Irony and the Far Right are like oil and water

DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?  BECAUSE I DON'T....

"We know our future lies in working together to build a better Britain. Yes, we may enjoy the odd triumphant jeer at the mewling, puking infants of Remain (And why not? We’ve put up with the quislings for years) but it’s not we who are ‘sabotaging’ the country; quite the reverse. The world is watching and if anything is making us look foolish and unreliable it is the remainers stoking up the fear factor. No wonder they see division; they are largely responsible for it. No wonder they see hate; they are, literally, asking for it. It’s time for the sulky teens to stop bleating about their lives being ruined and start rolling up their sleeves, like grown-ups."

The above comes from a blog post by a Leave the EU fanatic calling himself Battsby.  There's certainly something batty going on.  He also describes himself as "alt-right", which appears to be the current trendy term for neofascist.  So he might be a cunt, but he's a fashionable cunt.  And, like almost everyone I've come across on the far right of politics, irony appears to be beyond him.

I didn't edit that paragraph at the top, there's nothing left out or added.  He genuinely writes about "working together" in one sentence, and then derides about fifty per cent of the UK population as "Quislings".  To further the ironical moment he uses a term for 'traitors' that was used to identify collaborators with the Nazis.  As that far right inspiration the Daily Fail might put it, you couldn't make it up, could you?

But apparently we're only 'seeing' hate.  There isn't any out there, everyone's friends, and all those reports and statistics proving that hate crime has risen dramatically in England since June are just the bleating of sulky teens.

He's right about one thing though.  The world is watching.  And laughing.  The UK became a laughing stock on 24 June.  Now with the world's worst performing currency (and therefore on the brink of massive rises in food prices) and a leadership that is both authoritarian and clueless.  They don't want parliamentary scrutiny of their actions, presumably for fear of being found out that they don't have a clue.  Even the Tory Chancellor is starting to think so.

OK, it's just one sad blogger I'm quoting, an aging white male with over the top insecurity issues who wants the world to work for him and his ilk alone.  The trouble is that people like him now have a voice in government.  David Davis, once a staunch defender of parliament, has suddenly decided that imperious works better now he has power, while The Disgraced Liam Fox goes around the planet getting mocked.  And then there's Foreign Secretary Johnston (no, I still don't really believe it either....) making sure he upset as many other countries as possible.  It's an embarrassing time to have to admit you're British.

In Scotland we do have our Battsby-like characters, although not generally quite so outlandishly Colonel Blimpish.  But they are a rarity here and have no traction in our society, as the election results for ukip clearly show.  We are, more and more, a different country to England.  For my friends down there I sincerely hope you find a way to change course.  But as long as you have so many passengers insisting that the iceberg looks interesting, we are going to have to think about when we man the lifeboats.

Turning myself into .... art?

THE ART OF NARCISSISM

I have a new project to amuse myself with over the next few weeks.  It's inspired by two recent events in my life.

The first was visiting the Facing The World exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, my favourite amongst the city's excellent and varied art houses of art.  A collection of self portraits from Rembrandt to the present day, it was striking, intriguing and sometimes disturbing.  There were plenty of images that left an impact upon me, but two would return to mind later when the second event hit me.

It was seeing the photo above one morning.  Hillary Clinton, US Presidential Candidate, waving to a crowd.  All of whom are looking at her on tiny screens while they turn their back on one of the most famous women in the world.  Could anything exemplify what's become known as the Selfie Culture any more than this image?  A society where many people appear not to believe they've been somewhere, done something, seen someone unless they have a photograph to place themselves in the place, the action, with the person.  It's a phenomenon the likes of Nicola Sturgeon has seized on and not only accepted but used to her advantage.  It seems Clinton is going the same route.

I take photos of the place the event, the person, but I know I've been behind the lens, I don't need to place myself in the shot to prove it.  Maybe it's an age thing, but I confess to being one of those people who winces at the sight of a selfie stick.  All the time I have no good reason for doing so, other than another attitude that's stuck in the past...  Move on Crawford!

Yet the apparent narcissism of the selfie's predominance is an issue that's discussed seriously in many publications and discussions.  It's a significant cultural change, yet another arriving through new technology and the power of interconnectedness, whether deemed beneficial, detrimental or neutral.  Is it also art?   When does the selfie stop being narcissism and become art?  Or can these two things coexist?

So was Rembrandt a narcissist?  Lacking the advantages of photography artists frequently painted themselves simply for practice, to improve their technique, to experiment with lighting and poses and expressions.  Models were expensive and not always readily available.  The selfie of the time was a practical necessity for an artist seeking to improve.

But the selfie now?  The same approach can apply if you want to seriously undertake some portrait photography.  But it can be art too.  In that exhibition there was an intriguing self portrait photograph by an artist in the 1930s (I have forgotten her name, sadly).  The camera is slightly above her and to her left.  She is sat down looking relaxed, looking away to the left of the shot, one hand in her lap, the other out of the frame.  It was thought the (missing) left hand was holding the pressure bulb used to trigger the remote control to take the picture.  Nowadays our cameras have timers, making this kind of shot easier to set up.  That thirties photo, so striking in it's composition, is proof of the selfie as art.  It said as much about the subject as many of the wonderful paintings on those walls.

So how can you or I turn selfies into an art form?  Are there rules to follow?  Or is the intent that enables the transformation?  My own wee experiment is to take frequent selfies over the next couple of months and see what the results are.  To use varied lighting, poses, angles, facial expressions.  Rather than my phone I'm going 'old tech'.  Well back to 2008, before the selfie exploded into what it is today.  Nothing fancy, just a compact Canon, new enough to have reasonable pixel count and lens, old enough to be a break from the social media immediacy of the selfie as we know it today.  No photoshopping, no filters, no fancy effects.  Flash, tripod and timer are the only conveniences I'll employ.

I have no idea where this is leading me, but I'll be posting the results in December.

If there's a hard way to do something....

ONE DOWN, TWO TO GO

A few weeks ago I wrote here about the start of the new ice hockey season and the sense of hope that came with it.  In it I said that we caps fans weren't a demanding lot.  We're loyal, and, knowing how inferior our budget is to the bigger clubs, our hopes and expectations are realistic.  I wrote :

"If we could qualify for the knockout stages of the cup; if we could finish in the top eight of the league and have a chance to make it to the Playoffs; and, most importantly, if we can beat old rival Fife Ayers (their misprint, not mine) then we'll consider that a successful season."

Tonight we had the chance to see the first of those simple aspirations come true.  With the added edge that it was in a match against old rivals Fife Flyers.  After a run of four wins in five games the team had got themselves into the position where a win in regulation time would guarantee a place in the knockout stages of the cup.  A Caps game that actually had an important outcome, now that's been a rarity over the years!

What we got was a drama of Shakespearean intensity and complexity, and heart stopping tension.  Complete with a bit of light relief, courtesy of the Fifers.  Caps were 0-1 down after the first period.  And a bit of as disaster in the second, with Fife adding a second, us getting one back, but two more Fife goals before the end.  Trailing 1-4 was, I confess on the disheartening side.  They've managed a few comebacks in recent games, but four goals in twenty minutes was asking a lot.  And even if we scored three then won in overtime it wouldn't make that cup place secure.

We're now wondering what Coach Dobron said to the guys before that third period started.  They must have been magic words.  Two goals in the first three and half minutes, the equaliser four minutes later, and constant pressure on the Fife goal gave us the lead with more than four minutes still on the clock.  And another a couple of minutes later just to be on the safe side....

It wasn't always pretty.  But it was exciting, impressive, exhilarating, exhausting to watch.  There will be a lot of sore throats in Edinburgh tomorrow morning.  When our fifth went in a surprising number of Flyers fans started heading for the exit, more following after the sixth.  There weren't many left when the buzzer went.  They don't do loyalty in Fife, not like Caps fans.

What a night.  A three goal deficit turned into a two goal victory.  Humiliation for our oldest rivals.  And, for once, Caps have qualified for something.  The way they are playing this season it won't be the last.

If you live in the Edinburgh area you really, really should come along and give this team a watch.  (Fixture list here.)  It might not always be quite as drama packed as tonight's occasion, but it certainly won't be dull.

#MonTheCaps

Memory connects

A WALK ALONG PORTY PROM

It's the first of October in Scotland and it's not supposed to be like this.  Blue sky, sunshine, warmth, an invitation to take in some sights.  So we got a bus to Edinburgh's pretension to be a seaside resort - Portobello.  A name that may oversell the charms of the locale - just because we're twinned with Nice doesn't make this the Promenade des Anglais - but which has a special place in the city's affections.  If you wanted to go to the beach you went to Porty, and that sentiment links to my own past.

This was the place where my granny and auntie would take me to go to 'the shows'.  AKA the penny arcade, the slot machines, the one armed bandits (none of this effete push-button nonsense back then, it was proper lever pulling....).  And everything cost a penny.  (That's 1d of course.)  The building remains, still has the same function, but I suspect they'd charge me a lot more than even 1p to have a go.

But whilst a lot of Porty remains the same, much has changed too.  The beach is cleaner for a start (helped greatly by EU quality standards, just sayin') and the choice of eating places has improved greatly on the main drag.  The most dramatic differences are at the western end, once dominated by the power station, and the neighbouring outdoor, and unheated, swimming pool, both long gone and replaced by some unremarkable housing.  Progress we call it.

Today the prom was busy.  Dogs, bikes, kids, joggers and strollers like ourselves.  Not so many on the beach though.  For some it was even possible to imagine yourself all alone.

Walking along we were tempted by the offers on the blackboard of this old van.

As former 2CV owners we have a soft spot for those corrugated H Vans, evocative of rural France.  Indeed it was good to see a similar vehicle in Blefast just a couple of weeks ago.

My eye was caught by the 'spicy veg haggis sausage roll', a nomenclature so weighted down with internal contradictions that it begged to be tasted.  But first a seat in the sun in the Community Garden, another feature that definitely had no place in the early sixties, then back to find.... a sticker saying they'd run out of my comestible of choice.  Such are life's minor disappointments.

So we wandered up the slope, seeking an alternative, and on the way passed another link to our Ugly Duckling days, but with a whiff more elegance to it's bearing.  Maigret comes to Porty.

My cravings were satisfied by a veggie haggis and fried egg roll (Porty isn't about sophistication), and my memory stirred by a window where this painting took me back to the icy salt water and the wave machine that the pool was famed for.

There was even some amusement to be had for the naming of this shop, less naff than most puns of it's type.

And even waiting for the bus jogged the grey cells back over a few decades.  My dad worked out of Portobello,Police Station for several years, and it remains the most attractive looking cop shop I've seen.  Well, outside at least.

An afternoon that was enjoyable in itself, but enhanced by the connections to and memories of the past.

I'm getting old, ain't I?

Return to the Fridge

AND SO WE BEGIN AGAIN

As I begin writing this I'm conscious that his time tomorrow I'll be sat, with a high sense of anticipation, awaiting the arrival on ice of the Edinburgh Capitals EIHL ice hockey team and the start of their 2016-17 season.  It's that time of year when everything is possible, from the glory of optimism to the ignominy of reality.  A blank canvas on which the outlines will only gradually take shape, the hints of shape and colour only emerging as the weeks pass.  With only one certainty - they have, surely, to achieve a better record than last year's squad managed.

There was a time when they too were winners.  After a slow start results wise the Caps emerged as a difficult proposition for any team to tackle at Murrayfield, and capable of spring surprises away from home.  They rose to the giddy heights of fourth in the league, albeit briefly, but looked certain to achieve a solid mid table position come March.  Or so we thought by the end of November.  And then things happened.

Players left, for a variety of reasons, some of them unavoidable.  Players picked up injuries that weren't just going to keep them off ice for a few games, but for the entire season.  And the fear of coming to Edinburgh steadily evaporated as the heat got more intense.  One win at the beginning of December, another in the first fixture of the new year.  And that was it.  More players departed, more picked up injuries.  Replacements were brought in, they picked up injuries.  In a league where imported players dominate, out of our original line up of thirteen only three of them would still be out there in Caps jersey in the closing weeks of the season.  Most tried hard, much to the appreciation of the fans, as Caps plummeted to a distant tenth.  Out of ten.

We're used to losing.  It comes with being a Caps fan.  We enjoy our underdog status, lap up the chance to be gallant losers.  But watching those guys, so few in number against each opposing team, you couldn't help feel sorry for them.  And proud too, for they never gave up.  Trevor Gerling was both a star and a hero for never giving up whatever the odds, and providing flashes of inspiration that had us off our seats.

But that was last year.

Now there's a new coach, a (mostly) new group of imports, and hope in the chilled air of the Fridge of Dreams.  We've seen them play two warm up games.  And lose.  But that was no surprise.  Some of the guys had only flown into Scotland the day before the first of those matches last weekend.  It's hard to play as a team when you've barely learned each others names yet.  When you're still trying to understand the local accent, and that of your Czech coach.

And yet there were so many hopeful signs in those disorganised first showings.  Flashes of talent and skill that, once harnessed, will be a threat to opponents.  A sense of working together, even if not yet to a pattern.  And an intelligent approach from the coach, making sure he got the chance to learn about all the players at his disposal and build the mental picture of strengths and weaknesses heading into his first full week with the squad.  Signs of players wanting to take on responsibility, provide leadership.  And signs that if anyone messes with us we'll fight back.  Signs we want to see.

One week on and the squad has an important addition, and an important omission.  One of last year's star forwards has arrived, in plenty time to take part in the training sessions.  But we are still missing our starting netminder (goalie to non hockey fans) who's still stuck in Canada with visa problems.  So we know there's more to come yet.

Caps fans aren't a demanding lot.  We know we're competing with many teams who have several times our budget.  We know stoicism.  If we could qualify for the knockout stages of the cup; if we could finish in the top eight of the league and have a chance to make it to the Playoffs; and, most importantly, if we can beat old rival Fife Ayers (their misprint, not mine) then we'll consider that a successful season.  And once you're into the knockout stages of any competition there's always the chance of upsets....

But more than anything we want a bunch of players who'll try, week after week, who'll become a squad we can cheer on because we know that they'll give everything they have.

Winning would be nice though....

Where's my next comedy hero?

SEEKING OUT THE NEW

You have to do the Fringe right.  Or at least do it in whatever way feels 'right' to you.  For some that means booking the big names, the ones they've seen on the telly, heard on the radio, or spotted on the biggest posters.  Sometimes I do the same, if only out of curiosity.  And it turns out that these 'stars' are just like anyone else, just as flawed.

So some turn out to be disappointing, a failure to meet the hype their image has created.  And a recognition that being funny in short bursts on a carefully-edited TV panel show isn't the same as delivering a one hour solo show.  Sometimes they are excellent, as mark Watson or Romesh Ranganathan have been, sometimes not quite what was hoped for, like Katherine Ryan a few days ago, and sometimes outright poor, as Ed Byrne was a few years ago (although, to be fair, we saw him again more recently and he was superb, but that just goes back to what I was saying about merely human).

Still, it's an understandable, even sensible, approach if you only have a couple of days in Edinburgh and want to be sure of having a good time.  But if even if you go see all these 'big' names, and enjoy them, have you really 'done' the Fringe?  There are more than three thousand shows on offer, plus offerings from all the various other festivals running simultaneously, and they range from the sublime to the downright horrendous.  What there most certainly is is something for everyone.  If you can find it.

And for someone who has the luxury of being a city resident , and having the time-richness that comes with no longer having to work for a living, sticking with the familiar is absolutely the 'wrong' way of going about things.  But I would also argue it's 'wrong' for even the short term visitor.

Blyth's number one rule of Fringe-going : If you haven't seen something you thought was a bit shit then you haven't been trying hard enough.  (Or you're just very, very lucky....)

Blyth's number two rule of Fringe-going : If more than half the shows you go to see feature acts you've seen before then you're not being brave enough.

Yes, go pick a few sure fire winners.  But take risks too, go for people you've never heard of and see if, under the covers, lurks a diamond or a lump of coal.  Often you'll find someone you'll love and want to see again.  And sometimes you'll just wish you could have that hour of your life back.  But you probably learned something from the experience.  (Last year we had a powerful reminder of one of the comedian's golden rules - if you start blaming the audience for not laughing then you are definitely the problem.)

We've only seen four Fringe shows so far (breaking ourselves in gently), and three of those have been people we've seen before.  That set alarm bells off in my head so I had a check through the shows we currently have booked, and was able to recover my smugness.  About two thirds are acts we haven't seen at all, or only seen doing short sets before.  (And by 'seen' I don't mean on telly, but doing ten or fifteen minutes slots in bigger shows.  And I'm not sure if Will Franken counts in that category, as he was a woman last time we saw him....)

We have the people we return to every year - such as Mark Thomas, Stewart Lee, Aidan Goatley - so there's a bedrock of quality we know we can rely on.  There are others we've meant to see in the past and ran out of time/money/energy.  Some chosen through personal recommendation.  And some chosen because we wanted a mix of genres in our choices.

And then there's the Free Fringe.  There's a few quite big names in those line-ups too, the likes of Janey Godley and Pippa Evans for instance, but most are relatively unknown.  Or totally obscure.  And that's where the greatest potential form discoveries lies.

How to choose?  Whim.  Serendipity.  Random factors like an interesting photo or title, or something in the very brief blurb that catches your attention.  It's best to be arbitrary and fortuitous.  Trust in the Fates.  Go for bold.

So today's job is going through the Free Fringe programmes and slotting a few choices into the timetable for the weeks ahead.  And then just waiting to see what we've drawn out of the lucky bag.  By the end of the month I'll have a new favourite performer.  I've just no idea who it'll be yet.

The utopia that leaving the EU offers us....

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES AND GERMANS

Inevitably, perhaps, the best and most perceptive comment I've heard yet on the idiocy of the Leave vote came from a man with an outsider's sense of perspective.

Comedian Henning Wehn, on being ask what his views were on the UK's current political mess up, said he was all in favour of the UK leaving Europe, indeed looking forward to it.  Because he'd heard that before we joined the Common Market this island was a bona fide paradise where people only needed to work for three days a week and the electricity bills were incredibly low.  And that getting out of the EU would clearly bring those days back again....

I always love a good metaphor.

There's just a few days to wait

TOMORROW IT'S AUGUST IN EDINBURGH

And, in this household at least, that means one thing.  It's Fringe time.

Of course it isn't just the Fringe.  There's the International Festival.  The Art Festival.  The Book Festival.  The Festival of Politics.  The Tattoo.  But, mostly, it's the Fringe.

It's the Fringe that's largely responsible for the population of the city doubling for a while.  It's the Fringe that prevents you from walking down the Royal Mile with anything greater than mollusc momentum and emerging at the other end with enough flyers to paper your bedroom walls.  It's the Fringe that's putting on well over three thousand two hundred shows in hundreds of venues ranging from plush to slimey.  It's the Fringe that Edinburgh residents either love or hate.

And it's the high point of the city's festival season.  We went to a few gigs at TradFest in April and May.  Saw our fair share of new, and old, movies in FilmFest in June.  And, only a week ago today, rounded off a week and a bit of the Jazz and Blues Festival.  But none of them offer the variety and stamina challenge that awaits the dedicated Fringe goer.  Last year we saw sixty shows.  Last year we were knackered.  So if we make it to fifty this time that will be enough.  We're not getting any younger....

We have just over thirty shows booked so far, enough to be going on with.  I have a timetable set up, the tickets now reside in poly pockets (one pocket for each day of course), there's a list of other possibles waiting to fill in the gaps.  Past experience of these things (and having lots of time on my hands) tells me that this OCD level of preparation will be something I'm grateful for come the start of the the third week.  By then I'm starting to suffer from that dread condition known as "Fringe arse" from sitting in so many unforgiving seats, and I just want to know when and where the next show is.

Of course August is immediately followed by September, and in this household that too can only mean one thing.  It's ice hockey season.  But excitement at the prospect of seeing the new Caps line up take to the ice will have to be contained.  There's some serious Fringe going to get through first....

Carnival time

The city is well into Festival Season now (more of which in another post) and buzzing with tourists.  One of the free events staged each year is the Festival Carnival Parade, which took place on 17 July.  Several hundred performers and participants assemble on The Mound and come down the hill and along Princes Street to the West End where many then continue into the Gardens and give performances.

The parade itself is a mixture of professional entertainers and community groups, with dancers, acrobats, drummers, pipers, a brass band, Chinese dragons and more.  I took a video as they passed by, trying to reflect the colour and energy and excitement they generated.  Sadly it was a dull, cloudy day, but at least it stayed dry and warm.

You can see the full 18 and a bit minute video by clicking on this link.

Or you can find the fourteen individual clips that have gone into it on my YouTube Channel.

Who? SNP? Never heard of them...

TAE SEE OORSELS....

We've just got back from a brief foray back to our old haunts down in England, staying with friends.  Given recent events, and the unfolding development of the new, unelected, UK government, it's no surprise that politics was a frequent subject of conversation.

Both the people we resided with, and other old acquaintances we caught up with, were, like us Remain voters.  All have a strong interest in politics, all share at least some of our left wing principles.  So it was interesting listening to what they new about the political scene in Scotland, and, more specifically, the personalities and names they recognised.

No surprise that Nicola was known to all, and featured frequently on the radar.  And that Alex remains a weel kent figure, no matter what people might think of him.  But the other 'bi' name that seems to have media recognition down there is.... wee Ruthie.  Yup, on the basis of my very small and wholly unscientific sample, it appears that Ruth Davidson is the third best known current Scottish politician in England.  If you were looking for evidence of the media's right wing bias....

Nobody could think who the leader of Scottish Labour was.  Kezia's name evoked some recognition when I mentioned it, but none immediately connected it with the position she holds.

But the biggest surprise, to me, was the total blank I drew with one name you'd think they should all be aware of.  The leader of the third largest bloc - over 50 MPs - in the House of Commons and often the only effective parliamentary opposition to the UK government..  The chief Westminster representative of the party that forms the government in a substantial part of the UK.  A party which can boast the third largest membership numbers of all UK political parties, not that far behind the figure for the Tories and comfortably well clear of fourth place.  A man who recently put in a strong performance on BBC's Question Time, where he was a voice of sense amidst the usual right wing drivel.  Yet not one of them seemed to have any idea who Angus Robertson was.

The events, and mounting sense of crisis, in British politics over the past three weeks has shown the UK to be dysfunctional and anything but 'United'.  The disdain with which Scotland's voice continues to be treated is ever more evident, and my finding felt like an indication of just how little we are listened to.

Feels like Independence can't come soon enough.  We need to get off the Titanic.