There's somethin' happenin' here...

There's something happening here,

What it is ain't exactly clear,

There's a man with a bun over there,

Telling me I got to beware,

I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound...

Woah! "There's a man with a bun over there?" A BUN?

Yes I mean a bun. A cake, a pastry, the small, usually sweet, breaded hand-sized or smaller, domed in shape, with a flat bottom tempting edible object found in bakers.


Why do I mention this? Well because over the last year or so these little but delicious items have been creeping into my system like sugar and dough based ninjas and making my waist size increase.

It has taken me a bit of time to notice, but they have done it. How do I know? Well the trousers/jeans that I wear are a bit tighter than usual and the holes in my belt are steadily getting wider apart. 


If I don't get to grips with these delightful little fat inducers, they may take over my body.


If I am successful, I will let you know. If I am not, I will float above you like a Graf Zepplin.


Have bun... erm, I mean fun.

Boom... bang... a bang

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away...

Well, all my troubles were in the same place but smothered in a cloud of shotgun smoke. Yes, it was Cluny Clays time again.

The weather was excellent. The drive to Fife was excellent. The food and service at Cluny Clays were excellent. And as for the shooting... well, as I said, The weather was excellent. The drive to Fife was excellent... As you have probably gathered by that last statement we didn't have the greatest day destroying small saucer shaped objects fired at high and low velocity, low and high into the air and across the ground.

As always we start off with 50 rounds and one shotgun. 

Sometimes it's just three of us, sometimes more. In this case there were four of us, my friend Phill, Raymond and his son William.

The sun was shinning and the wind was pretty decent, meaning that it wouldn't blow the clays or shot about causing us to look like we had no idea what we were doing. We actually manage that one quite well on our own.

At Cluny Clays there are 8 shooting ranges and Olympic skeet and an English skeet range. We started of at the first of the ranges, which is , logically, range one. We have previously started of at one of the skeet ranges and regretted it. If you start of badly, it can only go one way. Okay, it could go two ways, the other way being 'better'.

So, we started shooting. Boom... bang... a bang. It went well. We hit stuff... the rest of the ranges went well... we hit stuff again... we hit even more stuff... and them we missed stuff... a few clays were missed... and then hit again. And missed again.

To cut a very long story short the results were as follows:

Phill: 27 hits

Raymond: 31 hits

me: 34

William: 38

So not a great day, but not too bad either. The day improved somewhat with the purchasing of food and drink from the excellent restaurant. The food is always good and the service is second to none. 

If you ever get the chance to go to Cluny Clays I would really recommend it.

So before I bore you with more details, I will bid you adieu and wish all a happy day.

The plan for the weekend

All going well, if the weather hold out and we don't get wiped out in an asteroid strike or alien invasion, my mates Phill, Raymond and myself should be going to Cluny Clays in Fife for some clay pigeon culling.

We go to Cluny Clays every once in a while and have a good time. 

Nah, we have a great time. 

Cluny is about 20 miles from the glorious city of Edinburgh, and approximately 13 miles north east of the engineering marvel (and Golden gate look-a-like) Forth Road Bridge. 

If you have never been to Cluny before I would really recommend it. Not only will you have a good time on the activity of your choice whether it be golf, clay pigeon shooting, or archer, but you can get a flipping good meal as well. 

Cluny isn't just for gun tootin' wanna be James Bond types (neither my mates nor myself resemble in any way Pierce Brosnan nor Daniel Craig), it is for everybody. I will now quote from the official website 

"The minimum age to join the fun at Cluny Shooting is 10 years. For children under 10 there is lots to do in the Cluny Kids 'Play Naturally park'."

So you see, fun for all the family.  If you want to check it out and see if there is anything for you have a look at http://www.clunyclays.co.uk/index.php

I will take some photographs and, if the scores are good, let you know how we get on. If we merely pepper the air with shot, I will not mention it. Hey, we have our pride to think about.

Have fun.

The Game's afoot!

My first real memory of Sherlock Holmes comes from the dark and distant past of 1978.

As a young school boy I would wait with anticipation on a Sunday afternoon to hear one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's stories dramatised in 30 minutes plays on BBC Radio 4.

The one that sticks in my mind the most was Silver Blaze. I often wonder why it sticks in my head so clearly. I can still hear Barry Foster (he played Holmes in 13 episodes of the Holmes canon, with David Buck as Dr Watson) reciting dialogue. But why? I wonder if it was because this was one of the first successful audio recording I ever did. I have no idea what happened to the recording, but I know I would have played it to death taking in the atmosphere of the story. I would have placed the 'plug-in' microphone, placing it near, but not against the speaker of the radio, with it's volume at a suitable level to avoid 'rumble'. I know that I would have done that.

Even though Barry Foster was my first radio ‘Holmes’, my all time favourite radio ‘Sherlock Holmes’ has to be Mr Clive Merrison. He has made the radio Holmes his own and totally encompasses the part. When I listen to the performances, I ‘see’ every aspect of the story. The late Michael Williams followed in the footsteps of the David Burke and Edward Hardwicke portrayals of John Watson and made him credible and human. Sadly, Michael Williams passed away and I was not sure who could replace him. Then I heard Andrew Sachs and felt he slipped into the role perfectly. However, when I read any Sherlock Holmes story, whether by Sir Arthur or a pastiche I still hear Clive Merrison and Michael Williams.

As for my first recollection of Sherlock on the screen, well it has to be the classic black and white adventures of Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce. I am sure I must have seen other actors play the part, but they were not Sherlock Holmes, Rathbone was. My favourite film? Well, that would be The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1939), with Ida Lupino and the wonderfully menacing George Zucco.

Rathbone seemed perfect for the part and Bruce’s Watson was a great foil for Holmes intellect at least that was the way I saw it then. It was not until many years later and the arrival of late Jeremy Brett and (to me) the late Edward Hardwicke that I saw the real Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John H Watson, MD.

Jeremy Brett was cultured.

Jeremy Brett was manic.

Jeremy Brett was overly dramatic.

Jeremy Brett was subtle.

Jeremy Brett was Holmes.

Edward Hardwicke was not Jeremy Brett’s first Watson but he was the best. David Burke set a standard that Edward Hardwicke not only reached but also exceeded. He was not the bumbling oaf as portrayed by Nigel Bruce, and many other who saw his performance as definitive, but a sophisticated and truly believable human being. I would have trusted this man to treat my ailments in the same way I would have asked ‘Holmes’ to solve my mystery.

That is my first memory of Sherlock Holmes, a memory that will never go away. I still adore the stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and some of the imitators and I am sure I always will.

Forgive me, the fog is swirling around the gas lit streets, the wheels of a Hansom cab are rattling over the cobbles and the steady clump of a client’s boots are climbing the stairs. The game’s afoot!

The Scottish Korean War Memorial

On the 25^th of June 1950, North Korean troops supported and supplied by the Soviet Union and the Peoples Republic of China attacked the South Korean positions to the south of the 38^th parallel, the border between north and south.

On the 1^st of July 1950, troops from the United States of America arrived in South Korea to support the forces against the communist attacks, three days after that, General Douglas MacArthur was named Supreme Commander of ground, air and naval forces by the United Nations Security Council.

On the 29^th of August 1950, the British 27^th Brigade arrived from Hong Kong in order to strengthen the United Nations forces. Less than a month later United Nations Forces breakout of the Korean coastal city of Pusan and make their way towards the 38^th Parallel and with South Korean troops in the lead, cross the border to engage with the Communist forces from the North.

This conflict, though largely forgotten by the majority of the British public these days, was crucial in world politics. When you think about it, the United States, Great Britain and the Commonwealth, as well as Belgium, Columbia, Ethiopia, France, Greece, Luxemburg, Netherlands, Philippines, Thailand, Turkey and the Union of South Africa were technically at war with the ground and air forces of the North Korea, China and to a lesser extent the Soviet Union.

I must not forget that even the medical units, although not technically combatant were also in the front line. Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals (MASH) came from Denmark, Italy, India, Norway and Sweden.

Another fact that passes many people by is that this ‘conflict’ technically has not yet ended. No peace treaty was signed, merely an armistice. What is the difference? There was never any declaration of an end to hostilities just a cease-fire. This document was signed on the 27th July 1953 in the Korean city of Panmunjom.

Why the history lesson? Well, recently I visited the Scottish Korean War Memorial. This memorial was officially opened on the 27^th June 2000 to mark the 50^th anniversary of the start of the conflict. It is the only one of its kind in Britain and that adds to the pride that I felt as I went in to the pan tile roofed wooden pagoda that houses the names of the 1090 British service personnel who laid down their lives. 

Another thing that is probably not that well known is that 88% of them were National Servicemen aged between 18 and 20.

When my father went out as a member of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, he was 21 years old. His friends were about the same age. I have a photograph of five of them in battledress and ‘tam ‘o shanters’, it’s like a very large beret with a pommel on top worn by Scottish Regiments of the line.

Of the five young men in the photograph, only three came back. Of the three, my father spent time in a military hospital after being wounded in combat, I have photograph of him during his recovery in the joint services hospital. The second was captured, held by the North Korean and Chinese until repatriation in the middle of 1953. As for the third, he returned home and no doubt lives a happy and fulfilled life.

I am proud that this monument stands to commemorate the fallen and I am glad that my fathers name isn’t one of them. I am also sad for the families who come along to look at the names of their loved ones. No matter when or where our forces served or are serving, we should never forget them and always support them.

Okay, I have finished ‘banging the drum’; you can go about your normal business now. Thank you for your time.

Monday 27th July 2011... Boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again...

Monday 27th July 2011

On the 27th July, my friend Alan and I decided to go walking. When I say we decided to go walking on the 27th, we actually decided about two weeks before that, but the 27th was the actual day we went walking. Now that’s been cleared up, I’ll get on with the blog.

On the 27th of July, my friend Alan I went for a walk, so it was boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again. We headed towards Beecraigs Country Park, a 913 acre (370 hectare) area of land owned and maintained by West Lothian Council.

We had a map and a rough plan of what we were going to do. The plan, of course, was flexible and would change depending on what we saw or what we felt like doing.

We began our slightly less than epic trek at the rather nice visitors centre car park. From there we to  the viewing platform that allows you to see the spectacular views of the surrounding landscape and fields of deer and cattle that are bred and are taken care of by the Park Rangers.

Some of these deer are beautiful creatures, sleek and elegant, and some stand proud with their antlers high showing their superiority, an absolute joy to behold.

Other occupants of other fields are the shaggy highland cattle. I have to see these are less elegant but oh my, they are powerful looking beasts. I would not like to infringe on their territory.

We took our time walking and soaking in the views. Part of the walk takes you into a largely wooded area with trees that seem to reach to the sky. Through these trees, a view of a small loch starts to appear and once clear of the trees you are greeted by a wonderful sight of water and wilderness. On the loch were a number of small rowboats, each occupied by two anglers. We stood and watched them quietly waiting for a movement in and on the water, poised ready to reel in the catch of the day. I have to say, whilst we stood there, they did not meet with success.

We continued around the loch occasionally looking back to see if we had missed a massive fish being pulled from the water, but we hadn't, so we kept moving. 

The views are really lovely. The trees are full and thick and tall, it reminds me of images I have seen of Canada. I am sure that there are areas of Scandinavia that would look identical to what we walked through. The great thing about that day was the weather. It was bright and clear but also not too hot. There was a slight wind that kept us from boiling and kept us happy.

We continued to walk, following the route through the trees and across the landscape to the top of Cockleroy Hill. Oh my, what a view. As you stand at the summit and if you slowly turn 360 degrees, you have some of the best scenery you can possibly imagine. The hill itself rises to a height of 912 feet (that's 278m). We looked towards the east and could clearly see Arthur's Seat, some 20 miles away. We also took in the views of the Forth Road and Forth Rail Bridges. 

Closer to home are the views over the town of Linlithgow. The views from the top of Cockleroy Hill are wonderful and well worth the climb. It offers a great view of the Goat Fell on the Isle of Arran, the Bass Rock of the coast of North Berwick and Ben More and Ben Vorlich to the north. If you ever get the chance to visit this area, do so, if nothing else for these fantastic views.

The great thing about any walk that we go on is, it isn’t a forced march. We take our time. We take in the views and we enjoy the day. We certainly enjoyed this day and were slightly saddened when we had to return to the car park and leave the marvellous nature of Beecraigs Country Park.

We have another couple of things lined up and if I can find the time and motivate myself enough I most certainly write them up. However, until then, I say farewell.

16th July 2011... better late than never

Over the last few weeks, I have seriously neglected my blog. Blog, I am so sorry. Really I am. I’m not just saying it. I mean it. I have told you nothing. However, little bloggy, that is about to change. Better late than never.

Well? What have I been doing?

Saturday 16^th July 2011

Well, on the 16^th of July my wife, mother-in-law, sister-in-law and I went to Blackness Boat Club Open Day. This is a chance for the public to get an insight into sailing, rowing and the joys of the sea. To be honest it was not heavily attended, but those of us who did attend had a really good time.

There were many stalls set out, some selling sailing and boating merchandise and some informing you of the wonderful work that the United Kingdom Coastguard and The Royal National Lifeboat Institute carry out.

There was a demonstration on what to take if you go sailing, and how to check your life jacket if you decide to go bobbing along on the beautiful shiny sea. This was particularly useful, as I knew I would be heading out onto the water at some stage.

So after resolutely fortifying myself with a burger or two and a cup of tea (just for the energy you understand), I tagged onto the Queensferry Boat Club and managed to get myself onto their 4 man rowing ‘skiff’ (forgive the technical jargon) ‘The Ferry Lass’.

I have been out in the water before. On a decent sized boat out into the River Forth, on a reasonably sized boat on a loch in Scotland and the most memorable occasion on a small fishing boat off the coast of Cornwall on a bit of a rough day. That one didn’t not end well, in fact I should I say I ended up very un-well.

But I knew it wouldn’t be like that today. On my first trip out that day, I sat in the third slot and listen attentively to the coxswain barking out orders to the really tall guy in the No. 1 seat, the short woman in the No. 2 seat and the medium sized girl behind me in the No. 4 slot.

What we should have done was compare heights. When you have 4 people, all of differing heights, all trying to row in unison, it doesn’t always work. It almost did, but not quite. In addition, the short woman in front of me didn’t always get the oar (never, ever call it a ‘paddle’) out of the water in time. When this happens, it is referred to as ‘catching a crab’ and results in the rower being smacked in the chest by the handle of the oar because the sea forces the oar back the way at high speed. When you ‘catch a crab’ a couple of times, you try to make damn sure it never happens again.

We did quite well though and Mark and the guys were happy enough with the performance. We rowed for a good bit, managed to miss all the other small craft tied up or anchored at the pier or in the small harbour and made it back with no casualties.

Mark asked if I wanted to stay on, but I thought I better give someone else a chance to have some fun. So, after another cup of tea, a sit down on a slightly drier surface than ‘The Ferry Lass’, I headed back down to the slip-way, got my lifejacket back on and took up the No. 3 slot again.

This trip out was much better due to the fact we were all the same size. We rowed like a team. We pushed our way out towards the middle of the water, concentrating on ever stroke of the oar and every word from the coxswain. After 10 minutes, we stopped and surveyed the distant shore and the dark water all around us. When we were ready, we began again to make our way back to the slipway of the boat club.

I’m sorry to say that I didn’t get a chance to help take the ‘ Ferry Lass’ back to Queensferry, but if the opportunity arises I will be there.

As the day drew to a close and the dull white clouds turned to grey, we gathered our belongings, loaded the car back up with our thermos flasks of tea and bottles of water and drove home.

A fine day and an enjoyable day was had by all.