Well, of course, I had to go back and wash my hands. This week I’ve left the fun, wind and drink of The Auld Rock and come down to visit our celtic brothers in Cardiff.
I am wandering through Cardiff Bay with top bog-trotting comic and Doctor Who Fan extraordinaire Johnny Candon, spouting crap about Torchwood as if I know what I’m talking about when Johnny goes “Oh. Look.”
-And who is sitting there at a wee cafe reading his paper and smoking a fag?-
-None other than the great man himself Russell T Davis! Recent Úberlord of all things Whovian!
And of course, Queer As Folk- the programme that made it ok for straight blokes to have gay mates. Not the intention of the show, but a nice by-product (or bi-curios-product, if you will)
Well, it takes us five minutes of saying things like “What if he tells us to fuck off? I couldn’t recover,” and so on to each other but we finally go and do the shakey hand thing.
Loveliest bloke in the world! No kidding. A pleasure. AND it's my birthday. What a gift? I thanked him for inspiring and entertaining me with his book The Writers Tale, a pressie from my wife which I’m reading just now, and told him in a voice like a teenager in the midst of dropping his balls “I’m a writer too!” Yeah, I know. A bit pathetic. But his book says you have to be bold and just go for it! Put yerself about a bit. So it’s his own fault.
Honestly, though. Nicest guy you could meet.
And of course we get the photo. Check out below this fabulous image of tri-celtic, sci-fi homo-erotica (or two sadcase, fanboys pushing 40, pestering a hard working man who is just trying to have a fucking coffee break.)
Last friday saw the graduation night of the Shetland Adult Learning Stand Up Comedy & Public Speaking course, taught by my very good self over the past cuppla months. Sold Oot! They came out to The Sound Hall, Lerwick in their droves (well, 60 capacity) through a snowy blizzard (True. Check the vid below and previous posts for the weather report,) and laughed into the night.
And check ma bike!
That wilny be goin' anywhere for a while. Not that it went far anyway. Shops and back mostly. And look, this is the south side of the lovely village of Voe halfway up the mainland.
The word Voe is auld Norse for "a big long bay", whereas the word Wick, as in Norwick means "a big open bay" like the kind of bay we might call a bay.
I know it's a daft hat but I'm a Norrlander now. Okay, mibby if I swanned down Byres Road with it on, yes, I'd be one of those tits that swans down Byres Road in a daft hat (much like I was when I lived there) but now I live 30 miles south of the artic cirlce so it would be daft if I DIDN'T wear one.
It's former military base RAF Saxavord, now Saxavord Hotel and Resort in the north of Unst, frequented by archaeologists, ornithologists and folk just wanting a remote piss up location with lots of fresh air and coastal walking.
...Russian President Dimitry Medvedev, in his first state-of-the-nation speech, blames the United States foreign policy for the recent conflict in Georgia. He's sticking some nukes in Kalliningrad right next door to the USA's Polish ones.
Meg wisney best pleased. 
Caroline had bought halloween cakes for her pupils so we pulled the cakes out of the message bags and had them for supper. Bugger them.
While I relax in the lounge: 
"Thanks," we shout to the variably pissed off crew and drive up to the next ferry terminal where, of course the last ferry left an hour and a half ago. Oh aye, that's why we had to be on the 9pm from Toft. Oh well. Back to plan B. Await the morning ferry. 
Got home at 7am to an angry hungry cat. 
(see map A=Sumburgh Airport, B= My House .) If I'd waited for the next bus, 3 hours later, I would have missed ALL my connections home. Had to get a cab to Lerwick where the bus to Toft left 5 minutes early "as it normally does" I was informed by a helpful memeber of station staff. I hitched a lift from a council electrician. I told him I was off to the ferry to meet my wife who was at a workshop in the Bonhoga Gallery- so he took me there!
We were exposed to more local traditions with a wedding last weekend. The couple walked from the church to the local hall with fiddlers at the front, a guy shooting a rifle to scare away the 'trows' (trolls) followed by the bride n groom, the wedding party and the guests and at the back are the couple o guys with brooms sweeping to make sure evil didn't follow. Although plenty of spirits did flow pretty soon afterwards.
Turn on the local radio-Cash! Walk into a shop-Cash! By sheer coincidence the reknowned biopic Walk The Line was on the telly not long after we arrived just to remind us.
When we went to the Unst Show it was Cash blareing out of the tannoy speakers interspersed with the usual diddley diddley folky stuff. AND at the concert that night one of the performers covered Falsom Prison Blues.
Why Cash? Why here? What's the connection? Whatever, it's not a problem. The boay's a legend.
I start teaching a course in Guitar Playing For Beginners at the local school tonight, so, aye, a wee bit of Cash in the mix I think. The heedie's wife is one of my pupils so I better be great.
S.x.
So that's me got myself an article printed in Shetlands monthly lifestyle magazine "Shetland Life."
It was printed alongside another article with a different viewpoint making me look like a right moany killjoy mofo.
But it has established me well in with the Shetland 'clit'eratti (ie: i'm a wee bit of a fanny. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)
Anyway, here's the article.
As an actor, writer and comedian from Glasgow I am all too aware of the biggest marketplace for creative and artistic talent in the world.
While hundreds and I mean hundreds, of my colleagues, contemporaries and competitors are displaying their wares at this bizarre eastern bazaar I will be…moving to Shetland! I am now nearer Bergen than Edinburgh. No, I’m haven’t moved to the furthest Scottish postcode from Edinburgh as I can at this particular time of the year deliberately-it’s just a happy coincidence. With a change of career for both my wife and I (her, silversmith to art teacher; me, stand-up comic to writer) our move to Unst -the island above all others (a good gag in itself) could not have come at a better time for me.
Hate is a word I do not use lightly. I’ve often very snootily and pedantically chastised people for its inappropriate use, “What, you HATE carrots?” I will sneer, “I mean you actually hate them? Like you hate racism and cruelty and injustice? I mean actual hate?” So let me make it clear that when I say I hate the Edinburgh fringe festival, I actually HATE the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
What was once and excellent breeding ground and melting pot for artists and entertainers- visual artists hooking up with bands, comedians acting in plays, politicians and novelists doing comedy shows- has become a cattle call for every opportunistic business minded wannabe to “play the system” and get their slot on whatever game show panel is being recruited for that week- self-censoring, dumbing down down, fawning over these designer clothed Londoners with the £200 haircut, fitting into their limited focus group focus
It’s all gotten a little too bloated and unattractive. You are not just an artist or entertainer anymore. You must also be a businessman, a producer, an advertising exec, a sportsman, an accountant AND a pretty face.
So I’m out. If that is what is required then I shall sit in my wee hut on my wee island with my laptop, satellite dish and fiber optic, creating my genius and flaunting my talents on the web. The internet may seem more competitive due to the sheer number of artists and entertainers using it to get their stuff out there, but everyone is equal. More money doesn’t get you more exposure. Having a ruthless big corporate agency doesn’t get you bigger promotion. Everyone has their five minute open spot; their bite at the cherry and, in this accidental meritocracy, talent will out.
And you spend less money on drink.
This is the bantam hen that lives in Yorkshire Steve's garden, two doors away. She has given us a dozen eggs so far. Gorgeous!It's a right wee green co-op aroon here.
Between them our neighbours Steve, Sarah, Boagsy and Will&Jackie have so far given us 6 cod, 1 mackerel, 2 crabs, 12 eggs, mixed lettuce leaves, tomatoes, cucumber, a handful of physalis and a bag Ness Kidney potatoes (indiginous to Shetland.) And all locally grown and caught by their own hand. (Well, except the eggs, that was by the chickens arse.) And if you throw in the rhubarb from our own garden, our home made bread and all the local produce we buy like butter, milk, lamb, beef, smoked garlic, ice cream and lemon curd, well, Hugh Fernley-Whitshisface would be gushing all over the place.
AND we have a brewery in the village! The Valhalla Brewery. Six different beers and all great!
AND Harlodswick up the road has a chocolate factory! Yes. Foords Chocolates.
If this island ever did wine, coffee and bananas we widny have to EVER leave.
No cheese produced in Shetland though. Weird. Well, it looks like I know what business I'm going into when the showbiz career goes belly up. CHEESE! CHEESE I TELLS YA!
On Saturday Baltasound played host to The Unst Show. Mostly live stock (best sheep, best cock, etc,) but also arts and crafts.
"
only about 8-10 minutes drive from oor hoose.
We learned even before we arrived in Shetland that the hot talking point was a proposed building called Mareel. So many voices were vociferous and noisy in their opposition with some councilors talking about battles and war. Even after the building was given the go ahead in a close called democratic election, people were calling for recounts and how they were avowed to overturn the decision. Words were said. One Shetlandic journalist suggested that the cost in postage of letters to The Shetland Times on the subject could have paid for the building.
“Wow”, I thought, “What kind of building could invoke such hue and cry? A maximum security prison? A nuclear waste refinery? An Al Qaeeda training ground or some other equally dangerous and unhealthy institution?
“It’s a cinema.”
“What?”
“It’s a cinema and theatre complex with a rehearsal room.”
“ Like a picturehouse?”
“Yes.”
”Where people sit silently in the dark sharing a bon huer with a touching story or a rollocking rollercoaster ride with the latest blockbuster?”
“Yes.”
“And a concert hall with a state of the art sound system for musicians to touch and inspire the soul?”
“Yes.”
“And a rehearsal room with a sprung floor for wee lassies to go to dance class and couples in their thirties go to do salsa?
“Yes.”
“???”
Here's an artists impression.
The opposition is baffling. Okay, so I’ve only just got here and I don’t know the history and the ins and outs and so on, but should that matter? Am I perhaps in a better position to register the bizarre nature of the debate.?
“We don’t need it,” say some. We have The Garrison Theatre. Yes, while The Garrison does serve the community well, with theatre, music and film, it is in the end an unlicensed ex drill-hall showing a few movies every now and again. Is this enough? Why deny yourself the pleasure of a room designed for the very purpose of film and music? And a world class concert hall would attract world class artists.
“We can’t afford it,” is the other one. Well you know what? I can’t really afford to take my wife to
The language of opposition used is also very bizarre. It takes the tone of people who are not just speaking out against something they don’t think will work, but of people personally violated and ridiculed, desperate to get back at someone, when in reality they were, very simply, voted against.
Perhaps, as someone who works in the arts industry I am rather biased. And with the current facilities in Shetland, yes, we can put on concerts, films, plays etc, to entertain and enlighten the public who seek it. But the prospect of what we could give you with the right equipment is very exciting. The talent and the enthusiasm are already here so give us the tools and we’ll finish the job. You will not be disappointed.
I do sincerely hope that when Mareel is built and up and running that the naysayers will allow themselves to enjoy it.
Asking how he felt about winning he said, "Tack själv för den här stor heders-. Utom Jag spillt för Barcelona alltför så fuck den Påve."
