Schismatics of Transgressive Scheduling,

Sunlight is a commodity in Scotland that, sometimes, only I appreciate. On our last day of sunshine, I departed for the park during my lunchtime; paradoxically, I chose to take the car, as my book was inside, it was a necessary stopping off point. In attempting to move the car 300 metres closer to the park, between car parks, I cut out too in manner that was a little too close for comfort on another car, then in accelerating away from danger (there are two lines spoken by my first driving instructor that I will always remember, although I was not on the end of the latter: ‘Always accelerate from danger.’ and ‘Do you want to cause a road accident or kill a pigeon? Drive!’), I heard a rattle. It was more than a rattle, it was a metallic onslaught. Not only had I held up the driver behind after emerging from a junction, I now had to suffer the modern indignity of dragging an exhaust along the road and pulling over, before turning round and extending the shame as I returned the car back to car park at my work. I took the book to the park and forgot about the car for a while in the sun.

The next day, I was kindly indulged by the chance of car pool, a special type of car pool, I am the pool to the car of a local champion. In order not to prove too much of a burden, I walked to his usual departure point, his home; this is in the neighbouring town. Despite the supposed inconvenience of not having the use of a car, the 20 minute shortcut over woodland scrub in the early morning was a rare delight in this age of rushing around the clock. The cooing of a woodpigeon is something I will insist on when I look for a place to live.

I can’t visit the bank without being offered all sorts of accounts and credit cards. It’s little wonder customers queue for so long, once the ordeal of the queue is over, a lengthy debate results in being given an appointment to meet their financial advisor, all I wanted was to deposit a cheque.

On my return to the bank, I was confronted by two day-trippers. I believe that I am approached more than the average citizen by people looking for directions, perhaps indicates selfishness on my part. These weren’t two ordinary day-trippers, they greeted me with what I take to be an insult, “You look like you shop in charity shops. Can you tell us where the best ones are?” I was flabbergasted. I don’t look down on those who buy second-hand things; I wish I was fortunate enough to find things I like in these shops. I was shocked at the brazen way that two strangers would address me. I regularly visit the charity shops of the town to find books thus I pointed them in the direction of some and arrived early for my appointment. My meeting finished before it was due to start, I didn’t want or believe in change and the advisor was angry that I had been forced into being given an appointment. Apparently, the bank workers on the shop floor often book people in for financial reviews when there is no great need – this is wastage.

The sport of badminton has made a comeback, it is a simple game that need not be so physically demanding as the shuttlecock does most of the work. Badminton has been kind to us in the past, it has gifted us great entertainment. The mental challenge beats that offered in other pastimes; it surpasses Connect 4, draughts, sudoku, FIFA and riddles.

As the working week closed, I was granted some promising results in an experiment, this gives me renewed hope for the coming week. In just three minutes, a week’s efforts paid off and fortunately, before lunchtime. After venturing onto court for the second time in the week during the lunch break, I tried to emulate the results of the morning for a short while but the draw of the record shop was too great. I heard a couple of great live performances on BBC 6music’s evening show this week by Malcolm Middleton and Withered Hand, and with the realisation that Broken Records’ album was also released this week, I had to buy. The demise of Fopp means that to be able find exactly what I want in store, I have to visit Embra. Coupled with an in-store appearance by My Latest Novel in Avalanche Records, it was difficult to remain in the Kingdom of Fife for the last few hours of the working week. I love Embra and the train journey to its core.

I’ve contributed to small businesses twice this week, it meant paying a few more pounds but I can feel proud of myself. Prior to buying some new racquet grip from the new sports store in town, I bought Until the Earth Begins to Part by Broken Records, Religious Songs EP by Withered Hand, Hazards of Love by The Decemberists and Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle by Bill Callahan. My Latest Novel wandered into Avalanche Records and played to a dedicated crowd of around 12, whilst the flux of customers took the audience sometimes closer to 20 in number, I don’t want to analyse the behaviour of those who passed through but, on the whole, I found it ungracious. The dynamics of the in-store appearance were something I had never witnessed before. With little or no ceremony, four of the band performed All in All in All is All, A Dear Green Place, Dragonhide, Learning Lego and I Declare a Ceasefire; hearing these songs in an improvised environment is a privilege, it's always interesting to hear the different ways in which established songs can sound. Although I am highly familiar with both albums, the different voices emerging from the harmonies always surprise and the arrangements are always beautiful, despite, on this occasion, being two members short. During the time, I read the first quarter of the diary of Anne Frank. I'm at the stage where small potatoes (arguments and materials) seem of greater importance than survival, I'm sure this will develop in an interesting way.