Dunsapie Loch

The Trout season started this week and I'm definately going to try to get oot on the river more this year.

Cannae beat a wee bit o' fly fishing for the wild broon troot of an evening. Wading up tae yer baws in the Tay, takin' in aw the sights and sounds. The Wildlife disnae expect you to be their in the middle o' the river, so ye get a right good deek at kingfishers, otters, deer, herons, dippers ect to name a few. You often get low flyin' ducks headin' straight fur ye, zoomin' aboot 3 foot above the water at heid level. It's the look on their faces when they clock ye at the last second and bank hard tae avoid ye.

In the summer you get the Daubenton's Bats at dusk, flying aroond yer heid efter the insects, sometimes they will go efter yer fly, so you hae to be careful and look oot for the wee dudes.

Anyway back tae the High Wall. I mind one summer we aw got the fishin' bug and spent the entire holidays up at Dunsapie Loch fishing for perch. We used tae dig up worms fae the back green and head up first light wi oor wee spinnin' rods. I mind it was a cracker o' a summer tae and we would sit aboot watchin oor bubble floats and shootin' the breeze wi one another. Sharin' cheese & pickle pieces, crisps and bottles o' dilutin' juice. Fond, fond memories o' good friendships, and a time when we were laddies who didnae hae a care in the world.

Occassionally we would catch a fish, maistly wee yins. They all went back except for one time when Arkos and I caught a couple o' perch aboot the 1lb mark. We decided that we would eat them so we gave them a few dull yins to the heid and trotted aff hame wi oor prize.

My Maw cooked one o' them for us and I have tae say fair play tae her, she got us tae gut it and fillet it efter a fashion. She then showed us how tae fry it in butter wi a bit flour. We ate it and it wisnae that guid, stillwater fish like perch are earthy and fu o wee bones. Mind you we were so proud o' oor new hunter, gatherer status that we didnae complain. We did however elect to gie the other perch tae a neighbours cat.

When I go fishin' now I often let ma mind drift and I remember guid times and happy places. The Dunsapie summer will always be one of them.

Foods of the High Wall #1 Heinz Kidney Soup

My Maw was for ever feedin' us this pish. I had in fact blotted it out from my subconscious until a recent conversation wi thon bugger Arkos brought it aw back.

I then got to thinking that maybe it didnae exist after all. A mythical thing "like Unicorns or Eskimos" as Homer would say.

In fact it was hard to find any reference to the stuff even when ye Googled it. So I concluded that either A) it didnae exist, or B) an entire generation had chosen to wipe it from the collective psyche en masse. Bad food denial on a global scale.

But then I found this, proof indeed. Lurking just under the Heinz beans & baconburgers and there it is. Heinz Kidney Soup. This was on Flickr and was taken at a place called the Museum of Brands in Notting Hill. Good to see an auld tin o' West End Grill in there too.

Now what I recall aboot Kidney soup was that it was gritty in texture and tasted shite. Not only that ye but were never allowed tae leave the table until ye finished it, no matter how much ye gret.

This is the reason we care not to remember it in the same way that we might wax fondly aboot Bazooka Joes, Lucky tatties and Quiz bars.

This process is called "dissociative amnesia" and is commonly seen in trauma survivors. It is basically memory distortion to do with repetitive traumatic experiences. It is why major "one-off "traumatic events like a sair accident can often be recalled easily, whereas painful repetative experiences like sittin' at the tea table forcin' than pish doon as it went cauld, cannae. Yer dissociative defenses kick in big time and you blot it oot yer mind.

And that my friends is the psychology behind why we still fuckin' hate the very thought of Heinz Kidney Soup.

Non Stop Erotic Cabaret

Havin' just been doon tae the auld toon for Jim's funeral thought I might do this piece.

Arkos and I got the train doon fae the relative tranquility of Highland Perthshire to the stomping grounds of our wild years.

After hookin' up wi Davy and sayin oor farewells tae the Fitsch we thought it only fitting that we head up to a few of the auld haunts.

Aw the pubs where Jim, Davy Arkos, Bobrob and masel used tae have some right laughs are aw changed. The Burke used to be guid place for a few pints and live music. We nivir got tired o' watchin thon lad Billy Jones beltin oot John Prine and Townes Van Zant numbers of a night.

The Garrick was another shop we frequented wi the guid pinball table and a Frogger machine.

Now baith these pubs also had lunchtime Go-Go dancers, but as laddies growing up aroond aboot that area, it wis nivir aw that big a deal tae us. Some auld growler girating tae a few tunes was just a laugh. Some of the bars had a wee stage, some just horsed a bit o' plywood over the pool table. Maist opted for the UV lights which covered a multitude o' sins. The same trick is still used in the lavvies at Perth Sheriff Court so as the heroin users cannae find a vein. Obviously works well wi the varicose kind too.

Tony's Cellar Bar at Bristo Square was the best venue for the UV seediness and also because one o the dancers had a snake. Now she wis nae Salma Hayek, but it was like an underage pint, a bit laugh and a trip tae the zoo aw rolled intae one. Not only that you had auld Tony on the microphone badgering ye tae buy mair drink in his droll Maltese accent. Barry times.

The Pubic Triangle is now a full-on, dedicated, stag party "Lap dancing" area, aw blacked oot windaes and no welcoming looking at all. Clearly no trying tae cater for workies having a pie & a pint on their lunch break or daft layaboot laddies just oot for a bit laugh o' an afternoon.

The Garrick and Jess's Bar are aw changed too. Baith souless places wi aboot 20 big tellys aw showing Bundesliga fitba, which no-one in the place even seemed to be bothered their erse lookin' up at.

Makes a man feel auld and mair than a bit sad.

Jim Fisher R.I.P

Sad news indeed...

School mate, Yarrow camper, gig ligger, drinking buddy and urban adventurer extrordinaire..

Many crazy crazy nights and too many shared laughs to mention.

Rest in Peace the Fitsch, from the boys of the High Wall.

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Winter

Ah wiz talkin tae Arkos the other night and jist rememberin yon cauld times in the High Wall tenements. Nae central heatin fir the High Wall gadgies! We hud a coal fire in the kitchen and that wiz it! If yae wir real lucky yir ma pushed a parrafin heater intae yur room at aboot 8 at night which meant ye smellt like a north sea oil worker and ye wir near passin oot fir the lack o oxygen.
Double glazin in yon days meant that yir windae hud a top part and a bottom part an baith wir made o glass. The inside o oor bedroom windae looked like the photae at the top, on the inside! Ye didnae quite realize jist how cauld it wiz till ye got a deek o yer blue lips and the fact ye couldnae quite grip yir Action Man wi yir frostbitten fingers.
Thir wiz aye jist enough hot water in the mornin fir yir faither tae huv a shave. Efter that it wit cauld water or nowt. Ah wiz like yer Seb Coe o the sink. A full wash in less than a minute withoot gettin the backs oh ma hands wet. Ah used tae imagine that when a went fir a shit in the mornin ye could hear the ice on the lavy breakin as the log crashed through the frozen wastes. But there again maybe ah wiznae imagining it at all.
Ther wiz also a few chores involved wi winter as well. Ye hud tae go up tae the Ironmongers (a name ye dinnae see any mair) wi a red jerry can tae git the parrafin fir the killer heater. It wiz a slog up tae the front street intae the Aladdins cave o the ironmongers. It wiz always dark in the shop and the smell wiz aye o parrafin and wax candles. Wooden floorboards thi creaked as ye walked intae the shop, the ironmonger aye dressed in his brown dustcoat, like the janny used tae wear, baldy heid and roond glesseys. Ah cannae really remember whit else wiz in the shop it all seems tae be jist a dark cloud roond the parrafin fillin station. Mibbie Arkos kin tell us mair.
Anyway off doon the road wi the red can cuttin deep intae yer ungloved cauld hands tae fiil yir lifeline fir the Artic bedroom night.
When ye wir in yir bed noddin off in the parrafin soaked air thir wiz aye the comfortin blue light fi the heater softly lightin up the dark night.
Aye the High Wall winters wir the boys!

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Merry Christmas High Wallers,

Christmas as a bairn was a great time. Up at the crack o' dawn to get tore in aboot the presents. Subbuteo, Oor Wullie annuals, Aurora Monster kits, Johnny West. One year I mind I got a metal "Robin Hood" crossbow with a fair powerful elastic band that fired wooden arrows wi suckers on the end. Once the suckers were off and the arrows given a healthy sharpening on the pavement it was good to go.

By aboot 4pm the auld boy would be snoring in his chair. yer Ma would be fussing aboot, doing dishes and offering you mair food. We of course had ate oor body weights in Selection Boxes, knelt on Charlie George (permanenlty reducing Arsenal to 10 men) and lost the rat from the Forgotten Prisoner of Castel Mare.

The telly in the evening was always a good way to round off a happy day. Mike Yarwood was pish but the "Two Ronnies" were aye a class act.

This year it is all Ipods and high tec stuff for my bairns, who think it is funny to make wee films of me snorin' in my chair so that they can put them on their Facebook for aw their mates to laugh at.

Nae Two Ronnies but at least we've got The Royle Family.

I'm off for a Yuletide log !!!

Have a guid yin.


P.S
Without a word of a lie, I was looking after the wife's shop last weekend and a woman came in and bought 4 candles. I admit I was tempted.

The night Joe Strummer came to town

It was 16th November '78. The boys of the High wall had left behind their innocent carefree days and embarked on the world of work. Factory worker, bank monkey and trainee squaddie.

Despite growing up in the shadow of various world renouned seats of learning, there was no University route mapped out for the High Wall lads. Yer auld boy might have printed text books or worked as a Jannie at the Uni, yer Ma might have been a cleaner in the place, but it was not for the likes o' us.

University is a load of pish anyway as Arkos later discovered. Daft young laddies are better off in the real world, you learn more that will help you oot in the long run.

Anyway I digress.

There is a great wee Johnny Cash song called "The night Hank Williams came to Town" It's all about that moment of enlightenment you get as a young man when really great music comes to your wee corner of the world. The important thing about the sentiment of the song is that it is not about going to your first "T in the Park", it is a much more personal than that. It is about the great artist coming to where the real people are and how the music touches their lives.

As kids in Edinburgh you refer to your home/home area as your "bit" i.e "Come roond tae ma bit aboot 7 ish and we'll head oot"

On 16th November 1978 Joe came roond tae oor bit. Not only that he brought the rest of the Clash with him.

I'm not going to wax lyrical about the gig other than to say I have never seen another band come even close to the energy and passion. I now realise what a privilege it was to have seen the Clash at their height. To have just turned 17 and witness that, left it's mark. The Clash politicised you, gave you a real sense of equality and social justice, and also made you skank like a Mofo.

In June 1999 Arkos and I saw Joe and the Mescaleros play their 4th ever gig at King Tuts and as Arkos said on the night "it was like they had wheeled him out of a Clash storage cupboard and back onto the stage". Joe was a few pounds heavier (I'm a fine one tae talk) but still rocking good style. Grown men were close to tears hearing "White Man in the Hammersmith Palais" and other Clash standards sung by the man himself. It was the stuff we thought we would never hear again, and whilst it was not the Clash, it was more real than a money driven nostalgia circuit reunion. Joe still wanted to create new stuff and celebrate the old stuff. He had the spirit of punk.

His Mescaleros catalogue stands up against any volume of work. Over the next few years Arkos and I caught Joe whenever he came to Scotland, usually the Barrowlands. The shows just got better and better. It was our wee winter night oot and it fair lifted the gloom.

On 11th November 2002, almost 24 years since we first saw him, Joe came back tae "oor bit". After all the Liquid Rooms is an easy enough daunder from the High Wall. It was a fine night of music.

6 weeks later, Joe sat down at his kitchen table after walking his dogs and left us forever.

Joe Strummer

21 August 1952 – 22 December 2002