What's New iLL Man?

Things that have been filling my admittedly tiny cranial cavity over the past week, causing mild flooding in the left ear and several nosebleeds................

i - What the fuck has happened to the speaking clock? There I am on Sunday morning, attempting to synchronise my alarm clock and I've got fucking 'Tinkerbell' squeaking away at me. I don't know what they've done with the well spoken bloke that usually does it. Is he on holiday? When is he back? I'm getting lonely here....................

ii - Made a cyclist stop at a traffic light yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary in that, but hearing his cries of anguish as he was forced to apply the brakes and obey the rules of the road for once in his fuckwitted life was a rare pleasure. As I watched him approach the lights at something approaching 20mph, I could see the brief flicker of indecision on his face as he considered romping through the crossing. Rather cantankerously, he decided not to. Victory!!

iii - Some household tips. I have triumphed over the mildew currently infesting parts of my house. Well, not entirely, but leaving the bedroom window open in the evenings seems to have sorted the problems in that particular room. Also, re-open yr living room curtains before going to bed is helpful. Don't be conned into buying a de-humidifier folks....

iv - My last trip to the speedway was on Sunday there. I had heard tales from a friend at Ashfield about the female residents of Saracen Street in Possilpark and their thing for pyjamas as streetwear, but I only half believed it. I witnessed the phenomenon for the first time on Sunday afternoon. The look seems to be a Berghaus jacket, a pair of Primark silk-look patterned jammies, either slippers or a pair of trainers and a bag of stuff from the local mini-market. From what I've heard, it's also standard evening wear too..........

I just hope it doesn't catch on with the blokes and I get treated to the sight of fat tattooed lads in boxer shorts and curry stained vests and T-shirts.

v - It would seem that the Democratic candidate for the US presidency suffers a little from an identity crisis in the eyes of some voters. I understand entirely their confusion. For a very long time, I was labouring under the misapprehension that his name was Barry O'Bama and that he was of Irish descent.

You have no idea how glad I was when I found out this wasn't true...................(SATIRE!)

vi - A final thought for the Rangers fan at work who's got a massive chip on his shoulder about not being able to sing certain songs at the football:

The Famine Song is over

Why don't you sing something else................?

Winter Warmer No2 With Me Tonight - The Beach Boys from Smiley Smile

Falling Back

Good old horizontal rain, eh? Winter's here and not a moment too soon........... A perfect afternoon for sitting in with endless cuppas, watching the scores come in (St Johnstone 3 Thistle 0), fiddling about on the guitar (Trying to work out a wee tune to this) and catching the end of a Rog Moore Bond film (The greatest Bond of them all. Fuck you if you disagree!!)

So, get that central heating advanced, buy in some hot chocolate and a shed-load of coffee and tea, and close the curtains, for pissing rain and darkness will be your lot until April at the very least.............

Winter Warmer No1- Television: Little Johnny Jewel

Grinding To A Halt

Blogging ought to be like riding a bike, you should never forget how to do it. However, it's starting to feel like I've done just that. Or maybe I just need to adjust the saddle, fix the brakes and oil the chain. It's also possible that I can't be arsed this weather. It's no excuse though, I used to be able to just write any old horse-shite off the top of my head. Some would contend that I still do, and that this is half the problem. Maybe I should maybe sell the bike and find something else to do.............. On the upside, there will be more Frederick Characteracter stories coming along (if you can bear the suspense of waiting for the next installment!), as well as a few more painfully unamusing 'celebrity endorsements'. The Seasons1:Autumn photo blog is coming to an end, so do please have a look. There shall be a new one in the spring, going by the entirely predictable title of Seasons2:Spring I'm also adding stuff to my Fotonomy account, though 'd say the site is worth going to just to see some of the stunning photos posted up by the other members.

Love Life, Love Liver

This weeks celebrity endorsement comes courtesy of Mike Love, lead singer of the Beach Boys. Hey folks! Mike Love of the Beach Boys here! Y'know, when I'm not spending my whole life touring with a clapped out oldies band, strutting about the stage like an old queen and suing folks, I haul me up a laptop and find out what that crazy motherfucker, The iLL Man is up to. Not much as it turns out, but you know, it's nice to see how the other half lives..................

I'll make this short, I'm late for my afternoon Transcendental Meditation session. Anyway, as I was saying to Paul McCartney in Rishikesh in 1968, the other day....... Later Bitches!

The Occassional Life Of Frederick Characteractor: Pt 2 - Hull

If I were to attempt to define Lawson, I'd regard him as a sardonic and slightly autistic Felix Unger to my Oscar Maddison. A constant source of both amusement and irritation. He had departed a week ago, off to Hull to see a sick relative. That's how he is, dropping everything to visit some ailing aunty or uncle at the drop of a hat. I’d only return home to dance on some one's grave to be honest, but even people I love and adore will be hard pressed to see me at their bedsides. I’ve let it be known to those I hold dear that they’ll never be forgiven if they form a vigil at my side in the final moments. I wouldn’t say I had missed him as such, his nit picking and mother hen clucking drove me wild at times, yet it was reassuring that when he was around, things stayed in balance. When he wasn’t around, chaos ruled and I merely did it’s bidding. Anyway, ever the good little housekeeper, he made me rudely aware of his return and had me up and about at the most ungodly hour imaginable. I was simply not designed to be awake at 8am, but the droning hoover and the sound of Radio 2 whacked up to eleven on the HiFi in the living room ensured that I would never get back to the sweet slumber I had become accustomed to in the past week. I pondered the situation as I pulled on two roughly similar socks that looked like they had endured the least amount of wear since they last visited the washing machine. It looked as if the back door would be my only option for escape. The state the house was in after five days of neglect and hedonism would, quite frankly, have left even the most dissolute of souls wringing their hands in horror. The withering look I’d get from the old tart if I was to attempt to go out the front door would haunt me for most of the morning and I could live without the guilt for another day at least………. I made my way to the back door, only realising too late that the escape route had been ‘alarmed’ with the biggest ruddy set of wind chimes I’d ever seen. Great big metallic fuckers that seemed to descend to the floor. They clattered and clanged endlessly over my head for what seemed like an eternity. They continued to clank away for a few seconds more before I tried to bring them under control, with little success. I only ended up making more noise. The hoover had gone off by now and the radio was down to a sensible level, so Lawson couldn’t help but hear the melee and came scuttling through to the kitchen. Lawson loved wind chimes. I loathed the bloody things, naturally, and constantly complained about him bringing home a new set to put up somewhere around the house. There are senile 90 year old women who would consider you crazy if you did that. That said, we didn’t need a burglar alarm, the last guy to attempt a break and entry job made a noise like a gang of drunken Hari Krishna's and was soon chased into the night. Still, I failed to see why we needed them dangling from the doorway of every room. I had often wondered what one would bring back as a souvenir from a place like Hull. If you were Lawson, you would bring back some windchimes of course. Then again, he could visit the moon and find a gift shop selling the fucking things………… “You’re up early” “Am I?” I replied in feigned ignorance. “I have to get to Euston for half nine, I’m supposed to meet my agent” My agent didn't see anyone before midday, and Lawson knew it. He looked at me like I was a child deceiving it's mother. Which strictly speaking, was true, but we won't get into that just now. I slunk out of the back door, feeling his sad, limpid eyes boring into me with admonishing pity. The last thing I needed or wanted. When you literally crawl home at 3am four times a week, it's a sensation that grows old very quickly........... I left the house with the notion that if I got drunk quickly enough, everything would stop being true.

People Were So Much More Attractive In 1993

Dedicated to mania inducing bores everywhere.

Gob Rot

It started late afternoon on Tuesday. One of the old pegs in the back row was starting to get a little agitated. Caused me no end of gip, so after sleeping on it, I decided that it was a case of 'better out that in' and off I trotted to the Dental Hospital. Ah, the Dental Hospital, that last hope of the impoverished and the jakey old sot, at least it was last time I visited. Back then, it was a case of turning up, taking a ticket and waiting yr turn, no questions asked, no fees demanded. This weather it's all appointments and the recommendation that one brings along at least thirty quid to cover their butchery, though it's nice to see that they still don't tend to ask too many questions. For yr money you get a cheery, affable chap who displays the x-ray of your crumbling molar on a little screen that swings round in front of you as you recline in the more than comfortable chair, before wrenching out the abscessed fucker with little or no fuss. Lovely.

Anyway, I've been feeling a little crappy over the past few days. The swelling from the extraction and the injections is only just starting to go down. I'd recommend that all you kids out there brush your teeth twice a day, but then that's what I did and see where it got me...........!!

So, three times a day it is. Oh, and stay away from booze, Coca Cola, crisps, chocolate, curry...........all the stuff that's good...............

Nah, give me a toothless grin and searing agony any day of the week.......................

I keep making promises to myself to enlist at a nearby NHS dental practice, but I have the feeling that even that would bankrupt me given the current state of my piggy bank. I should have acted long ago and got my mouth sorted, but given that the last lot of treatment was both extensive and expensive, part of you just thinks 'Fuck it!!' and leaves it at that................

The Occasional Life Of Frederick Characteractor: Pt1 - Trousers

“Lawson!!” I yelled, as I splayed my gangly frame out on the floor of the study. A pitiful looking figure appeared in the doorway and looked in askance at me. I ignored his insolence and enquired as to the whereabouts of my good trousers. “They’re still hanging from the barbed wire at the rec ground. I saw them this morning as I went for the papers.” The memories of my monstrous behaviour the previous night emerged all too quickly from the darker corners of my hung-over brain. The convoluted afternoon drinking games with Charlie and his mother in law at their flat in Hammersmith, the ‘Bachelorette Party’ we crashed in Chelsea, the stolen vintage champagne bottles used as tenpins in a quiet suburban street at 2am……………………….. The bit involving my trousers was a blank though. I half suspected Lawson was pulling my chain on this one, but I’d never known him to have a particularly waggish sense of humour, and I’d have been horrified to see him develop one at this late stage. I had consumed rather more than normal to be honest and it wouldn’t have surprised me at all if i’d staggered home in nothing but my grubby longjohns.

“Ok, what about my white tennis slacks?” Silence. Lawson was no longer in the doorway. Probably off dis-infecting the dis-infectant he dis-infected the toilet with only five minutes earlier. “Even those revolting chinos you bought me…..?” I called. Nothing. "Some manservant you turned out to be!" I hollered with mock indignance. I gave up, lay back and stared at the ceiling again, deciding it was best to think about things that made me happy. My cousin Emma popped into my head. “No Freddie!, bad boy…… I muttered to myself. Definitely out of bounds. Just because Charlie was doing a tad more than lodging with his mother in law, didn’t mean I had to go down a similar route myself. Lord No! She did make me happy though, such a delightful lass, short brown hair last I saw her, a wicked smile and that ‘I dare you’ look in her eyes. She also never had a good word to say for me, which just made me all the fonder of her. I thought of Fridays in the local boozer, suburban train rides on bright afternoons, playing chess with the cat, fishing on canal banks, washing in the park fountain last summer because one of Lawsons hideously prissy hag friends had decided to stay for a month and couldn’t stand to use the bath after I’d taken my weekly ’rinse’…………………. All these things made me feel a bit better about being hungover and ignored and trouserless and lying on a cold floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of a crumbling Edwardian semi in North London .

A Scotsman On A Horse!

Wednesday started with bright sunshine, a hopeful heart and a foot full of dog shite.... Cheers! People who let their dogs shit the pavements are, along with cyclists, creationists and people who think soap operas are real, my least favourite people in the world. Never mind rubbing Fido's nose in it, I'd say a face full of reeking dog muck might stop the fuckers being so careless in future. The result of said failure to 'hurdle the turd' was that I had to spend ten minutes in the gents at work scraping the......... (snip!) Yeah, I'll say no more.............. Let's just say that when I bought a much needed new pair of work shoes a few days back, I was looking for sturdiness over style. The downside of this is that the deep cut treads on the soles aren't terribly conducive to a quick wipe off on a patch of grass or in a puddle. This was 9.05am. It could only get fucking worse! It didn't really, but my glasses did break five minutes after I got in the door that night............. At work I have turned into a blank eyed hive of irritating ticks and twitches. It's partly a defense mechanism, designed to fend off the attentions of the people who sit around me, a bit like someone who bags a double or triple seat on a bus or plane for themselves by talking to themselves loudly and rubbing their crotch repeatedly. It's also a reaction to my working environment. Of course, the person next to me does it too from time to time, but she's just copying me. She thinks humming the tune from the Magic Roundabout is awful clever. I mutter to myself and hum bits of whatever is rolling around the empty corridors of my mind because I don't want her to talk to me and I'm bored out of my skull. She hums to herself because she wants everyone to notice her and remark upon how witty and amusing she is, and ask her what it is she's humming, at which point she'll bore them cockless until the end of time. There is an upside to all this brain-itching madness. I have become a bit good at the weekly football predictions. I look forward to relieving my colleagues of their readies for quite some time to come. Maybe it's the cabin fever talking, but I aim to hoover up as much cash as possible between now and next May. Who knows, it may help keep me solvent long enough to survive the financial meltdown. Hell, I could even fire it into an Irish fucking bank account in the laughably mistaken belief that it'll be safe there............... Anyway, all charmless grousing aside, I'd like to give a little punt the Glasgow Guerrilla Gardening blog, curated by Clairwil. It's in it's infancy just now, but as the seasons tick past and we grow in number as well as new sites to cultivate and beautify, so shall the blog become more rounded. Found this over at The Quiet Road. It made me smile.............

They're Perfectly Safe.........Provided Of Course That You Believe In Them!

Reading the coverage of the current economic flap and the absurd manner in which the money markets work, put me in mind of the 'El Mystico & Janet' sketch from Monty Python (above).

Anyway, I'm off to bed now. I've got a rotter of a cold coming on, it's been following me about like nobodies business for about a fortnight, and now it seems about ready to give it to me with both barrels. It also seems like my pc is on it's last legs. It's taken me about half an hour to typeabout thirty words. Can't be arsed fighting with it, fuck the spelling mistakes and typos.......