Tricky little job at the chippy

Beatrice at the counter & some fish and chips that were made earlier.

Friday Nights:

It is a tricky job to slit the cellophane on a still living pizza with a modeling knife. Jeremy could easily do it if Beatrice actually did it for him. It was at times like this that their eyes met, over the counter, the sink and across the great vat of oil that is like the Middle East of Moray. “Fishers Fish Bar” is what I wish we had called this bloody place instead of “Jeremy Fishers’”” says Jeremy with too many inverted commas. Well you can’t always get what you want can you?

When it is hot in a fish bar it is very hot, condensation pours, fans whiz, expelairs suck and swinging doors breathe in gulps of cold night air and release chunks of fried flavours into empty streets. Salt n sauce, salt n vinegar, closing time at the pub, a coach load of football fans, old ladies on a jaunt, white stretched limos full of country girls in shiny black dresses and stilettos all getting oil on their artificial nails. Customers are a rare and strange breed, almost human at times say the friendly fascists.

Everywhere in the village there are villagers, hungry for tea and dreams of Camberwick Green and Trumpton and being made of sponge rubber. Jeremy feeds the reckless, feckless dreams and deep fries the past. They return to bungalows at length but without height. Some park cars in driveways or with up to two wheels upon the pavement. Homes without a proper post code.

If you put your nose into the fish freezer or the haggis cupboard chiller it gets cold, red at the end and numb. Jeremy likes that feeling and enjoys taking stock, even when he doesn’t have to, even when he knows all is well and that the supplies are in. The cold nose thing is a treat and measure.

If you ever drive through Wipeourasses and I expect you will, these words will come back to you, you will stop, you will buy, you will enjoy. The rich fare of the JF establishment and its garish soft drink selection straight from the lemonade factory in Buckie via the cash and carry awaits even the most casual of visitors. Sleep well / eat well.

Jeremy Fisher

Jeremy Fishers’ is a fish and chip shop situated in rural Aberdeenshire in a small Lego built town called Wipeourasses. Kurt Cobain was born but a few doors away. The speed limit is a little over thirty five, Jeremy is about 38. He may have spoken in class at one time. Jeremy’s secret recipe for deep fried pizza was also well known as the blinking neon sign proclaimed to all passers by and those who chose to observe the speed limit. The signs themselves were wind powered but worked quite well in flat calm, on days of hysteria they worked really well. The fathers of Wipeourasses were also puzzled that their small town remained small but were glad that Jeremy’s shop was in some people’s eyes successful. Cars would stop in town, particularly on Saturday evenings and Friday afternoon, the occupants would get out, or maybe only the driver and they or he or she would enter the fast food bar. Inside a wide range of tasty, tempting foodstuffs were on display, some behind glass, and some in fridges and described on white boards and some in plastic dustbins. All in all and enthralling experience for the hungry and reasonably well off.

Every day the place was ignited by a single spark from the spark gun that sparked the gas burner that ignited the fryer. “Like the space shuttle taking off” said a local who had recently seem footage of a NASA launch on “Good Morning Scotland” on the radio (810 medium wave), (81000 Mexican wave). A precise program of events was always being planned but no quite arrived at and so it goes that Jamie Oliver had never even heard of the place. The Mars Bars were however not battered until required as per the hand written recipe book.

Promotion

Nothing really to do with the fine art of Fairytale Management and all it's complex, quirky and misunderstood processes. I just like this photograph. It was taken by Norman Lamont at last years FerryStock II. An event we ran in order to a) promote the local arts festival and b) promote ourselves.

Jack the Knife

Winter wonderland

A lorry jack knifed on the A9
With a cargo of cigarettes rolled in a factory in Russia
Virginia slim pickings for Highlanders and the displaced of Indo-China
90 degrees in the winter road way, cut by a jack knife
And some thing else to explain to the wife
This is Jack and this is your life.
So the cars queued and the blue lights flashed
Bright hi-viz jackets and a quiz
About what you did wrong.
Too fast, too greedy
Too much, too needy
And the driver swore to himself and thought about what might happen next
To him and his vehicle and his load
90 degree turn around in winter on the grey and slippery road.

A lonely place

Lonely Place

Men fight over land only to be buried in it or to have their ashes scattered over it. Men fight over ideas as if they were measurable and meaningful only for those ideas to be misunderstood, written down and then burned on bonfires. Men make laws to control situations only to find that they never did really understand the situation in the first place. People go out for a drink after work to chat and make friends and climb social and business ladders and each one appreciates the pretence and the posturing and then they all go home alone. Lonely people put advertisements in the paper or on the web so that they can meet other lonely people, then they will at least share their loneliness with some one else. Confused people go to churches or join religious or political groups looking for answers. Some answers are satisfactory; some not so, some require a certain suspension of belief or rational thought. Some call for a commitment that is heavy and unreasonable but some people take this on gladly, for they have found a reason. Some people learn to Salsa and have fun, these people are quite lucky. Some people make a cup of coffee, light up a cigar and blow smoke into a clear sky while their internal processes and thought connections rest and recuperate. These things are sent to try us.

Hello...

Greater expectations of a gold, silver and diamond digger.

Sweet potato and chicken curry.
Pinot Grigio
Working your way through a fat city.
Taking in a flight to Dublin.
Trouble in.

Walk talk cigar, big cock.
Stroll around the block.
Make it and shake it.
Stepping into how it feels.
Red high heels.

Sweet and sour expectations.
Indifferent vibrations.
The wealth and sweat of the nations.
Here comes a vague opportunity.
Give it to me.

Cheese grater expectations.
Garlic bread revelations.
Bleak house of Oliver pasta twist.
Show what you could resist.
The pain that didn’t quite exist.

Cat photo

Vegetarian Manifesto

The animals were created and named and like the fresh clay and crumb and butterscotch that they were formed from, craved a free life. They fled the confines of swirling imagination to inhabit this wide, green world. Crawling, running, flying, creeping, swimming, burrowing, trotting and slithering to it’s ends and beginnings. Some tasted good, some tasted bad, some were poison, some wriggled too much, some needed a good deal of seasoning, some needed a jar of Uncle Ben’s. So creation rung it’s earnest bell loudly across the land and bonfires were duly lit to celebrate. Barbeques were the next big invention as well as sharp things to cut logs. Women and few men grew to love their fur coats, however fish scale coats and ant-skin shoes never caught on, but fashion is a fickle and petulant mistress, mark my words.

By the time the sons of Adam had opened their first restaurant a buzz was beginning. At first the bees were blamed but as it turned out it was other people from over the hills that nobody had ever bothered to tell the brothers about. As the first to benefit from a customer charter, these good people enjoyed the fine wine and fresh meats the brothers had killed and prepared. No one around the table ever dreamed that they were sitting in the spot that would one day be Poland. The early geographers were of course only learning the basics of their trade at this point.

I’m not sure but once the first meat course was eaten, it seems that a fellow from Nod decided that a dish of salad would be nice, as an alternative to the goose and pineapple curry. Of course the fresh salad, plucked from the slopes of the slowly forming Himalayas and washed in icy waterfalls was a roaring success, especially as it was served upon a marvellous crocodile skin platter. The diners were lost for words and the brothers never looked back.

It was the kangaroo god who first wrote down this tale, as a warning, a lesson and a piece of romantic food and drink fiction. If a god had to start writing about anything it might as well be food – most other topics are a bit tedious. So keep the masses well fed and a little in debt and they are far less likely to man the barricades or hit the cobbles. Why only the other century a hot-dog stand in East Berlin was closed down due to public health concerns and other various but unproven complaints about cooked meats and hard bread rolls. Nothing to do with a cat photo either.

Keeping Mum

Mum

I’ve stopped trying to figure when things first went wrong
When the rails were ripped up and trains stopped running
When the holidays still happened but passed me by
When the wars ended but replayed on in a endless loop
When the tiny becomes huge and the valuable is squandered.

So you’re stuck in 1939 or in the Empire Hotel or somewhere
A world so small you have to crawl to get around
Those Sunday school picnics and crowded harbours
Scrapping and watching and seeing the passages of time.

Exhibitions viewed dimly through wire rimmed glasses
And no sense of worth because of their education
Systems that were corrupt but better than nothing
No sense of loss or ever real expectation.

Inside a hollow place of butcher’s boys and loaves and bicycles
Living in a village and trapped in a bottle.
The blame’s in the name and the crushing thumbs
Of elders and betters and ministers and nuns.

How can you not know that a few miles away other things were happening?
Farmers were working sixteen hour days; coal miners were black and trapped
Mills ground down men and machines, hot rivets popped and cracked
Journalists with Brylcream and cigarettes tried to capture it all in their best learned English, with ink.
Starched politicians of the hour blinked at brown box cameras and blind, foggy lenses.

No work or mixing or anything for over fifty years
A growing disconnection and a deepening illusion
Here come the home helps and carers
Here comes the doctor, the nurse and pall-bearers.

The shock of the new washes over you
The shock of the new magnifies you
The shame of the past cripples you
The tiny fragments of steel live in you.

Blind Faith

As tall as a young god

The kangaroo god is puzzled today. In a letter written in 1969 a young student from London, England, has drawn together a powerful case for saying that the hitherto unreleased "Gospel According to Barnabus le Shark" is in fact an early version of the second side of the Beatles LP Abbey Road. Barnabus le Shark it seems has written credible versions of “She came in thru the bathroom window” and “Carry that weight” that can now both be dated back to the first century AD. Quite how the drumming of Ringo Starr and the guitar work of L’Angelo de Mysterioso can be recognised I’m not sure. I strikes me as a very similar set of circumstances to those highlighted by Wee Willie Harris in 1964. He claimed to have written the “Heartbreaker” guitar solo on Led Zeppelin II following a vision, a good telling off and an envelope he’d received from the Angel Gabriel. The kangaroo god remains puzzled by all these heavy matters. Knowing everything and seeing everything is all very well but age-induced memory loss can cause the fudging of certain issues and the blurring of visionary boundaries.

The young girl featured on the Blind Faith album cover was causing yet another dilemma for kangaroo god today. Was she really discovered in a taxi or was she an evil spirit released to savagely undermine the album cover design culture and the newly emerging rocket and star ship science of the late sixties? Another question that perplexed nearly everybody on the team was “who had been the tallest member of Blind Faith?” Not really a pub quiz favourite but a profound question none the less,
(The answer is or may be below*).

The Cinderellas were, by now fed up with the lack of progress being made and fully expected a new initiative to begin. Indeed there were plans to get them hitched but unfortunately no budget or proper allocation of funds had been made. This led to a number of handsome princes heading over to Russia with a view to obtaining their own princess who would, without the burden of finding a costly dowry, be more readily available . The course of true love seldom runs smoothly or so much out of steam.

When Western culture meets Eastern culture it is common practice for men to build a canal.

*Ginger Baker.

The Queue for God

A dispute over forever

As usual I’m trying to get kangaroo god to listen to me and provide advice. Today of all days, he’s on some state visit to a neighbouring heaven, shaking hands, drinking ambrosia and opening old people’s homes. The minister, never usually friendly towards me, has agreed that I can wait in an anti-room and read magazines and talk to the others in the queue until he returns.

The magazines were not very interesting; their main subject matter was about hobbies and celebrities in heaven. The administration had a real enough situation here, living forever and staying “on message” was altogether a problem. The early Cinderellas had been fine, they were few in number, knew one another and pretty much towed the party line. However a few hundred years ago a more argumentative and feisty group had entered. Whilst they participated in all the basic chants, dances, worshiping and candle-lighting things they did them with a less than perfect attitude. Some said that they had become bored with their duties and were, despite their exhaulted position looking for a little more to do. It seems that early on, perhaps in a moment of weakness, kangaroo god had promised them some responsibilities. They wanted to rule over something, they wanted a little more power.

In response the kangaroo god had increased the worship schedules to take up the slack within the day and introduced religious hobbies as a diversion and a means of control. It worked with some but others, a small minority, felt they were not being fully utilised or actualised in their promised roles. This group would complain about always being expected to peer down into hell to watch friends and relatives squirming and in pain when they could be controlling them, they’d also moan about the clothing allowance and the climate. Kangaroo god was fed up with them. “Why on earth do they take things so literally? I didn’t promise all that stuff did I?”

I busied myself with the magazines while the Cinderellas bickered on amongst themselves about what seemed to me to be trivial matters, candlesticks, hair, make-up, torture and purgatory. I was naturally much more concerned about the entropy of the universe, sun spots and the great Australian volcano. I had made up a list of substantial things for urgent action.

Of course when the big cheese returned from the neighbours he was in no mood to talk about anything, it turned out he had a headache and the gifts he’d been given were, as he put it “total, thoughtless, glitzy crap”. His office door slammed and I slid the magazine down from in front of my face and placed it neatly in the rack. Some of the Cinderellas were very upset; some were in tears, others puffed out their cheeks in a red and pink rage. A few handsome princes arrived but really it was beyond their limited abilities to do anything. We’d all have to wait till tomorrow, which in the scale of forever isn’t really so bad, it’s just a shame that the Cinderellas had managed to lose all concept of time when they signed up for heaven.

I shuffled out of the office and down the pale corridor, their cries ringing in my ears. Funny how despite planned and apparent peace, harmony and perfection, just getting a little undivided attention can cause so much of an atmosphere and disquiet.

Lifeboat

Impossible Songs

Lifeboat

She sails over the deep sea.
She sails over me.
A drowning man.
A weight of lead on me and too shaky to stand.

Her boat is like a silver dart across the waves.
The blue menace holds her above the swirls below,
The watery caves, the wake of slaves,
The dead and the pirates, the lost who seek land locked graves.

She sails over me, a drowning man once more.
Lost and crashing, looking out but unsure,
Until I stand with her, stretching my toes in the sand,
On some safe shore.

Hold on to your songs

Hold on to your Songs

Words of wisdom from the contained and the contrite.
The magic pull of garden centres does not last long.
Wine and cigarettes are an unhealthy combination.
Take a twist and you may bust, or win.
Sleeping in movie theatres is never good.
Watering down glue to spread it further.
Lottery tickets burning in a fire.
Noodles, poor men's or other wise.

Pasta, chicken, pasta, mushrooms, pasta, cheese, pasta, onions.
A rain torn sky hiding the brightest star.
Red sails in the sunset.
Hot chocolate cake melting behind the microwave door.
The North Pole is the warmest place in the world.
What happens when the ink finally runs out?
I don’t much feel like dancing.
Capturing fallen leaves in a frame so they survive the winter.
Time for reflection.
Pondering the angst and problems of a chosen level of anominity.
The white space that collides with the grey matter.
You can manage knowledge and you can’t knowledge manage, or can you?
Podcasts are catching on but maturity takes time.
Writing a critical review then leaving in a spelling mistake.
Deciding what half of my brain to use today.
The quick, the dead and the pedestrian.
Hearing about odd exploits in Saudi Arabia.
Is it possible to overdo the salad part of the meal?
Daydreaming in the classroom and then waking up.
Fairytales revised and doing the revision.

6th November

Fish oil and false tears.
Justifying the great Christmas spend.
Long emails and replies.
A strange story from the west.
Toasting cheese and ham but in opposite ways.
Not hitting the bottle.
Deciding that inspiration comes from the oddest places sometimes.
An early breakfast and then back to bed.
Not topping up the windscreen water fluid.
Eating 27 grapes and 2 bananas.
Having a telephone conversation with a tailor in Eastbourne about a tuxedo.
Laughing at photos on the web.
Letting someone borrow a DVD.
An un-ironed shirt.
Practising some songs and forgetting the chords.
Dipping your finger in warm Dettol.
Watching Reporting Scotland.
Ripping one of our own CDs back into mp3 files.
Thinking about yesterday’s football match in Kirkliston.
The cat climbing into the wine rack.
Not getting a letter from my solicitor.
Ice cream and maple syrup.
Telling somebody to put their Pot Noodle into the microwave.
Francis Vincent Zappa.
Feeling a bit panicked and mildly shocked.
The Royal Tenenbaums.
The natural history of Wiltshire.
A good cat comes in at 22:13.
A serious chat about the next few months.
Deciding to go to Henley on Thames and making the arrangements.
Talking to people who are the same age as I am.
Having a strange dream about Wales or something.
Discussing the BBC’s attraction to Gaelic programming.
People queuing up to go register with the dentist.
Text messages.
Thinking that a really good time is just up ahead.
Applying for a job.
Not reviewing anything on Garageband.
Trying to think of a witty remark built around a Scottish soap title.
Johnny Beattie’s 80th birthday party attended by various celebs.
Looking at the wedding page in the Courier.
Channel 4 News Republican v Democrat coverage: Priceless.
Singing.
Trying not to gloat over the misery of others.
Avoiding shops of any kind all day.
Thinking about ghosts.

After done click here

Darker visions

There are living souls out there
So I am led to believe
Evidence and signs
Cracks in irregular lines
Holding to the certainty
That there is no such thing...as certainty.

To air I do not dare

Air kisses

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA

There is no easy way

To say I love you today

There is no easy way

Just air kisses in the USA

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Bop Bop ooh yeah

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA

Air kisses in the USA.

Modern History

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The emancipation of the witch or modern history.

The year is 2027, with the demise of conventional religion, discredited in the great Mediterranean War of 2021 and the fall of Rome an unpleasant spiritual vacuum was created. The authorities (on all sides) gazed into this vacuum and decided that an appropriate filling was required, for the common good of all the people. A way to explain, calm, resolve, solve and focus the heightened sense of purposelessness that now seemed to dog each human life in the heartlands of Europe and Asia was needed.

As there was no emperor these days, or one who could decide things properly anyway, a competition was devised and run to help decide on what the best solution might be, answers had to be submitted by text, email or on a postcard to:

“Things to fill the vacuum” c/o The Founding Fathers, Room 202, The Former Vatican City, Rome, Italy (as was).

The suggestions went something like this, in no particular order:

Cream Cheese
More vacuum
Different kinds of vacuum
A black hole
Pulp fiction
Rain
Fog
Herds of screaming, howling animals
Frogs and 6 other plagues
Alien beings
Orchestral music
Figures of speech
Sand
Lonely people whistling nervously
Landfill
Fizzy lemonade
Old kind of ideas
Books from charity shops
Flotsam and jetsam
Lost keys and old mobile phones
Abstract theories
Home baking
Various Simpson’s episodes
Odd socks from Chinese laundry baskets
Sweet potatoes and chives
Millions of tons of cement
A single red balloon
Football fans of all sorts
Overheard conversations
False nipples
Some other old ideas about what god might look like
Left over Happy Meals
A big asteroid
Smoke
Actual air
Vacuum cleaners
Reformed religion
Classic cars
Meditation
Glen Millar melodies
Witchcraft
Tupperware items
Torn up newspapers
Princess Diana memorabilia
Niagara Falls
Broken DVD players that you could easily repair
Trampolines
Carbon Monoxide
Civil Servants
Cash
Junk mail
The remains of Indian take aways.

The list went on and on, I’ve chosen to list just a few of the better suggestions. In the end however there was only one winner and that was Witchcraft.

At first this choice was not popular in all quarters and a number of dissidents and priests who complained to the authorities had to be executed, unfortunately. Some socialist radicals also wrote strongly worded letters to their socialist newspapers but thankfully things settled down once their reporter style note pads were confiscated and their coach suffered a puncture. Cyber complaints were more difficult to control, one large website “www.No! To the hated witchy thing!” ran for 65 days until it was shut down by removing the plug. Over a million hits were recorded and comments passed.

So it was witchcraft or nothing. A pan-Europe vote was taken and in the Middle East a number of oil rich sheiks had a meeting with some bearded clerics. The people finally spoke in one clear voice through these diverse yet complimentary mediums and the resounding answer was “Nothing”. “The people have spoken” was the headline in many newspapers but strangely not the day after the vote, it came a little later in fact.

At first it seemed like a bad day for witchcraft and many activists were clearly, visibly disappointed at the rebuff they had suffered. There is however no such thing as bad publicity of any kind. While “Nothing” became a very successful religion and vacuum filler throughout most of these parts and some others, Witchcraft flourished in new and unexpected areas such as: The Royal Family, the Army, the financial services area, Albania (as was), in many ships and oil tankers, on coasts, on islands and in dark and spooky houses and homes. Old people embraced Witchcraft also and many of then grew fine warts and extra large tomatoes in season. All things seemed fine and in an perfect, edgy kind of balance until the cold hard winter of 2029 descended...

No Game

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Laughing at your God?
Mocking your Prophet?
Calling him names?
Saying you’re insane?
Trying to unpick history
Trail the bloody legacy
Massaging facts and memory
Along this sorry road.
Things that were ever misunderstood
Can’t just be left to gain
A little mutual respect
Everything you want, you want to direct
And trample in some Holy name.

So how we accommodate?
Share this strange planet
Or get along at all.
Any way we play
It seems it’s got to be your ball,
Your nice round ball,
Or there is no game at all.

Viva Maria

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Yeah, Viva Maria and all that stuff...

The Last Days of August

Sitting under the porch in the watery sun
Feeling like Steve McQueen, his life’s work done
Feeling my age creeping through to my bones
Staring at the grass, staring alone.

These are the last days and less time to breathe
I should take more care, I should eat more greens
I should gather together all the smithereens
I should take all the advice from the lessons I should’ve learned
And put it all somewhere, somewhere useful, somewhere outside my head.
Put things in their proper place, instead of thinking them,
Spit out the words instead of drinking them,
And lay me down, untidy
Like a bed unmade, or song unplayed
Like a sentence delayed, some garment frayed.

For you I’ll allow a glimpse into my soul,
See, hear and feed and then nudge the controls,
Staying and playing when our energies return
When these times pass to memory, a beginning will come....
Viva Maria. Viva Maria.

My Town

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My Town

I don’t park my car anymore; I don’t visit the DIY store
I don’t walk to the paper shop, I don’t go when the sign says stop.

My town looks so grey to me,
No place to raise a family
No peace to ever let us be,
You won’t be coming around,
In my town.

The horses slid on the cobbled streets
The hungry found something good to eat
Some business grew and success repeats
But, you won’t be coming around,
In my town.

I don’t read the daily news; don’t hear the gossip or street corner views,
I don’t drink in those bars or clubs, I don’t try I just give it up.
I don’t park my car anymore; I don’t visit the DIY store

I don’t walk to the paper shop, I don’t go when the sign says stop.

I won’t go when the sign says stop
I can’t go when the sign says stop
You can’t go when the sign says stop

Worry

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Things not to worry about:

The church being behind you.

Any kind of artistic rejection.

The weather – it always happens.

People thinking that you are invisible.

Car exhaust fumes from the car in front entering your car.

Scottish religious fundamentalists – that’s a real joke.

River beds if they are murky.

Athlete’s foot – no one died of it.

Enjoying fish fingers.

Where the cat may be on a cold night.

What you will ultimately achieve in your life.

Spots

Having odd bits of paper in your pocket.

Eating regularly – get out of that crippling habit.

Liking music that other people don’t.

Having a torch with decent batteries in it always at hand.

Burning your finger tips on candles.

Eating chocolate from the fridge.

Disturbing your neighbours (don’t make a habit though...)

Other peoples ignorance – is that your fault?

Knowing the correct time.

Whether or not a bus will come.

Everything in your life having to make some kind of sense.

Drinking the last bottle of wine, the one your were saving for a rainy day.

(Above applies to all “rainy day” based thinking).

Blogging and getting dumb, unhelpful comments, who cares?

Two faced, po faced Christian types.

Stuff on the other side of the world.

Whether or not there are 8, 9 or 10 planets.

Not reading those recommended books or seeing those films.

Not agreeing with reviews in the List, Q, empire or whatever.

Picking your nose, you can’t reach your brain from there.

Getting old(er), not so bad really.

Having bad, anti social little habits, (gum, dogs, cigars etc.)

Being rubbish at darts.

Not understanding chess or HTML.

The Scottish Nationalists ever winning anything substantial.

Avoiding apples, because they never taste as good as they look.

Being born too late / too early.

Being hit by a meteor.

Losing a tooth.

The meaning of biblical passages.

The American government.

That one day all the things you love will be lost to you.

Understanding other people’s over inflated views on things.

Not getting ecstatic over Italian food.

Spending a few hours doing nothing in particular.

Taking a risk with something.

Handling snakes.

Whether to save or spend.

How your bum actually looks.

Being engulfed by some kind of natural disaster.

Keeping up with soap operas.

Starting to write a novel and actually finishing it.

Getting the right size of T shirt.

Eating crisps straight from a bag.

Wearing odd socks now and again.

Brushing your teeth too fiercely.

Walking along a road.

Watching a subtitled film and keeping up with the action.

How many hits your website may be getting.

Having a scuff on your shoe.

Life in general.