Garrulous Softheads invading the Supernal Realm,

Once again, I travelled into the city of Edinburgh to see Guillemots play at the Liquid Rooms. The venue is situated in the city centre, on a street branching from the Royal Mile; I don't enjoy driving but I'm the only driver that I trust, and city centre driving is tough so it was more important that I drove. A more experienced driver would head straight for the city centre, but I outflanked the city via the bypass and made towards a suitable car park using an appropriate fissure, it proved easy enough and hassle-free.

We arrived 20 minutes before the support act, it's so difficult to judge when the bands will actually start playing. Joan As Policewoman was playing before Guillemots, she shuffled onto the stage much to the crowd's disinterest and arranged a few crumpled sheets of lyrics on a chair. Joan seemed nervous but needn't have, she has an amazing voice; a fantastic range and a heartfelt delivery. Her opening songs include only gentle and sparse notes from her guitar which would make for very special moments in the right atmospheres, but the crowd seemed indifferent; the Joan As Policewoman features a quote by Marc Riley, "Sophisticated and thoroughly charming...a class act", I overhear a voice in the crowd that angers me "What does this Marc Riley do and what does he know?". Joan was rightly bemused, she tried to rouse the crowd by talking about how she enjoyed visiting "the greatest castle....you're meant to whoop then", nevertheless, she premiered the song inspired by her visit and written the evening before, hence the sheets of lyrics, it was a more upbeat number and the crowd finally reacted. This brought some relief to Joan, who went onto tell us about how she ran about the castle, asked by some other tourists what she was running about for, she shrieked "I'm running as far away as possible from my government".

Throughout Joan's set, Fyfe Dangerfield, giant and Guillemots' singer, watched from the front of the crowd.

"Go and speak to him, Leif"

"No, you go and speak to him, what do you even want me to say?"

"Hi, I'm Leif"

"He just wants to watch Joan in peace like me. And I don't even say that."

Fyfe soon joined Joan on stage to play the Wurlitzer organ on one of her songs, he then switched places with Joan; taking up guitar and backing vocals as she played the organ, on her single The Ride. They traded places and sung a fine duet that ended Joan's set. It was a fantastic taster of Joan's talents, she has an incredible voice, which is undoubtedly better than any of other "breathy songstresses" currently doing the rounds.

After a short break, Fyfe Dangerfield reappears and takes his seat, an old, battered chair, missing from the kitchen table, the kind Bargain Hunt's Philip Serrell would go giddy over, and begins an ethereal number, as his song is seemingly drawing to a close, there's clattering of bin lids and hooting of flutes from the balcony and then from the back of the room as the rest of the band parade through the crowd onto the stage in joyous fashion. With a procession like that, the band had set themselves a standard to live up to, and they did. I didn't see the gig as a collection of songs in the conventional manner, it was a layering of noises, often unorthodox, to create a 75 minute-long "Wall of Sound", and although it's quite clear to me that Guillemots have lovingly poured time, energy and imagination into finding a home for all these noises in their set, a sizable portion of the crowd are unenlightened.

The crowd did enjoy the singles, Made Up Love Song #43 and Trains to Brazil, during which the saxophonist and flautist, dressed like stereotypical CIA Men In Black, take the limelight away from Fyfe for a short while. From the mini-album, From the Cliff, Who Left the Lights Off Baby? also seemed to gain approval from the crowd; this song is remarkable for the sudden break in Fyfe's organ playing during which guitarist, MC Lord Magrao, launches into a solo, but, of course, in true Guillemots fashion, rubbing a Black and Decker electric drill up and down the strings; the sound didn't appear to meet Fyfe's standards, he left his seat and put a towel over the Brazilian's head and they resumed the song from where they left off. This was the sole occasion that I really noticed input from the guitarist, his role in the set seemed inconsequential; the set was clearly dominated by Fyfe, Greig Stewart the drummer and the wind section. After another song, the band left the stage, leaving only Fyfe on the stage, he left the organ and microphones, came to the front of the stage and with only a junior keyboard for accompaniment, he sings Blues Will Still Be Blue. Some of the audience struggled to eventually hush the disinterested chatterboxes, this was comical at one point when even minor clinks made by the barstuff were met with irate "sssshhhh"s, singing without amplification seemed quite brave to me and I was quite annoyed with some of the folk who failed to respect the artist, I heard "He's taken it too far now", in spite of this, it was a great moment.

The rest of Guillemots rejoined Fyfe back onto the stage for the final songs before the encore including Cat's Eyes and Go Away, Joan as Policewoman welcomed, in the lukewarm way this crowd had a great adeptness for, back to play violin on a new song. I seriously doubted whether the band would come back for an encore, I wouldn't have blamed them if they didn't, but they did. They played Chosen One and ended with another great new song, it was very upbeat and exuded a sense of resolve against "they", with Fyfe shouting the stinging lyric "They're coming to get us, trying to take my face away".

Guillemots were brilliant, Fyfe Dangerfield was full of energy behind his organ and he has a really piercing voice that grabs attention. In many ways, the lyrics from Made Up Love Song #43 "there's poetry in an empty coke can" and "there's majesty in a burned out caravan" seem to sum up Guillemots ability to detect music in the most inane noises. Unfortunately, I didn't think many of the crowd knew what they were had bought tickets for; to the unappreciative, it may have seemed like a man wailing behind an organ, but not everything can be a plinkety-plonk, diddly-dee anthem. I wonder if there is a difference between Embra and Glasgow crowds. I now regret not speaking to Fyfe Dangerfield to, at least, let him know that not everyone in the crowd was an obnoxious prat; at most, I suppose he might have let me play the electric drill.

The way home was marked by stress caused from not driving home via the city bypass, this nearly led to tension, in-fighting and drugs.

Joan as Policewoman, Guillemots and I were all great, but I was left with a sense of choler after that evening. I've enjoyed all the bands I've seen during this mini-spurt of May gig-going, but I've had enough for the time being, I'm scheduled to come out of retirement in June to see My Latest Novel and Camera Obscura at Glasgow QMU but I might just be tempted to see Jeremy Walmsley before then.

Seekers of Importunate Agents,

I have not been able to watch television much over the last few months, I only turned on to watch favourites like The West Wing or Have I Got News For You. I have ample time now but I haven't watched any more television than I did during that difficult spell, however, I did watch the David Attenborough documentary on climate change, Are We Changing Planet Earth?. The programme seemed very lazy, preferring to show old clips of David in jungles, instead of tackling the real issues. Climate change doesn't depend solely on carbon dioxide from the burning of fossil fuels, other species such as methane and ozone are potent greenhouse gases. Atmospheric particulate matter, such as sulphate particles derived from sulphur dioxide pollution and biogenic emissions, enhanced at times when atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration is high, offsets global warming by blocking solar radiation. Climate change is a multi-faceted subject and the insipid review was disappointing. David kept pleading for the audience's sympathy for animals who faced extinction, however, I saw them as animals who faced evolution - I don't wish to see animals suffer nor do I condone the heedless actions of society, but life has had to adapt from the very beginning.

If the current climate trends are caused by man, not due to astronomical or terrestrial cycles, a solution will be hard to come by and won't be simply a case of planting more trees as Monday's £25 Daily Express Letter of the Day Prize Winner says. Trees take many years to grow and they eventually emit carbon dioxide, but more trees would at least be effective in keeping up the spirits of the public.

I travelled into Embra today by train to attend an employment recruitment fair. I spent some time wandering around the city before going to the fair, I walked down the Royal Mile to the Scottish Parliament. I love that building, there's imagination in every nook and cranny, there's no plain areas, it's astounding. The Cow Parade is currently under way in the city, a saltire adorns the cow that grazes upon the front lawn of the Parliament.

I did not fare so well at the fair, most of the stalls were emblazoned by banners filled with buzzwords, deciphering what each company did was a formidable task. I don't possess the ambition to travel the globe outsourcing business acumen from affiliate networks. I approached each stall and asked "Can you tell me what your company actually does?" and if that didn't meet with sense "I'm an Environmental Chemistry student, am I relevant?". There were a only few companies whom I deemed to be in my field, whatever that is now, and who were interested in talking to me. There was a clear ranking system in operation amongst the representatives at each stall: if the was wholly unsuitable candidates; they'd be turned away completely, if their qualities were loosely related to the company; they'd be told of the companies website address, if the candidates seemed fairly relevant to the company; they'd be given some leaflets, if the candidates seemed suited to the field; they'd receive leaflets and a complimentary pen, in the event of a the representative deeming a candidate's credentials really suited, they'd get the leaflets, the pen and complimentary snacks. Of course, I soon became more interested in accruing as many freebies as possible, however, earning just a leaflet from the stubborn representatives was a trial. After 30 minutes at the fair, I left with plans to contact three companies, just 7 pens, a mini-marker and a box of mints, but I did have to pilfer some of those pens. Although the fair is probably just a PR stunt on the part of the participating companies, I was still mildly disappointed that they didn't seem so interested in what I could offer; I wonder if was it my attire, height, hair or the book I had brought to read on the train, unfortunately, appearance is everything. I didn't even scare them with flash photography.

I spent the remainder of my time in the city perusing the Royal Museum and the adjoining Museum of Scotland. With so many exhibitions, it's easy to become disorientated. I spent my time looking for articles related to space - it's that book I'm reading - but I never found much apart from a Gemini spacecraft. Each time I'm in the museum, a different exhibit takes my curiosity, today, the brightly coloured minerals and the volcanic glass in the geology and mining exhibits were of particular delight. I also went out onto the newly-opened roof terrace, where the views over the rooftops was novel, if not spectacular, the building isn't so tall. Downstairs, Dolly the Sheep has recently been put on display in a rotating tank, as though to prove a whole sheep was cloned and her opposite side is not that of a newt. I could spend a month in the museum, I'd be amused just reading the desciptions of every exhibit, but it's probably best to visit periodically and try to look at only a few exhibitions each time, in order to avoid becoming an exhibit myself.

Masters of the Weary Entourage,

I nearly overcame my irrational fear of having my height measured today. Another commitment, other than The Bellyaches, required me to give details of my height. Height never used to be an issue to me, I was always very small at school, I'm not a giant now, but since I left school I've grown taller than most. As a result, it seems to me, it would be such a waste of growth should I not be at least 6 ft tall, thus I don't want to measure my height and be disappointed.

The crowd at last evening's Divine Comedy gig at Glasgow QMU included an unusually large proportion of tall people. We had hoped to arrive in time to see Declan O'Rourke was playing in the support slot but the navigator proved incompetent - unfortunately, I am both the best map-reader and best driver - and parking spaces scarce. In keeping with one of my other irrational fears, of odd numbers, I handed the tickets numbered 87 and 89 to my colleagues and we entered the venue just as Declan had departed.

The band eventually trickled onto the stage, the main performer, Neil Hannon, appeared last, resplendent in tweed jacket and waistcoat, accompanied with jeans below - in order to reflect the "eclectic nature of the set". The first couple of songs were new to me, and the crowd were generally unresponsive until Generation Sex. Neil is a genuine showman; he never failed to make the audience laugh between songs, he apologised to the crowd for their "late" arrival on stage, blaming and mocking guitarist, Long John Evans, who supposedly forgot they had a gig on. New single, Diva Lady is much more powerful live, other songs from the new album, the one about the teenager in a relationship with an older woman and the one for his mother possess the trademark humour that Neil's success is based upon.

The band performed a cover of The Associates' Party Fears Two - a rotten song but its a favourite of nearly everyone for its diddly riff - where cellist, Chris and violinist, Louisa, in particlar, added a new, fun dimension to the song. Soon the call came from the manager that the band only had 10 minutes left and it wasn't even 10pm, Neil seemed as disappointed as the crowd, he instructed the crowd not to applaud or cheer so that they could get through Charge, Something for the Weekend and Tonight We Fly on time and manage to catch their transport link. It was slightly disappointing that the night had to come to an abrupt end, but the band left the crowd with three astounding songs that served as more than fair compensation.

Constables with Vacuous Schedules,

The planet Earth formed some 4.5 billion years ago and for some reason or perhaps none, a multitude of seemingly impossible physical barriers have been overcome to allow millions and millions of beings to inhabit it. The first evidence of life is thought to be from simple cellular organisms living 3.8 billion years ago, and even their formation and replication is quite a miracle. How it all happened has been argued over for years; mechanisms for the formation of the amino acids that form proteins and the bases that are needed to form RNA and DNA are unknown and those proposed often seem dubious. Furthermore, the scientific community cannot decide how they formed because they are uncertain of the actual building blocks present on Earth at the crucial time; one of the few experiments of the many carried out attempting to model the formation key organic compounds on a prebiotic Earth that actually yields key organic compounds necessary for life, the Miller-Urey experiment, is only relevant if the Earth’s atmosphere consisted of reduced gases (water, ammonia, methane and hydrogen), whilst there is evidence that may suggest this is possible, this is very different to what exists today, furthermore, there’s also strong evidence that a carbon dioxide atmosphere existed at the critical time.

Once these amino acids, nucleic acid bases, sugars and other building blocks have been formed, they somehow all have to be present simultaneously at a point where they can aggregate into proteins, lipids and RNA. These products then have to amass in order to form a cell and a method of replication has to occur. The chances of this all happening, once all the obstacles, chemical, physical, spatial or otherwise are considered, are very small but it has and life really did evolve relatively quickly after the formation of the planet, compared to its age, at least. It’s a marvel that the formation of these tiny organisms all occurred during a time when the Earth was being battered by meteorites and irradiated by powerful UV rays. Once an entity has formed that can be considered “living” (the concept of what constitutes life is also debated), Darwinian processes take charge, and just a few billion years later, multicellular, skeletal creatures have developed and one of supposedly the highest stratum of evolution is skulking about in the middle of night, in someone else’s back garden with the intent of theft from a fellow miracle of creation.

I would never have bought the flag let alone, gone to the effort of erecting it. When Celtic won the SPL championship Father deemed it necessary to purchase a commemorative replica flag, and then he attached it to the pergola in the back garden. Many weeks have passed since it was erected, so it comes as a shock that it should have been stolen last night. I didn’t see the point in flying a flag of a football team, it’s not representative of me or anyone, and I have always thought it quite sad that people identify themselves solely with or as a football team; people have more in their histories than just following a football team. Although our back garden is mostly secluded, flying a Celtic flag always stood a chance of attracting some form of trouble, especially from the Sectarian bigot who lives nearby; I hope that wasn’t its purpose. While I was never in favour of the flag, I’m still a bit angry that the flag has gone; I can’t understand why someone would go to such lengths of evading the barbed wire that lines the garden wall and then clambering dangerously over the pergola to retrieve the flag from its lofty position. I’m also slightly irked that I wasn’t aware of this happening at the time, I hardly slept at all last night, I was awake for so long I nearly had to listen to the Blue Room live, but my quarters are on the other side of the house, out of earshot otherwise I might have had to ask them to leave the premises. It’s rather disconcerting that people roam others’ gardens in the middle of the night - a task surely reserved for hedgehogs – taking our flags and not slurping our slugs.

I doubt anything will be learned from this episode, I wouldn’t be surprised if another flag is erected in its place. As for the culprit, I can only describe them as a waste of 3.8 billion years.

Averters of Careening Lassitude,

I think I am going to write a book. I haven't decided what form it will take yet, I suppose I will decide soon, I manage to decide about what to write for The Bellyaches. If it's to be a novel, I'm not sure the Mark Radcliffe method of deciding a starting point and an end point first, then filling in the middle will be successful for me; thus far, most of my potential end points involve the protagonist suffering from food poisoning and I'm not convinced that I'd like to read that book.

I have finally been able to come to end of a book that I have been reading sporadically for many months. The Case of the General's Thumb by Andrey Kurkov is the tale of a Kiev militiaman, Viktor Slutsky and a lowly-ranked KGB linguist, Nik Tsensky, who are both on the trail of a stash of KGB gold. Their two stories are told in alternate chapters, Viktor becomes involved in the chase inadvertently, after initially investigating the mystery of a murdered presidential advisor whilst Nik has been set the task of accompanying an erratic hitman who has been hired to remove the many obstacles in Nik's superiors' path to the stash. Both protagonists are instructed by mysterious voices on the other end of phonelines. The story is initially confusing due to the surplus of characters, of course, the two strands of the tale eventually meet, thus remembering if a certain character belongs to the Viktor or Nik strand is difficult. Nevertheless, as more characters are found dead or assasinated by our protagonists, the story becomes more accessible and exciting. The highlight of the book is the dark humour associated with the relationship between Nik and the mercurial hitman he has to control. By all accounts, this book is not as highly thought of as his previous work Death and the Penguin, in spite of this, it's still a book worth reading, because once the inconsequential backgrounds to the story are shed, a compelling plot emerges.

I'd also like to comment on a few CD albums that I've been listening to. Picaresque by The Decemberists has been important to me over the past few weeks, although I cannot explain why, perhaps I have identified with the many tales of endurance and hard work communicated by the songs on this album. Semifinalists' eponymous album is a delight, a laconic Amazon reviewer quotes; "Sound scientists in the questing spirit of Grandaddy, Secret Machines or the Flaming Lips, this London-based film school trio craft magic realist rock epics that beneath their broiling surface of neon synthesiser and crunchy guitar, conceal oddly touching emotional epiphanies." King Creosote's latest album KC Rules OK is perhaps not as good as Rocket DIY, however, I've been listening to this in light of the his forthcoming single 678, which is another song with a similar them to those on Picaresque relevant to me, and he's from the Kingdom of Fife, I believe he is the ruling monarch. Using only a piano and a drum kit, Dresden Dolls have produced a wonderful album Yes Virginia, standout tracks are the opener, Sex Changes, and the finale, Sing. Describing their music as "Brechtian Punk Cabaret", they've created a very distinct sound for themselves, somehow the variation of pace and composition of the songs; unimaginable crescendoes of crashing drums, piano bashing and forceful vocals emerge from quieter, more poignant and seemingly intimate moments; create an illusion that there are more than just two band members. At times, I feared if they played any faster, they'd collapse with exhaustion, but they're a talented twosome indeed and although I've only heard them live on radio, I'm sure they'd be treat to see in person. Finally, I've listened to Pip by Keith John Adams, I heard his song Inconsequential Thought on the Mark Radcliffe Show and decided to investigate further. The album appeals to me because it utilises instruments not usually used by mainstream artists, Mark said that a child's piano is used on the aforementioned track, I'm not sure if it is, I think it may potentially be highly skilled use of percussion like a xylophone or a glockenspiel, however it features on a number of tracks and it definitely adds charm to the album. I was mocked this morning when the album came through the post, because the man himself wrote "Hey Leif, Hope you enjoy, many thanks, KJA" on a slip of paper and packaged it in a Jiffy bag himself, he was written off my prejudiced brother - I bet Nigel Orson, trilby-wearing clown and leader singer of dross rock band, Orson, once had to do the exact same but I doubt the end product was quite as brilliant.

Antagonists of Effervescing Marxists,

Unfortunately, I have always relied upon catchphrases. Some are better than others; I really should catalogue them all for posterity. One of my current phrases is “your loss”, it’s not terribly clever but it serves a purpose. A recent example of its use occurred in a short exchange regarding a Radio Double One pop starlet, Needless Pallor, in the kitchen whilst preparing a cup of tea.

“Have you heard of Nerina Pallot?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t like Sheryl Crow’s music.”
“Well, I’m maybe going to see her.”
“Your loss.”
“But it’s about the whole gig experience.”

Prior to last week, I had only ever gone to one gig – Belle & Sebastian at ABC, Glasgow. I had intended to see Aberfeldy in Dunfermline where they were playing as part of Tigerfest at Carnegie Hall, however after working out who wanted a ticket, I then decided that I was best that I didn’t attend due to commitments the following day. The others should have gone without me but apparently, I’m required to look at gig listings, decide if events are worth attending, provide motivation to attend, buy tickets and possibly provide transport but perhaps they didn’t go because it’d be pointless without my attendance because I’m so great.

I was disappointed at not being able to see Aberfeldy and I felt I had let the others down, so later by means of compensation to them, I decided we’d all go and see The Zutons in Perth. Previously, I had little liking for The Zutons, I’d rather hear them on the radio than many other bands but that itself does not really constitute liking them.

I arrived back from Embra, and promptly bundled into another car to make the journey to Perth. After leaving the town, it soon became apparent that no one had brought the Perth street map and that I had restless leg syndrome, I was blamed for forgetting the map but I claimed that the driver is surely responsible for route planning. Perth is only a small place but it has really tricky one-way systems so upon reaching Perth we drove around fairly randomly and dangerously, before employing my favoured and infallible “get out and walk” method.

Perth Concert Hall certainly looks an impressive venue from the outside. When the occasion is worthy, a laser show is orchestrated from the building; this usually triggers reams of UFO sightings across the Kingdom of Fife and Tayside. Once inside, we were presented with Larrikin Love badges for joining their emithering list, in the fresh and airy foyer.

Larrikin Love were supporting, their first two songs were meaningless noise and lost in the base, but after that they came through what I felt was a poor acoustic set-up for them, it was probably tailored for the main act. Edward Larrikin jigged around the stage to songs and it was great fun, I think they sound a bit like Libertines in places but they’re not too similar, Edward Larrikin probably deserves to be a star, the single Edwould was probably the highlight of their half-hour set and happily, they seem to have clutch of songs of comparable ebullience. Following their set, there was a half-hour gap during which my restless legs really began to bite and I had to wiggle and waggle, stretch and strain, and I extolled the virtues of Groovin' With Mr Bloe to the others while some other classics like Virginia Plain and Back In Black were piped into the amphitheatre. I also fought with the camera, it always fails when it is required most, I’ve captured some images from the gig, they are useless, and I did give up before the main act.

The Zutons came on and they were amazing, I expected them to be much quieter but I was glad they weren’t. They started with Why Won’t You Give Me Your Love which was brilliant, even though it does leave my unmoved when it’s on the radio, all the singles were well-received by the crowd. I enjoyed hearing Confusion live, that was their only single I had liked previous to the gig, Abi Zuton’s saxophoning in that song is rather simple but therein lays the charm of it. Dave Zuton’s chat with the audience was rubbish, “Have you ever been to Liverpool?” was rubbish but I suppose we didn’t pay for that. I also think they need to work on the art of the encore, I think there should be an uncertainty over whether the performer will reappear for an encore, even if it is a fake uncertainty, but it was blatantly obvious that they would – they had still to sing their new single and the roadies ventured onto the stage to make sure all the instruments were still in tune. They finished with a huge instrumental racket which was great, I’m still not sure if it was ad hoc, it was similar in style to Doves’ There Goes the Fear, I really like instrumentals at the minute, it’s that Vic McGlynn who’s to blame.

Perth doesn’t lend itself to be driven to easily from the middle of the Kingdom, there’s a main road from the east of the region and a main road from the west of the region to Perth. The journey home probably saw us zigzag between these two main roads on the most obscure roads laid, it was more difficult to navigate in the dark. I wish I could remember a definitive way home from Perth. On these road journeys through the night, conversation inevitably turns to the supernatural, I’m not sure if it’s because everyone has a fear of a Betty and Barney Hill-stylee incident. Apparently, it’s fine for some to tell about UFOs, ghosts and big cats but when I later told of the story of the troglodytes that I informed the Outlaws of Immaterial Spheres of, I was laughed at. It’s perfectly credible that a few homeless people might take refuge in a cave for a couple of summer nights, it’s not as if I claimed the existence of a breed of deformed mutants like those in X-Files episode 4.03 (the only episode I’ve ever seen) living in the local caves permanently.

It was great that the Zutons played in Perth; for most bands, a show in Embra or Glasgow constitutes a tour of Scotland. Perhaps next time, they could maybe even visit the Kingdom, thus we might just be spared being prayed upon by big cats (of racehorse size), abducted by aliens or confronted by roadside ghouls in the dark wilderness of the mysterious, night time countryside.

Dupes of Capricious Pedagogues,

Allegations and accusations are rife, incompetence seems abundant - the time has surely come for Tony to resign. When time in the Houses of Commons has to be devoted to explaining blunders and events in the personal lives of the Cabinet rather than looking forward to implementing new policies, the government ceases to function effectively. Of course, the public don't often hear about the positive work that may be taking place but they are somehow fully informed of the scandals. Much of politics is about perceived image rather than substance, and in this superficial world, it's often more important to create the image before developing substance, as Dave Cameron has demonstrated. Tony can no longer govern effectively; he seems to be spending most of his time begging for forgiveness. His Cabinet appears to be riddled with corruption and inability such that the public can no longer have any confidence in them.

This would never happen under an Alternative Land Use Party government. They'd keep things low-key, they'd strive to implement their manifesto quietly. Governance can't be difficult, the first part involves being a person and part of a people, the second step involves living and identifying needs and problems from that life, third part involves meeting needs and solving problems and there's no requirement for complicated strategies to do so. For example, for me to travel to a given destination in Edinburgh from Fifecestershire by train and by bus, it would cost twice the price of the expensive fuel for the same journey by car. Additionally, the car journey can take place at a time well-suited to me, the car journey is shorter, there is no place to park at the train station and when I'm driving my car, I am always more polite to me than the rogues who commandeer buses. By being a person, I can see a need for more affordable, more comfortable and quicker public transport. Upon becoming a parliamentarian, I would stive to provide this in the easiest way possible. On the matter of public transport, the Alternative Land Use Party would take back the rails and buses, rid the nation of these conniving private firms and provide the commuter with what they need, if tax increases were needed, they would be justified, but if these private franchises can make money from the transport networks than so could the government.

Scandal draws attention to actual record of achievement in government and a bad reputation gained through other misdemeanours can often lead this record to be looked upon disfavourably; worthy achievement will always be overshadowed by failures if a poor image has already been created. When the Alternative Land Use Party and its wholesome MPs sweep to power, I don't believe the analogous headlines ALUP MP DOES NOT WAIT FOR GREEN MAN or ALUP LEADER DEFIES ONE-WAY SYSTEM IN CAR PARK SHOCKER or ALUP MINISTER FORGETS UMBRELLA ON RAINY DAY will prove detrimental to the act of meeting our aims. A government should not be seen, I don't think Scotland's First Minister, Jack McConnell, has believes this though, he seems available for comment on everything, if there's a camera, he'll be there - most days I have to airbrush him out of my photographs for this blog. Perhaps Jack is trying to be seen as a busy man and to create an affable image for the public, but to me, he seems only to open supermarkets day after day.

Between now and a respectable party coming to power, Gordon Brown should take over the as Prime Minister. He must be the only Cabinet minister with a shred of dignity left and a blunt Fifecestershire man might be what this country needs. Gordon, or "Gordy" to his friends, could easily challenge Tony right now and win, I'd be astounded if Tony even had the audacity to try defend himself in a leadership contest, but stranger events have happened.