I’ve got to be honest: those visitors here who (would like to) follow my bog will have noticed that recently there’s been nothing to follow and may have wandered off in search of some other pied piper. As far as my blog is concerned, it’s simply that my particular mechanical musical activities which would be fodder for this have endured an extended hiatus. In short: I have not been playing; I have not been composing; and I have not been recording, arranging, editing or doing anything remotely musically productive. Productive? No. (But inductive? Inductive?)
So, the silence.
In the meantime it does no harm to follow some well trodden paths in search of one’s muse.
This might be interesting. I’ve found this little player at Last.fm which I can embed in all sorts of places. A bit like virtual busking except there’s nowhere for people to drop a coin or two. Still, I’ll leave it here for a bit and if it’s popular I’ll do a page with all the damn songs on players. Won’t that be fun?
So please, click away on the little player and play Red John and the song might go shooting up the Last.fm charts. If these things work like that… I must find out.
Right, well, hills are important to me. If I can drag my ass out of bed and get enough coffee down my throat, there’s little I like better than spending a long day in the hills. So this part of the site will be about those pleasant days. For the time being, the items will be mostly retrospectives of hills “long ago and far away”.
These hills are called “mountains” in Scotland, but to many folks living in the US Rockies, or the Alps, they’re not considered to be real “mountains” and disdainfully dismissed due to their lack of altitude and height. Experienced mountaineers don’t hold this view and know that you underestimate them at your peril.
In the meantime, and until I sort out some photographs and upload theme to the server, here’s a nice pic of the approach to Beinn Mheadhoin through Glen Laoigh deep in the heart of the Cairngorms. Nice innit? I took the shot after I’d huffed and puffed my way to the top and sauntered back down again. The highest knob just above the patch of late snow is the summit.