"It's in Bellahouston Park, you pagan!"

Woke up this morning after a rough dream involving grand parents passing away in the wrong order, family members being eaten by swamp monsters and houses being demolished, all seeming, in that mad, crazy, dream-like way, so tangible and real. The swamp monster was particularly horrible as part of it's murderous routine was spewing acid over it's prey before taking off large chunks from the head by pummeling it's catch with it's tremendous tentacles. A rather disturbing vision to have in your head as you wake from your slumber.
My liking for science fiction can sometimes have odd effects on my dreams...
At the moment I'm reading Adam Roberts' 'Salt'. A science fiction novel telling the story of a large human colony setting up camp on a new world which, due to it's white, arid landscape, and near uninhabitable and hostile atmosphere is christened, you guessed it, 'Salt'.
The various factions of the colony settle at different points throughout the land, each with their own philosophies, beliefs and religions. Of course, once each clan settles it all breaks into a bloody war. The two larger, main colonies, the Senaarians and the Als, are the main protagonists in the book's events which are told from the viewpoint of each of these clans' leaders . The Senaarians live with their militaristic, ordered dictatorship and the Als, with their unordered, unruly, free-living ways. Both eventually break from their strained toleration of each other and give in to battle and death.
Through it Roberts paints a pretty pessimistic vision. The basic bones of the tale being, of course, human nature. Roberts is basically saying that no matter how long the human race survives, in the end we'll always end up fighting internally with the inevitability of fear and hostility, the results of a lack of understanding and tolerance in differing cultures and beliefs.
Talking of beliefs, the Pope's in town today with his Popemobile.
After waking from my swamp monster filled dream this morning and getting ready for work, I text my Mum and told her to enjoy herself at Glasgow Green today.
Mum text back, rather abruptly, "It's in Bellahouston Park, you pagan!".
Police are swarming the city centre, motorways have been closed off and a large black stage has been erected in Bellahouston Park for Mass, taking place this afternoon led by the Pontiff himself.
Ka and myself were in the Gallowgate area of Glasgow on Saturday morning with Dougie and Grace, heading for the Pram Centre to investigate some baby mobiles for our own coming visitor. On our way we passed the Barrowlands and the Bairds bar where loud, angry anthems were belting out, echoing through the street. Stalls had been set up, framed with Celtic scarves, selling T-shirts, adorned with Benedict's mug. Slogans not unlike 'Glasgow Celtic welcomes the Pope' and such like plastered over the 'quality' prints. Unfortunately I was walking down the street with my dark blue sweater on and was certain I was getting more than a few hostile looks from the grumpy old Glaswegian men milling around the stalls. One passed me by who, I swear, was almost ready to spit on me, the look on his face. Maybe he was just upset by the fact I wasn't buying a T-shirt.
Anyway, I'm sure there'll be a few T-shirts on today. It's an unbelievably sunny afternoon after the terrential rain of earlier in the week... almost as if there has been some kind of divine intervention throughout the skies of Scotland.
Great weather for his Holiness' £20 a ticket gig.
Surely the Pope could have put on a free mass for all his followers when they number so many and when his visits number so few? This is the richest global organisation in the world after all. With Susan Boyle and Michelle McManus singing on stage surely they should be paying us to attend?

A televisual zombie

Still suffering. My nose has been producing an amazing amount of gunge today. A lovely way to spend my holiday. Constant hot drinks, fruit and soup. Ka got up on sunday morning first thing and produced a giant pot of soup which was bubbling away on our electric hob when I eventually stumbled, bleery eyed, into the kitchen. No idea how she does it. She has suddenly become an expert soup maker.
So under this horrendous cloud of cold and flu like symptoms I've been sat all week meddling with invitation designs and website designs with the occasional heavy dose of television. Ashes to Ashes was back on Monday night which looks as if it could be better than last season if it continues as good as its first episode. Keeley Hawes seems thoroughly settled in the role now after spending a lot of the first half of season one trying to make her mark over John Simm's now long gone character from the previous series Life on Mars. Gene's got the Audi Quattro back in action, this season opening with a tale of corrupt police officers in the seedy Soho streets.
I've also been watching Battlestar Galactica, the new version - not the awful, cheesy seventies version. Not that I can remember much of the original. My only memory from the old series was that Face from the A-Team was in it and he was pretty much cheese personified. Maybe the old version was not as bad as I remember... I'll probably never get the chance to find out anyway. This new version is a dark, gritty drama with a lot of intelligent themes including theology, religion and lots of heavy humanitarian issues. Certainly not just another science fiction space opera.
Tonight back down to Earth though as the rather annoying Kimberly was fired in The Apprentice. Thank goodness. All mouth and very little action, very much like at least four others in the remaining contestants. It'll be interesting to see how the next few weeks pan out. That's if I do see it. My vision may go into some sort of television overload in the next few days, turing my iris' into wirey, moving circles of static. A televisual zombie with gunge dripping from the nose seeing Cylons in my soup.