Sorry - terribly miserable posts at the moment.  Latest polls show that Yes have an eight point lead.  I'm sick at heart and really cannot face living in Scotland if they win.

The referendum certainly sharpens your wits (up to a point...) and forces you to think about things you formerly took for granted.  I do not want to see the UK broken up.  I did not realise how strongly I felt about that until I was faced with a choice.
Some of the things I find myself saying and some of the people with whom I now find common cause sit uncomfortably with me.  When I looked round at my fellow attendees at the Usher Hall last night, I felt that perhaps I was not in the best of company.  But that doesn't alter my view. I think that separation is a mistake and I do not want it.
I find myself saying 'The UK has done great things' and 'the British people who fought in the war' - and I cringe!  But it's true that the UK has done great things.  It sounds naff, but it's true.
It's done some terrible things as well.  I always have, psychologically, placed myself 'against' the prevailing 'elite' if you like, and now I find myself in support of what they represent. It doesn't feel good,  but it doesn't change my view, either.
I don't want to wipe out 300 years of history.
I dread the result, either way.  

Another day closer to the dreaded referendum.  Feeling stressed out and depressed as hell we decided to 'plunge in' to the maelstrom and went to the Usher Hall in Edinburgh to see George Galloway and others.  On the trip down we kept a look-out for signs indicating support or otherwise for either side of the campaign.  Where we are, every window and garden seems to have a Yes sign, but on the way south and right into Edinburgh there were only a few of each.  Considering that nearly 90% of the population has registered to vote and that the polls are neck and neck I find this surprising.  In a general election you usually see a fair number of posters.
I hadn't been to a political event since the 1980s and early 90s, when I was an enthusiastic member of COHSE, the health service union and attended conferences and various protests in support of the miners and against health service cuts.  The only major politician I can remember seeing speak live was the late Robin Cook.  So, it was interesting to see George Galloway.  He's an excellent speaker and I agree with pretty much everything he has to say on this subject.  Brian Wilson also spoke. I was not a fan of his when he was a Labour minister, really, but I've always been interested in him and had an admiration for him because he set up the West Highland Free Press on Skye, and, curiously, I believe he may have had a cottage across the glen from my aunt's, in the late 1970s.
I feel very old.
I also feel very detached from my - what is the word? Compatriots?  Countrymen?  Citizens?  Even from the country itself - the land. I'm seeing it all through a new lens, as I said the other day.  I feel, in a way, in a definite sense, actually, that it is being taken from me.  By force. I took some photos of Edinburgh - beloved to me - knowing that it may be the last time I see it as wholly 'my' city.
We arrived at the right time to avoid parking charges and we brought our usual flask and some muffins to fuel ourselves cheaply for the evening.  I went along more from curiosity than anything else, because I was already sure of my views and what I heard only confirmed them.  Moment of the night for me was when a very old ex-miner got up and made a very moving short statement about his experiences during two strikes and the support he received from union members across the UK.  I remember that time very well, myself, and I cried a little because he spoke from his heart and I felt his pain, and because I too would hate to lose that sense of solidarity with the rest of the country. It would be like erasing a memory and losing part of my own personal history.  I don't think many people share that view though - possibly because it all happened a Long Time Ago, and the Unions have been decimated and nobody feels that way at the moment.  I think that if the Labour movement appeared more effective, so that people felt it and knew that it worked, nationalism would not have stood a chance.  However, sadly, that is not where we are.  So, History in terms of co-operation and supportiveness between the four countries of the UK doesn't seem to be part of this particular equation.  It seems that we all must move on.
I am even more depressed.
Gordon Brown spoke at the end.  I think he spoke well. I am glad he may stand for the Scottish Parliament.
But I remain absolutely completely and utterly depressed.  As two friends said to me yesterday, we should not even be IN this position.  We do not want to have to choose.

Life goes on as we await the vote in one week's time.  It's a complete nightmare and I cannot wait until it's settled, one way or another.
Social media undoubtedly makes it worse.  People are terribly aggressive.  Feelings are running high and it's all too easy to get caught up in the intensity.  I knew - or suspected - that it would be like this.  Nationalism and identity cannot be treated lightly.
When you're out and about doing your shopping or getting on with work or life in general everything looks the same as always, but the tension is there and when you switch on the news or go online, it hits you like a sledgehammer.
I had campaigners at the door the other evening.  I said I was an undecided just to make them  go away.  The zeal in their eyes reminds me of converts to Amy Semple McPherson or Billy Graham.  It's truly frightening.  Especially when you see the rage online.  I'm hoping and praying for a peaceful outcome regardless of the way the vote goes.

Another day, another night with minimal sleep.  I know I won't sleep well again until the country settles down.  We're in the midst of what feels like cataclysmic change.  I cannot believe that the United Kingdom is breaking up - and it is, even if Scotland votes No.  More devolved powers - and that means that Ireland and Wales will want them too, and England. The whole dynamic of the islands is shifting.   The old order is changing, and what is to come?  Nobody knows.  I didn't want this change, and neither did many of the people I know.  Of course I want to be better off - and so do most people.  But I would wish to achieve that through a change in government, not by breaking the Union.   For Pity's sake.  I suppose that nothing is eternal, unless you believe in God - not even the Universe.  But it feels tragic.  And I'm feeling old.  I feel like a new chapter of history is being written, minute by minute, and I do not belong in that story.  And yet, of course, everyone does have a part to play, regardless.
Prior to the Union, three hundred years ago, Scotland was a nation that bickered with itself, and Scotland and England were regularly at each others throats.  The Union isn't perfect but it has kept the peace.
Till now.  Times change, of course, but people, by and large, do not, unless they learn from history.
I went out to look at the Moon tonight.  Such a mysterious and beautiful and wondrous object. Tonight it was very bright and later on it was surrounded by chiffon clouds, and reminded me of a Blake engraving.  And then I remembered something ghastly I read a while ago, about the Chinese (I think) building something on it, or planning to do so.  How awful it would be, to look up at the Moon and see some vast scaffolding or a mine or something.  I'm glad that I've lived at a time when for most of my life the Moon was unassailable,  mysterious, and certainly 'undeveloped'.  Planet Earth's 'Other', and I hope she remains so until long after I'm gone.
So, events unfold and we cast around looking for certainties while we await the next stage.  

September's Novel Progress Chart, or N.P.C. (flat-lining already)

Starting September off with a BANG

Yes, here we go with another month of novel-writing, using my top-notch 'motivational tool', featured on the left.
I'm thinking of patenting it, along with my Book of Secrets, 'How to be a Self-Starter'.  It's so secret I don't even know what's in it, myself. In fact, it doesn't exist.  Well, it does, but only in the darker reaches of my celleb...cereb...whatever.  The part of my brain that deals with that kind of thing.  What kind of thing?  The Kind of Thing that Will Never Happen,  Not Even in a Million Years.
Last month's N.P.C. got scrunchled up and flung in the bin, and I expect this one will, as well.
Who ARE these bastards that actually manage to write novels?  Especially ones that get published! They can fuck right off.  Sorry and all that, but they can.
I'm off to have a fag.

So I Thought I could write a novel...... in a month.......Today's N.P.C.....

Perhaps I COULD have - if I'd been chained up in a windowless cellar with a packet of biro pens and limitless paper, no biscuits and nothing else to do.  As it is, or was.....here is the scientific proof that I haven't.  Viz. my Novel Progress Chart, or NPC, covering the last month.....
Today I managed to plan the 'structure'.  I have no plot, just a 'structure'. And I've identified some of the characters about whom I might be able to summon the enthusiasm to write.  Or something.  Whatever...

Today's Novel Progress Chart, or N.P.C. - like cheese ripening in a cellar.

My novel progress chart, or N.P.C.

Looks good, don' it?  I bin workin' so-o-o-o harrrdddd..............
It's maturing deep inside my brain, like cheese ripening in a dank cellar.  The kind of cheese that you have to smoke and soak in alcohol in order for it to reach its full potential.
The kind of cheese that has mould running through it; it's not 'bad' mould though, it's a good, healthy mould formed by a special kind of bacteria called Glaxius Smithius Kleinius, which holds the cure for all known ills.  Including rabies, psychopathy, ebola and morbid obesity.  Probably.
I have done some work on three short stories which I've had on Word for about two years.  I think I might finish one of them this week.  If the weather remains as bad as it is...

In the meantime, please have a look at the shop I opened on Etsy.  It has examples of Barry's work (that's the Barry who did all the artwork for the Seapenguin e-books) including postcards of the original Seapenguin picture for just £2.  More on the way.  https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/BlueCoracle?ref=hdr_shop_menu

Find all five of my e-books here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Kate-Smart/e/B008MFK3NE/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1407855670&sr=8-1

Whinge of the Week - Beans with a Cooked Breakfast, and face furniture

'I thought I was on to a winner Tuppy.  I thought for sure that I'd win the Whingers Anonymous Whinge of the Week prize hamper last night, but nobody agrees with me.  I was shouted down! Most people seem to enjoy beans and I simply can't understand it.  I feel like a stranger in my own country Tuppy!  Is it a new-fangled thing Tuppy, this beans with breakfast carry-on?'
I sighed heavily, and glared at Geoffrey through my brand-spanking-new 2-for-1-from-Spec-Spenders 'pince nez' before removing them and warming to my theme.  The heavy sigh was just an act by the way, breakfast being one of my favourite subjects.  Especially if it's freshly-cooked by someone who knows what they're doing and I'm starving and about to tuck in.  And the glare was the same - an affectation affected to draw attention to my new affectation, or 'face-furniture' - wire-rimmed 'pince nez'.
It's just a shame that some people don't appreciate style when they see it.
'I like your new half-moon specks Mr Tuppenceworth!' shrilled Chelsy, the Fulmars' three year old great-great-great-great-grand-daughter as she gambolled across their vile new decking and I tottered past along the cliffs yesterday on my way to throw the rubbish over.
'They're not half-moon specks,  you midget philistine,' I snarled,'They're 'pince-fucking-nez.'  And she ran back inside, screaming for help.
I think we can expect a rather tiresome visit from the Fulmars, later. Anyway - back to the beans with cooked breakfast topic.
'Yes Geoffrey.  It is new-fangled and not traditional by anyone's standards, no matter how low these standards happen to be. In fact, it's an indication of the preternaturally prehensile strength of the grasp of the shoddy processed foods hegemony-style-thing which has its roots deep, deep down in the blackest depths, or indeed 'bowels', of the mid-20th century and whose relentless tendrils stretch right out into the furthest reaches of the Andromeda nebula, and beyond. A traditional full-cooked involves the following, and only the following: a nicely-fried egg, with yolk showing, two rashers of grilled back bacon, one proper sausage, grilled (and none of your cheap rubbish), a grilled slice of black pudding (optional), a grilled tomato (if in season) , and half a slice of non-greasy fried bread.  Needless to add this must all be served piping-hot, on a properly-warmed, white-glazed breakfast plate. This should be preceded by something lightly citrus-y such as a small glass of fresh orange juice or half a fresh grapefruit, and accompanied by a large pot of well-brewed tea and a rack of toast, with real butter and home-made marmalade or perhaps honey.  A freshly-laundered damask napkin should be folded neatly in four and laid on the side-plate with a side-knife placed carefully on top and condiments to hand. By condiments I mean salt and pepper.  No red or brown sauce and beans certainly don't come into the proceedings at any juncture.  They're messy, and spoil the whole aesthetic.'


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TONITE - at the debating society (or DebSoc).....

Not content with Whingers Anonymous,  Geoffrey's joined the local Debating Society, or DebSoc.. 'Any excuse for a gossip and a cuppy,  Tuppy!'  he enthused.  I was forced to tread heavily on his foot in order to relieve the pressure of my feelings, viz. an intolerably horrible melange of revulsion, frustration and disgust.

Tonite's topic is, apparently, 'Softly softly catchee monkee.  WTF does it mean,  and is it not a bit racist?'

'What do you think,  Tuppy?' shouted Geoffrey, as he smashed up some bourbon biscuits with a rolling pin for the base of a no-bake tiramisu.

'I don't know, and yes, probably,' I replied, placing today's free 'Rocky Outcrop' newsletter over my face as I prepared for a snooze. 'I hope those bourbons aren't the stale ones that you left out overnight by the way.'

'They are Tuppy, but you'll never notice due to them being soaked in a hundred and fifty per cent alcohol.'

'Really?  Where did you get that?' I said,  opening one eye and wondering whether it might be worth not having a snooze after all.  Perhaps there might be something more interesting to do, although past experience made me doubt it.

'The rats have started a new Still up on the moors.  At the Old Quarry.  They're giving away free samples.  Free samples Tuppy!'

'Right Geoffrey.  Put that rolling pin down, and fetch your coat. The one with the huge pockets.'

'Can we come too?' begged the underpants. 'We don't like to be on our own.  We might Do Something to Ourselves...and it would be All Your Fault....'

'No!  get back in the woodshed please.'  Geoffrey and I exchanged glances in our usual covert manner. We'd have to get a bigger padlock...and perhaps a flamethrower...

next time....the underpants effect an escape, and we decide to raid the illicit Still... 

Find my Amazon page  here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Kate-Smart/e/B008MFK3NE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

Also - online shop with artwork for sale https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/BlueCoracle

The Frankenstein Pants

'These aren't biscuits.  They're Rich Teas.'
I didn't want to be rude (yet), so I spoke quietly and calmly.  Then I placed the packet, or what remained of it after it had been stuck inside the underpants' back pocket while the Tupfinder General was wearing them, carefully on the games table.
I sat back and folded my arms. 'Well?'
'Well what?'
'Well, what else have you got?  You said you had biscuits.'
'R-rich teas.  They are biscuits.  It says so on the packet - look.  R-rich Tea BISCUITS.' The underpants were nervous, I could tell by the tremor in their voice and the way their legs were twitching as they sat on the edge of the settee.  I decided to press my point.
'A biscuit is only a biscuit if you can dunk it. FACT. You cannot dunk a Rich Tea.  Geoffrey - put the kettle on.  Three teas, extra strong with plenty sugar.  And bring the Hobnobs.  Let's do a comparison test.'
'Plain or chocolate?'
'Do I really need to answer that?'
'O I like a plain Hobnob,' enthused the underpants.  I could tell they were trying to find common ground, and connect with my better side.  Little did they know I don't have one.
'You'll never fit in round here,' I said. 'Rich Teas and plain Hobnobs?  We're on different planets. Next you'll be saying you don't like fishfinger sandwiches. You might as well go back to wherever you came from - oh!  it was the Narks, wasn't it?'
'Yes.  As you already know, Val Nark created us from cloth made from thistles and nettles.  She wove us on a loom that Dave made from salvaged timber and stitched us together with thread made from more thistles and nettles.  But she went too far in her quest to produce an everlasting and 100% eco-friendly product.  She made us strong  - but it was the wrong type of strong.  She gave us prehensile strength, and we couldn't cope with it, psychologically.  We've become clingy and needy. In fact, we're emotional leeches, and we can't stop ourselves from 'acting out' by refusing to be removed whenever someone wears us.  Can we stay?  PLEASE?  Don't send us back to the Narks' minimart-cum-farmshop-cum-postoffice.  We'll feel safe here because we know you don't wear underpants. You'll be saving us from ourselves and doing the world a favour.'
'All right. You can live in the woodshed.'
'Will you teach us to read and write so we can tell our story to the world?'
'No.'

The Lark Ascending - Ralph Vaughan Williams

Today's N.P.C. (Novel Progress Chart)

Novel Progress Chart, or N.P.C.

Flat-lining again.    Does thinking about it count?  No, didn't think so.  Ah well....

The Prehensile Underpants, and the Tale of Uncle Funkle's Cirumnavigation of the Wintry Isles

'They're clinging on lads!  I can't get them off!'

'Of course you can't.  They have a mind of their own.  They have preternaturally strong hands that can grip preternaturally strongly - that's what preternatural prehensile strength means...' I snapped, before going back to my paper.  I didn't really know what I was talking about, but I didn't care.  I had not a shred of sympathy for the T-G and his underpants problem.  Serve him right for encouraging Val Nark by buying her latest 'wares'. 'Look Geoffrey - it says here they're building a community centre up at the tourist car park. What a sodding nightmare that will be.'

'Yes Val mentioned that last week when I booked us into her Positive Mind, Positive whatsit class.  She's going to be in charge.'

'You what?  Why ever didn't you tell me?'

'I thought you wouldn't be interested.  You don't like that kind of thing.  You're not community minded.'

'Who says?'

'Everybody. You as well now I come to think of it.  You don't like village life.  You think it's claustrophobic and unhealthy and full of nosey-parkers and crass bores who like being big fish in small ponds.  You say it every time you look out of the window to see what's going on.'

'Val Nark's got a finger in every pie that's going,'  I replied briskly, folding the paper and placing it on the packing case that served us (very well, as it happens) as a table.  'And it's the community-minded types among us who have to put a stop to her appalling megalomania.  I should oil these,' I added, picking up one of my several pairs of high-powered binoculars and polishing the lenses on my dressing-gown sleeve.

'Excuse me for interrupting,'  interrupted the T-G, 'But can you two stop gossiping about the community centre - which I fully intend to torch by the way, so do stop fretting Tuppy - and help me get these dreadful underpants OFF MY BODY?!  I need to go to the toilet rather urgently.  In fact I've been needing since half past three this morning.'

'Fetch the blowtorch Geoffrey,' I said, relenting. 'Let's see what we can do.'

'Rightyoh.'

*EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!*

The Underpants

The underpants emitted an earsplitting shriek.  'Leave us be!  We're not doing anyone any harm!'

'Yes you are.  I need to go to the jiminy-cricketing toilet.  My late uncle Funkle became faecally impacted after spending three weeks in an open boat when he was circumnavigating the Wintry Isles.  I've never forgotten the horror of what he told me.  I had nightmares for years I tell you.  Years.  And it isn't going to happen to me. Get off me.'

'You only had to ask,' huffed the underpants, sliding to the floor. 'Hi everyone!  Pleased to meet you!  Can we stay?  We've got biscuits.'

next time - the underpants move in, and refuse to move out until they hear the Wintry Tale of Uncle Funkle....

Find this week's free Tuppy & Geoffrey download here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sea-Penguin-Extractor-Outcrop-Selections-ebook/dp/B007KUXBM2 and zillions more like it via my Amazon page here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Kate-Smart/e/B008MFK3NE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Today's Novel Progress Chart, or 'N.P.C.'

Today's N.P.C.

Flatlining.  Might get some done later.  In the middle of trying to organise money so that I can survive while writing a novel.  It's an ever-decreasing circle.