The Johnny Cash Scooter

kelvingrove Skatepark

Getting Sunstroke By The Kelvin

Lovely weather up here in Glasgow. A lazy meander through Kelvingrove Park resulted in some of my best and favourite photos. The place was mobbed, mainly because the novelty of sitting in the sunshine has yet to wear off after the long winter months. I kept moving. Glasgow city centre is a different beast though. Thousands milling about like zombified cattle in the precincts, and more thrillingly, in any shops I was foolish enough to enter. The worst of it is that the slightest hint of sunshine has the fuckers out in next to bollock all clothing wise. I just wish those with deeply unappealing figures would realise that the sight of their grey, flabby beerguts, mis-shapen lycra clad arses and knobbly knees are the last thing anyone wants to see. Christ, even the eye candy gets boring after a while. I speak as a man with a junior beer gut. I know about dressing to cover my faults and not to buy t-shirts from Top Man.................... Or Gap. What a bunch of fuckers. The other day, I found a long lost Gap voucher in a coat pocket. Not unreasonably, I decided I wanted to spend it. So there I was, in this Gap place and looking for something to spend my £25 on. Nothing. Absolutely fuck bloody all. Are these cunts for real? They had a sale section full of ghastly jumpers and rather vile t-shirts and jackets. The rest of the shop was full of the stuff you might just have bought if it was about a third of it's marked price. Then again, you might not...................Do you see what i'm getting at? crap clothes at pocket shafting prices. Eventually I swallowed my pride and decided against auctioning the voucher on this here blog..........I bought a nice-ish shirt but I had to add an extra tenner to the voucher to do so. Defeats the point of the voucher somewhat, but there you go...................

Hallo Zu Meinen Deutschen Lesern

Ill man has been translated!!!! Into German. It's a start I suppose. It would seem all Blogger stuff has been translated but I have to admit to a feeling of bewilderment and maybe a little pride as I read my latest dribblings translated into what Babelfish tells me is probably pretty ropey German. I apologise for my distinct lack of decent posts over the past few days. Work has been draining every last ounce of life from me. I usually resent bank holiday mondays for the fact that they just add another sunday to the week, but i'm genuinely looking forward to not being in that fucking hole of an office this monday. Right, that's yer lot. Turn out the light when you leave please............... Look!!

Go To Bed!!!

I'm bloody fuggin' knackered. Can barely move. I'm off to watch my 'Day Today' dvd from the comfort of the old wanking chariot before I pass out. Something to say tomorrow, promise...................

Slow Day

I'll have to let this one go. I'm tired and it's late. I'll be back to my incoherent best tomorrow, I promise. Cheers Further Reading The Beautiful Rush The Curmudgeon Tabloid Whore Owl Pellets Miss Snark Random Smiths Lyric Generator Link nicked from This Moment. Cheers Alan.

Bukowski

That old bum................Anyway, I like his poetry. It reads like condensed prose most of the time.............. Full of shit most of the time. Except when it's not......... The History Of One Tough Motherfucker he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and he stayed grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much chance...give him these pills...his backbone is crushed, but it was crushed before and somehow mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody cut it off..." I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any- where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to him and gently touched him and he looked back at me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went by he made his first move dragging himself forward by his front legs (the rear ones wouldn't work) he made it to the litter box crawled over and in,it was like the trumpet of possible victory blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that bad but bad enough.. one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and just looked at me. "you can make it," I said to him. he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested, then got up. you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed, almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in his eyes never left... and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!" I shake the cat, hold him up in the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows... it's then that the interviews end although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo- graphed together. he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps. Now If You Were Teaching Creative Writing The Worst And The Best The Insane Always Loved Me More.....

Yes, I Am A Moonbat

The button kindly provided by Clairwil seems only to do very bad things to my blog when I include it, so i'm going to have to do without just now. Not a lot else to report, other than to say that in the abscence of the Scotland football team from this years World Cup in Germany, may I offer my full support to...........................Fat Les. Yes, the Embrace Englandwordcupsong really is that bad. Fucking, Fucking, Fucking, Fucking awful. No I haven't developed a stutter, I just can't think of another way I can convey the utter shitness of this song. I can't even remember what it's called. These sorry cunts are so bad, they've had a song written for them by Chris Martin of Coldplay. A surefire sign that it's time to give up the music biz and get a job as a cabbie. Bon nuit mes enfants

Random Stuff

More photos here

I Swore I Wasn't Going Back

Last weeks win was probably part of it. I also had to return something to someone. Whatever it was, it led to me being parted from thirteen quid and having to endure quite possibly the most risible excuse for a football match I have seen in a very long time. That's the third time this season Thistle have been beaten by Peterhead, a team of part-timers. These guys do jobs and train a few nights a week. I hate to think what our mob get up to as "Full Timers". I will not be going back to watch Partick Thistle until the double glazing salesman masquerading as the manager is shown the door. That's it. My saturday. I hope yours was ever so slightly more pleasant.

My Day In Negative Thoughts

Hello! There can be few things more unappealing than realising you work with a bunch of latent taxi drivers. I have to say that the particular conversation I overheard was conducted between three people who have the collective intellect of a stunned budgerigar, so maybe I shouldn't worry too much. It concerned immigrants/asylum seekers and consisted of the table drumming excopper, the office liar and Bongochops giving it big licks on the burning issue of the day. I was on Bongochops side. I think she just kept hammering her arguement that asylum seekers were being unfairly scapegoated until the others got fed up. Yay for Bongochops!!! Then theres fatbloke. Every time I go to do some filing, he's there in the alcove. I WANT IN!!!!! GO AWAY!!!!!!! Of course, I can't say that so I just wander off and do something slightly less pressing instead. I think i'm getting him as my filing bitch for the next few weeks, so i'll be able to corroborate the reports i've heard that he is in fact a shiftless big arse. The afternoon consisted of sitting with Carpet Heid and performing some tedious, yet pleasantly time consuming task. One minute it's twenty past two, next minute, it's ten to four. I haven't been so elated in quite some time. The down side is that I can't help but sit and stare at the guys neck which looks like raw meat. Ok, he has a skin condition, but i'm a starer and any abnormal visual stimuli is unlikely to pass me by. Anyway, I have been reminded that there is indeed a function on The Mischief that allows non-members to contribute. It's called Mischief Idol and it allows anyone in the vicinity to contribute to the blog. Go on then, don't be shy....................

I Cannot A Tell Lie. MySpace Is A Pile Of Shite.

What a fucking swizz. Ok, maybe i'm missing something bigstyle here, maybe I just don't get it, but it looks like the most boring thing on earth. Yes, I have an activation email in my inbox which should maybe solve all those annoying profile options that don't work, but still............At least with Blogger you can pick and choose to a degree. This place is cunt central. Populated by absolute jackasses. The idea that they might want to be your friend is terrifying. There are obviously some top chaps that use it like Blind Winger Jones and Dan Allen to name but two. I however shall be abstaining for the time being. I have an account set up, it's just that I shan't be using it until I decide that I have no other option but to join the rest of the online populace there.

Rats Cocks!!!!!

Today. Pedestrian lights out at the bottom of the road. Why? Broken maybe. Or just not turned on. Not the first time. I stood at the bastard things for about two minutes before I realised they were dead and had next to no chance of crossing the road without them. The woman with the pram next to me looked on forlornly. I cursed, turned and made my way to the set at the next junction that take a fornight to fucking let you across. Maybe they just turn them off when the local knob school is on holiday................ Back to work and my own personal paper avalanche after the Easter weekend. Fine by me. If people give me more work than I can possibly do in three lifetimes then so be it. Theres obviously no fucking hurry for it I would have thought. Then theres a fat bloke sitting in the inshot where I usually do my filing. All fucking day!!! I can't do any fucking filing now. I wouldn't mind but it's the only chance I have to do a bit of skiving. Anyway, I took two of yesterdays photos down. They didn't look right. They should appear here soonish, along with some other stuff. Also, can anyone enlighten me as to what to do if the URL of your desired profile photo is more than 68 characters? It's starting to make me ever so slightly tetchy.

Normal Service Will Be Resumed Shortly

If you didn't know already theres a new Blog Of The Week poll up at The Mischief. As shown in some close contests over the past few months, your votes really do count. Cheers!

Happy Easter

Anyone want my egg? I got it from work and it just happens to be a grotty Nestle effort. Their chocolate is truly disgusting. When I say "does anyone want my egg?" what I really mean is "does anyone want my half eaten egg...................?" ahem! Can I just say as a matter of little importance, the new Morrissey album is starting to grow on me. Will it surpass Vauxhall And I? Dunno, but it's not nearly as patchy as his last few efforts..................More please Mr Moz.

Some New Friends

Please observe my recently updated links list for my new favourite blogs. Oh, and David Duff too.

The Ill Man Is Out

For the next four days I shall be posting up nothing but pictures. I realise i've been abnormally verbose over the past week and it shall continue but unless I stumble across something I really must write about, the Easter weekend will be untroubled by my grumbling. I have a few entries for other blogs to make this weekend as well as the more pressing task of putting my feet up for a few days and watching the world go by. A restfull weekend to you all. Hope the weather isn't too shite.

Fuck You Blogger!

The hassle I've had making a simple post on The Mischief tonight has sent me close to madness. Not to worry, long weekend coming up. I aim to blog as little as I possibly can. I'll also be free of the fucking trivia bores I have to share breathing space with at work. Is there a parallel universe perchance, where being able to spout the most obscure and banal sporting statistics with smug, conceited authority is considered a productive use of your time and more importantly a mark of your status as a man? I truly hope so. If only I knew a way of sending them back to their own dimension..................... Anyway, new Blog Of The Week poll is up. Vote now if you haven't already done so.

Cheers!

This Is Why I Drink Every Night.

Strange day. The office liar disappears after half an hour only to reappear about two hours later on crutches. Apparently he tripped over his dog. Or injured his foot giving some guy a kicking. Depends on who you ask I suppose. He claims he's cracked a bone in his foot. I can't prove a thing of course, but I think it's a crock of pish. The whole place fell about in fits when he rolled in on the crutches. Even if his injury is real, he's told so many porkies to so many people that nobody believes him anymore. The afternoon was the same hellish brainbuggering grind as yesterday. Having to listen to people who talk about Star Wars like it really happened. You know, the sort of conversations you had with your friends about Star Wars when you were about nine.....................They talk about it like it's fucking Shakespeare or something. It's a poorly written, badly acted kiddies space western folks, grow up, leave it behind and go read some fucking Bukowski or something. The babble gets on my wick now I have nobody to talk to I suppose. I was on the verge of ramming sharpened pencils into my ears just to experience the serenity of not having to listen to other peoples banal conversations. I need to learn to shut off, and fast. I see Silvio Berlusconi's a bit fucked. What a cunt this man is. A fascist shit of the first water. Italy may not be socially oppressed, but it's media is in a straight jacket and the intention is obvious. Feed 'em the Italian version of 'God, Mom and Apple Pie', silence dissent and watch as your nation conforms. It seems that Romano Prodi's narrow election victory means Berlusconi may find his way into some sort of 'Grand Coalition'. I hope not. It would just mean he would escape the corruption charges levelled against him, from which he's immune as long as he has a semblance of power.

Nothing Like A Monday To Put You In A Really Foul Mood.

What a cunt of a day. Just about everyone got on my wick at one point. The urge to just sit in the bogs and cry has never been so great. I'm missing Mullaney I think. I need someone to keep me sane................... Anyways, these two fuckers deserve to die. With bells on. They've called their latest progeny Moses of all things. What a pair of risibly pretentious arseholes. The children should be renamed and adopted by human beings rather than suffer at the hands of these two simpering ringpieces. Chris Martin is a walking gonad. Apparently he fronts a 'Rock Band'. No, Lemmy fronts a fucking Rock Band, Chris Martin sings in a tweedy, pissy pants beat combo who make Freddy And The Fucking Dreamers look hardcore. As for Gwynneth Paltrow, i'm still laughing at that abysmal bout of emotional incontinence at the Oscars some years back. She can fuck off too. Bah!

Fluff

Blossom Tree Hamilton Drive Belmont Street

Ill Man Vs Gerry Adams

Ok, not really, but there is a strange tale to relate regarding the bearded Sinn Fein chap. I had just had a rather fantastic evening meal in Cafe JJ on Dumbarton Road and decided to wander my way back to Great Western road through the back streets rather than negotiate Partick Cross. Anyway, I had my headphones on as a rather portly chap in a black leather coat approached me. He suddenly looked a bit startled. Coincidentally the song ended on my player and I heard him utter the immortal words........... "Christ!, I thought you were Gerry Adams.............." First of all, he's a cheeky fucker. I look nothing like Mr Adams. Secondly, if any of you think it's a sign that I should have a shave, you're probably correct but i'm buggered if i'm going to do it because of some fat wino. Maybe he thought I was off to bomb something. It's a miracle I wasn't arrested as I made my way home. I mean, if singing along to a Clash song is enough to get you nicked then i'm obviously on very shaky ground.

Ill Man Finds His Old Tapes And Begins To Grasp About In A Futile Manner For The Remnants Of What Passed For His Youth

..............You know, those little plastic things you shove into the front panel on cheap hi-fi systems? Stopped making them some time ago.................................. Ok, fact is, I'm still living in an extended adolescence. By 'Youth' I mean a time in which I held at least a little hope in the world and believed at least some of the things people told me. It was a time in which I could get drunk with impunity whilst holding down a job, count my friends on the fingers of several hands and every band you read about in the NME sounded like the second coming rather than a bunch of floppy haired students ripping off the Jesus And Mary Chain or The Kinks. Which would turn out to be the case with unerring regularity. Not that it bothered you................... I dug out my old cassettes a few days ago and i'm trawling through them at the moment. There are some gems in there. An Associates best of album, some old Pavement stuff, the 'Hit Parade' albums The Wedding Present did, in which they released a single every month for a year before dividing the 24 released tracks into two LP's. I also have to hand some good old Rock action in the shape of Metallica's 'Black Album', Let There Be Rock by AC/DC and Sweet Oblivion by The Screaming Trees. They all bring back memories. College, drunken nights, holidays in France, my years in the kitchens of Glasgow, old gig venues, girls i've met.....blahblah, usual shite. The MP3 is king and i'm not about to kick up too much fuss(still think the volume limit on Sony products is disgusting) That said, I still have an old Sony Cassette Walkman and I aim to give it some abuse whenever I can't be arsed uploading anything new to the new toy. This only scratches the surface. You don't wanna know how many 'mix tapes' I have floating about in various drawers and cupboards in my house.

Red, Yellow and Blue

The Saddest Thing In The World

Well, today at least......... Daily Record Story The remains of a woman suffering from post-natal depression, who disappeared over a year ago after dropping her son off at school have been found in a Glasgow park, having died of exposure on the evening of the date she had disappeared. I don't know why this makes me sad, why I had to take deep breaths at work to stop myself losing the plot as I read the story in the paper. Why this story in particular? I suppose the image of a woman who simply no longer cared where she was or what happened to her, stumbling around in some public park before falling asleep where she stood with exhaustion in the middle of the night is one I have a great deal of difficulty processing. She had done it before in 1996, but they found her a week later, dehydrated and suffering from hypothermia. This time she didn't make it. Maybe being ten years older didn't help. Maybe wandering out on a brutally cold night didn't help. Maybe not having the right treatment or support for her illness didn't help. Or maybe there was simply nothing anyone could have done to prevent her from making that final journey.

Quicky Post

Sweet Lordy!! That is the last time I leave Blog Of The Week over at The Mischief until Monday. Anyway, I was planning on something approaching a standard blog post tonight but that shall have to wait until tomorrow. Here is a link instead. Dancing With Joey Ramone

Phew!

West end of Argyll Street. I'll be posting my days activities on The Gyp in due course. So glad I chose the pastures of Pollok over the footie today. I foresee the end times for Partick Thistles current manager Dick Campbell. He's committed no real crime other than to promise the moon on a stick and deliver mediocrity. The nature of the lower Scottish leagues this season means that we may well gain promotion but I personally would not trust Mr Campbell to guide a team in the 1st division. I don't even trust him in the 2nd. Anyway, I have devised a new feature and it's called...................... Loon Watch Ivy League Catholic Kill Castro Free Mason Alert All as mad as a bag of hammers and obviously missing out on the delights life has to give.