to see which ones do sound better, examine relative build quality, and generally have a right old laugh in music shops. Again.

Back in the real world, having any money to spare at all is a moot point in my (and many other people's) houses, but come what may, for the next gig I'm going to be better equipped. I doubt I'll be turning up with one of these little beauties (warning - this link is micro bass porn: viewing may lead to excessive drooling, which could damage your keyboard and/or stain your trousers), but a bassist can dream, eh?

Exposure

For the first time this year (first time in bloody ages), I've got a gig. A proper one, too, where people will be required to part with money in order to bathe themselves in the proffered aural delights. And, also for the first time in a very long time, I must confess to being more than a little nervous about the prospect. At the age of 40, having done many hundreds of gigs with no qualms whatsoever about potentially making a grand arse of myself, I started wondering why...

Maybe part of the reason is it's going to be a duo gig - small, intimate. Just my good friend Mr. Martin Lennon on finger-lickin'-good-bluesy-folk-pickin' acoustic guitar and singing-related activities, with me sliding around on a fretless bass, mostly somewhere near a note that could - in the right circumstances (possibly free jazz) - be considered appropriate. Playing his songs, too. None of that stuff that people 'already know and are heartily sick to death of, but will get up on tables and dance/sing/grunt along to once sufficient alcohol has been consumed'. Not that any of Martin's songs are 12-and-a-half minute prog-folk epics, packed with time/key/underwear changes either (although given half the chance...). No, these are relatively 'simple' tunes, the majority of them medium-to-slow pace, with 4 chords or fewer - which probably provides the rest of the explanation for the onset of nerviness.

This isn't some faceless, play-by-numbers, (apologies for admitting it, but let's be honest, in the world of 'function-band' musical-whoredom, the band are often a great deal less than entirely engaged with the process,even if they successfully keep up the pretense - not to mention the rictus grins - and the audience remains ignorant), done-it-all-many-times-before corporate event - this is me promising to perform to the absolute best of my abilities, promoting the musical aspirations of a close friend, while playing music where mistakes/lapses of concentration/disharmonic note selections are going to stand out like a humorous-yet-non-clichéd-simile I haven't got the time to think of right now. But I might edit one in later.

There's absolutely nowhere to hide with this one. Performing fast, complex music in a band is far easier, once you've acquired sufficient technique to not be struggling physically. Bum notes can fly past and disappear, perhaps simply be obscured by everyone else's noise - or there's the old adage that if you make a mistake, "repeat it three times and they'll think you're a genius" (couldn't find a source for this - anyone? usually ascribed to Chuck Berry, I think??).

But when you switch to a more gentle, 'contemplative' mood, your part is 'exposed', (a swift "Titter ye not!" is, I believe, required to be inserted at this point - for anyone who doesn't understand that reference, click here, and a brief introduction to the world of Frankie Howerd shall be yours - a comedian who could render an audience helpless with laughter for half-an-hour without telling a single 'proper' joke. But I digress...), and you aren't trying to over-compensate for something with pointless 'note-cramming'; that is, in fact, a far trickier situation. Much more opportunity to do something unpleasant (however accidental) to spoil somebody else's carefully-crafted material, so it's not just my (supposed/alleged/pathetically craved?) musical reputation/self-image that would take a severe dunt.

Still, I'm really looking forward to this one. The nerves should prevent any latent complacency from manifesting itself. Well, that's the plan, anyway. Should be fine, as long as I'm not clenching too hard during the gig. 'Elegant simplicity'(!) is, I hope, what can be achieved, even after a long day of small-child-wrangling, then a mad dash by public transport which might get me to the venue with half-an-hour to spare. Which would be nice.

Life is always better with a soundcheck.

Cheers!

p.s. complete non-sequitur, but - what you get when you discuss ways of improving the dialogue in the first three 'Star Wars' films with your friends:

(from part III, "Revenge Of The Sith"
ANAKIN: I've just learned a terrible truth. I think Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord.

MACE WINDU: A Sith Lord?

ANAKIN: Yes. The one we have been looking for.

MACE WINDU: How do you know this?

ANAKIN: He knows the ways of the Force. He has been trained to use the dark side.

MACE WINDU: Are you sure?

ANAKIN: Absolutely.

MACE WINDU: Enough is enough. I have had it with these motherf@@king Sith on this motherf@@king planet!

well, it made us laugh...

Accentuate The Positive

In tonight's edition of my sporadic blurblings - pleasures of the flesh, glorifying historical violence, mutilated animal carcases, and exquisite handmade guitars. (If anyone's offended by the notion of 'French polishing', it'd probably be best to quit now). But first, by way of introduction, a little self-pity...

A couple of weeks ago I returned from Bergen in quite a depressed state. It's a fantastic, exciting city full of creative opportunities. Where I live...isn't. In spite of the 220 days a year (on average) on which it rains, Bergen is colourful and, if you know where to look, vibrant. Dunfermline...ah. My 'lovely and wonderful' Norwegian partner is still both mest 'vakre og vidunderlig' (I have a dictionary rather than linguistic ability, just in case anyone was wondering), but she's over there...and it's particularly selfish and unfair of me to even consider asking her to give up the delights of what was once Norway's capital (back in the days of King Sverri and his offspring, before the Hansa came in and made a mess of the place), and put up with such a poor alternative.

Then of course the news has been a whirligig of troubles around the world - deepening global economic recession, various forms of religiously-inspired cruelty and oppression, Somali pirates back in action, the earthquake in Italy (and Silvio Berlusconi proving himself to be a world-class arsehole. Again), etc, etc.

But rather than respond in the obvious fashion, by ranting (with plenty of supporting statistics, possibly even graphs) about all the bad events and feelings, I decided to concentrate on some of the small, solid, good (and also mostly relatively cheap) things - although I've inevitably omitted far more worthy candidates, my choices can be dismissed as mere expressions of my soft, liberal Western lifestyle, and largely confined to the tiny corner of the world that I inhabit. Here, then, are some of the 'happy things'...enjoy.

Afternoons and coffeespoons

As I noted back in December, Bergen has an impressive array of cafés at which to squander your money at an alarming rate. Edinburgh can more than hold its own in this department, however - a couple of my favourites being Patisserie Florentin in Stockbridge, and The Bakehouse on Broughton Street. In fact, if you could combine the two you'd probably have café perfection, since while The Bakehouse's coffee is slightly better, (and served in cups that could double as swimming pools for small kittens), Florentin's "Herrison" is arguably the most deadly variation-on-a-theme-of-chocolate-cake in the city. If it's simply the coffee you're after, though, the mere act of sitting in The Bakehouse (especially with small children) does have the additional advantage of seeming to really annoy some of its upper-middle-class, mostly Edinburgh New Town clientele. Which is always highly entertaining.

Pigs on the wing
My budget is tighter than an obvious-ageing-rock-star-reference's inadvisable leather trousers, so if you're looking for a quick, filling, 'nae-MacDonald's-because-it-gies-ye-ra-boak' just thinking about it, lunch in the centre of town, then my first suggestion would be Oink, which you'll find about halfway down Victoria Street. A brown roll stuffed (very) full of delicious, freshly-carved roast hog (from their farm in the Borders), complete with stuffing and apple sauce, can currently be had for just £4! Don't go there expecting to 'eat in', though - they've only got space for about 8 adult-size bottoms (that's 6-and-a-half standard Americans), and since Edinburgh's 'tourist season' runs from approximately March to December, finding a convenient local park bench is a more likely option. And why not, when just around the corner you can merrily fill your face with tasty deceased piggy while enjoying this view of St. Giles' ? (the "other" 'Sir Walter Scott', 5th Duke of Buccleuch, is the subject of the impressive statue in the foreground. Although whether he ever truly merited it is another question altogether...I mean, Granton harbour - not exactly a work of art, now is it?). And since I appear to be slowly metamorphosing into a cut-price, poorly informed impression of Jonathan Meades...

Ramblin' on my mind
Simply wandering around the city of Edinburgh in a state of mild awe at the bewildering array of neo-classical statuary and architecture - if you avoid the dogs' breakfast known to the world as Princes' Street...oh, and the St. James Centre at its eastern end...and the stunningly ugly "Princes Mall" (the shopping centre formerly known as Waverley Market)...and, well, I'm sure you'll work out pretty quickly that 98% of the "new" building isn't up to much - can be a grand way to spend an idle afternoon. Wonderful views are to be had throughout the city centre:

How pleasant, too, if it's possible to stop and salivate over some completely unaffordable 'kitchen porn'...mmmm, hand-crafted, oiled, solid wood surfaces...so smooth to the touch, yet simultaneously firm, conveying a sense of inner strength...built with a suppressed passion...*cough*. Yes, well, anyway. There's no harm in just looking, now is there?

Speaking of which ("looking", I mean), if you're in the vicinity, the National Museum Of Scotland is still partially open, and definitely well worth a visit - where else, for instance, can you see how, in a time long before the invention of the motor car, Scottish clan chiefs attempted to "over-compensate" for certain...'personal inadequacies', shall we say? I think the picture pretty much speaks for itself...


After all that walking (and drooling), you're bound to be in need of some more sustenance, and with that in mind, let's head back towards the Royal Mile, then turn off it slightly, with my final food choice for today - the affable, child-friendly and altogether excellent Viva Mexico on Coburn Street. Everything tastes good, the prices are nowhere near what you'd expect in the middle of town, and if at all possible - try the home-made chocolate chilli cheesecake. I know, it's an extra £5 on the meal, but trust me - it's worth it. Mouthfuls of rich chocolate are counterbalanced by perfect micro-blasts of habanero chilli...any further attempts at description would fail to do it justice. Buy a piece to share (with a complete stranger at a nearby table if necessary), whatever it takes, just go there and eat some, ok?

Bits and pieces
So many minor entries on my list that I could be enthusiastically tedious about, but probably shouldn't try everyone's patience with: my obsolete and discontinued-but-I love it Canon Powershot A80, which stretches 4 megapixels to their absolute limit; the Trailwise Rambler walking poles that got me up here, 3 + 1/2 weeks after knee cartilage surgery; the Norwegian wonder-food Lefse - and sticking with Norway, there's my current favourite newsreader, Christian Borch. He has the greatest "editorialising eyebrows" I've ever seen, and he's not afraid to use 'em. (The in-vision continuity announcer that followed the news was a bit worrying, though - she gave the impression she derived enormous physical pleasure from reading out details of the upcoming programmes. Either that, or she was wearing a butterfly. Impossible to tell which. Weird, and slightly off-putting, to say the least). Oh, I could go on about insignificant little items for weeks, but that would be far too inhumane, so, finally...

Norwegian wood (again)
Stroll along Kong Oscars Gate in Bergen, ('Kong' is Norwegian for 'King', which could lead to a very tortuous -and unfunny - routine about Norse confusion regarding the title of the classic 1933 'big ape up a tall building' movie. But it isn't going to on this occasion), and you could easily miss Hanno Kiehl's small guitar (work)shop. That would be a serious mistake, because this charming, unassuming guy (he's a bass player, so naturally...) builds beautiful instruments, in a variety of styles. Now, I could never be confused with any sort of "gypsy jazz", Django-inspired player, so I couldn't fully appreciate absolutely all the subtleties of the 'D-shaped' soundhole model I was abusing first, but it was still obvious that it was a fine guitar indeed (very fast action, perfect intonation all the way up the extended fretboard, lovely French-polished finish, etc). Then things became a notch more impressive, when he handed me a small-bodied 'parlour'-style guitar. Oh, wow. Full, deep tone, and more volume than anything of that size had a right to produce. Joy, delight, rapture, etc,etc...(it had to be prised away from me just a little).

Of course, such wonders don't come cheap. The 'parlour guitar' was 30,000 Norwegian krone (about £3,000 when I was there, add another £250 or so onto that currently, and most likely rocketing upwards - I was damned careful handing it back, believe me), but then, this is a custom-made instrument, from an individual luthier, not an off-the-peg, one-size-fits-all-hands purchase. Buying a unique guitar from someone like Hanno Kiehl is to enter into a close relationship with its maker - potentially a lifetime of maintenance and repairs, small modifications to suit the individual player, possibly upgrading to a newer model along the way (sounds a lot like some marriages...?).

I'll probably never be able to afford the luxury of owning one, but I'll always have a small memory of how pleasurable it was to play those guitars, and for that, I'm very grateful indeed.

p.s. Regarding some of the "bad stuff" - the Taleban (and the rest of their woman-hating chums) are clearly a bunch of bastards, the Pope is either "stupid or wicked" (as Prof. Dawkins actually put it) for lying about HIV and condoms, and our great-great-great-great granchildren are still going to be paying for the global banking mess...but for now, at least there's coffee. And possibly cake - I'll dig down the back of the sofa to see if I can find some extra loose change, then we'll see...

Careful With That Axe, Eugene

There's nothing like having part of your body hacked-open while you're asleep (albeit extremely professionally) to make you appreciate just how fortunate you are to live in a technologically-advanced 21st century society with socialised medical care. Arthroscopy may have been part of the surgical toolkit for over 80 years, but taking my kids to the park less than 24 hours after having some duff cartilage excised - almost exactly as per the illustration, except with a wee side order of chondromalacia in my case - is a (minuscule) tribute to modern techniques, not to mention an 'interesting' experience. Not exactly part of the official rehab programme, admittedly, but then who ever followed those things to the letter?

That's not to say I wasn't extremely glad to leave hospital in one slightly-smaller piece...

"Between February 2006 and January 2007, the NPSA received over 24,000 reports of patients being wrongly identified and mismatched with their care." (National Patient Safety Agency)

...and with the correct limb heavily bandaged. Wrong-side/site surgery has been reduced in recent years, largely thanks to the introduction of a checklist...

"This includes advice for surgical teams on where, how and when the patient should be marked to show where an operation should take place, who should mark the patient and the people who should be actively involved in the process." (NPSA)

...but I still heartily recommend that when asked,"..and which leg is it again?", by the person standing at the end of the bed (hopefully one of the hospital staff, not just a random surgical procedure obsessive), you emphasise it's your left/right/whatever, not theirs. I know, incredibly unlikely that anyone would ever make that error, but the potential consequences surely make the effort worth your while?

Ok, so far so nothing really to do with music (apart from an excuse to use a great Pink Floyd title. I nearly went with "The first cut is the deepest" instead...), but indulge me, please, it's coming up next.

For all that the surgery has apparently been great, for the first week or so afterwards I found it extremely difficult to practice - stiffness and pain in the knee joint meant it was hard to find a comfortable position to play a guitar (of any description), and using my electric upright bass was completely out of the question. Playing duration was also an issue, partially due to bruising around the I.V. site on my left hand. Good thing that these days I'm only a 'not-very-nearly-was', with delusions of recapturing a fragment or two of my previous obscurity, rather than a full-time professional with important gigs scheduled. This got me thinking about some of the often-lesser-regarded risks to which musicians expose themselves, and what medical assistance might be available.

Aside from the bleedin' obvious, (and entirely avoidable with even half a brain - yes, it's 'personal responsibility' time, ooh, how very un-rock-'n'-roll...so sue me), dangers of booze, drugs, and playing 'tag' with hippopotamuses, and the occasional unfortunate demonstrations of the havoc excess electrical energy can cause, a lot of musicians' aches and pains are caused by:

a) Playing the wrong instrument
b) Playing in ways that damage ourselves
c) Bloody ageing. Dammit.

The first one isn't always as straightforward as you might think. Yes, there are famous examples like Paderewski suffering terribly because of the action on the Steinway pianos he was contracted to use, but let's talk about me a bit more instead. Regrettably, a couple of years ago I had to sell a perfectly decent DeArmond, 35"-scale length 6-string bass (that I'd acquired very cheaply indeed), because it was damaging my left wrist. My current, identical string-spacing, 34"-s.l. TobyPro VI is absolutely fine. At a fret-by-fret level, those are very small differences we're talking about - and insufficient to cause pain during/after a check-it-out-in-the-shop session. Even one of mine, which always go on far too long if I like something (although never too loud - that's just rude).

A friend in York developed tendonitis principally from changing to an Epiphone Thunderbird, simply because it was necessary for the professional tribute band he was in at the time. [That's Big Rich on the left, 'rocking out' with the offending bass]. We finally worked out what the problem was by comparing his stance, grip, shoulder/elbow/wrist angles, overall playing movements, etc, with those employed when using his other (pain-free) basses. (Oh, if you're experiencing similar issues, a small thing that a lot of 'therapists' overlook - 'dynamic' and 'contextual' posture are probably more important than the traditionally-addressed 'static' version - see the extended footnote quoting from the late Dr. Mel Siff for more details).

As to what we're playing, and how we go about it, well, this is the kind of patently-ridiculous thing I used to find highly entertaining to inflict on audiences:

An "unpleasantly difficult" G7 (b5 #9) with a little finger barre. Mmmm....

That was when I was a foolish, seemingly-invulnerable youth back in 1990...since then I've developed a far healthier dislike of "extreme barre chord madness". Too much of this sort of thing, for long periods can cause all sorts of cramping (and more serious, long-term agonies), if proper warm-ups (not shredding up and down a bunch of scales, however much fun that might be), regular breaks, and sensible self-monitoring are not applied.

Some of that, of course, might be ascribed to creeping decrepitude - as could less of an inclination to jump up and down on stage quite so regularly and vigorously, perhaps - muscular recovery times have lengthened somewhat over the years. Certainly the body can become a lot less tolerant of a 'heavy' instrument, no matter how efficient the player's posture and technique. Fortunately, help is at hand...

Music (and "Performing Arts") medicine is quite the growth area these days, and as you might expect, there's some handy stuff easily available online. For instance, SHAPE in Canada provide a useful PDF document outlining a whole range of musculoskeletal injury symptoms associated with different instruments - strangely fascinating, and perfect for any hypochondriacs in the band, too.

And for more direct assistance, well, keeping things relatively local, Musicians' Health Scotland looks like a good place to start. A brief bit of googling should turn up something similarly useful in other locales. As long as it isn't one of the quacking, back-cracking fraternity you toddle along to, naturally...

Finally, if all else fails, we can always turn to 'appliances' to assist us where our bodies seem to have failed. They may not be 'cool', but I'm seriously considering either a Y-strap, a Dual Shoulder Strap or something similar (suggestions?) for bass playing. And for those amongst us who prefer to do it sitting down, but are having problems 'keeping it up', this could be the perfect technological solution...?

The most radical idea I came across, though, was one that, as an ex-flautist, I found truly astonishing - simple, yet with an incredible "what the...?" factor. Laydeez and Gentlemen, I give you...the Flutelab vertical flute headjoint:

Check out the picture of someone playing one on their website. It just looks....wonderfully wrong. Not exactly cheap, either, at 1800 euros (probably worth about £27,356 by the time you read this), but if you want pain-free music, and you've got the cash, it's priceless.

Hope a tiny morsel of all that was of some practical use to somebody. All being well I'm off to Bergen again next week, so there'll just be the usual delay before anything new appears in this vicinity.

Cheers.

Footnote on 'posture' for anyone interested:

"A few things always concern me about the whole "postural
correction" or "realignment" concept:

1. Structural or observed symmetry all too often is regarded as the
optimal and safest end state for all humans. The body very typically
is an asymmetric system which displays a level of plasticity and
adaptability that is not always as homeostatically "perfect" as seems
to be implied by many posture police.

2. Posture often is regarded as something that is invariant and
should not vary to any noticeable degree from some hypothetical ideal
or universal model, despite the fact that any given motor problem may
have more than one unique solution.

3. Assessment of posture is far too often based upon static
measurements; very rarely is the topic of "situational"
or "contextual" posture raised, nor is dynamic posture ever measured
under a wide range of conditions. Just as some people display rather
unaesthetic speaking voices, they may sing exquisitely. Similarly,
someone may display unaesthetic static posture, but exceptional grace
while in motion.

4. Sometimes individual posture is regarded as pathological, yet it
has never been established exactly which is the optimal postural
reference model for all static and dynamic situations.

5. It is too frequently proclaimed that the human body left to its
own devices will simply perpetuate "imbalances" or "imperfections" --
only special therapeutic interventions will ever restore the body to
its hypothetical ideal state. Yet, it is not uncommon for the body to
spontaneously rectify so-called imbalances.

6. The concept of long lasting static posture runs contrary to how
the body functions. Speeded up video studies have shown that our
bodies are always indulging in subtle or gross movements to ensure
that one precise posture is NOT held for prolonged periods, thereby
ensuring that stresses are not imposed upon the same physical
structures in exactly the same way. Even in sporting and other
complex movement situations, the same external movement pattern may
be produced by different musculoskeletal and neuromuscular
strategies, so that the idea of an invariant, highly stable single
posture is misleading.

7. It can be very misleading to assess the validity of postural
correction on the basis of changes in perception of pain, because
absence of pain does not necessarily imply the absence of pathology
and vice versa.

8. A given postural intervention may not be the direct effector of
change; it might simply serve as the "last straw" in a long sequence
of automatic and therapeutically mediated changes, especially since
many processes in biological systems appear to be nonlinear in
nature." (Dr. Mel Siff, originally posted on his 'Supertraining' website)

The Older We Get...

"...The further we see" - or so said the Hothouse Flowers, anyway. Not a good idea to take them too literally, of course, because that would be flying in the face of the (slightly worrying) evidence:

"The light adapted eye of a 20 year old receives six times more light than that of an 80 year old. In dark adapted conditions, the 20 year old eye receives about 16 times more light. In comparison to younger people, it is as though older persons were wearing medium-density sunglasses in bright light and extremely dark glasses in dim light." (The Eye Digest, University of Illinois)

I'm not even going to think about "vitreous gel liquefaction"...there ought to be a law to prevent that sort of thing. Really, there should. Complain to your MP. It'll give them something other than their expense accounts, questionable sources of campaign contributions, and how many more members of their immediate family they can get on the payroll to think about.

Still, at least the dimming vision business means that sometime soon Bono will have to stop wearing those ridiculous sunglasses, or else risk walking into things. Which is never 'cool' for famous pop personages, whether or not pharmaceutical ingestion has occurred.

Anyhow, my personal experiences of getting older have generally involved various parts of me working rather less efficiently, effectively, or indeed, not at all - and don't bother asking whether I've learned from these experiences. I'm far too ruined and knackered by childcare duties to have significant cognitive functioning any more - hence I'm very fortunate to be having my left knee hacked open tomorrow (or today, or last week, or a completely unrelated time-frame, depending on how you came to be staring at this page, if you suffer from chronic unpunctuality to the same extent as me, etc) after only three months on the waiting list.

All being well, the surgeon will have a good guddle around inside the joint, tear out some of the stuff that's too frayed at the edges, pack the rest back into the space where it's meant to be, pluck a merry little tune on my cruciate ligaments (using knee angle to change the tension/note pitch), and sew it all up without leaving any surgical equipment, lunch leftovers or loose change behind.

I'm sure it'll all be fine, but as ever with such things, if the bizarrely-improbable, freakish-chain-of-coincidences worst should happen...well, huge thanks to all the special folks (you know who you are), it's been quite a ride.

Cheers.

Some People Are Crazy

Yesterday I came across one of the stupidest (yet entirely serious and heavily-funded) ideas I'd ever heard of, and in spite of the fact that I'm undoubtedly way behind the times, naturally felt compelled to share it with the...ummm...5 or so people who read this, 2 of whom might not have been aware of it already. But first, a quiz!

I'm currently trying (for "trying", read "struggling pathetically") to learn Norwegian - for the only reason that could possibly matter. So, in the spirit of idly leafing through a dictionary searching for vaguely 'amusing-because-they-look-odd-to-non-Norsk-speakers' words, let's see who can guess the correct definitions of:

1) Hatteforretning
is it...?
a) irritation caused by forgetfulness
b) a forestry plantation
c) a hat shop

2) Pengeanbringelse
a) a suede briefcase
b) investment
c) harvesting penguins

3) Strømpebukse
a) erotic literature
b) marching bands
c) tights

(answers at the very bottom of the page. Yeah, that's right - grab that scroll bar and skip over whatever twaddle's coming next - you probably knew about it already, anyway. And made wittier comments on it at the time, too.)

Oh, and also must give a huge plug to the incredible talents of Dave Grant, guitar physician extraordinaire at Stringz here in Dunfermline...when presented with my apparently-desperately ailing old acoustic, he virtually waved his hands over it briefly and muttered a few, arcane incantations (either that or he probed, plucked and tweaked it, while saying "aye, well, it cannae be the neck, so that's alright"), and lo! it did arise as if anew! and verily it soundeth great and playeth dead well, even unto the horrible disharmonious cacophonies I usually elicit from it...

Thanks to the hugely-talented Dave, my mangling of innocent Norwegian traditional folk tunes can resume. But please, don't blame him, for he kneweth not what he did...

Right, anyway, here's the thing. Back in September last year, I made a fleeting gag at the expense of PETA ("People for zealously imposing their dogmatic views on others"...oh, no, hang on, might not have that exactly right. Oops. Umm.."People who once had ostensibly laudible aims but have since become ideologues..." nope, that's not it either...? I'll google them - ah, of course! "People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals". The holier-than-thou, attention-seeking advocates of putting healthy animals to death - references here and here for anyone interested).

I can't believe I'm about to do this. This is tragically, pathetically narcissistic, but what the hell, I'm going to quote me! Laughingly trying to create a ludicrous example of a "conspiracy theory", I wrote:

"All the books that feature cutesy, fluffy-wuffy animals - animals that can talk, wear clothes, live in semi-detached houses and have affairs with the next-door-neighbour's baby-sitter, with names like "Mifflesey", that sort of thing - are written by authors who are funded by PETA, so that when kids find out where their meat really comes from they'll recoil in horror ("But Daddy, we're eating Bella the ballet-dancing moo-moo cow!!"), and become strict vegans as a result. This is just one, especially cunning, strand of the International Vegetarian Conspiracy (IVC)."

(oh, wasn't I just so hilarious? No, you're right...)

Well, shaft me sideways with a wooden spoon (actually, please don't. Really, don't. Thanks for the offer, but, y'know...it's an experience I think I can live without), but what have these "Veganistas" gone and done, but try to dissuade us from catching/eating/"wearing as smelly-but-unusual jewellery" fish by making them "cute". And how do they intend to achieve this, precisely? By renaming "fish" as..."Sea Kittens".

Now, I thought this couldn't be real, it had to be a brilliant, Chris Morris-style parody...but no. They've even got "Sea Kitten Stories", according to their website. "You can learn a lot about a culture from its bedtime stories. Find out what keeps the sea kittens up at night." it says. Hmmm...almost certainly marauding predatory "sea kittens", I'd venture...? Ah! not so! In PETA's hideously anthropomorphic dystopian fantasies, it's stress-related mental instability brought on by human "sea kitten abuse".

Now, PETA have, in the past, engaged in many worthwhile campaigns against animal cruelty. This, however, is so ridiculous, manipulative, and frankly downright pathetic - go on, say "Sea Kittens" out loud. No, loud enough so that someone might hear you if they were at a greater distance than 5 millimetres from your lips. That's better. Try saying it again...doesn't improve at all, does it? Pathetic - oh, and incredibly selective in its use of scientific data, but then that's only to be expected I suppose...

PETA seem to be strangely ignorant of a couple of things (well, a great many to be brutally honest, but let's try to keep this in some sort of focus):

Humans are animals. Human children are small, (often smelly) extremely vulnerable animals, who rely on us for their welfare and education.

Lying to children is deeply unethical.

They also forgot to mention something else about "Sea Kittens" - a lot of them are extremely tasty, and an excellent source of dietary protein.

Can't think why...?

Finally:

Norwegian Language (sub)Standard Grade Test answers:
Hatteforretning is (c) a hat shop, Pengeanbringelse is, disappointingly, (b) investment, and the glorious Strømpebukse is, alas, (c) tights.

More soon. Maybe.

Norwegian Wood

Since I didn't bother posting this at the appropriate time, might as well get it out of the way now - Merry Solstice! (Christmas, Jul, Hanukkah, [late] Eid, Saturnalia, Shab-e Yaldaa, Lenaea, Kwanzaaaa, 'Foodmas', 'Great Festival of Washing-Up', etc, etc).

Ok, enough of that. Now for the old and fascinating city of Bergen!

(N.B. This blog was originally supposed to be about 'music', or at least always have a passing, tangential concern with matters in some small way vaguely music-related. I'd just like to reassure anyone who might be becoming concerned that it's turned into a sick parody of an entirely self-absorbed travelogue that music will be rearing its three [non-ugly] heads shortly. But you will have to wade through my solipsistic ramblings about Bergen first. Sorry.)

My pre-christmas present to myself was a far-too-brief trip to a place I've wanted to visit for more than 20 years...there also happened to be the great incentive of an extremely wonderful and lovely woman of my close personal acquaintance living there, so not going would have been utter folly and madness, (although possibly far more financially astute), but anyway...

It's bloody fantastic.

Now to be fair, I'm undoubtedly horribly prejudiced in Bergen's favour, so I've come up with a handy quick questionnaire you can use to assess how much you might like it too...

Q.1: Do you like "old stuff" - castles, churches, museums (possibly with a hint of the 'viking' about them)?

Q.2: Do you like the sea, boats, fjords, that sort of thing, conveniently situated right in the heart of the city?

Q.3: Do you like mountains, forests, hiking about, etc, within extremely short walking distance of the city centre, and easily accessible by convenient funicular railways and cable cars in case you've got small children, have slightly disfunctional joints, or are simply bloody lazy but still want to admire the view?

Q.4: Do you like your holiday destinations to have lots of little coffee shops (many with excellent cakes), modern art galleries, music venues, boutique shops, and a wide variety of restaurants to suit practically any taste?

If you answered "yes" to at least 2 of the above - what are you waiting for? (well, ok, possibly warmer weather, but if it's not raining, then it can be wonderful even in the chilly months - some more of my poor attempts at 'artistic' photography of Bergen here).

Seriously though, Bergen was a revelation, with its higgledy-piggledy, winding, narrow side streets, colourful wooden houses (often with a bizarre - but surely effective? - chimney-cap design consisting of a slab of what looked like slate resting on 4 small pillars of stones rising up from the chimney, with one dirty great stone plonked on top of the whole lot, presumably to stop it all blowing away in one of the region's not-so-infrequent storms), impressive (and again, colourful) C18th stone buildings, and mountain backdrops in just about every direction. Oh, and they're very tourist-friendly - almost everyone speaks far, far better English than my pathetically tiny smattering of Norsk.

Of course, in spite of my glorious 4-and-a-half days of getting in touch with my Northern European cultural heritage (and drinking coffee, eating cakes, playing in the snow up Fløyen, etc), I'll be the first to admit that Bergen has its drawbacks, too. Firstly, there's a definite problem with graffiti - I don't mean the 'artistic', maybe-making-a-political-statement, sometimes almost graphically interesting (I'm such a grumpy old man), type of graffiti. Oh, no.

What you seem to get in Bergen is the moronic (I refer you to the "grumpy old man" statement above) and incessant "tagging" - in other words, hastily, and only semi-legibly, scrawled/sprayed versions of intellectually-unchallenging nicknames - all over the place. Obviously, everywhere is going to have its fair share of bored teenagers, but come on - if you're going to vandalise something, put some bloody effort into it! Make some kind of point, don't just spray a half-cocked version of "Svenno" on an antique street lamp or the side of a 200-year old house! Idle little Scandinavian scrotes that they are...! Catch 'em and whip 'em with birch twigs, it's the only language these hooligans understand! If I had my way...

*Ahem*

More seriously, Bergen is expensive. (I was heavily subsidised and spoiled rotten while I was there, you see...I mentioned the cakes already, didn't I? Ohhhh, yesssss...if it had been entirely down to my budget, there definitely wouldn't have been cakes!). Everything (except petrol) is roughly twice "Edinburgh prices" - to use a comparison that'll only make sense if you live in Scotland.

To put it another, more easily quantifiable way, if you wanted to have a (very) comfortable time of it - nice lunch, maybe a trip up the funicular, entry fee for a museum, coffee and cake(s), then a pleasant dinner with a glass of wine (or two), then an individual could easily spend £50 a day - on top of accommodation costs. Mind you, the way the pound is going right now, that could soon be £60 or more...so go now, before our currency collapses entirely under the collective weight of christmas debt!

Still, if you'd like to sample some modern-yet-traditional Norwegian culture before you make up your mind, (finally! the "music" bit!) I can heartily recommend having a listen to the 3 women who make up "Eplemøya Songlag" (translates roughly as "Apple maidens song team"). I heard them perform a brilliant, acapella (and un-amplified) set at the Bergen folk club, which was thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining in spite of the fact that I only understood about 5 words they said during the whole evening. (This was a little awkward when they were introducing the songs, because I felt somewhat exposed as the only person in the audience failing to chuckle copiously at the appropriate moments...any performers reading this will know exactly what I mean - "Hey, have you clocked that miserable beardie guy with the glasses in the 2nd row? The grumpy sod hasn't laughed at a single gag all bloody night...!").

If you feel in need of a twang (pluck, clink, or even 'ka-whump') while you're there, Bergen does have at least three guitar/keyboard/"rock instrument" shops (that I came across on my wanderings, but had insufficient time to investigate), as well as a marching band/orchestral retailer, and at least a couple of (well-hidden, but my 'wonderful and lovely' friend assures me she stumbled across one of them tucked-away in a back street, just the other day) luthiers. So the wandering musician is well catered for.

And remember - in that city, you're never more than 3 minutes walk from something interesting, a nice view, or a good cup of coffee (sometimes all 3 at once). Possibly 5 minutes away from a truly excellent cake, but if you're not outrageously fussy...

All I'll say is I've finally found somewhere that could challenge Edinburgh in my affections as a city...and I accept that I'm biased (for all the right reasons), but I felt a lot more "at home" than I ever expected to. Take a trip, and see how you feel - I think you'll like it.

I absolutely have to go back there - if only I could just win the damn lottery first...

As Time Goes By

So much to do, so little time...has it really almost been two MONTHS since I last posted scribbled some nonsense here?

Bloody hell...that's quite a while. Ooops. I've been a little busy, you see. Not really focussed on this sort of thing. But before I go any further, I have to make an official statement of apology to a surprisingly large number of people.

I'm genuinely sorry I titled a couple of previous posts "Rockin' around the christmas tree", and "Santa Claus is coming to town", because they seem to have attracted every search for lyrics, midi files, or even "sexy xmas gift santa is coming to town gift pack"...no idea what that might contain, but a big festive hello to someone gettin' a little seasonally frisky in Newark, New York!

Now, I have a couple of small problems here - I haven't got the time to write much (oh, you lucky, lucky reader, you), and what I do churn out is going to be disgustingly solipsistic, which is something I generally shun if at all possible, but still...

Here, in no particular chronological order, is the potted version of "why I haven't bothered with my blog", some or none (probably better) of which might be expanded upon in future, when I have more than ten minutes spare:

I took a week-long trip to Leamington Spa, where amongst other wonders I experienced the delights of Sardinian hospitality ("What can I do to help?" "Sit down and drink that wine" "Oh, ok..."), saw the rather cool "Green Man" sculpture pictured above in Birmingham, learned a tiny little bit about flamenco music/dancing, and spent some extremely agreeable time in Richard's Guitars (right), which is simply a brilliant wee guitar shop with some very nice toys in it!

I severely injured some of the muscles in my back - by blowing my nose too hard at the tail-end of yet another bout of child-donated sinusitis. Oh yes. Mr. "I used to do lots of sport and be dead fit and healthy" managed to hurt himself in a ridiculous manner. Must be getting old, or something unpleasantly similar. Only felt a slight twinge at the time, thought nothing of it, then two mornings later woke up in complete agony, couldn't breathe, etc,etc. So after dropping older mini-primate off at school, me and the littl'un took a bus up to A & E. Which was a laugh. Still, the extra-strength anti-inflammatories seem to be working nicely...

Which is handy, because (barring further stupid accidents - I'm anxiously scanning the skies for signs of falling anvils/grand pianos) I'm flying off to Bergen very soon...to visit an incredibly wonderful and lovely woman I first met at a WildGeese Ceilidh Band gig thirteen-and-a-bit years ago, and who was over here (for a crash immersion course in "the daily domestic life of a single parent") in November. The amount of stuff I've had to do preparing for the journey feels vastly out-of-proportion to the length of time I'll actually be in Norway, but in the circumstances, unquestionably worth every scrap of effort (did I mention just how lovely & wonderful she is? I did? ok...just checking).

Finally, there is, of course, the small matter of christmas looming on the childcare horizon - but we survived the (insane) "multiple toddler group hallowe'en parties" season without incurring any lasting damage, so this can't be much worse...??

Right, stuff to do...I've got a hole in my jeans to sew up, must double-check the flight timetable, charge up the camera batteries, make sure I've got a wee travel toothpaste so they don't think I'm going to try to blow the plane up with fluoride, find out where I left....