Tears of Gold

April 27, 2013

gold-price-6429942_3I am a journalist who specialises in the investment market. I actually spend little time there since while working for the Financial Times of London, I found out just how corrupt the markets and the mainstream media (MSM) were. Back in 2008, as a little bit of an insider, I predicted that the price of gold – then $700 an ounce – would hike eventually closer to $2000 an ounce. I gave no timeline as I am not a psychic, but my prediction was pretty spot on it transpires, nudging $2000 just before it popped in April 2013. As others will tell you this a was a scam to relocate paper money wealth to the hunger demons who own Wall Street. And they succeeded. But now you know better. This is a buying opportunity because gold will go to $3000 an ounce in a much shorter run that it took to got to $2000 from $700. Believe me! Buy now and read this to be smarter and ready to act. After you read what Bill has to say, echoing many other brilliant analysts, you will know that physical gold is the only way to preserve any kind of wealth given what is coming for the markets in the US and Europe.


Of Alba and Brass Monkeys

November 3, 2011
Just arrived from Thailand, my suitcase weighs a ton stuffed as it is with winter clothes. But although its totally
chilly by comparison with a normal day in Asia, it seems to me it was twice as cold the last time I lived in
Aberdeen. Then central heating was something you only saw on the TV or benefited from in schools and corporate
headquarters, and I remember the nation was shocked when the price of coal burst through the pound-a-bag barrier!
And it was often cold enough back then to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!
With car owners then still relatively few and far between, the most hated word in winter was ‘slush’ and the
uncoolest form of fashion was wellies. I’d catch a yellow bus into Aberdeen and freeze half to death en route at a
time when Jean Imrie was still thought to be funny and Bothy Nichts was still on the telly. Punk rock had come and
gone and nobody even knew Tony Blair existed, as Mental Maggie ruled the roost and telephone and electric bills went
routinely into three figures.
No surprise then that when in 1983 I got the offer of a job in China exploring for oil offshore with Holder Drilling
and BP leading the charge, I grabbed it and left the Frozen North far behind me. It was September 1983. Winter was
looming and another Christmas in the pipeyards of Altens held little appeal, so I agreed to forego the prospect of
freezing to death in Tullos for the warmer climes of Southern China.
I remember stepping off the ‘plane in China and thinking I had stepped into a boiler house with the doors on the
boilers left open by mistake. The heat hits you, blankets you like an invisible duvet, smothering you in hot, humid
air, a cloud of high pressure heat that gets right under your clothes and starts the melting process immediately.
And this was late September. Magic!
Actually, my trip abroad was truly a voyage of discovery because I found out where all the Scottish summers had
gone. The Asians had nicked them! It’s actually summer every day over there and stuff like snow and frost are alien
concepts. I lived in Hong Kong for a while and one winter when a freak drop in temperatures caused a freak frost at
the top of the highest mountain, almost the entire population got in their cars to have a look, at 2 in the morning!
It’s little wonder there are so many of them, as they dinnae have to wait for a warm night to get the leg over.
The next morning, and for the next 26 years I woke up every day with the sun shining and with prevailing ambient
temperatures associated only with heat waves back in Scotland – and this at 7 in the morning! Very magic.
It was a seductive situation this sun first thing in the morning, and it kept me in Asia for years. But typically,
daft Calvanist Scot that I am, I still managed to return home without a suntan,not being a fan of beaches nor lying
about idly in the sun.
It’s not warm here in Alba but the warmth of the community and the joy of rediscovering all my old pals and places
and wandering through my past in Scotland helps me forget how cold it really is. And it’s not a vicious cold. More
like the arm of a friend around you, someone who has just come in from a frosty night. And his or her touch reminds
you that central heating really is one of God’s gifts to we once-heathen, once permanently frozen Scots!
I doubt the words ‘chillblains’ or ‘frostbite’ are even to be found in the various Asian lexicons.
Thank goodness!
These days Scotland is a prosperous, middle class, European ‘miracle’ with everyone owning their own houses and cars
and getting abroad on holiday at least once a year – unless they are building an extension or moving up the ladder
to a bigger place. Or buying a Jag!
But it’s not all good.
There’s a lot of drugs in Scotland and the rest of the UK now, and with this plague comes a rise in crime associated
with junkies getting stuck into the vulnerable to steal the wherewithal to score.
More than 4,000 heroin addicts in Aberdeen alone my drug counselling mate Dave tells me. A city of maybe 230,000.
There were about ten known junkies when I left in 1983.
Not even.
Then there is the influx of East Europeans who have arrived to take all the crap jobs and send their dosh home. But
many are here simply to take advantage of the generous UK welfare system.
Fine, and frankly, they are everywhere.
Wherever the masses congregate you can see them and hear the heavy Slavic brogues cutting through the Doric chatter.
Mostly this new wave of cheap labour is welcome, but disturbingly, my police sergeant friend claims the crime wave
in her northerly division is mostly the result of this influx of displaced continentals.
Hardly a surprise really. From unscrupulous communist dictatorships they come, where life was sordid, basic and
cheap and where what values there were, were based on who you knew or what you could screw out of an unyielding,
often terrifying and always corrupt communist system. Little wonder they come here devoid of scruples and that many
are ruthless in their intent often lacking the gentile sensibilities and refined morals of the advanced societies in
which they now find themselves.
Some would rather steal or deal drugs than work. The third world mentality they bring means so many want to get rich
quickly, not slowly or eventually, if they believe that particular dream at all. They’re not all Polish of course.
There are Africans, Russians and Czeks and Romanians here too, but the chances of having an East European lady or
gent serving you in Starbucks or MacDonalds, or dealing you bad dope or heroin is exponentially higher than it was
even 10 years ago.
It sucks I know. But I am not letting it get to me. I am celebrating the fact that now I am old enough to enjoy the
statuesque, grey glory of my home town, built almost entirely from granite, and a monument to an authentically
prosperous past and erected by fine and noble stone masons who once worked the cold hard stone into these wonderful
terraces, high streets, elegant squares, hospitals, merchants’ homes and entire neighbourhoods, planned and designed
by some of the finest architects of their day, though the likes of Charles Rennie Mackintosh apparently studiously
ignored the shimmering potential for even greater architectural glory!
Aberdeen the city is truly a sight for sore eyes in this age of glass and metal monstrosities, and while I lived
here 30 years or more before so innocently embarking on my 30-year sojourn to the Far East, it is only now I see
properly what I left behind.

Just arrived from Thailand, my suitcase weighs a ton stuffed as it is with winter clothes. But although it’s totally chilly by comparison with a normal day in Asia, it seems to me it was twice as cold the last time I lived in Aberdeen. Then central heating was something you only saw on the TV or benefited from in schools and corporate headquarters, and I remember the nation was shocked when the price of coal burst through the pound-a-bag barrier! You would wake up in the morning with frost on the inside of your bedroom windows as well as the outside!

And it was often cold enough back then to freeze the balls off the proverbial brass monkey!

Read the rest of this entry »


Essential Online Writing Tips

July 23, 2011

 1. KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE 

Write and edit with online readers  needs and habits in mind. Web usability studies show that readers tend to skim over sites rather than read them intently. They also tend to be more proactive than print readers or TV viewers, hunting for information rather than passively taking in what you present to them.

Think about your target audience. Because your readers are getting their news online, chances are they are more interested in Internet-related stories than TV viewers or newspaper readers, so it may make sense to put greater emphasis on such stories. Also, your site potentially has a global reach, so consider whether you want to make it understandable to a local, national or international audience, and write and edit with that in mind. Read the rest of this entry »


Billy The Mountain on YOUTUBE

July 16, 2011

Since their first album – the classic Drifting To Valhalla – did so well on the net since its release in 2009, the band Billy The Mountain have taken a little time to produce the second album Tides of Mercy.  This latest work of 14 songs also promises to do some serious business across the Web, with the band’s fan base growing by the month as word gets out that it is high time this ‘cult’ band was getting its amazing music to a wider global audience – as if 300,000 fans around the world was not enough to qualify them as a ‘global’ phenomenon! A truly great band and two great albums…watch as they really DO go global!


Won’t Get Fooled Again?

July 16, 2011


Technology has an important role to play in music today. Have we gone too far?

The blues band shuffling nonchalantly onstage look like they could use a shave and their battered guitars and shabby equipment complete a picture of rustic standards at best. Not surprisingly expectations are correspondingly low that they are going to sound like much. But what’s that on the floor in front of the guitarist? Tiny blue and red LED lights flash on and off on the board of small metal boxes at his feet as he takes his first solo. And what a solo! The sound of his ostensibly old guitar is suddenly finely tuned and breaking through the air with a beautifully produced tonal complexion matching the best violins and the newest guitars?

Fooled again? Read the rest of this entry »


EXCLUSIVE: Interview with Tommy Sands

July 16, 2011

...from left, County Down singer Tommy Sands, folklorist Mick Moloney sitting

This interview with Tommy Sands was conducted February 11, 1994 by none other than the mighty Irish troubadour Mick Moloney himself. We are honoured he slipped us this historical document for all to read.

MM: I’m here on the 11th of February 1994, talking to Tommy Sands. We’re going to talk about songwriting, but first of all, I’ll ask you, Tommy, when you were born and where.

TS: At 11 o’clock in the morning, the third of seven; born in Newry on the 19th of December 1945.

MM: You’ve been around a fair bit.

TS: I’ve been around a fair bit, Mick, yes. Read the rest of this entry »


Rupert is Going Down – The Punters Win

July 16, 2011

Excuse us, the other 60 million punters who never bought the News of The World in our lives nor could give a flying f*** what the rapacious, overpaid, talentless vultures of Fleet Street or Wapping are up to in their pursuit of filling the empty heads of the rabid, uneducated morons of British pond life who bought the paper filled with meaningless scandals and irrelevance, only to fill the pockets of some bloodless octagenarian a million miles away. And now we watch the politicians squirm as they try desparately to find Fourth Estate scapegoats to be barbecued in public and thus steer the heat away from their own arses. Does Cameron not know that it was reported that his first unofficial visitor to Downing Street via the back door was Rupert Murdoch? Does the British press and the educated public really not know that Cameron is as corrupt a poitician as there has ever been, completely in the pocket of this Murdoch vulture – the err…Dirty Digger – and beholden to his every whim? The Cameron reptile and his acolytes must go. Or the sickness will persist. Read the rest of this entry »