Inside a continental WWII remnant, a storage stronghold bunker, is a club called Übel & Gefährlich. It’s a great place to hang out and escape for a few hours, slightly above the low Hamburg skyline. After descending from the club, I took this photo to commemorate what might be the last night out in Hamburg for quite a long time. I’ll miss the brilliant deep house, and the clandestine atmosphere.








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I need an abstract noun to describe that sensational angst experienced when one fears never seeing someone special again, of losing friends due to geographic displacement. Of losing grasp of fading memories shared. Of relationships wilting, special people moving on with their lives. 


“Nillitude,” perhaps.




A   G U I D E












It’s difficult to accurately and fairly describe the longing felt for friends who are far away. The days approaching your departure are filled with rocking between anxious drops of the stomach and nervousness, to desolation at the thought of a friendship not being able to continue its course. 




A river flows and meanders and suddenly encounters a dam, a dam which you had not intended nor wanted to build. 


I think it’s wonted to want to mourn these losses, to be anxious at the idea of not seeing people you hold so dear again. For the sake of maintaining personal sanity and emotional stability, I think it’s a fair thing to consider that your life is your life, just as another’s life is their own. One must remember that charge is independent, unless you’re a slave. So it’s necessary to keep in mind that you have to live your life yourself, not through others. Nevertheless, I miss my friends who I’ve left scattered around the earth by my fleeting nomadic youth. If, perhaps, your approach to relationships is like that of a concrete brick, which has none, I suggest the following:


Remember and celebrate everything in slow motion. If you fear that your memories may fade, note them in a stylish Moleskine. Be happy and satisfied at having been lucky to have experienced what’s passed. Consider the honour that a group of people had invited you into their lives, and that together you shared ~super awesome times~. 


Remember the laughter, remember the handsome smiles. Remember the wanders through markets aside town canals. Remember the dancing, sitting in the back of a cabrio with Miley Cyrus blaring down Torstraße. Remember the intimacy, fast and slow. Reign the anxiousness that bucks in respect of uncertain future contact, because nothing is really certain anyway. Perhaps, to bolster yourself, lightly touch on the fact you have to live your own life, just to have the emotional quarter of your brain chill the fuck out about being close to people. You will have a future with your special crew, if you make it happen. Some people are goats and won’t invite you back into their lives, which is alright, because goats maken’t good company anyway. Seeing those august, honoured friends again after a “social hiatus” is apex. Live your own path - the people who are worthwhile will be there when your paths cross again. Or, you’ll find them somewhere else.


Entering the marbled foyer of the Hapag-Lloyd building on the Binnenalster Lake in Hamburg, the company’s mantra hangs before you, as proud as a continent:

“Mein Feld ist die Welt” - my field is the world.


Perhaps that would have been a fair statement in the 1850s, when Hapag and Norddeutscher Lloyd operated independently and actually turned a profit. The last five financial quarters reveal losses numbering in the hundreds of millions of euros, and have sat largely in the red for years. The only likely reason that such a gigantic company – the world’s sixth-largest – continues to run, is that it is backed by a 36,9% ownership stake belonging to Albert Ballin Consortium, which, in the true sense of the word, owns the city of Hamburg. Or at least, almost every public service in and around the city, including water works and supply, public transport, the Hamburg airport and also shipping and banking. 


Hapag-Lloyd currently reports a total debt of €2,620 million. The company is said to have an employee structure which holds one manager to every two employees. Go you guys.



Also rumoured is that the company ships empty containers on its fleet, so that its ships appear well-loaded. Guys, really? That’s the shipping equipment of pretending to text on your iPhone while you’re waiting alone at your table at Borchardt, so that no one thinks you’ve been stood-up.


So, no one’s really shipping to Hamburg all that much. At least, evidently, or no? Halt!, stop!, Hapag-Lloyd, re-think that manager programme, sell off some ships, and stop dreaming that Hamburg is still the shipping powerhouse that it was in the 1600s, at which point the Hanseatic League began to become obsolete. 


And yet, Hamburg continues to push forward with its shipping agenda. Most people won’t know this, because most people don’t actually know where Hamburg is, but Hamburg is built up around a river - not a coastline. Testy choice for when one considers that ships grow larger. That wasn’t exactly foresight on your part, Hanseatic League. As such, the new supermegalithic container ships can’t make it down the Elbe River to Hamburg, unless the river is flooding or at very high tide, and unless the ships themselves are filled below capacity. 


river is flooding or at very high tide, and unless the ships themselves are filled below capacity. And even then, the ships clear the river floor with just one metre to spare. A metre, you guys. To compensate (because a debt of €2,620 million justifies market need for this?), the city of Hamburg is trying to decide whether or not to dredge the Elbe River, which would entail deepening 85km of river bed by one metre: Hoorah for cost-benefit analysis. An reasonable alternative would be for larger ships to call at Wilhelmshafen, and have their cargo linked onto Germany’s well-developed rail lines. But then Hamburg really takes the punch. 


Where art thou, when thou holdest unto 500 year-old dreams? Not in the present, not being realistic. 


It is interesting that the shipping industry has sunk over the past few years, when considering that society has become the most consumptive that it ever has been, and that global consumer spending has almost largely recovered from the last crash. What happened to all that stuff that we’re meant to be buying?


But let us not look to gargantuan ships loftily sailing the open seas. Let us note that China is implementing plans to build a rail line to connect itself with Europe through Russia, which would largely take the place of shipping. This approach is different to what Cecil John Rhodes hoped to establish in Africa, where a rail line linked Africa’s resource and commodity farms to its ports for sail to Europe for production: China isn’t extracting from itself, it’s selling on manufactured goods with materials sourced from the west coast of Africa. China is establishing itself as the world’s Walmart. And that’s more absolute than deepening a river by 1 metre.






Should I be offended?


My favourite perfumer gave me artisanal toothpaste. 












A resentful teacher once forced my class to keep a “gratitude diary,” an idea she probably conceived via a religious affliction to watching Oprah - which on its own, like massage, does not make you a better person.


I was unenthused and unparticipative for three reasons: 1. Quite fucking condescending of her to assume that I wasn’t already grateful; 2. Noting that for which I was grateful was not about to make me more grateful for it; 3. My gratitude was none of her business. 


Some ten years later and I’m confused as to whether be grateful or offended that my favourite perfumer, Harald Lubner, just gifted me a box of Couto toothpaste, regardless of its stylish artisanal vintage.





While restocking on my favourite fragrance, Green by Miller et Bertaux, I thought I had received a most-welcome gift of hand creme. But it was actually just tooth paste, compliments of Herr Lubner himself.  


I ponder, “Was he just super sanguine about the toothpaste, that he wanted to share some of it, or was he hinting to me about halitosis?”


I’ve decided that I’ll accept both with a warm heart. Giving the gift of anything vague and artisanal is brilliant in the face of our over-manufactured, over-advertised society. Otherwise, if the gift was meant to imply that I should visit my oral hygienist more often, then I’m stoked that I bagged a stylish toiletry out of it. Chips, Harald. I’m grateful as hell. 




Isis abound, and Turkey is fairly mum on its response thereto. Isis has infiltrated the area of Turkey populated almost entirely by Kurds, who are ethnically different than Turks. Quite easily understood would be an ethnic group’s desire for self-determination and autonomy: Such is the wish of the Kurdish people, who have already been fighting a militant battle for independence from Turkey. 


Kurdish militants are fighting against Isis, and helping slow Isis’ further bombarding expansion. Were Turkey to aid the militants in their fight against Isis, Turkey risks providing further means to assist the Kurdish independence movement. 


In 2014, how are countries and states still able to get away with subjugating a minority group. How is Kurdistan not free? 


There’s oil in Kurdistan.  

Ergo, it will never be free.





 n a ï v e t é  n o u v e a u



a   n



     b l i s s f u l l y




n a ï v e t é   n o u v e a u





æ   s   t   h   e   t   i   c




v a c a n t l y   f r e e

f r e e l y   v a c a n t




























image: Reuters



Dear god, 


Please please can I not go to hell for considering the following question:


“But is it art?”



Let us concentrate for a moment just on aesthetics, and ask ourselves, earnestly, who is heading up the Islamic State’s art direction? 


Gone are Al Queda’s dishevelled, low-lit, VHS-quality films which are the go-to visual reference of how not to make a threatening piece of film. Now, however, I am unsure of what to feel. Horrifically, the group did actually decapitate a journalist – which makes me feel the non-Valium emotions, which I would nutshell-term as "unfortunate, bellowed-out.” Forbye, I am really perplexed by my desire to have these scenes posted on my tumblr, because of their artistic value. It is very well artistically constructed and it appears there was purposeful artistic direction.


Let us dive right in. 


The foreground, middleground, and background are almost perfectly divided into thirds, the sky being dominant. Dominant skies imply notions of freedom and breathing space (ironic in this case - intentional?). There are two figures in the foreground: The hostage, left, and the militant captor on the right. Despite their differences in size, the composition appears balanced: While the hostage is dressed in bright orange, the size of his figure is half that of the Islamic extremist’s pitch black dominance.


The figures themselves are the only subject matter, but their exclusivity does not disenfranchise the composition – they are positioned slightly off-centre, allowing an anti-Wes Anderson stance, i.e. quirky but not queer. 


You guys, the image is even so closely constructed to the proportions of the golden ratio. Provided is a chart showing what the image would look like if arranged exactly according to the golden ratio.








The use of colour is outstanding. With a palette that may or may not reference the Apartheid-era South African flag, or the Visa logo, there are just four colours used. The emergency orange of the hostage’s apparel is brought forward against the golden desert behind. The desert is complemented perfectly by a sky in a shade of Mayan Blue. The stark neutrality of the black colour reminds the viewer that the religious extremist is dominant, especially in terms of something to be paid attention to. Also, feared.


Seriously, someone thought about this.

Who is the Islamic State’s art director? 












September marks yet another dolphin hunting season in Japan, where more than 20,000 dolphins and porpoises are killed every year, and their meat, containing toxic levels of mercury, is being sold as food in Japan, often times labeled as whale meat. 












Marine parks will pay over $150,000 for a captured dolphin. These parks, falsely presented as conservation efforts, are nothing more than businesses and zoos, and only encourage the hunting and slaughter of creatures deemed by some governments as sentient.





Speed up, breathe. I look at my watch but perceive not the time for me.

I escape, I am gone. Love for the moment, love in the moment.

When is it that I be? Sunset, sunrise.

Slow down, rush into society.

Heartskips, flashes, animosity. Freedom, options, possibilities, decisions, choices, closed doors. Where is the scale, what is the rating? Meadowless, this trial is unabating. Jump, try, perhaps, concede.

Orange, pink sunfall promenade, birthed by this Earth and calm again. 






















The twilight darkens, navy to black, speed up, breathe, escape from hath.




















 *R O Y A L  



The resplendent character to the left is King Mswati III, Ingwenyama of Swaziland, 15th on the Forbes wealthiest royals list. Here, he is shown in traditional dress, radiating in swag and giving very few fucks for what you think about him or Swaziland, the last fully monarchial state in Africa. 



The Peculiar Royalism of Swaziland













The Crimea




The refusal of the European Union and the United States to recognise the Crimea’s decision to secede from the Ukraine and instead form part of the Russian Federation, is a shining example of the unrealistic assumptions which politicians in the EU and US have regarding the will of people.



It has been interesting speaking with two contacts of mine, one of which lives in Kiev, the other in Sevastopol (which is in Crimea, in case your political geography is rough). Both friends agree that US & EU and Russian media, are clearly beset by a particular agenda reflecting the desires of their respective supporting governments, and that the coverage by each of the events in the Ukraine is starkly unbiased. As to be expected. But furthermore in contrast is the disrespect of self-determination and autonomy, shown especially by the EU and US.















M       A       R       R






 Are so very many of your school friends and relations suddenly betrothed or wed?













I       A      G      E





Does this also fill you with anxiety?, making you want to escape into a forest?






Amy King is stunningly beautiful, both on film and in person. She was photographed by Timothy Gerges in Johannesburg.


















Two Out-of-Touch White Males Solve The Oscar Pistorius Murder Trial


Chapter I


“I’m so glad I don’t get shooty when I’m drunk”
- Carl Michael Botha-Smit III of The Vaal, South Africa


notes on Generation Y, II.



Is your child is an asshole though?



There is a definitive conflict which has been engrained into members of Generation Y. Typically raised by parents who applauded and rewarded for almost every and any "achievement," a sense of entitlement and "worth" has developed within members of Generation Y. Some phrases which can surmise Y-mindsets would be the following; "I deserve this" (used to justify purchases), "I deserve more," "This isn´t worth my time," "I am capable of achieving anything I wish." On a very primal level, a Generation Y member wants to consider themselves "worthy" of the best, whether that is in reference to personal goals, positions in the workplace, or purchasing, and this belief in their own importance can cause conflict with their actuality. This generation has sky-high standards, especially after having been raised surrounded by the 90s notion, "Do what you love" - which is unrealistic, for the most part.








This entitled characteristic and a desire of individuality is in obvious conflict with a basic social requirement, namely of functioning in or as a group, and also conforming to expectations laid down in an office or schoolroom, for example. While a highly-placed level of self-importance may be the case, Generation Y was also typically raised to be tolerant. Thus, though members may wish to function independently, they can certainly "collaborate," putting forward their own skills towards a group´s goal, even if that is done so independently.


This dark, impious colour garners its characteristics from the very onset of its mistaken creation, which depends on two people: Johann Konrad Dippel, “ein indifferentistischer Schwarmer” (“an indifferent fanatic”) who in the early 1700s had begun vehemently mocking Lutheran Christianity, and Johann Jacob Diesbach, a dye maker who was probably less-interesting a person than Dippel, who mistakenly killed a man in a duel. A duel. Atheists were more proactive in terms of their beliefs in the 1700s, apparently.


Having read the writings of Spanish mystic Ramon Llull, Dippel became sure of his ability to transmutate lead into gold. Alchemy was all the rage, as inter-imperial currency and trading relied still on actual gold. Dippel moved to Berlin in the first few years of the 1700s to escape creditors - so we can assume his optimism about his abilities in the transmutation of lead into gold, were flawed. In Berlin, he sought to develop a “universal remedy,” which Dippel claimed could cure fevers, colds and epilepsy. Again with that abundant optimism...


In 1706, Diesbach, who shared Dippel’s laboratory, was stewing a deep red pigment cochineal lake, created by boiling insects, and the addition of alum (hydrated potassium aluminum sulfate), green vitriol (iron sulfate), and potash (mined salts containing potassium). Diesbach was fresh out of mined salts containing potassium, so he lent some from Dippel, and while emulsifying the chemicals with the boiled insects, he saw that he’d got the purity wrong and created not deep red, but Prussian Blue.


The mistaken colour had arisen because the potash had been used prior, and was contaminated with animal blood, which when mixed with the green vitriol, the blood caused a reaction, and a blue so beautiful. Prussian Blue was the world’s first synthesized colour pigment. Before, blue was a difficult colour to use create and work with: Azure blue turned green upon contact with water; Indigo was neither colourfast; Ultramarine could be made only from crushed Lapis Lazuli mined in the Badakhshan mountains in Afghanistan and cost more than gold - Renaissance artists had to negotiate with their patrons for individual drops of blue upon receiving a commission.




And that is how I caught Cézanne off guard, coming along bent over in thought. His face like a potter’s, sun-burned, looked startled as the shadow of nearby leaves played over it. He had a small, bony head with rosy skin, lively eyes, and a white mustache carelessly smeared with prussian blue.


— Jules Borély, Conversations with Cézanne








 People travel to isreal? Voluntarily? This is like voluntarily showing interest in Apartheid, or no? If you’ve visited a disputed, occupied territory, purely for the sake of escapism, is that a sign of compliance for the regime supressing that region?, or is that just (moral) indifference?


notes on Generation Y,  I


Today’s youth have a strong emphasis on Idealism, derived from a desire to identify with a cause or ideal or, simply, an idea, usually in a visual or conceptual manner. For example, taking on supra-environmentalist principles is a common trend of generation Y, evident especially in younger members. Thus, the generation holds a strong judgmental characteristic, where members‘ attempts to constantly define themselves in order to support the creation or development of their ‛identity’ causes close-mindedness to alternatives - which, ultimately, leads to a general characteristic of being perfectionist, in seeking out such principles, which can seldom be fully comprehended by someone lacking in life experience, though not without access to information about anything. However, the member’s action of idealising is irrational, because in general, young minds lack practical or realistic reasoning, resulting in such cases as eight year olds deciding to become vegetarian, without being able to explain why, but likely having been cornered by the idea when they heard a character with whom they identify, mention the phrase. 


Regarding confusion about previous sarcastic news articles, Sang Vert notes the following errors:



Apple‘s annoying autocorrect technology does not replace the word "Hitler" with a blank space, when writing in German. White people do not describe WWII as “really awkward.


North America did not steal winter from Russia and northern Europe in a vicious protest against the Sochi winter olympics, and neither did it promise to return winter “when Russia allows flamboyancy for the whole nation, not just Putin alone, who is ‘always shirtless and on a horse.’”


Russian President Vladimir Putin is not "always shirtless and on a horse.


103% of Palestine did not cough loudly when Tony Blair stated in his eulogy to Ariel Sharon, that Sharon had left “considerable debris in his wake.” Tony Blair did actually say this though, and he did call Ariel Sharon The Bulldozer.




Scotland does not have a national bagpipe. 


Anna Wintour did not have a country house in rural Holland built in her likeness. Anna Wintour and Andy Warhol did not mistakenly transfigure themselves through an iguana. Anna Wintour does not tear out and then frame photographs in the National Geographic magazine.


We must be careful not to lose our classical roots, and other such statements that one muses over when one has consumed far too many G&Ts, sitting on the back of a safari vehicle, watching the sun fall behind graceful hills, lengthening the already-long shadows of mega-queer giraffes as they nonchalantly watch a small pride of lionesses feasting upon a freshly-mauled springbok doe. Watching this scene, I longed for a dramatic opera. Something like Tristes Apprets, Pales Flambeaux. Glory and death, etc. This is not reality, this is actuality. In the wild, one is reminded of a bunch of important things. Your own annoying mortality, as an example. You can‘t get away from death, not even if you‘re Walt Disney. I hope KrioRus will be able to eventually wake me from my cryonic nap.


It would be unfair for me to pity the springbok which the lions had slain. Later, I would also be dining on springbok carpaccio back at Longlee Manor, the colonial retreat at Shamwari. Just as I am reminded on each occasion that I pretend to dine at the Buddhist temple outside Johannesburg, ‘one must eat so that one is fulfilled with the energy to perform goodness.’ Circle of life etc. Here at Longlee, I would also be dining on crème brûlée. This reminds me that I evolved more efficiently than the lion, causing me to return to my suite and have another existential crisis while bathing because of the minibar. Lions can make neither whiskey, nor whisky, so fuck them.



goodness.’ Circle of life etc. Here at Longlee, I would also be dining on crème brûlée. This reminds me that I evolved more efficiently than the lion, causing me to return to my suite and have another existential crisis while bathing, because of the minibar. Lions can make neither whiskey nor whisky, so fuck them.


*  *  *



Time had passed, perhaps a day. ??? I was laying by the poolside, watching a herd of zebra grazing out on the lawns beyond, listening to a new Woodkid song, drinking homemade lemonade. One must always be mindful of the unfortunate fact that such picturesque scenes are seldom not accompanied by sunburned, obese British narwhales, who are most likely passed out and snoring, as in this case. In a society driven be finance, this sorry example of a physical being is able to live on in prosper, not be instead set adrift on an ice flow by his Inuit tribe, for having been too great a burden on the group’s resources.


My Austrian friends and I dined later with a Russian couple. The husband had made his fortune selling car dashboard cameras through the insurance industry, to people keen to upload something bizarre onto youtube. What a time to be alive. Going on safari always elicits these sentiments from me, due to being surrounded by the wonder of raw nature which contrasts the absurdity of modern human folly. This is perhaps why the lodge offers spa treatments and serves beautiful cuisine, because what removes existential doubt from a person if not well-presented five-star dishes, and wine? We are a superior species and we dine with silverware, not our hands. Pity the lion, he hath no drink.





Anna Wintour speaks

from her country house

in rural Holland

built in her likeness.





Generally my opinion is not something I wish for people to have. It is not theirs, it belongs to me. If they know my opinion, they begin to assume that they know me. No body knows me except for Andy Warhol and that is definitely only because we on one occasion, mistakenly transfigured ourselves through the same iguana. Nevertheless, we haven’t spoken to each other since a disagreement over the nutritional value of a carrot.





You should know, that I’m looking fondly at themes North. North is up. The sky is up. Up. We must progress upwards, not southwards. North is immortal, south is a barren death. Aboriginal patterns tire me. In the spring of 1987, I entered Sol Kerzner’s Manhattan apartment, across whose foyer was a giraffe skin sprawled. I became so disorientated that I passed out and had to drink 3 sips of ionised water. Later, when I was lost, looking for a shrine so that I could pray before dinner, I walked through a drawing room and became so overwhelmed by a zebra skin, that my body tried to regurgitate the water I had earlier consumed. I didn’t allow for such an act.


With regard to nature, while we should maintain an aversion to animal patterns, Elisabeth von Turn und Taxis has introduced me to a new love: The National Geographic magazine. It contains some unbelievably insightful photography which you can sometimes carefully tear-out and then frame.



Thank you for your time, namaste.
















Admitting to having been given birth to in the 90s often elicits gazes and stares from around yourself, filled with judgement augmented by pursed lips. Looks not of jealously at one’s naive youth, but instead looks of resentment. "Is this what we have created?" Mine is the first generation for whom self-control of one’s image projection is an almost primal pre-thought to any action during a day. My generation does not "live fast," my generation instead considers in what style each fast moment shall be lived. My yacht is sinking? Wait, allow me to first take a selfie. Oh no, is that my hair? I’ll need a do-over.



I think that

I overthink

how much I overthink.



Generation Y is the generation which will come to be defined by the plague of self-awareness. How will my email password remind me of what defines me? Generation Y allows their self-projection to facilitate their purchases. I need this jacket to define myself. Will Prada or Diesel better define who I am? Thus, purchases are easily justified as necessities, and shopping is a recreational pastime in itself, fostered also by having been raised by an over-indulgent parental generation who primed during a period with middle-class credit


allows their self-projection to facilitate their purchases. I need this jacket to define myself. Will Prada or Diesel better define who I am? Thus, purchases are easily justified as necessities, and shopping is a recreational pastime in itself, fostered also by having been raised by an over-indulgent parental generation who primed during a period with middle-class credit. 



Who am I? Do people believe my projection?



This questioning’s worst inhibition is the effect had when Generation Y enters the workforce, or contemplates the act thereof. "Is this my calling?" is one of the most loaded phrases that a society has ever collectively mouthed. The question implies that one must have a purpose. Indeed, but should someone have actually answered this question concerning giving reason to existence, their published book would be the actual No. 1 New York Times Bestseller. There is a very small handful of people with enough insight and capacity to have worked out what is actually going on here on Earth. Those who have not, are spending their short existences attempting to define themselves.



of people with enough insight and capacity to have worked out what is actually going on here on Earth. Those who have not, are spending their short existences attempting to define themselves.


I keenly await the creatively exhibitionist gravestones that Generation Y will pre-order. The last question Generation Y will overthink:



Does this font

best capture my essence?






(Would someone please ironically use Comic Sans to inscribe "can u not?" on their headstone?)


Monday January 13th, 2014




Google issued an apology to Germany over an error on Google Maps through which for the 64th consecutive year, the world was reminded of the occurrence of World War II, an event described by white people as "really awkward." Due to a glitch Google has not yet explained, an historic plaza in Berlin officially named "Theodor-Heuss-Platz," after the first post-war president, was found to be listed as "Adolf Hitler Platz." It is indeed really awkward, as the reference is so taboo that in German, iPhone autocorrects the word "Hitler" to a blank space.

In a vicious protest against the 2014 Sochi winter olympic games, Northern America has stolen winter from Northern Europe and Russia, issuing the subtle statement that "Russia doesn’t even deserve all of this snow," adding that they promise to return the cold weather soon, when Russia allows flamboyancy for the whole nation, not just Putin alone, who is "always shirtless and on a horse."


Former isreali Prime Minister Ariel Sharon dies after an 8 year coma following a stroke. At the funeral on Monday January 13th, referring to Sharon as "The Bulldozer," former-former British Prime Minster Tony Blair said that Sharon had left "considerable debris in his wake." The statement elicited loud coughing from 103% of Palestine.
In a metaphoric sigh of relief, Scotland re-tuned its national bagpipe after H.R.M.s Treasury of the United Kingdom issued a statement noting that in the event of Scottish independence from the United Kingdom "the continuing UK government would in all circumstances honour the contractual terms of the debt issued by the UK Government," adding that Scotland would only be responsible for servicing a "fair and proportionate share" of such debt liabilities, causing Scotlands national bagpipe to resume playing ‘Flouer o Scotland‘ an octave higher, and off-key. 











Inspiration for 
The Curious. 

















worldly ideas, tales from travels, stories about society, economic insight, features of the arts, political discourse, notes on culture:

SV. is thought.














 The Sang Vert Journal.