Strangers in Your Whimsical Isolation,

I could move into a coffee shop and live there, Rosie Taylor Project made me believe so. Their album, This City Draws Maps is lovely; the song, Good Café on George Street makes me long for the city of my yooni, Embra. The album has such a beautiful mix of instruments.

I also wish I could kick a ball in a park all day, I forget the last time I came close to the perfect punt but the time for parklife has sadly past.

I wonder who the actions that are classed as “conservation” are really for. Is this construction on the Loch Leven heritage trail worthwhile? Is it possible to gaze upon pond skaters? I could have acquired a spade for myself.

Exactors of Harmonic Spectacles,

The Big Tent is a gathering celebrating the environmental movement, cultural revival, and positive action for change. I suspect that this is a case of “preaching to the converted” in my estimation of who would be most likely to attend. Along with all their stalls, there was a schedule of live music; seemingly a range of artists of lesser repute were playing but Saturday was to be headlined by King Creosote, thus I made an effort to wear trousers, give a few hours of my time to driving to Falkland and existing there whilst listening to music.

As it happened – As it was supposed to happen (he adds as a precursor to a forthcoming book review in The Bellyaches before realising that it is completely inappropriate) – B Raymond & The Voicettes, the penultimate act of the evening, had yet to take the stage, namely due to the mess created by the master of ceremonies encouraging children to throw grass at him. I looked anxiously at my watch.

B Raymond & The Voicettes have already featured in The Bellyaches; they’re a band from just along the road. They won a contest to provide music to a Brylcreem commercial. They seem reasonably competent in turning out their pop tunes; musically, they break no boundaries and lyrically, we’ve heard them all before. On the other hand, wondrous songs about house sparrows, collared doves (I saw 18 on our telegraph pole) and kingfishers (I haven’t seen one this year) or topical songs about the poisoning of the River Leven threatening the Blue Flag status of Leven Beach (I hate pollution and Blue Flags, why can’t it be a win-win situation?) or the man who fell off a pavement in Kennoway are arguably not what their target audience wants to hear. I counter this argument by saying British Sea Power would and they’ve just been nominated for the Mercenary Music Prize.

I was not impressed with their use of bad language between songs and during the foul-up which required them to start one song over again; the audience was varied, they may not have been the eco-warriers I had expected, they were unbelievably random but I would have expected the band to be aware of the higher proportion of children and duffers than they would be used to in their audience. They finished their set with Old Man Marley, the Brylcreem song, it wasn’t the show-stopper they thought it was but it allowed them to leave the stage and walk around the site like the rock’n’roll stars they want to be.

After half an hour of setting up, King Creosote and his many helpers were ready to go. King Creosote played some of his songs; Not One Bit Ashamed, Twin Tub Twin, Esther’s Planet, You’ve No Clue Do You were amongst them, they were nicely done but I felt they were wasted on this audience who were far too ragtag for my liking.

Pictish Trail took over for 4 songs. My thighs were becoming painful by this time, I was suffering from football training in the morning. The Pictish Trail is a mystery to me; he seems an integral part of King Creosote’s live shows, he has a tremendous voice, yet for all the attention KC and Fence receive, we’re just arriving at the stage of hearing Pictish Trail on the radio. His penchant for modern electronic sounds and traditional folk music will make his forthcoming album interesting to say the least, to say a bit more, I’m a bit apprehensive about the Hot Chip influences. Although in pain, I stayed on in case he played I Don’t Know Where to Begin which is an incredibly beautiful, honest and fragile song. He didn’t bother; he threw out a mix as was perhaps best to a festival audience. The electronic noodling was alright, I thought that I would perhaps have to spend some time with it and be able to hear the words.

King Creosote returned to the fore, but by this time, a couple of ne’erdowells had begun to infringe upon my territory. I stayed for Nooks and perhaps one other song, I looked at my watch anxiously before giving into my legs and retiring to watch the football friendlies on the television.

Activators of Mulligans,

“What are you reading?”
“A book.”
“I can see that. What is it about?”

This is how the conversation pans out; if the agitator really cared they’d be reading the book and not me. I was only posed this question once whilst reading The Steep Approach to Garbadale, my reply was, “The new one by Iain Banks.” This sufficed because other version goes on:

It’s about a boy whose family owns a board game company and they’re thinking of selling the business and they have a meeting to decide whether to sell.

The plot isn’t much more complicated than above, there are a couple of love interests for our main character, Alban, there’s a mystery over his dead mother and his bewilderment over his role in employment, the family and the landscape of modern life. However, the book doesn’t really go very far from where it seemed it would after the first few pages, I can draw a parallel with the story that’s featured on the television news bulletins last week of the man who set fire to his neighbours garden with a blowtorch whilst weeding, the gist of the story was that a man set fire to a bush; right now, neds up and down the country are torching anything at hand, including hedges, journalists have made a story out of a basic action by creating the story of the mad scientist creating an explosion that wiped out a street. Iain Banks starts with a simple plot here and creates something wonderful.

The book is written, in the main, in the third person but timely interjections of first-person perspective from the leader of the book’s tribe of neds, Tango, are remarkable. The sections don’t really add to the plot greatly, they don’t even add to the characterisation of the main protagonists; I think they only serve to show how the world and people can be viewed differently by different people and illustrate how people can sometimes become entrenched in their own worlds, in this case; Alban becoming consumed by family politics and history.

Since the plot is simple, Banks thickens it by providing depth to the characters through perfectly-timed flashbacks; all the important family members’ lives are recounted superbly so that in time for the big decision at the EGM, suspense and mystery prevails.

Iain Banks is a fantastic author, he again proves in his imaginative plots and characters and successful use of unorthodox structures that he is the best around.

Medical Stars Saving Those Savaged by Grinning Parasites,

When I was told that the theme tune to M*A*S*H had words, I was amazed. This is the kind of revelation that I can cope with; being told that I was the victim of attempted bank fraud is something I can manage; discovering substantial fraud the bank had not detected did not unnerve me, however, the considerable scrutiny that I then had to undergo was most stressful. Banks have to be careful, as my case shows there are many unscrupulous people in the world, but in coming to the aid of me, the victim, they also had to guard against me being the perpetrator. It’d have to be a rather elaborate scheme that I had set up if I was hoping to gain, I can’t even begin to imagine how I would have come to benefit from the course of actual events and that’s perhaps the problem – naivety. I pay attention to my accounts, I study statements, I avoid risky online moves and telephones have never been my thing.

Fraudsters have no conscience, they attack random people. Recognised evil in our worlds demonstrates trends in its choice of victim. John Wayne Gacy Jr formerly of Chicago, Earth, now of track 4, Illinois by Sufjan Stevens exhibited consistency in his choice of victim. Perhaps bank fraudsters do, perhaps I should stop thinking of myself as a random and stop identifying with past and future losers.

We’re doomed; risk minimisation is that is left. I wish I could have laughed through it all. It wouldn’t have helped. I was made aware of the theory that laughter is the brain rewarding itself for having the intelligence to recognise a short series of surprising results. I agree with this, I am smart, yet I wonder if some people will ever be able to find anything funny should this be true but idiots seem to be laughing all the time. Inflicting misery upon others must part of their “surprising results”, they don’t know what the outcome will be after they do something that is unacceptable to respectable members of the community. For others, the misery of others that they delight in might only be perceived misery, but that’s enough for their small mind.

I have eaten too much rhubarb today. Sainsbury’s had tempting promotional stickers on all their fruit produce today, I could have gone crazy. I tried to place the price cuts in context of the “credit crunch” but I then I couldn’t be bothered to fully comprehend.

Dear Folks of the Underling Walkways,

On Friday, I took a ‘sunshine day’; I awarded myself the day off because of the weather. It was earned. I headed off to the city of Embra, the city to which I feel connected but never attached to. The emperor required new clothes. The queen was also in town causing a nuisance. The monarchy ought to test the nation, if they were really wanted, they’d be able to sail past without altercations on our roads, instead, they sequester polis and demand road cordons.

Anyway, one end of Princes Street was out of bounds and I was forced to furnish myself with rags down the other. Maybe I’m feeling old because all my usual stops seem to have ended their bid to attract me; I don’t like big logos, I don’t like slogans, I don’t like bright colours, I don’t like chequered bits. I’m too old to be one of those skinny kids.

I am skinny though, and I’m nearly a kid, so I buy the skinniest non-skinny things, it’s the transitional plan, but I’d still rather rave to anyone about Fleet Foxes rather than Black Kids or MGMT. Nearly everyone has blogged about Fleet Foxes, for harmonies and rhythms, they’re the first point of contact of the current crop, they’re just lovely. The best advice I would offer is to burn a CD with both the self-titled album and the Sun Giant EP on the same disc. White Winter Hymnal, Ragged Wood and Mykonos are the obvious points to begin from.

After the purchase of another pair of the same jeans/trousers I already have (this may be a sign of settling into a lifestyle of duffing), a pair of trousers reduced to £7 (duffing by bargain spotting), a pair of jeans that I'm not so sure about and then some of those cheap coloured t-shirts that are found in all the stores - they're the ones that are dubiously stitched and difficult to iron - I returned to my chair, my book and to my garden sunshine.

"Would passengers who wish to leave the train at this stop, please make their way towards a door."

Unerring Patrons of Bygone Beauties,

Upon first hearing the first single, Age of the Understatement, by Larst Shadow Puppets, I was sceptical; two lads from two equally annoying bands had released Johnny, Remember Me, a hit by John Leyton in 1961, with different words.

Alex Turner’s band, the Arctic Monkeys, are superstars despite their roughness and grim overtones (I can't believe Voxtrot are currently in their top 4 friends, that means the Arctic Monkeys might actually like music). Miles Kane’s lot, The Rascals, play their guitars like cheese graters to the delight of the NME, who don’t care that the band are only 10% as good as their previous incarnation, The Little Flames. Thankfully on their collaboration, they employed a talented orchestra and the album, of the same title as the lead single, they produced now entertains me much more than any of them have done previously.

I sidestepped my initial quibbles with Age of the Understatement, perhaps prompted to do so by Standing Next to me, the latest single with a fantastic video; it’s only 2 minutes and 18 seconds long, that’s classic pop record length. It strikes me, with this track that they really have thought of everything in their effort to pay tribute to the past. Calm Like You is my favourite, for listeners who don’t pay attention, the lyrics are worth looking up, it’s the tale of a familiar situation. The big band really does provide great drama to every song and they do their best to distract from the tactless vocals our two protagonists are celebrated for. The London Metropolitan Orchestra has every right to call themselves Larst Shadow Puppets too. As with the records of old, the like made by Frank Sinatra and his generation, the overall sound is dramatically improved by employing skilful session musicians rather than sampling, looping or playing with effects pedals, I can only hope that others follow the lead of Turner, Kane and the drummer (acknowledge James Ford, he may be the main man) and that the industry rids itself of electrical wizardry, returns to real instruments – it might even be worth paying the stomped up ticket price to one of the gigs. I’d part with £25 to see Larst Shadow Puppets in Glasgow.

Negotiators Including Kevin Spacey,

I can’t imagine never expanding my record collection again, although I could probably settle with what I have, Wolves by My Latest Novel and Illinois by Sufjan Stevens alone would do a solid job of appeasing me until eternity. In fact, I have decided to trim my collection for now. I didn’t want to deal with Evilbay, so I’ve tried Music Magpie, I sent off 5 CDs as a trial, I await my cheque, however, on the surface of it, they appear to take the stress out of selling CDs from home. Music Magpie might be becoming a more trendy record shop in the months to come, they’re already boosted by Embrace - Fireworks (Singles 1997-2002), My Architects – Grand Designs, Misty’s Big Adventure - Black Hole, Adam Green – Friends of Mine, and Wrens – Meadowlands.

I bought the Embrace compilation after everyone had forgotten about them, for some reason, I had a memory of enjoying listening to Wonder whilst working in the shop when it was played on Kingdom FM 3 times every hour. After their Coldplay-inspired comeback, I came to call them Embarrass and as such, I can no longer possess a CD by this Radio Double One-friendly bunch.

My Architects had a song on the 6th Music playlist called Airborne. It’s nice, it’s of its geography, Warrington, and it possesses wist.

I liked the idea of Misty’s Big Adventure at first, their songs, as separate, are strong, they have novelty value, they’re zany, they’re energetic, however, the tempo never drops on this album, it wears me out, they waste their own novelty value. I felt this at their gig too; their wacky dancer in the blue bug costume did not endear the band to me either.

I bought Friends of Mine by Adam Green on the strength of Jessica being played on MTV2; that song has a good tempo; however listening back now, the album just seems crass and I never really cared about Adam making observations of celebrity misdeeds.

I can’t even explain why I bought Meadowlands by The Wrens, I don’t know who they are. The purchase may have been a gamble on one of these “Customers who bought this album also bought:” records, I must have been affluent. I now know that the best way to discover new artists is to listen to the radio and buy compilations.

I stand to earn nearly £6.

Triggers of my Sense of Unease,

Actions, and often inactions, are more likely to be useful than opinions thus The Bellyaches readership may have been feeling left in the dark, but I’d never leave them in the dark, I’d always ensure they’d be serving a purpose. I combined a metaphor with a pun/cliché there, it can only ever be understood by me, and I will refrain from future punaphors. I should have provided some short missives.

My holiday gave me time to mull over work. As time went on, I began to feel more disappointed with them all, I don’t know if they let me down, I was promised stuff that I didn’t want and when I didn’t get it, I felt conned. I need only rely upon myself; I can only afford to rely upon myself. The best way to tackle my invisible grievances, I decided, is to stay off the radar. Stealth science.

The weather has not been favourable, it’s so changeable. The weathermen (Sean) seem to be able to predict the sequence of weather but they rarely identify its time of arrival. The weather is making me ill.

I decided to buy a haircut since it was meant to be summer. The hairdresser seemed reluctant to cut it, I’ve decided to believe that she thought my hair was too good to cut, the alternative reason may be that I am the local ogre. I don’t care about styles, I want value.

As I have just completed quarter of a century in this domain, it is announced that the people of Levenmouth have the lowest life expectancy in the Kingdom of Fife. I outlived my life expectancy, I may as well try to complete a century, by which time, I will be the one sending telegrams. I haven’t moved up the line of succession to that throne in 25 years but after the coronation of King Alex, I shouldn’t be too far from the head of the queue to take over from him at Embra Castle.

I won’t be a popular ruler, I’ll make sure my subjects aren’t as fat as those featured on the footage shot in Leven High Street to highlight our health problems. To become popular, our current leader, Gordy Brown, only has to pull all troops out of Afghanistan and send them to Zimbabwe, it’d be a vote-winner, it’d be his Falkland Islands. The perceived state of living in this country isn’t his fault, the English just want to pick on the Scotsman, their behaviour has been typified at Wimbledon this week. It took the encouragement of some Australians to see our Andy Murray defeat Richard Gasquet. Each scream from an English imbecile for Andy’s opponent infuriated me, they are a disgrace. The English should be ashamed of themselves, they should look to the few good ones in their midst (Andrew Marr, Sue Perkins, Alex Turner when he’s with Last Shadow Puppets, not the Arctic Monkeys) and learn how to conduct themselves for the benefit of the greater good.

We ought to look after ourselves, then those in our spheres of influence. I’ll start with me, I’ve never been so fat. I’ll try to lose this weight, but I don’t want to run for fear of shin splints. I’d like a game of badminton, but that's a sport not currently en vogue.