We all know that Sean Connery was a milkman before he became a movie star. I've turned that progression on its head by playing a milkman in a movie today. Of course the milk business isn't what it was in Fountainbridge in big Tam's day. The "Tears of Milk" production team had to go all the way to Berwick, yes Berwick England, to find a dairy with a milk float.

After a 6.30 departure from Leith Walk I found myself by the side of a one track road on the Scottish side of the border in freezing mist waiting and waiting and........waiting. But then my part is the bottom third of page 14 of a 20 page script and this is the last day of a ten day shoot.

Eventually for me it's "action" but the milk float won't move. "Cut", free the drive wheels from the mud and off we go driving past the principal actors. That's my first scene over. Well not over yet. One take is never enough.

After a while we're ready for my second scene. In this one I get out of the milk float, take two bottles of milk from a crate on the back, take a couple of steps, notice a man approaching, deliver a line, pursue him as he passes me and jumps into my cab, deliver another line and recoil as he pulls a knife on me. The director wants to do this as one shot but the cameraman is not so sure. We try it a few times as one shot.

Then we split it into two, or was it three shots and do them all three or four times. Next comes the second part of the same scene filmed from behind my shoulder.

OK we've got several takes for that one so it's on to the next. This is my recoil as the knife is pulled from the point of view of the man pulling the knife. So the cameraman gets into the cab, the director squeezes in beside him to have a look, discovers there's a screw loose on the camera which explains some earlier problems. The sound man has a wee screwdriver and that fixes that. Only 17 minutes recording time left on the sound gadget he proclaims.

Then someone climbs onto the bonnet with a reflector to get more light into the cab. He's fighting the wind to control the reflector and I can't see quite where he's getting any light from but the cameraman declares that it's worthwhile. Being a shorthanded crew the director does the clapper-board then runs round the milk float to watch the shot on a monitor, shouts "action" and I recoil. In fact I recoil in shock and then step backwards reconciled to my milkfloat being stolen and not too worried about it in comparison to the damage that the knife might do to me.

Repeat recoil a few times and then regroup for a wide shot of the next bit of action. This is my post recoil backward step to the edge of the milkfloat door at which point another actor rushes up, knocks me to the ground, pushes the knife man into the passenger seat and climbs into the driving seat.

Several knocks to the ground later we are ready to film me struggling to my feet, still holding my two bottles of milk, and watching the float being driven off. After several struggles the wide shot is done and we then do a few close-up takes of me getting to my feet and it's a wrap for the milkman.

After a warm and comfortable hour sitting in a car with a book while the principals do another scene we're all done. The milk float goes back to Berwick and I'm home by six o clock.

It was fun.

Reluctantly bought a car today. I say reluctantly because here in Edinburgh I really have no need of a car whatsoever, but I'll be spending some time in the depths of the French countryside soon and there I can't survive without.

For those interested in such matters it's a 5 door Fiat Stilo 1.6 Dynamic. Not necessarily the one that appealed to me most but as the French say it offered the best rapport qualité /prix.

On my way to a lecture at lunchtime today I couldn't resist Private Eye's cover, (the bubble says "Now I can lie through my teeth") and inside there was this most appropriate cartoon. In my own defence I must insist that I do have more sociable hobbies as well.



A Scottish historian, Christopher Watley, was talking about the 1707 Union based on work he and Derek Patrick had done for their book The Scots and the Union published late last year.

It was a fascinating insight into the process of historical research; looking for original documents, analysing their contents, following paths that others who had looked at the same sources had not, finding new sources and most importantly coming to conclusions.

Their conclusions, which I found convincing - but then I'm easily swayed, run counter to the current popular received wisdom of Scots being bullied and bribed into a union with England. They see it as the outcome of the wish to safeguard Scottish presbyteriarism, the wish to preserve the limitations on royal authority that came from the Glorious Revolution and the need to cure the economic basket case that Scotland was at the time.

It was a stimulating hour. I must read the book sometime soon.

Friends Reunited does work. I'm lunching soon with a school friend I haven't seen for years thanks to a modest investment of £7.50 which converted me from a browsing Friend to one with communicating rights.

I was glued to the tele on Wednesday watching the pre-budget prognostications, the speech, the analysis and ultimately when the English had to go back to normal life we got the Scottish perspective on it all.

It was great theatre. Gordon was very good and that 2p off income tax was a brilliant coup de théâtre, albeit it didn't take long to spot the flaw, even for failed mathematicians like me. Cameron did brilliantly in his reply and Ming confirmed me in my view that he was far too doddery to be appointed in the first place.

Theatre of a more traditional kind at the Traverse that evening. The Scotsman called it "a filthy and extremely funny satire" and they were right. Bad Jazz is about people putting on a play and given that we were a group of amdram luvvies we couldn't have failed to enjoy it.

Thursday saw Nicola Sturgeon and Jack McConnell having a good old barney. I'd have said Jack won on points but maybe that's just because I'm a little bit shy of the SNP however much I like many of their leaders. Annabel Goldie was just as stodgy at Holyrood as Ming Campbell was at Westminster. Let's hope we never see a Tory/Lib Dem coalition.

Mozart followed by Wag The Dog and a bottle of wine may not be everyone's cup of tea for a Thursday night but it suited Robin and me. In fact I could probably have done without the Mozart, which was a little on the bland side. Maybe that was because contrary to the original planning, Charles Mackerras wasn't goading the SCO owing to his having a gammy arm or something.

For some Climates would make for a dreary Saturday night. Indeed although Claire chose the movie she and Ross were underwhelmed, finding its languor soporific rather than soul searing but I put that down to their having too optimistic a view of life.

Optimism dashed today when crowds failed to turn up to Claire's audition for the Grads Fringe entry. Exactly the same nice round zero turned up as for my attempt to put on a one-act last winter. But at least she can take some comfort in her 37 words of fame in Thursday's Scotsman.

Aren't 15 normally enough?

I had a call from a film guy earlier in the week who was looking for someone to be a milkman for a day. He rang me again this morning to arrange a meeting and said he hoped to shoot on Wednesday, but it might be Thursday depending on when he could get the cow.

Isn't it milkMAIDS who have to do with cows rather than milkMEN?

How do like this nonsense?

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Had a day on location at the art college on Friday being an extra in a student film. As always with filming there was a high ratio of hanging about to doing anything and when I did do something it wasn't too exciting. If you ever see "Ladies Who Lunch" (unlikely) keep an eye out for the back of a man admiring a painting and then walking off. The same man is to be seen doing slightly less exciting things too.

In the evening a group of us went to a production of The Boyfriend. One of the Grads was in it giving an excellent impersonation of a randy old man. I say impersonation but.....

Anyway it was a good show. Although amateur it's one of those where a professional director and choreographer are involved - quite a big budget number. I particularly liked the chocolate box "curtain" that slid open so smoothly. The costumes were lovely, the acting good and far be it from someone who can't hold a tune to criticise the singing.

One of the group wanted something a little less sugary so I hope he saw Emma on the tele last night. That's my book should I ever be on Desert Island Discs and the 1996 film version starring Gwyneth Paltrow must be one of the best romantic comedies ever made. It's a jewel.

I clearly ate something not very romantic while watching the film because at three this morning I woke up and threw up. I suspect the organic mushrooms. A fungus that is not soaked in chemicals to get rid of the bugs can't be safe can it?

I've recycled the rest just in case.

I was at this lecture last night.

It provided an interesting analysis of the ebb and flow of unionist and nationalist fortunes over the last forty years or so. His principal conclusion was that it has been the parties rather than the voters that have changed their spots.

Mrs Thatcher he reckoned turned the Conservative party away from its previous identification with Scottish interests north of the border i.e. as a sort of nationalist/unionist animal into a party perceived here as irredeemably English.

The SNP on the other hand, at least the leadership if not every foot soldier, has shifted ground from a narrow, parochial, anti English stance to become a party which embraces all the peoples and cultures that are to be found today within our borders. This conclusion is supported by statistical analysis of the content of SNP manifestoes over 35 years carried out by a doctoral student.

The guy that slogged his way through that deserves a personal chair not just a PhD.

That last one looks a fun place to rest up till the building works are done.

There's a festival of Chinese cinema on at the moment. I missed out on the black and white 1930's silent classic with live orchestra with which it kicked off through a combination of lack of forward planning and underestimation of the number of sinocinephiles around.

SO, determined not to further tarnish my cultural credentials I invested a tenner in a four filmathon Sunday. I fidgeted charitably through "Liang shan bo yu zhu ying tai", a musical melodrama in which willow pattern bridges in misty landscapes announced a feyness that rivalled Brigadoon and where star-crossed lovers chose death together rather than life with another. You won't be surprised to learn that Shakespearian girl disguised as boy confusions also featured.

Then "Ying xiong" confirmed me in my belief that however beautiful a film is to watch, if its principal action consists in swordsmen/women flying at one another through the air complete with Dolby surround sound swishing and smacking, it's not my bag. Everybody important chose death in that one too.

The evening session started with a film much more to my taste. "Fa yeung nin wa" was a subtle and sensitively told story of a man and a woman brought together, or at least brought into an almost togetherness by the fact that their partners are each having an affair - together as it turns out. Nobody dies in that one but they don't live happily ever after either.

Finally came "Xiao chang zhi chun". The brochure says this has been "voted the best Chinese film ever". I don't know who voted when, maybe those who saw it in 1948 when it was made. But the somewhat tattered print with scratchy sound and subtitles whose English came from the same pen as whoever does the translations for the Japanese self assembly furniture industry left much to be desired. I could see it was probably a good film with fine acting but the story looked a bit predictable and I was hungry and tired so I chose life and left after half an hour.

There is still a score of Chinese films in the offing but I think I shall husband my appreciation resources until the New Europe Film Festival gets going in ten days time. I must Czech that out.

I went to see a film about Leonard Cohen the other day. It was in fact a tribute concert held in Australia a year or two ago where his songs were covered by various people interspersed with extracts from interviews with the man himself and with celebrity admirers. Quite an entertaining couple of hours. But not a patch on Goodbye Lenin which I saw the previous week.

On my way I had time to spare and bought a paper. From time to time I buy a foreign paper to keep my language skills from atrophy. On this occasion it was the Corriere Della Sera. Brushing up my Italian was brushed aside by a front page picture of the mess left by Celtic supporters who were in Milan for their match against AC Milan last Wednesday.

Feeding my obsession with litter I discovered that on their website is a whole gallery of pictures devoted to Celtic's visit and many of them focus on the supporters' debris.

It appears that the Tartan Army may have renounced physical violence but still wreaks an unpleasant amount of havoc.

One of the problems with this blogging business is that things pile us when you don't post. The bigger the pile the less inclined you are to resume posting. I've decided to cut this Gordian knot by ignoring everything that I should have recorded since my last post. For those who were there the memory will be as St. Crispen's day. Those who weren't won't give a damn.

It was a lovely bright morning today and I kept telling myself that I should get out into the fresh air. When I did, after lunch, it began to rain but I persisted. I'm glad I did because by the time I got to the top of Calton Hill the sunshine was back. I can't count the number of times I've been on Calton Hill But I have never until today climbed the Nelson monument.

Although there are lots of steps it's not half as much effort as climbing Arthur's Seat and the views are equally stunning. You can see the monument clearly from my little balcony as in this picture.

Logically you can thus see my balcony from the monument but to tell the truth it's not so easy with the naked eye, or at least with my naked eye. Next time I'll take a telescope.


The souvenir ticket seen here carries a painting of the monument decked in flags. I've seen it like that but hadn't the wit to realise that the flags were flying on the anniversary of the battle of Trafalgar and that they spell out Nelson's famous dictum "England expects...."

Of course as a good unionist we must suppose that he subsumed the Scots in that. After all it's not England that rules the waves but Britannia.

The man didn't much care for our production so the excitement of a trip to Cupar is off. But the audience seemed to quite enjoy it and we got this nice picture in the Evening News. Their man didn't rate it either, mainly, but not entirely, for the same reasons.

The cast repaired to the pub to drown such sorrows as they had - not many, and even fewer after the first drink, leaving stage manager, director and helper to disappear into the night with the set.

I saw most of the other plays. Some were good, some middling and at least one was dire. Our director was so scunnered at our adjudication that he didn't turn up on the last night to hear the results. That's a bit of an over-reaction in my opinion but there you go. It also left to me the glory of going up to the stage to collect the wee certificate that every entry gets as a sort of souvenir. After all it's taking part that counts isn't it. I'm looking forward to next year already.

Got onto the stage at 9.30 last night for a tech before tonight's performance. All went well so tonight we do our one performance. Of course if we do it well enough we'll have the excitement of taking the show to Cupar Corn Exchange at the end of March. The last time I was in Cupar Corn Exchange must have been in the late 50s for the jiggin.

My brother asked me how we had done in the Bafta/Orange 60 second film competition. I had to admit that we got nowhere but my curiosity was aroused so I had a look at the winning film. It's really good and cleverly adopts the 60 motif. Have a decko.

Just for comparison here's ours. Strange that they both feature candles being blown out. We were surely on the right track.

Anyone who knows me knows that I can't abide litter. A large metal piece of litter turned up outside the front door a few days ago, a LIDL supermarket trolley. It failed to disappear so yesterday I decided to do something about it. My thought was to ring the nearest LIDL store and ask them to remove it. Well they don't list their stores in the phone book and although you can find the stores on the internet there are no phone numbers. I did find a blog for LIDL lovers though. I have one LIDL-loving friend but out there is a whole community. To give them their due the blog is not wholly hagiographic. They do tell you which products to avoid.

No joy with the phone then so I set out this morning to push the trolley down to the store at the Foot of the Walk. I felt a bit of a twat but raised only one comment, which unfortunately I didn't catch, from an inebriated baglady. At least I thought I'll get a quid for my trouble when I slot the trolley into a rank of its fellows. No such luck, the quids had been forced out of all the slots I could see. Clearly there are LIDL haters too.

Work in Progress is the name of a one-act play in which I'm exposing myself this week. It's the Grads entry for the SCDA one-act festival. The play consists of a dialogue between the writer of a piece of detective fiction and his characters. It's being done in the style of the 1940s film noir. Private eyes in those days were cleanshaven thus the exposure.
Roll on Friday when I can start protecting myself against the winter winds again.

Mr. Abu Bakr may not be 100% right about Britain being a police state but the legislation that is meant to keep terrorists and other baddies from moving their ill-gotten gains around doesn't half get your goat.

I've earlier mentioned my difficulty in opening a savings account. It's got worse. They have now asked me for documents which for perfectly good reasons I can't provide. Either a personal cheque drawn on an account in my name with another UK bank. Why would I have another current account in the UK? Isn't that more a money launderer's trick. Or a tax document for the current or the next tax year that matches my application details. Well I haven't got around to telling them that I'm here yet so those documents have a Manchester address which is not one of the addresses in my application.

So to review the situation. I cannot transfer a small amount of money which they are holding in one of their piggie-banks into another of their piggie-banks. This from the bank where I have had an account for over 40 years, a bank where I was once an employee, a bank who lent me money to buy a house and, the final irony, a bank that rang me a couple of months ago when I temporarily had a largeish sum in my account and asked if I'd like them to transfer it into a savings account.

Of course if you complain they shrug their shoulders and say that they don't make the rules, they just apply them. What a pity they weren't drafted in to look after the pallets of 100 dollar bills sent to Iraq.

Whew!

All pictures back in place. That was exhausting.

Various people have told me that they don't see my pictures and I suspect that's because they were stored on another webspace, not on Blogger's servers. So I've decided that when I put them back I'll try to get them onto Blogger's server. That means I won't be able to put them back "en bloc" but will have to edit each post that has a picture in it.

I've started successfully and am working backwards.