New Blog

I've been keeping this one under my hat while I got it set up and populated. It's basically a collection of what I feel are my better photos. Some you'll have seen before, some you won't.

I'll be adding to it as I go, so keep an eye out............

It can be found Here

The Passing Thoughts Of A Passing Idiot

Like any semi-sane homo sapien, the moronic nature of our world is something I try to shelter from as much as possible. There are times though, when I feel like a bum caught in a thunderstorm with nothing more than a cardboard box and skinful of Special Brew to protect me from the elements. Cases in point...............

First up, Jordan gives it to us with both barrels. Apparently she reckons the death penalty is brilliant. Fair enough I say, her and countless millions think the same thing, so who am I to tell them not to ?

No, what vexes me is her notion that all rapists should be, er, raped.....?

I'm intrigued as to how exactly such a punishment would be meted out. I mean, is she proposing that a task force be employed to rape the rapists? Surely if you have people raping rapists, then that makes these people rapists too, so you would have to employ another group to rape the rapists you employed to rape the rapists. In turn, they too would become rapists and so on, until you have the rather absurd, not to mention unpleasant situation, whereby everyone on the planet becomes a rapist. I'm on two minds to be honest. Jordan is either one of the stupidest human beings on the face of the planet, or she's one kinky old tart.

One to ponder mes enfants, one to ponder..................

Another mystery of the universe is how Ulrika won Celeb Big Brother. I haven't watched much of this particular BB, but every time I did see her, she seemed to be doing a fair impression of someone having a plate of shite wafted under her nose. A fine performance, I have to admit.....

Anyway, I leave you with the news that drinking apple juice every day can prevent Alzheimer's disease. What journal of medicine has broken this news? Why, none other than the Daily Express! How long before they run a front page declaring that drinking your own piss will guarantee eternal life?

Anyway, I would imagine that for most Daily Express readers, the new found medicinal properties of apple juice have come just a little too late, no?

One can but hope...........

Frankly, Mr Shankly

Posting in the wee hours. Wouldn't have it any other way........... As a child, I always responded well to late nights with the 'grown up's', listening to odd and apocryphal tales about strange family members. Time moves differently for a nine year old than it does for an adult, and eleven pm always seems like the dead of night. These days, an early night is half twelve, so such formative experiences have obviously served their purpose for this trainee hedonist. Of course, it's all Vic 20's, ZX 81's and Acorn Electron's these days.................The art of being bored senseless by ageing relatives seems to be all but gone............... I awoke this morning to find Police tape everywhere. It covered most of the back court, as well as the street in front of my flat. Even getting down towards Maryhill road was a chore, having to be directed by various officers of the law until I was clear of the area of forensic interest. Seemingly a man in his early forties had keeled over right outside my bedroom wall on Friday night. No suspicious circumstances it would seem, just common-or-garden natural mortal termination, the likes of which happens a thousand times a day. It's just that this guy did it 'alfresco', rather than lie rotting in his flat for six months, until the neighbours started to object to the smell. Since I'm of the belief that one of the finest things a human being can do is to die and make one's neighbours retch from the stench of one's putrifying corpse, I can't help feeling that this chap may have missed his chance. Still, he got the full 'men in white suits with camera's' treatment, so it wasn't all bad............... Talking of glib attitudes towards death............. Latest score from the Gaza Strip. Game off due to corpse strewn, blood soaked, crater riddled pitch. Match re-scheduled for sometime in the distant future, when the price of human life is regarded highly enough to print receipts. Then there's work. The human pustule I work under seems to go from strength to strength. As the department dwindles and the heart of the place dies in front of us, the little pissant charged with the daily running of our part of the office seems to become more and more virulent. A major lesson to us all in the dangers of allowing unctious, egregious, time serving little turds to hold control over anything or anyone. He reminds me of Major Major from Catch 22, but without the positive personality traits. We're talking about someone who tells you to bring any work problems to him, and then treats you like a mental retard when you do. His basic personality defect is that he breathes. I'm of the belief that he can't help it, that he's a seriously tedious, small minded, passive aggressive little arsehole who has no business being in charge of anything more important than the stationery order. My escape is almost complete. I shall not be denied. Ok, nothing more to see........... Go on, bugger off! ;)

Unsent Letters From A Dead Man: Part 4

I stared through the smeared streaks of grime on my unloved, unwashed front windows and out at the start of another bright, cold and frosty December morning. I enjoyed these high pressure winter days, they made a fine change from the bleak, grey, windswept look that seemed to be highly fashionable at this time of year. I absently ground my athletes foot on the hard edged base of the breakfast table. The athlete didn't seem to mind, so I pleased myself and continued staring into the middle distance, sipping on a mug of sour tasting instant coffee and admiring the strange beauty inherent in the electricity sub-station opposite my flat, resplendent in it's coat of barbed wire encrusted fencing. The phone rang and evicted me rather brutally from my reverie. It's nice to be wanted. I wandered over and picked up the receiver. Karen's voice came hurtling out at me like a pack of startled wildebeest . "Oi! Fuckface!" she yelled. I held the phone away from my ear as she continued to shout good natured insults at me. "Darling, you really know how to come on to a guy" I oozed in mock sophistication. "Ha! I came onto you about five years ago Jim, but you didn't seem to notice" "I can't think why..........." "Your loss bawjaws. Talking of ham fisted attempts at romance, how did you get on with the bint from Belfast?" "She's from Dublin" I said, slightly testily. Karen picked up on my annoyance. "What's wrong with Belfast? Lovely town, great folk.........." "Nothing at all....." I said trying not to sound defensive. "For a start, Dublin and Belfast are in seperate countries, though don't tell that to the men in balaclavas. And then there's the small matter of accents..... It's a matter of accuracy to be honest..........." "Aye, ok," she butted in "The dyke from Dublin then. Doesn't sound as good though. So, how was it? DID YE PUMP HER?" "That's between me and my therapist" I countered. "Hah! So she pumped you? I thought she would" Karen was laughing now. "She raped my poor, defenceless wee baby, the bitch!" I waited for her to stop hooting like a loon. It took a good minute or two, but I patiently bided my time as her hilarity slowly ground to a halt. "Can you keep it down a bit?" I said, my patience starting to wear paper thin. "I don't mind your neighbours knowing what I get up to, but I can do without mine giving me funny looks on the landing........." "Everyone gives you funny looks Jim. I thought you'd be used to that by now...." I thanked her for her honesty, then filled her in with a brief and slightly euphemistic outline of my evening with Elaine. Karen listened intently for once, then asked the obvious question. "So, are you seeing her again?" I wasn't sure on that score. Elaine hadn't phoned me, I hadn't phoned her. She seemed to like me, but I couldn't help feeling I'd done my level best to scare her off with my painfully stand-offish behaviour. The brief silence was enough to give Karen her ammunition. "Aw, you didn't, did you? I can see it now. A night of passionate banging, and then 'Captain Romantic' goes and fucks it all up the next morning with his cold fish act. I know what you're like Jimbo, I've sen you in action!" I blushed furiously, and whilst I knew Karen couldn't see me, I knew she'd detect the admission of guilt in my voice. I decided to cut the conversation there and then. "Fuck you!" I sneered. Karen gave a benevolent chuckle and rang off with a promise. "Remember, I've got her number too. If you don't call her in the next hour, I'll phone her myself and tell her you're gay." "Why don't you go the whole hog and pretend to be my mother?" I shouted after her. The line went dead and I put the handset down. I shrugged, mainly for the benefit of my shadow on the wall, then wandered back to my previous vantage point. The crisp blue sky was still there. The white skin of frost glinting in the sunlight was still there. Unfortunately, so was my athletes foot.

Tall Tales

My entry for the latest short fiction competition at Clarity Of Night can be found HERE. Didn't like it at first, but the more I read it over....................

Well, it's growing on me. Let me know what you think.

Part 4 of Unsent Letters From A Dead Man is on it's way. Here are parts 1, 2 & 3

Cheers!

Brothers! Sisters!

Sad to hear Ron Ashton of The Stooges copped his whack the other day. Do you think this would be a bad time for me to join his myspace? Ron played guitar on the first two Stooges albums (bass on their third) and had been touring with the reformed Stooges or a few years now, looking like he'd had a few too many vesta chow meins in the intervening years. Not one of life's virtuoso guitarists, but then,I can't fucking stand virtuoso guitarists, so he was a bit of a hero to me..............

This is a good article I found.

This is my second attempt to post this. Cheers Blogger!

In The Cold Midwinter

Spilt beer, split trousers and another hike in the subway fare.

Interesting.