FUCK...SHIT...BOLLOCKS

So funny thing happened to me last night, I had to make one of those watershed decisions and well I am gonna have to do the sensible thing for the first time in my life. Essential not go to BM this year. Fuck. Kind of thought it might happen, but there was the small part of me that was just going to jump on a plane and end up in the dust, regardless of the consequences.

I need an operation and if I am as committed to getting out of Scotland as I like to think I am, then it will take 2 weeks to recuperate and another 2 months to be fit to travel.Shit. Also there is the fact I doubt I would be able to safely transport all my gear to the desert, without being a liability to those around me.

On top of that I had to tackle one of those career issues, as to whether I want one or not and if so how much? That was actually quiet an easy one, to hell with work, it will always be there. 3 months sabbatical is just insignificant for all the people I want to meet globally. So it is goodbye 9-5 (well 10-4ish is more realistic) and hello traveling el-wire gypsy.

What was more significant about the career decision was that it forced me to nail down just what in the hell I was going to do with my floating tin can. I am going to rent it out for 6 months but that means I have to put the work in to finally get her finished. With Nowhere and BM taking up more or less 2 months of my life, the boring fact of logistics means it just wont work.Bollocks. And here is me meant to be a TimeLord and everything.

Oh that reminds me, anyone up for a boat painting party. Supplies on me, paint on you.

I somehow managed to do this whilst in the midst of the divine carnage that was Rockness. Massive thanks to Mel for well everything, Pepper for her technical expertise and Jenny my partner in hat crime. So the moral of this rambling blog

get fucked up, change your life!

...no wait...the moral should involve glowing somehow

Its all a balance and I am finally finding my way

So I definitely have to reign in these mid week sessions. Walking home along the river ness wearing full pirate gear as the sun comes up listening to the birds whilst a bit unsteady on feet is lovely, but the price in the morning for work is just ridiculous. But it has left me time to reflect today as I sit here in full zombie mode, pith helmet on my nonce because the architect of this custom built environmentally friendly office didn't factor in sunshine as a factor in Scotland.

Talking of which I am now plagued by zombie and apocalypse based dreams this past month, 28 weeks later and Silent Hill (Shit) seem to have fueled my obsession from the conscious into the subconscious. I was asked if I ever get eaten in these dreams and the answer is no, I am prepared you see and there are way more unsuspecting/ unbelieving fools out there who make easier pickings. Be prepared, think sharp sticks, projectiles and medieval defences, word is out these bastards might be thinking so keep sharp and always know your exits.

So this whole blog milarky kind of fell by the way side for a while, it happens to the best of us but is has been a busy old time. I came off the back of my abstinence into a full negative feedback situation, there was some sort of physiological whiplash and my body just cried out for all those naughty things I had deprived it. This lead to a very enjoyable but slightly hazy couple of weeks, over one long weekend I held no less than 3 gatherings on the boat, neighbours (not the ducks) were less than impressed. It kind of hit me during this time that I have really found my stride in Inverness now and I will truly be sad to leave, so much so the grand plans have suffered some alteration at this discovery.

It has taken a while but the plans are finally firming up nicely, go traveling end of August (Canada, States, South America, OZ, New Zealand) for 6 months on sabbatical from work. Rent the boat out for that time. Return to a well paying job (relatively anyway) and start building up elwire design stock on the boat. For the summer buy a van and with my geodesic dome travel the festivals selling my wares and kicking up some small pockets of hell. Return for winter and start considering my long term options, which should include moving the boat to Edinburgh and possibly selling it there, moving down south on a bigger boat and developing the elwire business more.

Parents dropped a bomb shell of an offer on me to work for them in Bulgaria either running a bar they would set me up in or working on property development. Whilst tempted by the offer I figured I would go my own way and if that didn't work out then at least I had made the attempt and can then approach the Bulgaria situation. Speaking of which does anyone fancy a trip out there, I can get us some keys to our appartments and well it sure as hell beats a usual weekend in Hootananay's, would cost about the same if we book far enough in advance. The other reason is I feel I may have just enough intellect to master one other language and I always thought it would French or Spanish, neither of which would be useful in Bulgaria.

So after finding my balance again finally and taking steps to regain full control of the helm of the good ship DougalDutch I headed to the states to visit Porcelain. Now having got the ticket uber cheap I was informed that there was a possibility of traveling Business Class if I could just refrain form wearing tartan trousers, fluffy jackets or camouflage kilts. Taking this seriously I decided to splash out on a suit, my old one was AWOL so I thought might as well take the plunge. The gentleman measured me up , lead me to the special room and fitted me out in a splendid assemblage of fabric. Where he did take liberties was in the application of a pink stripey shirt, I realise now that whilst the shirt did look great with the suit, it would have looked great with ANY shirt. So I am now part of the pink fraternity, something I thought would wait till I was at least 30. Sorry I digress, anyway the upshot was I did cross the Atlantic in style and have been tainted forever by the delicious food, free alcohol and proper pillows.

The visit was one of complications and seen me return home weary, hurt but with a whole rake of new accessories. Crowning glory was the spurs for my cowboy boots, a family heirloom in the making I feel. Second on the list has to be my wrist strobe with flashing LEDs, not yet field tested said device but the time shall come, I will be like a walking epileptic fit waiting to happen. Ask Zero to show you my other article I smuggled back through customs, a truly enjoyable plasma belt buckle that is sound reactive, blinkie heaven. It was on my return that I headed into the wilds of Inverness on a Saturday evening in my new spurs that I discovered 3 things about my most splendid of accessories.

1) They make noise, a lot of it! When walking down the street people turn and watch you approach to see what the hell the "chiiiing chiiing" noise is. Sad to say that only 1 reaction in 10 is positive, but that reaction is truly one to behold and worth the other 9.

2) When descending steps a walk similar to a bow legged penguin is required to stop the spurs from nudging you off the step and face first down the stairs.

3) There is a FUCKING SPUR BAN in Inverness. At what point did they become so much of a problem they had to come up with policy to deal with it. Claims of using them as a weapon were cited, unless I kick like Chuck Norris then there is no risk, but having to lumps of very pointy and heavy metal in my pockets like a couple of gorgeously enameled knuckle dusters is obviously way more security conscious.

Safe to say though at Ed and Kats wedding there was no such spur ban so I was able to prance about in full jangly glory. Now there was a wedding you could be proud of, it inspires us commitmentphobes to realise there might be life after marriage. After a torturously long drive and several hours spent in traffic and another thoroughly lost I rocked up to the barn to be told I had just missed the Nowhere Fire Service testing out the flame throwers. Not to worry I got to enjoy them later the next day whilst the bride and groom posed in this quaint English church yard with 20ft flames as a backdrop. Surfing on the roof of the green goddess is the only way to travel those narrow roads, although some care must be taken to avoid low hanging branches, one nearly had me ear off. Oh and I totally seen Phillipa Forester hangin' out at the village hall, no one else did so I hope she is not part of some complex mental condition I am developing. The night was a rollicking success, relatives getting stuck into costume camp, funky music, Snowstorms amazing outfits and the bride and groom still rocking out till the last song.

Life is a balance and there is a price for everything, such a grand day was thus followed by 2 days of solid rain where the barn changed from a magical playground to a draughty collection of bricks. Those defensive arrow slits turned from quaint and potentially useful (should zombies attack) original feature, to gaping wind tunnels of hell. We only ventured forth for a quick pub trip to gain real sustenance. What the hell is it with the English and their damn pubs not serving food till 7pm on Sunday, that is some seriously hinky behavior. Distraction abounded and sleep evaded me despite DrunkenNurses best efforts, and I slipped from the barn to my tent to get some solid sleep. Unlike the Saturday night I had managed to retain at least one blanket for sleeping so with that in hand and all my clothes I proceeded to layer up and get some sleep. 6am came round and I was ready to leave, threw the tent in the back of the van (the van is not that big but the tent IS that small) and went to locate Isaac; who like the big fluffy tart he is was sleeping in the middle of a gigantic snuggle puddle.

Driving home there was a cloud hanging over me the full way, I was not only leaving good friends behind and an amazing party, but I was heading home to see my parents with the knowledge that I chosen the former over watching my Granda die. Waiting by his bedside for him to go was a sobering experience but it was interesting to see our family rally round, it would appear there is always a silver lining. I left to attend the wedding after saying my good bye and the knowledge that I would never see him again, the true import of that not hitting me to somewhere near Carlisle. I returned to support my dad and help where I could, the funeral went well although the high rain content left me slightly nervous about lowering the cord. At the service the minister (who drives an MG and forgot to put the hand brake full on, it rolled to a stop half a foot from the hearse, a sign she says of divine inspiration) said something that sticks with me and will for a while. She said my Granda was an ordinary man and people loved him for it and then read a newspaper article about what the people did when he retired. It touched something close to me, I have always looked down slightly on being ordinary and strived to be different, but I shouldn't, I should strive to be me and if that is different then so be it.

Anyway finally returned to Inverness after my travels and was enticed down the pub by Ewan to catch up, who proceeded to tell me the most impressive drunken taking a piss story I have EVER heard. It was good to be back and I felt a contentment previously not experienced, with everything going on it helped put a little perspective into my life. So we went to our second local (The Market Bar) which is fun cause it is the size of a large transit van and half of that is stage, its cheap, loud and people skinning up outside is entirely acceptable behavior. Rolled to another pub and then finally back to Rosco and Calums for a wind down, whereby it proceeded to go on very late/ early, I flashed my Burning Man Current TV recording and left in full pirate gear just as the sun was rising.

So its home tonight for a disco nap, tidy the boat and then ponder the merits of mirror Vegas lounge jackets and their introduction into the social environment of Inverness on a Friday night. Now Saturday night would be a no no, to many uncontrollable drunken Ned factors, but Friday I might be able to get around it with careful choice of venue. Or should I save its debut for next weekend and Rockness. It wonderful the transformation in my dressing habits since I stumbled on that little shindig in the dust, I now wonder what footwear will go best with my 70's ass hugging flares or what is an acceptable blinkie limit before I cross the line and am likely to incite a thorough kicking. Oh the joys of living in the wonderfully repressed Highlands.

P.S. I am getting married in 4 years when I am 30, there will be buckets loads of woo and no small amount charm. Its going to be a happy union, I can sense it although she currently is a taken woman.