Northern hemisphere summer solstice 2009 was at 0545 UT/GMT this morning.
This would be 6.45am BST or 7.45 am CET.
Betcha you missed it! (I didn't... couldn't sleep for excitement!) Stroked zoe and looked at the sun, already high as a pie in the sky. Zoe was warm with solar radiation. Loving the solstice, because this is the lightest day of her life.
Typical figures: Sunshine on Leith from 04.25 to 22.02
Last night I dreamt I shagged Julie Burchill. She was really just putting me up cos I was homeless, but we ended up shagging. I felt she wanted it, and hate to say no to anyone. Plus she only had one bed. Can't remember whether I had a hardon or not. Too much information sweetie. I remember she ate a lot. Had to take the baguette off her so I could shag her properly.
"Erm, excuse me, but is it not somewhat illegal to have candidates inside the Polling Building?" I asked. It was last night, after various pubs, at the Euro Elections. My Polling Place had always been Lorne Street Primary School, for decades it'd been there, but now and the last time it's moved to some Church Hall in Henderson Street. Just round the back from Lidl really, who should have been doing Election Specials, but what with being German, probably weren't. Das glaub Ich und das weiss Ich. Opened by HRH The Duke of Edinburgh in Nineteen Canteen, it said on a plaque, proudly.
So imagine my surprise on entering this royal and holy building, to see Malcolm (Carrot top) Chisolm standing there, large as life and twice as ugly, chatting furiously to a punter. Hence my sotto voce to the electoral officer in the opening sentence above. Malcolm Chisolm is a labour guy. Quite which labour guy he is remains a mystery, as here in Scotland we're governed to death. We have councillors. We have MEPs. We have MSPs. And of course we have common or garden MPs. Four people stacked above my head, like planes circling Heathrow in a traffic jam, directing my every move. And all I know is that the Chis fits in there somewhere. He came to my door once, many years ago, seeking my endorsement. "Oh, you look far better in black and white!" I cried, grabbing his monochrome poster from behind the door where it had lain unread, and comparing his photo with the scarlet reality before me.
As electoral irregularities go I'm sure it's a small one. And at least this time the voting was straightforward. "Put one cross," the seriously obese lady said to me. "Then fold the paper and put it in the box." And thus, with one small mark, I gave my support to big Gordon. The alternatives are too awful to contemplate.
ROOM WITH A VIEW
Continuing the local theme (sorry to my legion of far-off fans) I see the City of Edinburgh Council have now succeeded in removing any trace of natural view from Leith Street at the top of Leith Walk. As architectural monstrosity has followed outrage, they have chip, chip, chipped away at the previous lovely sight of Calton Hill. Well now it's gawn completely, with the space opposite John Lewis today sporting scaffold right up to the skies. Ah well. It was only a bit grass and sky for the people to look at. Trees. Who needs it, eh?
And at least you are only a few moments from Regent Road and the magnificence of Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags - but I have to say I was somewhat nervously visualising an enormous O2 shop right up there on top of old Arthur. With a huge dayglo sign. Or Vodafone. Oh it'll happen. But not in my lifetime, hopefully. If they can ruin it, they will ruin it. That's the CEC motto. Edinburgh is ours to destroy.
Read on for last night's thrilling confessional! That's right.... just like the buses... you wait for ages....
I know for most people it's a blessing. Little gadget that rings and lets you talk to people who aren't there. Magic!! What would our ancestors have said?
But whereas as it takes two to tango, so they say, although most of my life has been spent in solitary tangoing, two to do that, it takes only one to make a phone call.
That supreme arrogance.
I will phone you up.
I have the power to make that phone in your house or in your pocket ring.
No matter what you are doing, I will interrupt it. I will demand your time be given to me. I will insist you pretend to be pleased at my interrupting your life in that way. And because I cannot see you, the pretence can often be carried. That's why video phoning will never take off.
But I digress. Phoning is extremely demanding. It presumes so much. And me, I've stopped that presumption. I haven't phoned anyone for almost a year. Just can't. Can not make that step to say TALK TO ME GODDAMIT I OWN A TELEPHONE.
Oh texting was a small possibility for a while. Ding, ding rather than ring, ring, ring, ring, ect ect. But now I can't do that even. Can't occupy their telephone with my miserable writing. Put words on their screen.
Today I saw Stewart in Wetherspoons, surrounded by adoring fans of his Thursday radio show. Me I sat silently and read the menu, did some sudoku. He didn't see me, or if he did he pretended not to. Speaking to him was out of the question, even though he's close to my only friend.
It's lonely, being so shy I think they call it. That's why I write here, and love your replies so much. There's no demand you see. It's an "opt in". While I have long since opted out, I fear. Maybe there's a tablet you can take.
A decade ago when the internet was young, and blogging was a word no-one had heard of, Dusty Springfield died. That's right. Went and gone and died, with nary an HTML opinion to be read. Except strangely here. Well not quite here. The site before this, which was called magnificat's home page. And it went ballistic. Big, bigger, maybe even the biggest. Put my website on the map, our dead Dusty did. Offers coming over the phone.
But nowadays the internet is a different kettle of fish. This week my thoughts about Susan Boyle would have to fight (if I even were to write them - I'm still not totally persuaded) to fight with the Grauny (their most-read story), the New York Times Online, God Knows Who Else Online, and so it goes. My small window of importance has quite gone. In short, nobody gives a fuck about the small man any more.
Can you see where I'm going with this? Can you realise this is not simple why me-ism?
Because Susan and I have more in common than you might realise. Obscurity to The Priory. "Makes Amy Winehouse look like an amateur," some wag wrote in the Guardian. But the difference, the huge difference, is that the car crash called SuBo can sing, and sing her socks off. And can do that for the foreseeable future. Which means megabucks for all around - except, bizarrely, for her herself, of course. Herself who will be lucky to scoop up two or three pence per album sale. And that contract will have been signed yonks ago... as fleeting yet impoverishing as a Download Terms and Conditions that no-one ever reads.
Susan I wish you everything you wish for yourself. You are the most important person for ages really. From over a decade of writing shite online this car crash blogger has made nothing. Nada. Because opinions are like arseholes. Everybody's got one and they all stink.
And yet, and yet...
Walk The Forest Path
Me I'm kinda fine, although rarely to be seen in the real world these days. Fantasy is more enjoyable, and in time it will come to everyone. There will be no more rainy grainy streets where you get stabbed. Instead life will be lived in front of your screen, where dinosaurs gambol in the greenery and Susan Boyle sings Memories in the background. Don't laugh. It's not me who's the idiot. As ever we lead not follow. Warcraft is advertising on the telly again. Just say no. ROTFLMFAO
Tired of previous guilds, I've started my own, exclusively for people like us. People over thirty. We even have a guild blog and blogmaster, to whom I give the occasional bit of advice, never not ever telling him about this one, my own personal albatross. Oh it'll run and run.
But here, on Naked Blog, it's been a long time. It's taken the cultural and social enormity of SuBo to drag me back. Who lives only a bus ride away. But here we are. For a mo. And dead Dusty still rules all.