The widget that I put in the sidebar recently is providing me with a very varied selection of music. It's a bit tedious going through the process - not quite the one click and it's yours that you would hope for - but the end result is that I'm building up an eclectic little jazz collection featuring people I've never heard of. I dare say much of the rest of the world hasn't heard of them either and that giving away tracks is part of their marketing strategy. So far I've resisted the bait and have not bought.

I'm not always so strong-willed unfortunately. I went to KB last week, for what seems to me to have been the first time in more than 40 years, to a free lunchtime concert. Naturally the band were flogging a CD but I turned away despite having adored the music.

When I got home I looked on the web out of curiosity to see how much of a saving I had foregone by not buying the CD directly from the band. Only a couple of quid but I found that I could download all the tracks for only pennies more than 60% of the gig price. A CD to stick the downloads on runs at 20 or 30p so you'd be a fool to overlook such a opportunity to save money.

Listen to Haftor Medboe's New: Happy yourself and save.

I submitted my raffle conduct complaint but had to eat a slice or two of humble pie when I ventured into the coffee bar on Saturday night and saw that the prizes were all on display throughout the evening with full attribution to their donors. So they were getting publicity in spades.

But I stuck to the rest of my complaint and whether it had any impact or not I felt that the conduct of the reading out of the pre-drawn numbers on the Saturday was much livelier that it had been on Friday.

I still didn't win a prize though.

The fact that green 210 and not green 211 was a prize-winning ticket in the SCDA One-act Festival raffle last night has nothing to do with my displeasure at the way the draw was conducted.

If it was conducted at all. For instead of witnessing screwed up counterfoils being drawn by an innocent hand from a receptacle incapable of harbouring concealed compartments someone came on stage, informed us that the draw had already been carried out, that prizes could be collected from the coffee bar and read out a list of winning numbers.

I scoured the 249 pages of the Gambling Act 2005 this morning looking for rules on the conduct of draws but the closest I got was the duty of gambling licencees to adhere to codes of practice issued by the Gambling Commission for, inter alia, "ensuring that gambling is conducted in a fair and open way". Now the SCDA is not such a licensee and it seems escapes the need for any degree of openness under Part 14 of the Act that deals with "non-commercial gambling" and because its prizes amount to very little.

Should they mis-appropriate any of the raffle money however it's better done in Scotland since the punishment is six months in jail rather than 51 weeks for the same offence in England.

But leaving legal matters aside, for a drama organisation anything with less theatrical oomph and less entertainment value could hardly have been imagined. And if I had been a local business donating a prize I should not have been happy at the complete lack of publicity I got in return.

In fact I was very much in that position because the Grads donated two tickets to their next production which I am directing. The object of that donation being in large part publicise our show.

A stiff letter of complaint is required.

Thanks to a serendipitous switching on of Radio Scotland in the car this afternoon I became acquainted with this site.

If you've ever been curious about social kissing in France here's where to learn more. The map tells you how many pecks to give depending on where you are.

The "Statistiques détaillées" show the variation around the majority response in each department. The "Revue de Presse" contains an amusing video from Arte that adds a social class dimension to regional variation and in keeping with its Franco-German status sympathises with visitors from across the Rhine. Theres's also a link to a Guardian article that explores the ongoing development of British oscular habits.

You can even register your own customs. I was sorry to see that the Creusois were bottom of the league for number of respondents so as a part-time resident I registered my experience and was pleased to find myself in the solid block of department 23's 50% who maintain that two kisses make a greeting.

I came across a heavily armoured bunch of policeman and their paddy wagon underneath the North Bridge yesterday afternoon. They appeared to be assembling a pair of portable metal detectors. I simply couldn't imagine why.

By the time I left the Fruitmarket gallery dozens of teenypoppers were pouring out of the station in bumfreezers, frisking across the road, waltzing through the metal detectors and forming a disorderly queue outside a pair of large doors.

According to a constable I interrogated this is standard procedure and a necessary precaution for discoes aimed at the early teenage market. That struck me as terribly sad and also an extraordinary contrast to the laid back, open door, no check system employed at the school that I visit once a week and which surely some of those kids attend.

Listening to a phone-in show the other morning that tiresomely rehearsed well-worn arguments about Scots, its past and future the ether was brightened by a neologism rivalling bidie-in for humour and inventiveness. A modern Scots coining for sleeping bag - snorey poke.

Scots words can be heard aplenty in the co-op but it seems that a wider linguistic community shops in the branch at the bottom of the Walk. I was so surprised to see Sunday's El Pais there this morning that I bought a copy. They had one other foreign paper but I felt no need for a copy of the Irish Times.

But I did buy an Evening News, attracted by their headline about the Caltongate development which I will share with Alan who likes to know what's going on there. I found a couple of rather disturbing stories, one about a knifing 200 yards to the north of me and another about a murder attempt half a mile to the south but was reassured by this crime initiative from the Scottish Government.

On the day following the puff pastry find I checked the lift on my way out. No pastry. Following my “get fit for the Amazon” routine I walked down to street level. There balanced on the door-handle of flat 4 was a packet of reduced price puff pastry. On the carpet just inside the street door was another and on the step outside was a third.

Where are the other seven I wondered. I knew there were seven because I had noticed the price on the handle balanced packet was 45p and the receipt in the lift had been for £4.50.

I didn’t have long to wait before finding another outside the car-park level door when I returned. I thought at first that I was looking at the calling card of a particularly anaemic dog but realised that a packet had burst open. Another packet lay on the stair between floors.

Can this be territorial marking? Slightly less disgusting than peeing around the boundary or scraping musk glands along the carpet but definitely more animal than human.

Intriguingly flat 4 still boasts a packet on its handle tonight. Is the occupant away or is the flat empty or could this be the lift lunatic’s lair? I am scared to knock in case I am whisked inside, slaughtered, cut to pieces, stuffed into a Tesco bag and dumped. Where – where else but in the lift.

I haven't posted about the lift lunatic for a bit but he has not gone away and his latest offering reinforces my view that he is not a simple litter lout but someone with a problem.

Arriving home last night around 22:30 I opened the lift and there was a Tesco bag containing a number of packs that I took at first glance to be packs of pipe tobacco. In fact they were packs of puff pastry bearing reduced price stickers. A Tesco receipt for £4.50 for half a dozen packs lay on top of them dated 31/1/9.

If you were in your right mind would you buy half a dozen packets of puff pastry from the bargain shelf on Saturday and then dump them in a lift on Monday? I suppose the answer may be that he was out of his head when he bought the stuff and dumped it when he came to his senses.

Keeping my fingers crossed didn't do Andy Murray much good then.

I woke around 5 a.m. when Murray's game had just started but couldn't drag myself out of bed to watch it. Over the course of the match I caught the score now and then when I momentarily surfaced and at one point had the impression that he was heading for victory in the fifth set but when I finally got up it was all over. Too bad. Roll on Roland Garros.

I've just signed up for what must be the cheapest language course in the world. It works out at £1.25 per hour over the session. Just what the economist ordered in these trying times. The other resoundingly plus points are that it's during the day, my evenings being taken up by rehearsals, entertainment and social activities, and it's only ten minutes walk from my flat. I tried a couple of different levels this week and have settled for one that should give a good brush up to my Spanish.

The class is held in a secondary school and that in itself is quite fun. It's an old building, in very good order inside, full of little stairways and long corridors and mysteriously marked doors. I was following a labyrinthine route trying to find my way out and as I went up a stair a gaggle of kids rushed down towards me and as they passed I heard a boy cry "Captain Hook".

Goodness me I thought and turned to bask in the glory of having been recognised by a fan but the crowd swept on leaving me forlornly crying "Yes I was he, did you like the show?"

The heat of the moment having subsided rationality crept in. At most the lad was 17. My Captain Hook would have had to be very powerful indeed to have seared itself into a 4 year old's head and the memory to have popped out in a brief encounter 13 years later. I'd like to believe it but I'm not entirely daft.

I've been watching a lot of television this week.

I stayed up on Sunday night to see Ronnie O'Sullivan carry off a closely contested Wembley Masters snooker final playing some magnificent shots with a brand new cue. A new cue - so what you may say. I knew that players valued their cues but didn't realise that most of them use the same cue throughout their careers. So much of the commentary was astonishment at what he was doing with a cue he had picked up for the first time only days before the competition.

Not like tennis players who can get through half a dozen racquets in one match. That's been the other TV treat, the Australian Open. Scotland's other player Elena Baltacha (born in Kiev, lives in England but claimed by us for good reasons - check it out) kept me up till 2.30 this morning. Winning the first set with the best drop shot I've seen so far in the tournament wasn't enough and despite frequently being two or more points ahead in a game she couldn't do quite enough to topple Amelie Mauresmo.

I got out of bed about 9.30 expecting to see Andy Murray limbering up but Carla Suarez Navarro and Venus Williams were still slugging it out. Navarro was busy taking the second set against expectations having been well beaten in the first. When she was 2 games to 5 down in the third I went off to make a cup of tea in anticipation of Murray's imminent arrival on court. But she went on to take 5 games in a row and send Venus Williams home in economy class.

So then there was Murray. He didn't bounce out and sweep his opponent away in the first set as Nadal and Federer tend to do. He plodded his way through a straight sets victory over a player almost 50 places below him in the rankings. But he won. Fingers crossed for the next round.

Another rabies jag - another bus story, or rather storey since the most frequent bus in town is now a double decker. The tops have been chopped off others to provide this capacity, including the one I was waiting for amidst the confusion caused by the resumption of tram works on Leith Walk.

There are more cones and diversions than ever, leaving uninformed travellers and those who cannot read waiting anxiously at stops that are out of use or at which their bus will not call until the present flurry of hole digging is over.

LRT have slipped a fare increase into this maelstrom. They have clearly been listening to those economists who warn us that the current deflationary trend is a slippery slope to stagnation. As I understand it the theory holds that when prices are going down people don't buy things because they are waiting for them to get cheaper. So thing makers go out of business.

The converse of the theory surely implies that LRT will expand inexorably as people rush onto the buses to get their journey in before prices rise again. That must be why they've added a deck to the 22. Triple-deckers next?

This is a somewhat ironic picture. Plotting a route to the Western General for a rabies jab (I'm taking no chances with this Amazonian trip) I discovered that I can access real-time bus information on-line for any bus-stop in the city. So what you are looking at is the actual display you would see on the bustracker outside if it weren't for the fact that its head is still missing. (Plus some features you don't need when you are at the stop).

If you have the right sort of mobile phone you can access these displays wherever you are. So stranded in Newington late at night you can answer the question "Is it worth getting a 3 to Princes Street on the off-chance that I'll catch a 22 or should I just wait for a 7?". What a facility for the modern traveller.

I can see a game to rival Mornington Crescent being developed and played with this data.

I came away from the hospital with a box of malaria bills as well. They are for trying out. I had a long session being instructed on what anti-malarials are now available, which are recommended for what places and what their side effects are until my head rang.

Product X is taken weekly and is counter-indicated for various categories of person since they may experience depression, mood changes and god knows all what.

Product Y is taken daily and may increase the skin's sensitivity to light

Product Z is taken daily and is counter-indicated for anyone on a budget since the tablets cost an arm and a leg.

I'm trying out product Y so if you see me sitting on my verandah in my swimming trunks you'll know it's all in the name of medical research.

Leaving my local Tesco the other day I was accosted by a lady who wanted to interrogate me about my shopping experience. One of my friends tells me that he makes it a point of honour to lie wildly to market researchers and focus groupers whenever he gets the chance but I didn't have the brass neck for that.

However I seized upon the opportunity to complain about the lack of unsalted butter. Perhaps head office will pay attention since the local management didn't.

Or more probably they won't.

I noticed another weird pricing move in Tesco recently. They increased the price of a particular brand of muesli by 30 or 40 pence and a couple of days later brought it back to the previous level.

Presumably customers shunned it. I certainly did, but I bought it when the price fell back. Was that me falling prey to a cunning bit of shopping psychology?

Every so often I get up to date with what one of the groups I was involved with in Paris is doing. I've just had a look at their site. It's changed its address since I last looked and has added a rolling picture gallery feature that I must find out how to do. It would be great for the Grads.

It's a super little trick and none the worse for having my picture in it. See if you can spot me .

The puff for the Che Guevara bio-pic I saw today says "Soderbergh has recreated his life not in epic terms, but as a long, hard slog" - very true - a long hard slog for the filmgoer. From its totally hagiographic story-line I suspect that it may also be the first step on the long, hard slog to sainthood. I can't wait to give Che Part Two a bodyswerve.

This being twelfth night I have conscientiously taken down my Christmas cards. In previous years I have tended to keep them. Ancient cards still surface from time to time when I'm searching for something in the roof. This year though they have gone straight to the recycling bin.

I suppose I should honour the twelfth night tradition, or is it superstition, by deleting the e-cards I got as well. I'd better take no chances with lady luck and get rid of the website cards I created too.

If you are heading south for the New Year to escape our sub zero temperatures why not take a young gannet with you.

That's the appeal I heard this morning from the North Berwick Seabird Centre. Apparently a chick was deserted when the 150,000 or so gannets that breed on the Bass Rock left for warmer climes in October.

He was rescued from the rock a few weeks ago as you can see in the video but according to this report he now needs a lift at least as far as Gibraltar to have a chance of growing up so if there's room in your executive jet give the Centre a ring.

I thought my electronic Christmas card was pretty neat but swelled with pride on learning from my webhost on Christmas Eve that my bandwidth allowance for the month had been exceeded and the site would be off-line until 1st January.

Goodness me! The original recipients must have been so impressed that they had to share the pleasure with all their contacts, who in turn......until bingo - hits of google like proportions forced my site off the road.

An apologetic email arrived on Boxing Day. Turns out to have been a flaw in the bandwidth usage checking program. It's easily done. I once caused lots of grief by coding > instead of >= or maybe the other way around. In any event the supply of certain plastic oddments to Woolworths was thrown into disarray, but I don't believe that to have contributed materially to their demise.

Edinburgh readers will recognise this as a bus tracker. They have been sprouting up beside our bus stops over the last couple of years and tell you how long it will be until the next bus arrives.

They are a lot more useful than a printed timetable displayed in an awkward corner of an unlit bus shelter. But bus trackers have not reached all parts of the city.

I was out at the Western General the other day getting a yellow fever jag and arrived at the stop for my return journey. No tracker, so I peered at the timetable. According to that I had arrived one minute before the single solitary bus that passes that stop was due.

After eight minutes shivering in the wind and rain, the shelter was against vertical weather only - my bald head would have been protected from sunstroke , I gave up and set off on foot. You've guessed the rest; I had not gone 50 yards when the 42 swept past.

Now that was annoying but less so than the recurrence of lift lunatic activity. Here is yesterday's
find. What is to be done?

And much less annoying than having a mouse run up your leg inside your jeans as you sit peacefully at the table. But it won't do it again. I just hope that's a warning to any of its little friends who may be lurking around. Photographs of the corpse are available on request.

Christmas cards are starting to arrive. I really want to abandon physical cards entirely in favour of wholly electronic greetings but I may have to send one or two. I shan't be able to send one to whoever forgot to sign their card so I hope they also read my blog and get pleasure from these, which I offer to all my readers with best wishes for the festive season and its aftermath.