Postcard Manifestos, The Digger and Other Matters Of Moment

Ok, I now have a clearer idea of what my good friend Clairwil is up to. Basically she wants you to send her a postcard with your manifesto for ruling the world. You'll find the Postcard Manifesto blog here. Get to it!! That wonder of western civilisation, The Digger has been keeping me in high spirits as well as making sure I stay abreast of the comings and goings of the criminal classes. Nothing about Lord Levy yet. We can but hope........... Some of the more esoteric stories include: The guy in Possil Park who has set up a company called 'Trauma Clean' which specialises in cleaning up after rotting corpses and at crime scenes. I'm assuming he's thinking of expanding into some of the city's other less salubrious suburbs. A tall story about small unmanned planes with mini cctv cameras being deployed to spy on the wayward citizens of places like Royston and Drumchapel. Apparently they've been used in Afghanistan.............(insert cheap joke of your choice in the commenets box) Finally, and most amusingly, theres a piece in one issue about the Orange Order wanting to turn their marches into 'carnival like celebrations' of one of the 'ethnic minorities of Britain'. Ethnic minority???? They have to be pulling my plonker on this one. These arseholes are no ethnic minority, no matter how much of a chip on the shoulder they're starting to develop. The bit about wanting to emulate the Notting Hill Carnival left me stunned. I mean, how much of a good natured party atmosphere is it possible to generate with a flute band? Are they all going to learn to play the sash on steel drums? Are we going to be treated to the glorious sight of dozens of grim faced protestant ladies decked out in giant orange homemade costumes and revealing samba outfits, gyrating down the High Street to Simply The Best by Tina Turner? I think we should be told. More tales of madness next month. Before I go, a small obit. Tom Weir - 'Weir's Way' filled up many a spare half hour in my insomnia days. Often shown on STV at ludicrous timeslots in the middle of the night this strange little travelogue would without fail hold me entranced. In his hiking boots, wooly jumper and red tammy hat, Tom strode up and down Scotland, telling us the history of the places he visited and talking to locals in amusingly contrived and stilted 'on the spot' interviews. Filmed in, I think, the late seventies or early eighties, old Tom looked a fair age even then. I have been known to wonder aloud if the old boy was still alive and now I have my answer. He passed on at the wonderful old age of 91. In a way I like to think of him as a subliminal and indirect inspiration for 'The Gyp'. Cheers Tom.