More Bus Stop

Here is my good lady wife waiting for the 7.55 to Lerwick at the newly empinkened Unst Bus Shelter.

Like J-Lo we have a troop of minions on standby to redecorate the shelter whenever they are informed Caroline is coming.

Then when I arrive they have to re-do the whole thing.

A Tale Of Two Sandys (and a Martha and a Tom and an Elaine. And a dug called Culain)

This week we were visited by journalist, broadcaster, musician, thriller writer, bread maker, chicken breeder and biker Tom Morton and gang including my old mate...wait for it... Sandy Nelson. Yes! The guy with me in the pic below is called Sandy Nelson! He's taller than me, 10 years younger, better looking and a doctor. We are like Schwarzenegger and De Vito in Twins.(l-r: Martha, Sandy, Sandy, Elaine.)

We stopped off here and there, me showing them the sites of Unst, including the Northern Lights Bistro which was closed. At 1pm-lunchtime. On a public holiday. On a Scottish Isle. During tourist season. Now, I'm no Duncan Fannytyne or Theo Clitoris but even an arty farty treehugger like me can see that this makes no fucking business sense whatsoever.

Anyroad, the big thing is that the Bus Shelter has had a makeover! Last year it was Baby Blue. This season it's pink to make the boys wa..er..wink.


Aw. Gorgeous!

(photies shamelesly ripped from Tom Mortons Beatcroft)

I'm Sandy, Fly Me.

Canny believe I haven't told yuz about this yet. Happened a couple of months ago.

Now that I am away up here in the great wilderness 30 miles short of the Argtic circle my traveling expenses to work are a little painful. When I go to work in Glasgovia for instance it's: bus-ferry-bus-ferry-bus-foot-bus-flight-bus-train. And back.
(the first ferry is free and the second one is included in the bus fair so canny really hark aboot that. Still. Ooyah!)

So a cuppla months ago I'm coming out of departures at Glasgow Airport and I see two Arriva Glasgow Flyer busses. I only need one.

As I stand there gormlessly wondering which bus to get on some suit collers me and says, "Excuse me, are you getting on this bus?"
"Yes," sez I, "but I'm not sure which one to get."
The suit points to the one on the right and sez, "It's that one. Congratulations. You are our ONE MILLIONTH CUSTOMER!"

As I stand there eyebrow raised Spock style trying to comprehend this Oor Wullie storyline that unfolds before me, other eye looking out for Dom Joly, a wee crowd of semi suits start chattering "Ooh! Is that him? There he is! He's the one" (the closest I'll get to being Jesus.)

Next thing I know I am surrounded by them cameras flashing, champaign, chocolates and low quality Arriva promotional items being thrust into my hands.

While I stand there wrestling with the possibilities of my agent and showbiz mates crawing, "That fanny will do anything for publicity," against free sweeties and booze the suit says, "Here's a pass for a years free travel on the Airport Flyer."

That's £120 in old money.

So, as you can imagine I said, "Well I never had a reputation to speak of anyway. Festoon away."
The pass was passed over with four vouchers to the Free Booze Lounge (don't know what it's official name is but I think Free Booze Lounge covers the idea.)

Carbon fitprint through the fuckin' flerr.

Uyeasound Up Helly Aa

Photos by Lucy Hargreves.

All the different guizer squads muster at The Galley Shed around 7.30pm.


After the Guizer Jarl's Squad hand out the drinks we all grab a torch each.
Guess which ones me and which ones Caroline.

Then we march off into the crisp winter night towards the galley.
Once gathered around the galley the torches are tossed in.
(note the sheilds, of the rugby six nations flags, as painted by Caroline and her pupils.)
...and up it goes!
The bottle is passed around.

And a Viking gets a happy ending.
What happens next is all the squads go to the village hall where they in turn perform a viciously satirical sketch based some recent goings on in the community. Fights have broken out over it.

Our sketch went down well. I did, however, nearly get into a fight when I pissed in the sink in the gents and a guy went mental in an Eastern European accent and started pushing me around. Must be frowned upon over there. Then again we don't oppress Jews, so one mans poison and all that.

After the sketches it's Shetland Come Dancing!


A splendid time was had by all. Hoorah!

Only two more Fire Festivals to go. Norwick then Hillswick.

S.x.

An Ordinary Friday Night in Unst.

A little teaser of what's to come.

What be this sorcery?

More to be revealed in the next post!

The Auld Rock Rocks.

Apparently there was an earthquake in Shetland this morning. News tae me. I was in my kip snoozing like a peerie bairny.

Click da link

Shetland Earth Quake. BBC News

You can take the boy...

I may have been a little too sarcy in my last post( yeah, like you can be TOO sarcy ) in my opinion of my hame toon of Glasgow. So here's wee list of the things I actually miss, accepting that family and friends is a given.

1. Curry- I've tasted curry in Glasgow, Manchester, Birmingham, Cardiff, Leicester, Nottingham, London, Bristol, Southampton , Portsmouth, Lerwick, Stockholm and Jakarta. Glasgow is the best.

2. Libraries- Lovely old municipal libraries like Partick and Maryhill and the Mitchell. Playgrounds for the mind of any age clasped in beautiful achitechture.

3. Salandinis Traditional Italian Barber Shop- Tucked away on that wee bit of West Princess St near Kelvinbridge Underground, Luigi and his son Antonio cut your hair, shave your chin and read your mind with Scicilian flair over espresso.

4. Swanning Up and Down That Byres Road Thinking Ahm Sumthin Ahm Urny- Where better than Byres Roads MILLION coffee shops to indulge your delusions of grandeur, waving at mini celebs you hardly know and paying a fucking fortune for no' bad coffee while working on your screenplay.

5. Lounge!- Glasgow would be sadder place without the likes of Mark Robb, Nick Peacock and the rest spinning the jazz, latino, lounge, easy and funk. When I set up "The North Lounge" in Unst I will invite them up on an arts council grant.

So, while I do love my new life up here in the wilderness with all the wonderful things it has to offer, I do miss some bits of Glasgovian life. It's worth it though. I can still indulge when I go down for gigs. A random Glasgow day would be:
GOMA Library; Offshore Coffee Shop; Luigi's for a shave; Byres Road/FOPP/Oxfam/more coffee etc; do my gig; mibby a late pint at The Woody if it's on or a curry.

Then it's back to the peace, quiet and eating of Unst. So while I'm glad to see the back of The City of Bams I do miss those little things.

The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse.

That'll be yer 2009 started then! Happy New Year to yuz all.

Most of my December was down in Glasgow where it was great to catch up with lots of friends and colleagues and enjoy their hilarious jokes about Shetland being an inbred buttfuck backwater. Ha ha. Yes. Funny.

The Western Isles are 200 miles that way, mate. (points south west.) Don't get us mixed up.

It's all back to work this week, so while you're looking at this on your way back from the office:

I'll be looking at this on the way back from mine:


Enjoy your cappuccino at 3 in the morning, darlings. And your heroin.

Love,
Wee Scandi.x.

Allelujah!

That's me back in Unst after a month of tearing up 'n' down Airstrip One shaking my white ass for works nights out. During this time I had few notable experiences. Only really the RTD stalking of the previous post and an enlightening little gay date out to IKEA with my pretty blonde posh chum Neil.

During our "man-date" I went to releive my self in the "toaletter" when I was suddenly overcome by the love of our lord Jesus Christ.

He appeared to me in a piece of saw milled Swedish elm.

Well, of course, I had to go back and wash my hands.

He wished me a commerce free Saturnalia, I wished him a happy official birthday and went about my cushion admiring business.

Hoppas ditt 2009 ár mycket bra!

S.x.

RTD! OMG!!!

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.)

Hameward Boond.

SO! When I'm down in Glasgow I stay with my Mum & Dad ( cup of tea in the morning, piece on sausage, washing done, "phone if yer staying out all night!" and so on.) So here is my journey back to Baltasound as taken this week.

1. TRAIN Gilshochil- Queen Street. 13 mins
2. TRAIN Queen Street- Aberdeen. 2 1/2Hrs
3. FERRY Aberdeen- Lerwick. 12 hrs (overnight)
4. BUS Lerwick- Toft. 40 mins
5. FERRY Toft- Ulsta. 20mins
6. BUS Ulsta- Gutcher. 25 mins
7. FERRY Gutcher- Belmont. 10 mins
8. BUS Belmont- Baltasaound. 10 mins

An epic 22 hour adventure! The plane is more expensive and easier but also there is no bus, repeat, NO BUS to meet the plane from Glasgow. Are they trying to tell us something? So no plane unless I can get a lift.

HOWEVER, yesterday on the Shetland leg of my journey I cleverly fell asleep in the middle of Step 5, the Toft -Ulsta ferry. The night before I hadn't got to sleep till 1am and then some drunk tit came into his bunk (shared cabins like a floating youth hostel) at 3am and fannyed about for a while! Basterd! Ages to get back to sleep then up at 6.30 in a "bing-bong" hi-de-hi style "get-oot-yer-bed" announcement.

So asleep I fall on the middle-sized ferry waking up to see us docked at the isle of Yell with no idea how long we'd been there or if we were about to shove off again. I ran down just in time to have two deck hands point at me and laugh. Missed the bus. Fuct!

Luckily there were two cooncil lorries parked at the shop. I managed to hitch a lift from Lowrie, a workie from the North Mainland.

He was going to MY STREET! (well, the airstrip round the corner from my street.) He even gave me coffee and biscuits as we awaited the peerie (wee) ferry. Braw!

BTW, the way I found out there was no bus at Sumburgh to meet the Glasgow plane was by arriving at Sumburgh on the Glasgow plane and standing there like a pure diddy. Sumburgh is in the extreme south of the islands and I live in the extreme north. (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!

Not since I was a child have I had so much fun getting into cars with strange men.

Shetland Life

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.

Act Local, Eat Like A Yokel.

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!

Shetland pony through the back

Looked oot the kitchen windae yesterday and what did I see?


Looks like my neighbour, Frank, the horse tamer, is bringing his work home with him.

It's the Unst show today and I think Frank is entering this little colt in the "1980's Pop Star Lookalike" category.

Norwick Exposure.

We've had a GORGEOUS month of sun. So we've been spending a lot of time at Norwick Beach.


It's only about 8-10 minutes drive from oor hoose.
Soft sand, rolling surf, big bay view, arctic terns diving for their dinner. Beautiful.
Here's Caroline and the dug enjoying a good splash around. (left)












Even on a cold day it's lovely.
Do you like my John Lennon New York Just Before He Got Shot look? All dubbed up for the cold arctic wind.

Bracing sea air, wind in your hair, the dug fighting with the sea. Ooh Arrr! I gonna have to get myself a Sixareen! That's a Scandinavian six oar boat that fishermen keep dying in. Oh, but, arrrrr! She be harsh mistress, etc.

Rig-Mareel-Marole.

Hi Kids!

This post is a bit of a rant so strap yersells in!

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 Rome next summer but the idea is so attractive that I am determined to make it happen. And, actually, if we stopped eating such expensive dinners at restaurants and booking premium cabins instead of standard on the Northlink ferries we probably could afford it.

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.

Here's their space. Watch the promo: http://www.myspace.com/mareelshetland

Ta for listening.x.

Pure Energy (by the way)

This is the Pure Energy Centre on Unst just up the road from the Bus Shelter.


nature drives the turbines with wind (of which there is an inexhaustible supply) which creates electricity which then is converted to hydrogen...or...em..in fact just click the link to see what they do there. They can explain it all better than me:

Pure Energy

And here's a wee film of the Hydrocar versus the Ice Cream Van race at the Unst Thrash, an annual gathering of young motorheads making lots of tyre marks on the runway of Baltasound airport. (The race is the first thing you see you feel free to switch it off after that. The rest is just a load of noise.)

Unst Thrash

Vroom

Love Thy Neighbour

Day 1. Friday. On our first morning in Baltasound the grass out the back looked like this:

Waist high to most, shoulder high to me. So I joked (well not joked just sort of said chirpilly,) to my neighbour, Boagsy, "Ye'd need a scythe to deal with that lot." He replied, "I hae a sye, ah'll hae it done in ten meenuts." It was lovely day so I said "Great," and went on rake'n'barra duty.

So Boagsy, who looks a bit like Catweasel, took his scythe and hacked away for about an hour and low and behold...There was a dog under there! No, of course not. You've been introduced to Meg before. But he did find rhubarb! "Get chirsell a knife an stick that in a crumble," enthused Boagsy. In fact he told me THREE times! "It's ripe! Root it oot!"

So when I went over to tell him that I'd done it he was talking to Frank, my other neighbour, the guy who tames Shetland Ponies (except up here they're just called ponies. A Brazillian doesn't call a Brazil nut a Brazil nut, he just calls it a nut. Actually up here they are just called horses. The ponies that is, not Brazil nuts.)

Frank just happened to have a bottle of Grouse in his bag, so he sent Boagsy in to get four glasses and me in to get Caroline. It was only about 1.30 in the afternoon, but , well, it's just a dram.

Then out comes Andrew, a lovely guy next door who sits in his garden drinking cider from a mug arrived, as did Yorkshire Steve who I'd met earlier when he came my door and said "If you need anything, anything at all, just ask." My city hackles went up wondering what he wanted from me till I remembered where I was and people actually mean stuff like that. So we all stood there drinking a dram, like the opening credits of King Of The Hill, (in fact Frank looks a bit like Dale Gribble.) And it was nice.

We all broke up and I went back to my raking, and Caroline back to her sanding and staining. That should have been it but Andrew went up the shop and bought another bottle of whiskey. So we all ended up together again sitting in our garden this time pissing it up with grain whiskey and red wine. By this time I was like this:


"Me daughter anner friend are oop frompt down south at t'moment," says Yorkshire Steve, "They mekkin' a pottachilleh? Fancy a bitta dinner?"
"Aye!" Sez we.

We were in his house till 1.30 in the morning drinking vodka and smoking rollies.

Now let me remind you- this was our FIRST DAY!!!! Where have we moved to?

Nothing much happened on Saturday.

Stay tuned.
S.x.