Oh dear. SNP MSP Christopher Harvie has found himself in a spot of bother for comments he has made about Lockerbie and the Scottish yoof.

On getting to Lockerbie, I discovered that the place is a dump - it was Tescotown. It should really have a certain attraction of a rather sombre kind as a place where something terrible happened; there are, after all, places on the western front and that sort of thing that have such an attraction for families who have lost people there.

There are a few things about this paragraph that are a bit off for me. I might be completely right to say that Lockerbie is a dump. I have never been, but frankly it wouldn’t surprise me. There are plenty of dumps around the place, and Lockerbie isn’t exactly known for its beautiful beaches or rolling hills.

Jeff is right when he says that if Lockerbie is a dump, Christopher Harvie should be able to say so. It should not be exempt from analysis because of the fact that it is the scene of the country’s worst terrorist atrocity.

But here is the thing. Christopher Harvie seems to be saying that Lockerbie should be positioning itself as a potential tourist attraction to help rake in the money from fans of disasters. As Mushkush implies, the idea leaves a slightly sour taste in the mouth.

Following that he turns his guns on the much maligned youth of the country. They cannot get a second of peace from the establishment’s whining about the yoof.

They are a demographic that literally cannot win. If they spend too long indoors playing their Xboxes they are criticised for not getting enough exercise and causing an “OBESITY EPIDEMIC“.

If they do the opposite and dare to go outside to get some fresh air and happen to commit the heinous crime of wearing warm clothing they get called names like “hoodie” and “yob”. And everyone points at them and says, “Why are you standing on the street corner? It is so intimidating.” As though just standing around is intimidating.

If they are not on the corner but are standing in the vicinity of a shop some ridiculous person comes along and installs a discriminatory device that is deliberately designed to cause youths pain. And people wonder why today’s young people are disaffected.

Anyway, Mr Harvie has added himself to the long list of poshy snooty types criticising yoof fashions. You know, fair enough on that front. Some people do wear horrendous clothing. But why is he attacking Tom Hunter for it? I thought the SNP were meant to be aligning themselves as a pro-business party. But Christopher Harvie’s comments are about as anti-business as it gets.

It must also be said that the most immense fortune that has been made in Scotland in the past few years - that of Tom Hunter - has arisen from selling people what must be the ugliest clothes worn by anyone on the entire continent.

Tom Hunter is one of Scotland’s most successful businessmen. If Mr Harvie’s theory is true, then Mr Hunter has done the country’s people a great service–selling people clothes that they want. He spotted a gap in the market. It is what great businessmen do best. It should be celebrated. But Christopher Harvie just looks down his nose at it.

There are also echoes of this anti-business sentiment with his dismissal of Lockerbie as “Tescotown”. It is the most successful business in Britain, which makes it the butt of ill thought out jibes like this. What does it even mean to be a Tescotown anyway? My town has a Tesco as well–does that mean I should just go and top myself now?

Anyway, back to fashion. What clothing would Christopher Harvie prefer people to wear? Knickerbockers. Goodness me. Apparently his personal preference is for plus fours. And look at that awful check jacket. Holyrood Watcher rightly takes him to task.

For me, this whole issue highlights a problem with the electoral system currently in use for Scottish Parliament elections.

Christopher Harvie was the SNP’s candidate where I live in Kirkcaldy. During the campaign he began to get a bit of a reputation as a “mad professor” among some locals. From today’s comments it looks as though he earned that reputation.

Even Brian Taylor has used slightly colourful language on his blog to call Mr Harvie ‘The Nutty Professor‘. And according to Kezia Dugdale, “Rumour has it the SNP were waiting for an episode like this but were surprised it has taken so long.” In addition to Christine Grahame, it looks like the SNP has its second major loose cannon.

Prior to Mr Harvie’s campaign, I was considering voting for the SNP as an anti-Labour tactical vote (not that it would have done much good anyway). But I did not want to vote for Christopher Harvie. He lost in Kirkcaldy. Yet, today he is an MSP. He got in through the back door on the list vote.

No-one voted for him to win his seat. People only voted for the SNP as a party–or Alex Salmond For First Minister, as they were known on the ballot papers. What a shock those voters will have got, thinking they were voting for Alex Salmond and instead getting Christopher Harvie!

The problem with the list system is that it gives voters the minimum amount of power possible. Voters have no control over the candidates. Positions on the are determined internally within the parties. This makes the MSPs accountable not to the voters, but to internal party structures. This allows too many poor candidates become MSPs and fills the Parliament with lackeys. The Scottish Parliament needs a heavy dose of Single Transferable Vote to weed out these people.

One last thing. I really don’t get this quote from Jackie Baillie on Christopher Harvie’s comments.

“He represents a supposedly pro-European party but displays the worst kind of euro-phobia.”

He singled out Scotland’s youths for criticism, and said they were the worst in Europe! How this is supposed to be a display of Euro-phobia beats me.

Unfortunately, this does not tie in with my theory about the inadequate list MSPs. I have to conclude that Dumbarton is one of Scotland’s many Labour rotten boroughs.

I was beginning to lose my faith in Sigur Rós a bit. Takk… was a pretty good album, but lacked the oceanic beauty of Ágætis Byrjun, the novelty of ( ) and the experimentation of Von and Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do. The most recent EP, Sæglópur, contained the most boring output I have ever heard Sigur Rós release.

So I was not expecting too much from their latest release, Hvarf / Heim, a double CD. The Hvarf CD contains “new electric recordings”, although really it seems to be old leftover songs that never made it to an album.

‘Salka’ is nothing particularly special. ‘Í Gær’, meanwhile, sounds like it was specifically designed to be used on any television programmes that want to evoke a kind of creepy, wintery feel. That tuned percussion provides plenty of ammunition for those who have bemoan the use of same Sigur Rós songs on television over and over again. (’Í Gær’ is the music used in the Heima trailer which I have embedded at the bottom of this post.)

However, it is good to see ‘Hjómalind’ (what used to be called ‘Rokklagið’) finally getting a proper release. But why not ‘Fönklagið’? It might not fit in with their current image, but I still think it’s a great, fun song.

The reworked version of ‘Von’ is also a pleasant listen. The new version of ‘Hafsól’ is fantastic as well, although was previously released as the B-side to ‘Hoppípolla’ so is not really anything new.

Heim meanwhile is a disc of live acoustic recordings of classic Sigur Rós songs. The songs are inevitably a little bit stripped back and raw. Some of the performances were recorded in outdoor locations. In ‘Heysátan’ in particular you can hear the birds enjoying the performance.

Despite the stripped back nature of the album, long time collaborators Amiina perform alongside Sigur Rós, meaning that the band’s grand sound remains in some songs. After all, ‘Starálfur’ would be nothing without the string quartet.

But the best song on the disc is performed by Sigur Rós alone. ‘Ágætis Byrjun’ has long been my favourite song by the band, so it was always going to be a stand out for me on Heim. The original version is largely acoustic anyway, but there are still a couple of subtle differences. The piano almost takes its rightful place at the forefront.

Part of what I love about this song is the fact that most of it sounds beautiful, but dissonant notes briefly appear just after the climax of each chorus. I wonder why? “An all right (but not perfect) beginning” perhaps. Whatever, these bits stand out a lot more in this live version than on the album version, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

But the best part of the tripartite alliterative Sigur Rós bonanza that hit the shops this month is the DVD of the film, Heima. It follows Sigur Rós touring Iceland, playing a series of free concerts in a diverse variety of locations.

Conventional concerts are documented. My favourite moment of these is at the start, where the band are performing ‘Sé Lest’. At the appropriate moment, a local brass band unexpectedly emerges from backstage to perform the brass part. But the moment is fleeting as the band walks between the members of Sigur Rós, climbs off the stage, makes its way through the audience members and out of the door.

As well as conventional concerts, the band also performs in some stranger places, such as an abandoned fish factory (where lead singer Jón Þór Birgisson and Amiina perform in a giant fish-oil tank, creating a peculiar audio resonance). The band also played a protest concert, performed without using any electricity, where a dam was being built at Snæfell.

The Icelandic tourism board must be cock-a-hoop. The film follows Sigur Rós, but it focuses as much on the scenery as it does on the band. The whole film has a beautiful visual style because of this. Heima will probably do more to advertise Iceland as a potential tourist location than anything else.

The film also follows Sigur Rós visiting some locations for pleasure. The best of these features is about Páll Stefánsson, who makes percussion instruments out of natural materials. The film shows Stefánsson tirelessly testing stones, checking the tone each makes, so that he can build a stone marimba. Sigur Rós later perform an improvisation on the makeshift instrument.

I was a bit apprehensive about buying the Heima DVD. I can never resist buying the limited edition if there is one, and this one cost £25. But with two discs (the second disc contains two hours worth of full performances of each song featured in the main film, spanning all four of their albums) and lush packaging, it feels worth it.

In fact, the artwork and packaging is a strong point of Heima and Hvarf / Heim. Both feature nostalgic-looking, treated photographs. They have been deliberately aged, with colours bleeding. It is similar to what Boards of Canada do, but I think the Sigur Rós artwork is even more evocative.

The limited edition DVD comes with a 116 page photo book. A lot of the photography is stunning — as good as the photography in the actual film. And, most importantly, the book itself smells wonderful (smell, I find, is one of the most important aspects of music packaging).

Now I find it incredible that I was actually reluctant or indifferent about buying these. I was becoming tired of Sigur Rós, but Hvarf / Heim and Heima have reminded me why I love the band so much. If you were swithering like me, I would advise you just to buy.

• Heima on Eighteen Seconds Before Sunrise
• Hvarf / Heim website
• Heima website

Do you ever find yourself in awe of people who would normally be mundane? Today I found myself in the unhappy position of having to take the train into Edinburgh (every time I enter the city it just reminds me of university dread).

For some reason that I can’t really fathom, the train was absolutely mobbed today. The station was busy enough — on both platforms. When I got on the train it was already standing room only, before any passengers from Kirkcaldy boarded. It was not as if it was a particularly nice morning or anything. Yet the train was heaving with tourists.

Anyway, the poor train guard had a mountain to climb just to get tickets out to everyone. He had to barge his way past the dozen or so people standing in the “vestibule area”. Once he emerged he was confronted with a large group of people from Cupar who had only gone and bought the wrong tickets. Their tickets were for Dundee, not Edinburgh.

Most guards obviously can’t be arsed with their job. My guess is that some might have pretended not to notice that the tickets were for the wrong destination. After all, this was a group of daytrippers who were, to be fair, of advanced age. Having to shell out for new tickets would put a considerable dampener on their day and, dare I say, edged them a couple of hours closer to death. Other guards might just lose their patience over the matter.

But this guard knew what was what. The passengers seemed pretty upset when they realised what had happened, but the conductor kept the whole situation under control. Most would have mumbled and grunted. Some others might have rolled their eyes and tutted. This one? “It’s all right, it’s all right. It’s all under control. Keep your tickets. You can get a refund at the station.”

Of course, this is just him doing his job. But the unusually high number of passengers made the journey feel a bit chaotic as it was already, and there must have been several passengers on the train who did not yet have a ticket for those all important barriers in Edinburgh. And by the time the whole tangle was sorted out, we were almost halfway to Edinburgh already. I’m not sure how calm I would have stayed.

In time to reach the Forth Bridge, he made an announcement on the loudspeaker system. This is another point where you can usually tell whether the guard’s heart is in it. Sometimes they start with a heavy sigh, making you wonder if the guard is accidentally broadcasting to the entire train when he actually meant to dial 0898 50 50 50. Then they might grumpily plod through the script, as if to signify, “Look here, I really can’t be arsed, so don’t give me shit today, okay?”

Incidentally, I am certain that some members of staff have a bet on to see who can say “Cupar, Leuchars” the quickest. So the next time you’re on the East Coast Main Line around Fife, listen out for the announcement. “Edinburgh *sigh* Waverley… Haaymarket… err, Inverkeithing, gah, Kirkcaldy… Markinch… *cough* Ladybank… Cuparleuchars… Dundee…”

I am also sometimes amused (and this is where I reveal my snobby side) at the way guards try to speak formally and politely but are just incapable of doing so. Many long words are inventerised, causating me to arise my head from my book in amusementation.

There was none of that sort of thing from today’s masterful guard. He was a fine speaker with an authoritative yet friendly voice. In fact, with his distinctive, formal Scottish accent I couldn’t help drawing a comparison with late night radio hero Rhod Sharp.

Yet again, the guard was the calm amid the storm. “Those of you who still do not have tickets, I will endeavour to see you before we arrive at Haymarket and Edinburgh Waverley.” Not only this, but he seemed to be getting into the spirit of the day for many passengers, who were mostly tourists, as I have already noted. Acting as part tour guide, he appended his announcement: “To the group that joined us at Leuchars, you will see the painters hanging off the side of the bridge; I was not jesting about that.”

It was that last comment that made me think, “Wow.” In a hectic situation he managed to find the time to make a frivolous but heart warming comment for the benefit of the daytrippers, and provide on update on it over the loudspeaker system.

I quickly realised that it was silly to be so impressed, because he was only doing his job. But so many people don’t do that. Most guards grumpily check your tickets then sod off to their cabin for the remainder of the journey.

By contrast, here was a person who knew what he was doing. He kept control of a busy train with some upset passengers and still found the time to have a bit of fun with the passengers as well. I found myself appreciative of the fact that the guard put in so much effort and that, horror of horrors, he looked as if he might even enjoy his job — one that most would find unfulfilling.

I think now I understand why lollipop men are sometimes on the honours list.