Big Bad Lee

I'll be away here for the weekend. I had intended to do a proper post, but got caught up in other things (What I've come to know as 'Procrasturbation') It'll have to wait for another day. Heres a little clip I took at Ashfield last weekend. It's a pretty good race actually, it's sometimes a bit processional at the speedway, so it's nice to see two guys knocking lumps out of each other. It's all very tight for 2nd & 3rd place until something goes wrong at the end of lap 3 and Tigers rider Lee Dicken falls. He's under the impression the other guy put him in the dirt, but I'm not so sure...... Anyway, big Lee decides he's gonna have a pop at his opponent as he comes round to slow down. Cue a gaggle of officials and riders giving it the whole 'He's not worth it!!!' bit and trying to restrain him. The object of Lee's affections, Joseph Franc, decides that discretion is the better part of valour,and in a bit of a Benny Hill moment, he makes for the infield and rolls off back the other way towards the pits. Big Lee Dicken. Untidy to watch and slower than a week in jail at times, but he rides for the team and gives it everything he has, even if he's bog last. I have a soft spot for guys like that. He's the Speedway equivelent of Bobo Balde.

I Demand Silence!!! ...........and maybe a bit of swearing

According to this article (via Great She Elephant), background noise accounts for a few thousand heart attack fatalities each year. Now, I would stop short of saying that unwanted noise is any kind of danger to body and soul, but I think I understand the concept.

There are few things I loath more in life than getting up in the morning and having to listen to the ruddy radio. Normally I breakfast on my own and all is silent, all is golden and I can read whatever happens to be lying on the table (old Viz annuals usually) as I eat my Cornflakes and contemplate the grim road ahead. It's one of those moments that Bukowski talks about in 'It's Ours'. It is indeed mine. Or it was. This morning the folks were buzzing about prior to to leaving on holiday and had just colonised the kitchen. They seem unable to exist without the chatter of radio at any time in their lives, morning being no exception........

It's everywhere. In the car, in their bedroom 24 hrs a day, in the kitchen........Do they never crave a bit of 'Hear a pin drop' silence?

To be honest, I've been a mass of seething rage (easy ladies....) for the past few days. The notion that a fine, relaxing weekend does you a power of good is just that, a notion. No sooner do you hit the working week and all the resentment, impatience, and general foul temper come rolling back over you. As a result I have developed a distinct antipathy towards the following 'groups'

Scotland Rugby fans - How many people go and watch rugby in Scotland? Go on, guess........Club rugger, both pro and amateur...........Let's just say they'd fill but a small corner of Murrayfield. Yet the cunts turn up in their fucking masses to go and watch a bunch of fat bastards chase an egg around a field.......... There I am in Queen St Station staring at an almighty queue to get on the train, before being deprived of a seat by a bunch of wanks in kilts, Saltires and Lion Rampants. Tory voting bell-ends to a man and woman too............let's just say the bit where my bottle of Coke detonated on me was just about the last straw and all I wanted to do was wipe my sticky hands on one of their neatly ironed, newly washed rugger tops. I suggest they all charter some buses next time and leave public transport to people who have a good reason to be going where they're going. At least I would have been entertained by football fans, maybe even threatened or offered a slug of someones Red Square. Anything is preferable to such well mannered and civilised nuisances.

Oh, and before anyone gets any ideas, the Tartan Army can fuck off too.

Private Schools - Oh lordy me! I had a decent day on Saturday all told. North Berwick was lovely and sunny, I got some peace and quiet for a few hours before subjecting myself to the hell ride back to Glasgow. Sunday was good too. Long lie, some speedway and ready for Monday. I made the wrong decision on Monday morning though. Instead of taking the back route down to Great Western Road, I made my way down Belmont St, past 'The' Glasgow Academy. Bad move, for the jumped up little bastards were back from the summer break. Not the kids you understand, it's hardly their fault. No, I mean the parents. What a bunch of arrogant, fuckwitted arseholes. Take for instance the vehicles these absurd creatures turn up in. Bentleys, BMW's, Mercs, Lexuses (or is that Lexi?), not to mention the ubiquitous Chelsea Tractors. Just making the place look untidy I'm afraid, as well as making it absolutely fucking impossible for anyone who lives in the area to get to work by car. Hard to believe, but they're building an extension to the school. Any chance of building a fucking turning area on school grounds too? To be fair, a fair amount of these kids get a chartered bus, or take the underground, but you can still rely on a few hundred wankers to persist in running the kids to the school gate and personally offloading their gear/kissing them goodbye/etc, causing the worlds most unnecessary tailback.

Traffic Wardens - A new standard has been set in traffic control pedantry. My old man got slapped with a fifty quid fine for...........wait for it..................Parking in his own street!!!! I live in a cul-de-dac and it's essentially a non permit residents parking zone. The problem is that some people are allowed to pass their tests without having learned the art of parking properly (Some people pass their tests without knowing how to turn across traffic for heavens sakes) and it ends up with them doing things like parking on street corners, usually with the car a good four feet out into the traffic and making life difficult for pedestrians trying to cross roads. The result is the rather drastic manoeuvre of painting double yellows a good 9 feet into various side streets. Anyway, my dad made the mistake of having half his car on these lines, despite it being well inside the street and nowhere near being an obstacle to pedestrians. I don't know, is it a perverse thing with Traffic Wardens? Is it the fear that if they turn a blind eye and use some common sense from time to time, their transgression might be spotted by some 'all seeing eye' at Glasgow City Council and losing them a days wages? I know it's a shite job, but surely this sort of thing needs a lighter touch. It's not exactly someone chancing it in the city centre while they nip into the newsie for fags and a paper...........

You'll all be saddened but not surprised to hear that my dad did the 'sensible thing' and coughed up. I feel sure he could have made a massive racket about this and got a few thousand Daily Mail readers to march to his beat, though I'm sure the thought would appall him.

Jesus! A right little bundle of bad karma this week, aren't I?

The Scritch Scratch Of Busy Little Hands

Disturbing

The first one in particular. It's the sort of thing that would have given me nightmares for a month if I'd seen it as a kid.

The Following People Are Hereby Banned From This Blog........

.........David Duff

That's it.




I jest, no body's banned. Not even everyones favourite old scrote Duff, a man who's been ejected from more blogs than I've had disappointments in life . You see, I only wish I had people to ban. My last tracker reading was twelve (count 'em) visitors to this blog in the past 24 hours. Fuck! Not even the random blog hoppers and spammers want to know. I do content myself with the fact that the same folk pop in each day (probably), but it's not enough godammit!!! That said, at least I've not got to the stage of inventing people to comment on my blog, though I'd say it's not far off..............

It doesn't help that I'm posting as infrequently as this dissolute cunt. I predict a small flurry of nonsense posted around the time I move in to the flat, to make up for my current mutedness.

It seems certain items of post have been received at my 'new hoose'. I don't like the sound of that, it feels like i'm being tracked. For the past fifteen years, I've felt almost invisible and it's been rather pleasant. Now they know who I am and where I live. I'll always remember the day I finally signed my soul over to the Satan.

He works at the A____ N_______. Lovely guy, Ibrox season ticket holder, lives in Newton Mearns, eats his young..................


Ok, I won't be in tomorrow night as I have a wedding reception to attend. I'll leave you with some good old fashioned sick 'n' twisted God Fearin' Gospel Joy...........



...........and this little oddity

A Head Full Of Rocks And A Belly Full Of Booze

I have been ordered to the doctors. Apparently my feet are so bad that my mother thinks I'm about to die or something. Ok, slight exaggeration, but yes, my feet are in a bad way and quite frankly, I need some kind of aversion therapy to stop me grinding my itching soles against whatever right angled surface comes to hand. I'm just waiting for a few blisters to heal before I start applying the Daktarin...............

Sorry if that's more than you needed to know.....

What is it with bosses? Why do they seem determined to ensure that their underlings have absolutely no respect for them? Maybe stomping across the room to chastise someone for absently playing patience on their pc at 4.55pm while they write out some addresses on envelopes has something to do with it. Little men being pressured by their superiors and taking it out randomly on their own minions.............It seems to be the way of things. The Big Man, who sits opposite me has a bit of cardboard with the Dept leaders name on it and an arrow next to it. Every time said boss leaves the room to go to the toilet/kitchen/out the office, he pulls this sign out and points it in the general direction of departure, like a slightly overweight and very ugly, ginger cheerleader. We all rejoice, as for a few sacred minutes we are no longer being watched...............

Should I ever attain such a position of power, my hope is that a silent assasin assails me in the night and painlessly lobotomises me or something. Team Leader = Everyone hating yr guts forever........... I think I can live without such nonsense.

Anyway. This week I suggest you visit Bock, Billy and Velo Gubbed Legs. Those are orders Private!!!

Youtube

If You Can Get Coffee In A Boozer, Why Can't I Get A Pint In A Coffee Shop?

I had to chuckle at this one. Girl has too much coffee and goes a bit mental

Seven double espressos? What did she think it would do to her? Oh, she didn't know they were doubles............Fuckwit! Is this the new thing for the kiddies? Have White Lightning and Kestrel had their day? Is this the only way to get ripped to the tits? If her description is anything to go by, it wouldn't surprise me. The only other drugs that have similar effects are very, very controlled.

I must say,drinking coffee is something I do only in the following situations.

1 - In the morning, after a heavy night and you need to mainline some caffeine to even get out the door.

2 - At work, simply as a way of keeping your eyes open after staying up to all hours watching clips of swearing hamsters and rude episodes of Rainbow on Youtube. No poncey cafetieres or espresso machines here. No, it's three heaped spoons of freeze dried Nescafe poison,half a bag of sugar and as much boing water as you can fit into a 150ml plastic water cup. Oh, and a dash of milk to make it palatable.

3- When all someone has is herbal teabags.

When would I not drink coffee? Oh, just about any other time. Social coffee or, 'Let's do coffee' as it's known. Gah! Fuck that. It's the demon drink or nothing at all I'm afraid. Why in the name of all that's holy would I pay about three quid for something I can have at home for pennies and makes me feel crap anyway? Sure, I can booze at home for pennies too ('and Lo, the Lord did create Lidl and the iLL Man did quite righteously rejoice'), but that's a bit sad. A bit like going out to drink fucking coffee.

Look, I'm off the fucking stuff. I have come to the not unreasonable conclusion that tea is a much better drink. I can also never be fucking arsed with the rigmarole involved in making a decent cup of coffee. Oh sure, theres an espresso machine at home, but I'm damned if I'm going to wrestle with the bastard at 8am on a Monday morning. Or any other time for that matter. This is of course why people go to coffee shops and why I choose to believe they are delusional rubes.

Ah, I jest. Sort of......

Drink all the coffee you want and enjoy yr buzz. It's sounds most amusing.........

I Am A Man Of Simple Pleasures...........

.........Like watching a sock puppet 'recite' Bukowski. It could be worse, it could be Bono..........

there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing

that
gentle pure
space

it's worth

centuries of
existence

say

just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won't
get it all

ever.

charles bukowski

Surfs Up!

Apparently this was roughly around about the time Brian Wilson lost the plot and decided to go and live on another planet, in a constellation known to him and him alone. It seems the trauma of having to explain the lyrics of Van Dyke Parks and the weird new music he was making to the rest of the Beach Boys was taking it's toll. Still, lovely stuff at the old Joanna.........

On Todays Menu.........

Fuck!! My feet are killing me. Athletes foot in overdrive.............The itch that never dies. I've got powder for them, but I can never seem to stick to a programme of application and so the foot grinding continues.

Want a sniff.............?

Myspace has given me food for thought over the past week or so. First of all I got 'Phished', which means, for those of you who don't know and don't care, my password got nicked and my account was 'piggybacked' for the purposes of nefarious ringtone hawkery. Honestly, if they were advertising scud or sex aids I wouldn't mind, but ringtones???

Then I get a threatening message from some dick called 'Joe'. It runs as follows.........

"yo mumma sucks urs cock
u suck so much balls that ur mom gets jealos
hey four eyes saw u in town the other day
I KNOW WHERE U LIVE!!!"

Awww! I think he likes me! What scares me most is that 'Joe', bless his soul, has set up a myspace account, seemingly for the sole purpose of sending people abusive messages. It did cross my mind that it might be my brother, but he's funnier than that. Besides, he knows I'll set fire to his baws if he tries that pish on...............(puffs chest out, tries to look hard..........)

I can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible...............

The house is on it's way! I move in on 14th of September. Huzzah! Went to meet the lawyer on Wednesday and whilst waiting on him, got to see how a telephone switchboard ought to be operated. One woman, a million incoming calls and not the slightest slip or trace of stress. I did a bit of phone cover in my last job and to be honest, it had me pissing adrenaline...........I thought I was hard pressed if two people called at once. Six at once seemed to be no problem to this dame. Funny thing was, it all came back to me like a Vietnam Vet having a flashback and I started getting a bit jumpy and nervous for no real reason. It was hardly as if she was going to ask me to mind the switchboard while she went for a cuppa....................I was glad when the lawyer stuck his head round the door and saved me from the freakish countryside mags and the eternally ringing phone..............

I was going to end this post in the style of an eighties American sitcom, with a glib moral or lesson that can be learned from my experiences in the past week, but frankly I'm at a loss.............Any suggestions? Best one gets entered :HERE:

Balls To The Wall

Friday Night/Saturday Morning Youtube

July In Photos

Dawn Of The Dead: The Desk Jockey Years

That's it! I've hit the wall. I am no longer young and I need to sleep!

This little epiphany dawned on me today as I almost nodded out in the office. Eyes going fuzzy and feeling like lead weights, unable to move from page to screen and back again without concerted effort, they close briefly and suddenly gravity cracks me one on the back of the head and I'm heading face first for the keyboard. The shock snaps me out just in time and a little adrenalin rush perks me for another five minutes. I look around to see if anyone noticed (they hadn't) and made my way wearily back to the kitchen for more coffee.

I now realise I need to be asleep by 1amv at the latest, that I can't really drink too much on a school night and that buying pakora from the carry out at the bottom of the road at 2.15am is not really good idea. Theres nothing worse than admitting defeat, but there you are.............

Of course, in the old days I'd get leathered on cheap cider or rum miniatures, then happily do a six hour shift in a kitchen the following day. Piece of piss mate! Nowadays, it only takes a couple of shandies to make me feel a bit grubby next day. Also doesn't help that my life is that bit more sedentary now. The job occassionally calls for a bit of physical work, but more often than not I'm stuck at a PC, exercising nothing more than my right forefinger. I actually look forward to filing work. Means I'm out of the beady eyed glare of my boss and I'm able to move about and keep myself awake.

Sometimes I miss the 'pissing adrenalin' effect I got from my last job. Phone work means you're constantly on edge, as does working in a payroll office where everything has to be kept ahead of itself from week to week.

So, that's why I'm blogging now and not at 1am. I actually wanna get through tomorrow without having half a dozen narcoleptic episodes and have everyone think I'm on smack or something. Not that it matters I suppose. The new overlords look to be in Alan Sugar mode, firing people left, right and centre. Ok, technically they're 'laying people off', but that doesn't really fit in with the blatant pop culture reference, does it?

"You're Being Made Redundant!" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Am I next? Who knows. They've layed off most of the IT dept in Glasgow and got rid of the cash room. It all points one way to me and I'm not pleased. The last fucking thing I need to be doing just now, about to move into a house and trying to get something approaching savings together, is to be looking over my shoulder and having to find a new job.

Cunts!

Ok, heres what's amusing me on the internet tonight.

Mustafio, he make me smile. So does Billy, the stuff about the Heathrow Airport expansion is eye-popping. Matt at Oblong Scone ponders the nature of door holding etiquette and religious zealotry, while professional smart arse Dan Allen hi-lights sports journalism cliches and wonders why nobody's used the headline "San Diego Padres molested the Twins" . Quite frankly, the standard of sports journalism is universally bad, but considering the fucking ludicrous names the Yanks give their sports teams, I'm quite astonished that nobody has given in to the temptation...........

Dan, we salute you!