I recently found myself in the Yahoo! UK headquarters in London when Trish and I dropped by on our way to Munich.

It was the first time I’ve ever actually seen the Yahoo! logo anywhere other than on a computer screen and the web. And obviously what I’ve done here is photograph it and upload it straight to the web for immediate display on your computer screen.

It was quite strange seeing it though. There it was jumping right off the wall like a big fat cheery object, looking like it had never seen a pixel in its life.

And so what was I doing in the Yahoo! HQ?

As it turns out, Yahoo! just love the site here and have earmarked it as their next big acquisition. Apparently, they especially like it when I write about things like my cat have trouble crapping properly and want to buy me out for a cool £1 mil.

Okay not really.

I was going for lunch with the head of the Yahoo! UK Search division, no less. Who, apart from having a very fancy-sounding title, is called Salim and is a friend of Trish. And a top bloke he is too. We had sushi and chatted about art and the web and dressing up as Santa.

Last week I was in Munich doing a show at Galerie Ben Kauffmann. I hadn’t seen Ben in ages… well, since the last time I was over there and so it was good to see him again.

I’ve been making paintings in the studio for a while now and I chose six of them and took them over with a bunch of recent drawings.

The gallery is a tight space and sometimes those can be the most difficult to install work in… but it all went well. In the end I showed three of the paintings and nothing else and I think that totally worked and looked good.

Here’s a behind-the-scenes mid-installation shot for your viewing pleasure:

The opening was really good and it was great to see some of the guys I met the last time I was over. Then we all went and drank an awful lot of very good beer in a pub that was supposedly Hitler’s local when he was young. Obviously it wasn’t a theme pub. But it was very nice, as was the beer… and the people who made Trish and me feel very welcome.

I had a great time and it was a nice way to kick off the year. Especially given the fact that I drank about fourteen bottles/big Bavarian glasses of this crazy clear beer and woke up without a nasty hangover.

Result all round.

Hello hello hello. I’m back. And even though I have completely failed to bother my arse to post anything here for some time now… I am back. Back again. Don’t panic, here I am.

This post is a bit like a hairball. A great big hairball of inane shite that I’ve been dying to cough up for ages. Maybe it’s so big now that I’ll choke to death. Who knows. Let’s find out.

A few of the things that have happened during my recent cyber-absence(s)

Nutters Die

Some sort of cosmic safety recall demanded the immediate return of Ivor Cutler, Arthur Lee, Syd Barrett and James Brown. Also reptile pesterer Steve Irwin. The planet is a measurably less interesting place without them. I take my hat off and raise a glass to them all.

When Bees Attack

I saw a news report on TV about a road accident involving angry bees for the second time in a matter of months. Amused, I checked the internet and was amazed to find that crashing into bees is, in one form or another, extremely common. See: crashed into bees.

All Tomorrows Melvins

I got a last minute ticket for the ATP Nightmare Before Christmas and jumped at the chance. I went from having never seen The Melvins to having seen them twice in twelve hours… and then three times in a week when they play Glasgow the week after for the first time in ten years.

And nobody really knew about that gig (including me) thanks to the incompetence of the promoter. Hence the ten year wait. A fact that Dale Crover pointed out as both he and the crowd waited to see if anyone was going to actually turn up to see them this time. Annoyingly the promotion was barely better this time around and for a while it was kind of embarrassing because the crowd numbered less than twenty. So I shouted to Dale to tell him that it’s the promoter who couldn’t give a fuck, not Glasgow gig-goers and how there was nowhere to actually buy tickets… but he didn’t seem to believe me. (The only place to get one in advance was online, thus incurring a total of £7 in fees on an £11 ticket.) In the end they drew an okay crowd but it’s a shame because they are definitely the best band on the planet and they probably think that nobody in Scotland gives a shit, when actually loads of people totally do, it’s just that finding out about their gigs and getting a ticket is like some sort of biblical test.

Aaanyway. They played and they totally rocked. They were even louder and heavier than you might reasonably expect. Flipper supported and they were just absolutely awesome. Bruce Loose is some frontman.

And so I managed to resolve my ten-years-without-having-seen-the-melvins issues. Well, more smash to bits than resolve. Mission accomplished.

Boy With Disemboweled Squirrel

I missed what was the single best photo opportunity of the year. It goes like this:

I am walking past the park when in the distance I see a young kid standing in the middle of the pavement doing suspiciously nothing. As I get closer I see that he’s about twelve years old and is just standing there holding up a stick like he’s standing guard or something. I see that he’s got a friend standing beside him and decide that there’s a reasonable chance an attempted mugging is about to commence.

The road is too busy to cross so I take my chances and continue my approach. As I get closer, the toerags just stand there looking like they’re not going to let me past and pointing this big stick in my direction (which has some sort of indeterminate woodland foliage type stuff hanging from it).

And then at the last minute as I’m actually trying to get past these kids, in one of those sudden reality shifts that you sometimes get, I realise that the big stick is now pointing right at me and it doesn’t have woodland foliage stuff hanging from it. It has a freshly disemboweled squirrel hanging from it.

It certainly doesn’t look like a squirrel at first glance, but it is. The ex-rodent’s entrails are unwound, dangling down and trailing on the pavement for a metre or two. It’s eyes have popped out and it’s face is mangled. The kids just have these sort of hypnotised expressions.

I’m caught totally by surprise and all I do is advise them to throw it away on the grounds of hygiene. And then only as we go our separate ways I realise that I have missed one of the greatest spontaneous photo opportunities to ever present itself.

And so it goes.

Some pictures I found kicking around in my phone

Glaswegian Weather

Business as usual for the Glaswegian weather…

A sky like Thor’s arsehole. Rain pissing on you long enough to make your bones damp.

Found Photos

It’s always strange when you find an anonymous photograph lying in the street. Here are photographs of two such photographs.

Stunt Cat

I was over at Nick‘s place when I witnessed this one. It’s difficult to make out but the arrow is actually pointing to a cat. A cat who is clearly three storeys up on a Glasgow tenement roof. I watched him casually stroll along the very edge of the gutter and up onto the tiles. The roof was obviously not made of hot tin.

These are my feet. As you can see, by a hilarious biological coincidence each one measures almost exactly a foot in length. Very handy (no pun intended).

Anyway, in about an hour I’m going to catch the train to London with Trish where we’re going to go to a seminar by one of those crazy life-coach guys that you sometimes hear about.

The only reason that I’m going is because the fairly expensive tickets have been paid for by one of Trish’s clients. The whole thing lasts a brain melting four days and I have got absolutely no idea what is in store for me. I mean, I can imaging… it’s just that I’m trying not to.

What I do know is that the whole affair culminates in walking across hot coals. That’s why I’m showing you my feet. I don’t have the faintest idea whether or not this is a good thing to do.

The internationally recognised symbol of the cock and balls is alive and well.

Say you own a wig shop. And you’ve got to come up with a catchy name for your new phoney-hair based venture. The thing is, it’s not a clown wig shop in which case you could get away with something ‘crazy’ like the Big Top Wig Shop. It’s a real wig shop for people who don’t enjoy being as bald as they currently are. It’s a tricky one alright. After a few brainstorming sessions you draw a blank and decide to go with the first thing you thought of…

It had to happen sooner or later I suppose. Quids, the shop (where everything does indeed cost one quid) next to the bus stop where I got the Decorative Garden Wasp from has shut down. Can’t think why.

But not before I managed to complete the collection with the Decorative Garden Ant…

The cat is only in the photo for the purposes of scale. He cost twenty quid.

I was upstairs in McDonalds the other day enjoying the view and a tasty McPoison burger when I noticed something on the window. I couldn’t figure out what it was for a moment but then I realised and a song spontaneously started up in my head in that way that only the songs you truly hate can. It was that tune by purveyors of offensively inoffensive cack Travis.

“...Hey, wow look at you now,
Flowers in Gherkins on the window,
It’s such a lovely day...”

Somehow or other dogs managed to stray from the path set before them by evolution. They probably smelled a shit in the bushes, who knows. Wolves are these intelligent, dynamic, highly tuned creatures that somehow morphed into dogs.

Dogs, goons of nature.

This picture is a bit like those Where’s Wally? children’s books that I never owned…

Somewhere in this picture is a dog taking a shit. Can you find him?

There he is! The dirty bastard.

Glasgow is supposed to be the coolest city in Britain according to some recent survey or other. I’m sure the results are flawed though. Half of the people surveyed probably thought that the coolness was the kind measured in fahrenheit and the other half were probably mental health outpatients.

That’s not to say that Glasgow isn’t cool. I think it’s cool. I think it’s cool like the inside of a fridge- cold and dark - and I think that it can be quite coool maaan sometimes too.

Some of the locals attempt to address the issue of climatic coolness by trying to pretend that Glasgow is actually really really sunny. They do this by spraying themselves orange on a regular basis. (Which unfortunately and not unironically has a direct and inversely proportional effect on their Fonzie-from-Happy-Days coolness). One such establishment for the oranging of the masses is the hip and cosmopolitan Miami Beach Club. (Yes that is barbed wire).