The Ill Man

I've Seen More Profundity In A Puddle Of Vomit On A Saturday Night.

2012-02-07T01:22:00.000Z

Fuck! Wish I'd known fifteen years ago that statements of the obvious and sixth form radicalism were the way to make a living in the art world...............

Christmas Casualties

2012-01-17T02:11:00.004Z

The post Christmas lethargy still clings. I've only just finished tidying away the festive decorations and ornaments and I'm still stumbling over boxes of shortbread and gift bags full of surprise booz, though sadly Peach Schnapps isn't my tincture of choice. Not because I don't like it you understand. Far from it.

It's just that the missus will boot me in the nuts if I so much as break the seal on it.

Mind, it would make a change for me to turn up in A&E with an actual injury for a change. Boxing Day saw possibly the most farcical and embarrassing trip I'll ever make to a casualty ward, barring any future miss-haps involving the hoover and an open bathrobe.

Ok, so I woke at about 2.30 am with a swollen eye. A film was forming over it with all red blotches and stuff. At this point, we have no idea what it is, but it's uncomfortable and getting worse. So, we jump in the car and head for the Royal as there was no surgery open until Wednesday. Two hours later, I get the call from the nurse to go through from the waiting room, leaving behind the ever increasing number of Boxing Day wounded (most of whom seemed to know each other) It was also around this time that the swelling started to go down and I realised what a silly sod I'd been. If I'd just gone back to bed, my eye would have been fine in the mornig, if a little crusty.

So, there I am, stuck in a cubicle for another 40 minutes or so whilst people with real problems are attended to and I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. Eventually, a slightly harassed looking doctor asks a few questions, does an eye exam on me and tells me I've merely popped a blood vessel in my eye whilst coughing or something. I leave apologetically, meet the missus and head back to the car feeling quite sure I've made a fairly decent last gasp bid for the title of Twat of the Year 2011.

Wouldn't surprise me if they've logged it down as an example to be quoted next time they publish figures detailing how much it costs the NHS to deal with Britain's hypochondriac population.....

And so I returned to my slumber, hoping I could pass it off as a bad dream.

A dream.....A dream....A dream........ A dream............

Then I wake up six hours later with the remnants of visions so strange, they automatically consign the previous nights antics to the back of my mind. How do you get jam from a cat? Well, you could take the jam off the cat and put it out of reach I suppose. Alternatively you can always cut the cat open and extract it.......

Dreams can tell you many things. A dream I had last night for instance, told me in no uncertain terms that I had unresolved issues regarding someone in my past. On the other hand, a dream about cutting open cats to harvest their 'jam' defies interpretation on every level. I don't care if you're someone who sees dead people, if you're an expert in Freudian analysis, or you just think dreams are the result of excess gas..........

There really is nothing you can say to someone whose subconscious mind decides to kick that sort of shit out of leftfield.

In other news, I am involved in a full scale war with my telephone. Since losing my job, I have become aware of just how many automated phone calls I receive in a day. Is it someone touting a service promising to retrieve miss-sold PPI? Is it a call centre in Delhi asking for Mr Nick Olsen?

The funniest one was my bank performing a customer service survey relating to the last time I visited the branch. I just told them everything was tickety-boo and left it at that. Seems wrong to kick a man while he's down.....

I leave it off the hook now, unless I'm expecting a call from an employment agency. Even then, it's tempting to ignore the bastards. These companies are an absolute fucking disaster area, but it's all there is for the average Pleb At Large........

Hell, maybe I can get myself a job with a PPI recovery company. It's probably the biggest growth area in the British economy along with pawn shops, online money lenders and gold smelters. Seriously, the recovery companies will take any old shite as evidence.

"Yes, I took out PPI on a credit card in 2003. No, I don't have the paperwork or any details. Really? You can get me 3 Grand anyway? Braw!"

The banks are in such a hurry to fire through these PPI claims that it's almost certain that some fraudulent claims will pay out. The money's earmarked, they're not contesting the claims....... The message seems to be "Fill yer boots, the damage is done!"

Not sure phoning up to ask if you had a nice time at the branch on your last visit is gonna make much difference.

Escape From Facebook Island

2011-12-23T16:07:00.000Z

"After many months at seas, I was picked up by a passing Blogger account and hauled to safety. And so it was that I made my way back into the world of structured, intelligent Internet activity.................."

Relatively speaking......

One thing I have concluded about Facebook is that the folk you spend social time with, be they friends, family or members of your local urban riot re-enactment society, are always best kept at arms length in the online realm. It's only a matter of time before you start to regard them all as smug, banal, tedious cunts wishing they would shut the fuck up about their Christmas shopping and stop sending those desperate, hateful requests to copy some sentimental shite to your status (the implication being that if you don't, then you're not a "True Friend" ).

I will miss the Fraping though, but that's between me and my counsellor.......

Something else I may need professional help for is my bottomless contempt for Chuggers. I think it would help if they all wore David Cameron masks. It would make it so much easier to spit on them and call them loathsome shit licking cockroaches. So much more satisfying than quickening your step, avoiding eye contact and politely, yet firmly saying "no thanks, not today". Or not. Your choice, your time, your money, your bank details......

Of course, one of my stops whilst in town was BHS, on the off chance they might have a cheap piece of gimmicky Christmas tat to buy for someone you're not entirely sure wants a present off you, but you feel obliged cos your missus has bought their missus something. Five minutes of wandering around the reduced, yet still over priced alcoholic gift boxes ("For That Special Piss Head In Your Life This Christmas!!") was more than enough to make me realise that a bottle of Smirnoff would be cheaper and better appreciated.

It also struck me that if they can make lager that tastes of piss, how much harder would it be to market piss that tastes of lager? A strapline for the product? How about "Still tastes better than a warm can of Miller!"

OK, that's all from me, I'm fucking off now. Just a wee word of congratulations to IJ Mellis Cheesemongers on Great Western Road. Yesterday they achieved world record status for having the most middle class people in one confined space, a record previously held by an over-priced wine merchant in Hyndland on New Years Eve 1998.

Merry Christmas!

The Final Word

2010-11-11T22:04:00.008Z

Good Night & God Bless. It's been a blast........

Thanks: Cocktails, Szelsofa, Clairwil, Kim, Larry, Rodent, Velo Gubbed Legs, Some Chilean Woman, Curlews In The Goyt, Billy, Last Years Girl, Binty, Edge Of Nowhere, Machine Gun Thompson, Oblong Scone, Bete de Jour, Alan @ This Moment (still much missed) and many more who popped in and out over the years. Dave Duff, I'm happy to report, is still a cunt.

John Grant

2010-09-28T02:18:00.003+01:00

This is a song by the Czars, John Grant's first band. More to come later in the week. Hope you like.....

Five Years Feels Like A Lifetime

2010-09-26T02:07:00.005+01:00

It is now, more than any other time in my life, that I feel like an old fart on the internet. Yes, Facebook went down for a couple of hours on Thursday and it's a fucking news story.........

Oh how I chuckled as the memories came flooding back. Trying to get logged into Blogger. Trying to post up pictures on Blogger. Trying to post anything on Blogger!!

There will come a time when every single fucking lifeform on the face of this God-forsaken ball of dirt will have a Facebook account, so I think it's only right that the current users get broken in with regard to regular 'outages'. They need to get used to the misery of not being able to log in and make inane comments about things other people have said, or inform the world at large that they "Can't wait for the weekend". They need to find the mental courage to be able to go a whole afternoon without displaying baby scans or spouting poorly thought out political opinions.

They need to understand that Farmville may well be unavailable for weeks on end on some occassions, and that all meaning will evacuate their lives in this interim period.

Those who can live with such a burden will grow strong and forge normal lives, doing something less boring instead.

The rest will open fucking Blogger accounts and make my ruddy life a misery again.

The cunts.

Listen To This No 18

2010-09-16T00:27:00.004+01:00

One of the greatest songs ever written. Adore it you twats, and dare not mention that gaggle of soft metal twots from Sheffield!!

Entries of note in that chart. Hamilton Bohannon. Twice't. Next!

You Don't Know Who You're Dealing With, Do You?

2010-08-25T20:04:00.000+01:00

I’m behind the clock and I have to deliver. I take a left at the crescent, down the hill, gathering speed, crouched behind the bars, a devotee at the church of aerodynamics. What was it old Kev Schwantz used to say? “See God, then back off….” Many people want me to die. Some for good reason, others for no reason at all. They all have their chances and I don’t always make it hard for them. It’s the way of my kind. The roads are quiet and I open her out, feel the power throb through the bars, the hum and rumble of the engine and road surface, the trees at the side of the road pressing down on me, accentuating the sense of speed. My mother had warned me about this sort of work, but nights like this always made it worthwhile. A gravel driveway leads me to the door of a large white building. I park the bike and extract the package, checking my flanks for possible attacks. I press the doorbell and wait…….. “You’re late! Let me check this stuff.” “It’s not very hot, is it? I asked for Meat Feast, not Pepperoni!! And I said no bloody pineapple on the Special! Jesus! you people! Take it all back, I’m not payin’ for this crap……….” The door slams, but I know he’s bluffing. I wait for the lights to go out then post it, bit by bit, through his letterbox. He’ll thank me in the morning………..

The Weekend Went Much As Planned

2010-08-25T19:53:00.000+01:00

I told her I couldn’t meet her anymore, I told her that it was over. She dropped her head so I couldn’t see what was in her eyes. Tears? Yes, probably tears. She was sobbing, but almost silently, for which I was grateful. If you didn’t know better you would have been forgiven for thinking she was merely staring at her coffee. I got up to leave, not having bought anything, as I hadn’t anticipated that it would be anything other than the briefest of meetings. I stopped on the way to the door and looked back. She was still sitting with her head bowed. I walked back to her and she looked up at me through smeared mascara and grimy tears, a pleading look on her face. I put some coins on the formica table, to pay for the coffee. I’m not completely heartless, she’d get over it in a day or two, just as I would. They say she had been hanging from the branches of the tree for two days when they cut her down. I was out of town on the day, much to my relief. The post-mortem found she had been pregnant. Terrible. To do that to an innocent life, sheer selfishness, only adding weight to the belief that I was right to curtail our dalliance. It would never have worked, though I still wonder to this day whose offspring she was carrying............

Please Keep To The Left

2010-08-25T19:50:00.000+01:00

Susannah. On my mind again Susannah..... The roof came in on us a long time ago Suz, but you still hook up in my head when I need you least. It's not a bad thing, but you're obscuring my view honey...... Eyes down on the escalator again. Glass and steel and feet. The unholy trinity. The sound of children pulls me back to reality and a shiver runs down my spine. They're heading down the way into the Metro. I relax and I return my gaze to the figure in front of me. A tall gent with fair hair, a grey raincoat and a battered brown briefcase fidgets in front of me. Behind is an elderly Indian woman carrying what looks to be a months shopping in a thin blue polythene bag, stretched to translucency and defying gravity. Neither looks like they'll make it home intact. Subconsciously I move my hand to my left pocket and back again. Safe. Hidden. They'll never know. To a detached viewpoint, we all crest the rise as one. From where I stand, the horizon never seems to come. Suddenly I catch sight of the shiny station floor and with my last ounce of will I switch my mind off and wait. I see the shoes. It's all I need. Grey espadrilles, white socks....... Pop Pop!! Then I'm at the station exit before anyone knows what happened. Susannah. On my mind again Susannah. That one was for you, wherever you are......

Testing The Water

2010-08-18T19:54:00.012+01:00

There was an odd smell I couldn't quite place as I entered the main room of the club. From the doorway I saw two pairs of legs sticking out of the gap the end of the bar. The legs were tangled and moving furiously around each other. I figured that maybe Harry was a little frisky since he split with Dora, had asked one of the barmaids to come in and "help with inventory" 'You tryin' to screw the cleanin' lady again Harry, ya sick fuck!' I hollered. No answer. I moved in closer, the grunting and scuffling more audible now. They sounded like they were really attacking each other. I stopped about thirty feet from the bar and decided this was not something I needed to see. I was about to turn and leave them to rut like fiends, when a distinctly un-female voice roared in pain. Then a choking, gurgling noise and a handful of laboured breaths....... Silence. 'Ok, not good' I thought. This wasn't the sort of thing you associated with harmless employer/employee slap and tickle sessions. I ran to the bar and peered over. Harry was crouched over the motionless body of a guy with long greasy hair, a goatee and blue denim jacket. 'Ok, now that's kinky' I said with a raised eyebrow. Harry looked up at me, sweating and dishevilled and laid a bloody knife on the bar top. It was what he used to cut the lemons for drinks. The body the knife had just been removed from was that of Bobby Cain, a psychotic small time pimp and dealer who maintained his foothold in the underworld with periodic acts of wanton, if localised violence. He had been a great deal of trouble to us in our enterprises in the past few months and was never willing to accept that we had no interest in cutting him in on what we had going. It looked like Harry had finally put this particular deal to bed.

'So, I see ya iced that fucker at last bro" I smirked as I ran my fingers absently about in the blood from the murder weapon . Harry stared balefully at me.

'Fuck yr comedy routines you ugly cocksucker, just get me a bucket of warm water and some towels so I can mop up what's left of Huggy Bear here.'

I did as I was asked, I could tell he was in no mood. Mr Cain's absence would not go un-noticed for too long, too many folk were dependent on him, and I'm not talking about his clientele or his girls. The cops cut him enough slack in return for info on some of the bigger fish in the pond. I had a nasty feeling Harry & I were about to graduate.......

'Oh, and a couple of laundry bags too. We're gonna have to cart this fucker off and give him a proper burial.....'

'How do you give a piece of shit like that a proper burial?' I asked

'Well,' continued Harry with a tone of rising impatience, 'we put him in the back of the van, drive upstate for a few hours, and then dump the little bitch in the deepest, darkest lake we can find, complete with enough ballast to make sure he never re-surfaces.

'Do we have a.........'

'The boat will meet us at 8pm. Any more questions?'

I was impressed. All sorted and the body wasn't even cold. It looked like it had all been planned, apart from my appearance. I hadn't been due in that day and it made sense that as few people be involved as possible. I was here now though and I fancied a bit of a trip out of town. Upstate was nice at this time of year, though the idea of sharing a van with a dead body didn't fill me with joy. Harry sat at the wheel of the van, the engine turning over gently while he stared trance like into the alleyway. I climbed in and immediately realised just how tense he was. After about a minute, we hadn't moved and I noticed his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that they were almost devoid of colour. I prised his hands off the wheel and opened the door for him.

'This ones mine, you've done the hard bit' I assured him as he climbed wearily from the vehicle.

The map was in the glove compartment and the cell phone would ring and three men would set sail for a new world in the dead of night. Poor Bobby wouldn't be making the return journey of course, we were dropping him off at his very own 'pool party for one'.

I'd heard he wasn't a very good swimmer..................

Unsent Letters From A Dead Man Pt 6

2010-08-15T01:32:00.005+01:00

Parts 1-5

In the darkness we lay, two rigid forms staring into the void and barely touching. Only thin sheets on a night like this, cool at first, but soon clinging like cobwebs to our bodies, a different sort of discomfort. There was only the sound of the clock on the wall as it plucked it's way through another minute, like someone patiently trying to light a cigarette with an empty bic lighter. Forever. It barely filled the void of silence. I considered reaching out to the battered old boom box at the side of the bed and flicking on the World Service at low volume, hopefully to listen to a discussion about the mating habits of Barn Owls or a documentary about cheese. It never got that far. Elaine rolled over and I felt her against me for the first time that night. It felt good. "Umm....I spoke to your brother today......" I ventured, unable to hold it in any longer She returned to her original position. "Jim, I don't have a brother" she said after a short pause, with an air of mild annoyance and confusion. This was awkward. I wasn't exactly sure where to go next with the topic, but I ploughed on regardless. Like Magnus Magnusson, I had started, so I would finish. "It was random. I was in a pub, The Stables I think, hiding from the rain and he came out of the kitchen cross eyed with rage, saw me, threatened me with a knife and told me to stay away from you unless I wanted to aquaint my balls with the meat slicer in his kitchen." "Not very good at following orders, are you?" replied Elaine, with the slightest glint of a smirk in her voice." "Yeah, my mother realised early on that the best way to keep me out of harms way was to tell me to talk to strangers and always play near water. Anyway, what I really want to know is how he knew who I was..."

Elaine sighed wearily. "Ok. First up, if he's who I think he is, he isn't my brother. I used to work with him and we were fairly friendly, but it got to the point where he wouldn't leave me alone. It was quite charming at first, but it got creepy quite quickly. I got out, but I'd keep seeing him in odd places, keep feeling his hand on my shoulder in bars and clubs. He seemed to mean no harm, just felt very protective towards me, so I let it go. My guess is that he saw us together in town, and when you happened to pop into his workplace for a swift half, he went a wee bit mental"

I looked quizically at her, eyes adjusted to the darkness now and picking out the trace of her facial features in the dim light from the street that managed to work it's way through my curtains. It sounded like a fairly plausable story, though just a little too perfect and rehearsed. I decided not to bring up the pregnancy issue the bar regular had mentioned. That way madness lay. At the very least, madness could wait until a more opportune moment to be prodded into service.

"Any more of these crazies from your past you haven't told me about yet?" I asked wearily.

"Who knows....." she trailed off.

There was a brief silence. I assumed she was gathering her thoughts.

"It's an occupational hazard for gorgeous Irish barmaids", she sighed, before turning to me, licking my cheek, turning over again and drifting off into a seemingly deep, snore laden sleep.

God knows we weren't normal.

I liked that though, it felt like good form. Most of all, it felt like reason enough to keep on going in a world that looked like it wanted me to give up and crawl into a corner as soon as was humanly possible.

Hup Holland Hup!

2010-07-10T01:50:00.003+01:00

Ah, total football. A lovely idea, but sadly, all too beatable with the correct organisation. As for Sunday's final, may the best team win, as long as I'm not bored shitless the way I was on Wednesday night.

Prediction? Much as I'd love to see Holland win, I tip Spain to nullify the Dutch and just do enough to win the old Joolz Reemay. Just like they've done in any other game I've ever seen them play.............

No Fun!

Listen To This! No 19

2010-07-01T00:16:00.004+01:00

More Sensational Alex Harvey Band. No Complaints Department.

The song that gloriously rounded off their last LP. Or at least it did in the original pressings. Due to various obscure legal reasons too ridiculous to get into here, it was jettisoned from the later pressings of the original release, as well as in subsequent re-issues. Sad really, as it's the most wonderful, concise, bitter-sweet assessment of life I've ever heard.

The slide video lacks picture quality, but I like it nonetheless.

Listen To This! No 18

2010-07-01T00:03:00.002+01:00

The Sensational Alex Harvey Band do their utmost to move an audience of Norwegian hippies towards something approaching a state of alertness, in 1974. Just.

For an idea of how much Harvey developed the routine for this song, here's the recording he did with his 'Soul Band' ten years earlier.

Listen To This No 17

2010-06-25T01:04:00.002+01:00

Captain Beefheart - Ice Cream For Crow

Rather catchy actually, definitely Eurovision material........ :p

Will The Night

2010-06-03T02:49:00.002+01:00

Goodbye Mum. I love you.

Listen To This No 16

2010-05-22T21:41:00.002+01:00

Summer In The City by The Lovin' Spoonful.

So, that's where They Might Be Giants got Birdhouse In Your Soul from.............

The 1st day of summer is upon us, what with it's oppressive heat and cloudless skies. I suppose this sums it up perfectly.............

Except it fails to mention the sunburnt blondes, the hideous fashion disasters and pissed up neds shouting and breaking bottles outside your house........ I feel certain that John Sebastian held back on those verses to improve the songs commercial potential ;)

Grovelling Salutations To Our New Overlords................And Nick Clegg

2010-05-12T01:52:00.006+01:00

Amusing vid clip posted on rubbish Youtube variant 'Daily Motion', before the election. Thanks to Flying Rodent commenter 'BeauBoDOr' for that....

"Fancy A Shag?" indeed..........

Oh well, at least I can wind my dad up about being a Tory voter now. Tactical voting will get you nowhere young man!

Listen To This No 15

2010-04-25T01:04:00.002+01:00

Kleenex, before the snotrag people got on their case and they became Liliput. Swiss Punx Rool!

Listen To This No 14

2010-04-07T02:10:00.002+01:00

Sneaky Feelings: Husband House.

Last in the New Zealand series. A lovely, lovely song. Lush as fuck, with that frail/angelic vocal. Nice video too, the dance moves on the beach are ace.

Oh, and the "Out Now On Flying Nun" message in the sand at the end made me smile. Now That's advertising!!

Listen To This No 13:

2010-04-07T00:46:00.002+01:00

Verlaines: Pyromaniac

I love this song. Could listen to it over and over. Full of hooks, but kind of impenetrable too.

Listen To This No 12

2010-04-01T03:08:00.001+01:00

Horribly recorded, yet unnervingly catchy. The Clean - Tally Ho.

No2 in tonights New Zealand Story.....

Listen To This No 11

2010-04-01T02:59:00.002+01:00

Doledrums - The Chills. Hmmm.

Listen To This No 10

2010-03-16T01:08:00.004Z

"The Something of Boris" by Adam & Joe. Bring back Timothy Dalton, that's what I say.....

Listen To This No 9

2010-02-27T01:48:00.005Z

Part Two of the Friday Night Tartan Spactacular.

The Delagadoes: Everything Goes Around The Water. See also: Pull The Wires From The Wall and I Fought The Angels

Nice!

Listen To This No8

2010-02-27T01:42:00.004Z

Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken - Camera Obscura

Lovely vid & sweet song, complete with dancing couple. Juxtapositionally Morose looking singer comes as an added extra.

Part 1 of a double bill.

Listen To This! No7

2010-02-14T01:46:00.002Z

My Name Is Mud - Primus Och! It's everyone's favourite lead bassist Les Claypool and his band of merry motherfuckers, so it is..... Fine video & as close as you'll get to me admitting that bass slapping can be fun....

Listen To This! No6

2010-01-28T23:41:00.005Z

Stiv Bators; Dead Boy, Lord of The New Church & hospital avoiding traffic accident statistic. Here he is jingle-jangling away with this rather catchy little New Wave number. Bless!

Listen To This! No5

2010-01-26T23:33:00.003Z

Jale. Canadian early 90's female quartet. From Halifax Nova Scotia I think. Indie shmindie, but very catchy. That song is called Promise and it's ok. This one is 'Not Happy', & it's better, but the fuckers won't allow embedding for some reason or other. Enjoy!

Listen To This No4

2010-01-23T23:29:00.001Z

Car by Built To Spill. I rather like the vid, constructed from Congress Library footage.

Duck And Cover!!

Listen To This! No3

2010-01-22T01:24:00.004Z

"Don't Look To The Heavens, They Will Tell You Nothing......."

Cop Shoot Cop - Room 429

Never a fan, but this was a much played track on an old Big Cat Records compilation I still have kicking about somewhere. Typical early nineties vid, but none the worse for it.

Listen To This! No2

2010-01-21T00:53:00.002Z

Amphetamine - Rocket From The Tombs. C.F. Dead Boys, Pere Ubu, Lords Of The New Church, Peter Laughner.

Listen To This! No1

2010-01-19T23:46:00.001Z

Wipers - Window Shop For Love

Hyvaa joulua! Jutdlime pivdluarit ukiortame pivdluaritlo! Gajan Kristnaskon! Nollaig chridheil huibh!

2009-12-26T02:40:00.004Z

Merry Fucking Boxing Day!

Merry Christmas From The Headless Ukeman

2009-12-20T00:07:00.002Z

The Art Of Hate, The Joy Of Despair

2009-12-18T23:44:00.011Z

When life feels like one long hangover anyway, you tend to stop bothering about how much you drink.

How anyone works in a call centre I will never quite know. It's a brutal, joyless, mindlessly repetitive job that gives no satisfaction whatsoever. For every person who tells you you're a wonderful human being, there are a dozen graceless, hateful bastards calling you a lying, vindictive, unco-operative, incompetent cunt. They aren't interested in the fact the new system is badly implemented, barely tested rubbish. They don't care that garbage in means garbage out. Simply put, it's your fault and you're filth on a stick.

Not that I know from personal experience, and not that I work as a call centre agent, but God help me, working in an environment of constantly raised voices creates it's own stress by proxy. I do outbound chaser calls (pussy work!), and going on the off call confidences of my colleagues, I hope it remains that way for as long as I'm trapped on the 4th floor. I need their hell like I need a 2nd arsehole.

Just some of the chancers you have to fend off:

Solicitors who think a 1988 Sharp fax machine will be sufficient to send large amounts of documentation to ANYONE!. Then complain like the retarded public schoolboy tossers they are when ignorant fools such as ourselves cannot accept a legal document that has several pages missing or distorted and the Mortgagor names ommitted. N.B. Solicitors who cannot spell are an interesting sideshow, but are easily humiliated into compliance.

Or how about the modern day Del Boy twats from the branches who tell the customers they will have their funds in five minutes flat, leading to the most almighty clusterfucks at our end, as we chase the ever fading shadows of prior lenders, guarantors, 3rd parties, 3rd party solicitors, Alistair Darling and the Fucking President of Fucking Ethiopia. Some people do need money in insanely tight time limits, but for the most part, I theorise that someone out there just wants to get their monthly bonus in.

Finally we have the customer. The rube, the dupe, the fool, and possibly the hardest to deal with as you do actually feel for them. Being led up the garden path by a solicitor & a business manager can't be much fun, so it's lucky there's a call centre somewhere in Jockoland for them to call up and vent their frustrations at. After all, we're not human beings and it doesn't really matter, does it?

Does it?

Nah, 'course not.......

The Headless Uke-man Rides Again

2009-12-18T23:19:00.003Z

Play dumb and don't ever give them an excuse to use you.

How I Got Here

2009-12-10T22:14:00.014Z

Small Worlds

2009-11-21T17:21:00.002Z

I think you'll find this to be a deeply satisfactory way to waste a spare half hour of your time. A curious, atmospheric little exploration game. Click Here To Play

Enjoy!

Joy!

2009-11-09T22:46:00.003Z

I have a record player once again! It came out of the blue really, my girlfriend called to tell me she had something for me when she came through on Saturday. I was mildly curious, but didn't push for any info as she seemed to want to keep it a surprise. Anyway, as surprises go, it takes a bit of beating. It belonged to her late father, but had been gathering dust for some time. I'd actually seen it at her house, but thought it was just a radio, so thought nothing else of it until I opened the box on Saturday. Let's just say that the importance of being able to play my Flying Saucer Attack albums again cannot be underplayed, and I was rather overjoyed. It might not be state of the art, it might be a glorified dansette, it might sound a bit tinny, but fuck it! Most of the music I own is 'a bit tinny'. It works and I can hear stuff again that I will never track down on CD without bankrupting myself. The downside of this development is that I now have around twenty albums duplicated on CD. I just hate the thought of paying twice for anything.................. Bah! Anyway, Hallelujah! I can now assault the 2nd hand record shops of Glasgow & Leith Walk with impunity and rejoin the legions of vinyl nerds, leafing & sneezing their way through the racks of grimy dust jackets once more..................

A Short Film About Motorways

2009-10-15T21:35:00.006+01:00

Well, nothing at all to do with motorways really, though a fair few shots of the M8 at night do feature. I just liked the title.

Jings!

Beautiful. Just Beautiful.............

2009-10-09T23:08:00.002+01:00

Now this is how you do violence. No running about like a fanny, arms flailing, kicking wildly at anything that moves.

Just get the guy turned then knee the fucker in the back before decking his fat pal.

This is the wonderful, heartwarming story of two two aggro merchants in a busy town centre getting the pasting of their lives from a pair of dragged up cage fighters.

It should really happen more often than it does.......

Crawling Out Of A Hole

2009-10-07T00:51:00.003+01:00

"I am angry I am ill and I'm As Ugly As Sin"

A month of shit. A month of not being able to move with fatigue, a month of pustulent throat infections, 80-a-day coughing fits and vile 'dockers omelettes' first thing in the morning. A month I want to leave behind me in a ditch to rot.

In this time, mother has been filling with green cancerous fluid at every opportunity and receiving chemotherapy. Her wig scares me and I prefer her to wear the turban thingy.

This could be the last stand. Not that you'd know from talking to her..............

Well, It Made Me Laugh Anyway....

2009-09-10T21:34:00.007+01:00

superpoop.com

Oops! I Seem To Have Mis-Judged The Mood Of The Nation With That Last Post

2009-08-25T00:35:00.005+01:00

What was I thinking? I mean, holiday snaps when I should have been addressing the hot issues of the day? Issues like "SNP Scum Unfit To Govern", "Well, That's Our Holiday In Scotchland Cancelled Dear" and "Is There Really Any Difference Between Justice and Vengeance, and Does It Ultimately Matter A Fuck?"

I ask these questions simply because my week of peace, quiet and beer quaffing in Fife was rudely fucked over by the whole Megrahi-gate fandango. (Ha! Am I the first to use that one? I do hope so). Could I outrun the shower of bullshit on this one? Could I fuck! It was easier to avoid the intermittent pissing rain that infested the east of Scotland last week. Every time I opened a paper or turned on the radio, it was there, nagging away like an itch in yr sinuses.

I'm actually quite happy they released him. Now we get to see if our tourist industry can survive without the Yank influx. Maybe we could concentrate on the Europeans and Japanese instead. Unless of course we've become a true pariah state and our name is now mud all over the planet.

Maybe we should form a pact with North Korea and Iran, eh?

For me, the most amusing thing about this has been the reaction from opposition MSP's. What a bunch of craven, cowardly fucks! Had the positions been reversed, each of the three remaining parties would have released Megrahi. As sure as Jim Murphy is the creepiest man alive.

Labour, of course, would have had special assistance from London in all this and would have been able to see to it that the guy was squeezed out of the country with minimal fuss. In fact, I'm willing to bet the warders at Greenock clink would only just now be discovering the balloon head and pillows under the sheets in the cell of Mr 'L. Bomber'. Fact. Wouldn't want the fucker holding out long enough to see through his appeal now, would we?

For all their pious posturing, both Lib Dem and Tory parties know that this is one of those situations when they really do not fucking want to be in power. They know that had they been in a position to do so, they'd have made the same decision as the SNP, a decision based upon Scots law, Mr Al Megrahi's impending mortality and other rather dry, un-emotional fact based issues. Still, it's always nice to stick the boot in, especially once the media, Westminster and White House have softened up your target. Add to that square headed yank military types with all scrambled egg on their tunics, the 'political commentators' and thousands of foaming mouthed internet masturbators waiting in the wings

I tell what though, you really know you're on to plums when a fool like Jack McConnell feels brave enough to stick his head above the parapet and take pot-shots at you.

Holiday Photos

2009-08-24T00:48:00.003+01:00

God Bless These People!

2009-08-13T19:02:00.005+01:00

There's nothing quite so heart-warming as humourless, paranoid, xenophobic, gun rubbing Yank Conservatives. All I need is the liberal leftie equivelent and I have the set! Oh yeah, I forgot, they're all on my FUCKING FACEBOOK FUCKING PAGE POSTING SHIT UP EVERY FIVE MINUTES!!! Get a blog you cunts! Update: If you thought that blog was mental.....

Has It Really Been A Year?

2009-08-12T22:35:00.000+01:00

It is now almost a year since we pitched up at what was to become our Townhead Guerrilla Gardening site and with the aid of Richard Reynolds, Gail Porter, some cameras from Sky TV and a gaggle of now suspiciously absent volunteers, we set about hacking down the undergrowth outside St Mungos primary school. Over the past year we have somewhat transformed this patch in our own under-funded and slightly ad-hoc manner. In spite of the sneerings of 'proper gardeners' and the usual tourists who thought we were going to supply them with stuff to plant like it was some kind of nursery school playtime activity, we've done rather well. The upper section looks after itself, the top part of the lower section is well on its way and the veg patch is taking off far better than we had dared hope. All that remains is to do a mass bulb bombing of the lower section heading towards the bus stop and the main road. With this done, we can concentrate on under-planting and various other projects in the upper sections which can be handled well within our budgetary constraints. May I also thank those readers who contributed to my last 'Ten Thousand Bulb Appeal' appeal. Here are our totals so far........ Well, we need a few more tenners people! Clairwil has banged a fair wedge of her own cash into this, and I'll be putting in what I can each month. If you haven't had a look and fancy giving a few quid to this project, simply read on: So, what do you get for your tenner? Ok, let me break it down (in a very rough manner) 10p buys a single bulb £1 buys ten bulbs £10 buys one hundred bulbs £100 buys one thousand bulbs £955 buys the full ten thousand There! Not so daunting now............ "~ What I'm getting at is that your standard ten pound donation (via paypal on this site) will make a sizeable impact upon the site. Even a fiver, if funds are low, will do a world of good. As I said, Clairwil has already invested, and I intend to push what I can each month towards the bulb fund, as I'm somewhat ashamedly a bit behind in this respect, not to mention just as broke as the rest of ya ;) A full update of the bulb planting we intend to do, as well as some extensive photography when they come through in the Spring will be forthcoming and you'll get to see exactly what your contributions have gone towards creating.

Thanks

Ewen

Lurgy

2009-08-12T21:27:00.006+01:00

On the top ten leaderboard of minor illnesses and afflictions, throat infections have to be pretty damn near the top. Raw and inflamed throat? Check! Discomfort when eating anything with that doesn't have the consistency of porridge? Check! Can't have a drink because it makes it ten times worse? Check! Temperature thru the roof? Check! Fucksticks!! Then you get the ulcers on your uvula, that really is a special joy to behold, along with when you wake up and feel like you have a half brick lodged in yr throat. In other news, I gave my old, long suffering pc it's Viking burial recently and have a shiny now piece of kit, complete with the rather snazzy, yet slightly frustrating 'Windows Vista'. The Youtube vids still takes ages to buffer though............ >:(

It's weird though. Using my dads laptop used to be the very definition of luxury. Now it feels like a 48k Sinclair Spectrum with half its rubber keys missing and no added RAM. Still, there's loads of stuff on the old pc that I lost and I'm not sure if I'll be able to get it back. No, I'm not referring to my Frankie Vaughn collection................

Photos I've taken over the past two years or so look to be irretrievable. Speedway stuff, vid clips, various other bits and bobs I used to rely on. I sometimes wonder what I got an external drive for in the first place, other than to rest my feet upon.........

The Headless Ukeman Patrt2

2009-08-07T22:53:00.003+01:00

Another silly song. Wonder how long I can keep this going.............

The Headless Uke-Man

2009-07-19T01:55:00.005+01:00

Not long ago, I reported that I'd bought a ukelele and some of you (ok, it was 'Some Chilean Woman' ;D ) asked me to give you a tune. So here it is! It's not very good, but it's just something I put together with some words I had kicking about. Took about half an hour.

There's another one coming up, so brace yrselves....=D

God Bless David O'Reilly

2009-07-19T01:09:00.004+01:00

Please Say Something - Full Length from David OReilly on Vimeo.

A dream-like tale in which a cat and mouse co-habit with mixed results in a distant future world. A startling and touching piece of animation that's only let down by a slightly corny ending. But then, we all love corny endings, so that's ok....... =D

Enjoy!

Ten Thousand Bulb Appeal

2009-07-13T22:24:00.005+01:00

Ten thousand bulbs! Just think about that for a minute. A wave of colour amongst the concrete and tarmac, defying the fag butts and crisp packets and making a rather drab corner of the city look so much better. This is what we're trying to achieve at our Townhead garden site currently tended to by Clairwil, Michael and Myself. Ten thousand bulbs don't come cheap though, so we're looking for donations to help us on our way. How can you help? Ah, well there are many ways....... First of all, if you're feeling flush and a wee bit beneficent, you can make donations via Paypal at this site. We will be utterly grateful for any monies received. At the other end of the scale, the very act of visiting this 'Squidoo' website will help pay a dividend towards our funds.

Alternatively, if you live in the Glasgow area, you can always donate bulbs to us. If you plant bulbs and are likely to have anything spare, we'd happily give a home to any of the following... Mixed Daffodils Mixed Tulips Snakeshead Fritillary Snowdrops Mixed Crocuses Bluebells (native only please) Grape Hyacinths Winter Aconites Mixed Alluims Wood Anenome

Let me know in the comments section and we can take it from there.

Even if you just know something the rest of us don't and can let us in on where to get the most for our money, we'd be happy to hear from you. ;)

Let's brighten this place up!!

Cheers!

I'll have A Chicken Tikka Something-Or-Other Please...

2009-07-05T00:38:00.006+01:00

Ok, I know, it's just one of those daft stories that crops up every so often and one shouldn't put too much credence in it's veracity, but even the notion of it makes me borederline homicidal. Birmingham City Council have decided that they would like to help local restaurants by ensuring the term 'balti' can only be used by Brummie proprieters, much like the whole Champagne racket. Close reading of the piece indicates that this may be a local media construct, as the council make no strong declaration, other than to say they would look into the idea, but you know what councils are like, and how these things have a habit of spiralling out of control. Next thing you know, Glasgow will be telling everyone to think of another name for the Tikka Masala........ Do we need this parochialism? Do we need insane protectionism? Do we all need air vents in our skulls? It won't happen (just try telling Mr Adeel to stop using the fucking term on his menu, I dare you...), but it does give you a depressing insight into the mental workings of yr average local authority decision maker and the craven, arse-licking local press who justify them on a daily basis. Below are a couple of segments from a film made in the late seventies about Irish motorcycle road racing. In Ireland, they take road racing literally, in that public roads, often no wider than driveways in some places, are closed to the public and turned into raceways on selected weekends throughout the spring and summer. This is a wee tribute to Joey Dunlop, who died in a racing accident in Estonia nine years ago on Thursady last. It's a fine portrait of him as a young man, as well as a great snapshot of Irish road racing at the time (1977), which some would contend hasn't changed all that much in the intervening thirty years. Part 1 Part 2

Beer Of The Week

2009-07-01T00:46:00.008+01:00

Let me see........ "Official Beer of England" "Definitely Not For Aussies" Then a back label blurb that gurgles "Sit back and enjoy the Ashes series in style with this easy drinking pale ale, crafted using the finest English hops and barley with passion and desire to beat the Aussies & cheer England to victory." Does that make sense? Do the finest English hops and barley have the passion and desire to beat the Aussies, or is it referring to the drinker? If so, how does one sit back and enjoy something with passion and desire? Is it a cricket thing? Does the Australian equivalent have a slogan along the lines of "You've No Chance Ya Pommy Bastards!"? It matters not to be honest, it's £1.19 a bottle and tastes rather nice. Thankfully, in Scotland we're far too civilised to get too excited by a silly game like cricket. We prefer proper sports like high tig, thumb wrestling and chap-door-runaway .

Give Me Pound Shops Or Give Me Death

2009-06-30T09:55:00.001+01:00

The next whingeing whelp who writes into the Evening Times to gurn about the proliferation of shops that aren't M&S, Boots or Sainsbury's in Glasgow city centre is gonna get a turd through their letterbox. Fucking hell, to hear them bleat on you'd think every second shop on Sauchiehall Street & Argyll Street was a twenty bob stop of some sort. Even if it was, so fucking what? Those streets have always had their tat shops and glorified sport-sock retailers. You want posh? Go to fucking Edinburgh! Or maybe the lower end of Buchanan Street............. Then there was the girl at work who had never eaten a scone. Is that possible? Reports that she passed out with excitement when someone tried to describe pancake to her are as yet unsubstantiated.............. Everyone on the planet has had a scone at some time in their life, whether they wanted one or not. Visits to your aunt's house on a sunday afternoon were always fraught with the dangers of being left with the cake-stand outcasts. All it took was a poorly timed toilet break and all the Taxi's, Breakaways and Jammy Dodgers would be nestling in your brothers trouser pockets, leaving you with the odious fruit slice, the foul lemon fingers and and those dry, scabby looking, but ultimately edible scones. Right, I'm off to a branch of "Everythings A Fucking Quid" to buy a pack of 100 half empty AA batteries, some place-mats with Labradors on and a screwdriver kit and I'll still have enough left from a tenner to get the messages in at Lidl! To quote Joe Fagin, "That's Livin' Alright"

Swells

2009-06-28T23:36:00.009+01:00

As if last week's Michael Jackson/Farah Fawcett '2 for 1' deal wasn't fascinating enough for a rubber-necking scumbag like me, the news comes through that SHOUTY MUSIC JOURNO Steven Wells has also relocated to a quieter suburb. I don't really remember much of his writing in the NME, though his by-line meant you'd get a few laughs if nothing else. I was more of an Melody Maker chick to be honest. In the intervening years since I gave up reading the weekly music comics, it seems he'd relocated across the Atlantic and was plying his scabrous, contrarian trade over there when he fell ill with cancer. Och! Anyway, just a thought God, but any chance of a similar run this week, but on slightly more deserving targets? I'm watching the Glastonbury coverage on BBC just now, and I can think of at least three of the presenters.........Or possibly the whole of Blur. That would be nice. As I said, just a thought...

Ladies Sitting Between Parked Cars

2009-06-26T00:21:00.001+01:00

Take our leave of the city It's manic temper and sweating walls Screaming brakes and rigid forms Out of the subway and into the heat To ladies sitting between parked cars Bare feet, cigarettes and bottles to hand Rust on the railings Weeds in the gutter Sunlight reflects on chrome Sound of the river Under the traffic hum We're almost home.

Bury Me Standing, I've Been On My Knees My Whole Life

2009-06-25T21:49:00.004+01:00

MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION TIME AND MOTION 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STOP.

Is That The Time?

2009-06-10T21:32:00.007+01:00

Jesus! It feels like an eternity since I last posted. I'm getting a bit fed up of writing these entries like periodic postcards to the outside world, but until I get mind, soul and body in order, it'll have to do. The truth is that I've been a little too tired to think about anything other than the most rudimentary blog input. Alas, I'm off until Tuesday and I'm taking myself away for most of that time. Where? Ha! I'm not telling, someone might find me. Work has been the biggest fucker. Two of our number were made redundant and we've moved to another office. The days go by quicker but the work is a few degrees more intense. Having to account for 90% of your working day was the first big shock. I shit ye not, every single thing we do in a day has to be logged and timed. For some jobs it's not a problem, but when you do half a dozen different things, it's a fucking nightmare. I spend about an hour of my day just filling the bastard fucking spreadsheet in, complete with the case numbers of everything that's crossed my desk. I keep looking for the column in the spreadsheet that says "Time spent filling in this useless piece of shit because some over-paid retard at the top of the company gets a fucking hard-on from reading statistics".

Bah! It doesn't help when one of the folk to survive the cull is contributing to the deterioration of my mental hygiene. We all know the concept of the 'man-child'. This is the 'woman-child'. I haven't had to deal with her much before, but she's starting to drive me to distraction. Job-wise, she does one thing. All day. She has done for the past four or five years. This wasn't a problem when we had high volumes of work and everyone was assigned a duty. Now we all need to be able to do each others jobs and while this is no problem for most sentient beings, fat arse has done nothing but wheedle and whine like an irritating five year old. Fuck! If I hear her simpering on about how she misses our much loathed old boss, or how she's fed up of getting emails from the team leader updating us on our new roles, or how she doesn't like the new office, I'll end up snapping and cramming one of her filthy cheese spread white bread sandwiches down her craw with a rolled up Land Certificate!! At the very least I might ask her to experiment with eating with her fucking mouth closed. All I hope is that management and HR realise they got it wrong when they decided to jettison the smartest cookie in the pack and keep this stammering, simple minded fucktard. There, all gone. A little weight off my chest.................. Feels better already. So, that's the state of play in my world. Borderline psychosis, fatigue, anger management issues etc............... What about the rest of you? Has the very notion of going to work made you physically ill in recent weeks? Are you having a wonderful time in a land of milk and honey where nobody cares when you come and go and free gym membership and prostitutes? Are you constantly justifying yourself to an off-hand, shit thick time server who looks at you like you've just vomitted on their lap? Do you get to watch YouTube and I-Player on your company's internet connection and spend your days emailing clips of swearing hamsters and old Rainbow episiodes to workmates? Are you a smug comfort-zoner or are you a down-trodden prole? Answers on the back of the usual beermat. Behold! U2 Are Shit! as are Coldplay, Metallica

A Considered Response

2009-05-22T21:54:00.012+01:00

What did you do with your BNP leaflet? Maybe you made it into a paper aeroplane to entertain the kids. Emergency toilet paper perhaps? Saves using the carboard tube. Perhaps you turned it into a birthday card for someone you really fucking despise.

I used mine to light the oven......................

Braw!

p.s. Please note that instructions on what to do when a Labour or Conservative leaflet falls through your door will follow in due course.

Have I Just Got One Of Those Faces?

2009-05-22T20:17:00.015+01:00

A bluebell wood by the motorway. The council must be planting waves of them along the M8. The next dignity free mouth breather that asks me if I'm the 'Real Radio Renegade' is gonna get a fucking kick up the arse, so help me God! What is that about? Have people nothing better to do than approach innocent pedestrians making their weary way home from work with their headphones on, in the vaguest of hopes that they might be an employee from some tin-pot local radio station, just waiting to make them rich? No, of course they haven't. There must have been something going down in the area, as I was accosted twice in the space of a minute. Various others gesticulated at me from their cars or stared at me like I was from another planet. I mean, what's a 'Real Radio Renegade' supposed to look like anyway? Probably not half as gormless as those who fall for this naff gimmick. Wankers! They'd set fire to their houses and eat their own shit if someone offered them a fiver and a chance to be on telly. Is it the warm weather that brings them out? Ah, so many questions and so few answers.............. On another, utterly unrelated topic...... The little boy next door shouts. A lot. In fact, he's louder than you'd think possible for a four year old. It's not just when he's excited or agitated though, it seems to be a permanant setting. My bet is that everyone in the family communicates in this way, so he needs to turn up the volume to be heard, but he can't turn it off when he's out of that environment. What he's like at school, I'd hate to speculate.............. If nothing else, his throat lining will be in shreds by the time he's ten. The tulip at my back door. It finally disintegrated during the week there, but I took this one last weekend, with all raindrops and stuff on it. The sunflowers are coming through, against the odds, and the nasturtiums are thriving. Gives you something to look at in the mornings as you make your coffee and contemplate throwing a sickie.

Friends, Forgive My Absence, I've Been Away Making Snuff Movies In Belize

2009-05-13T20:12:00.012+01:00

Of course I haven't!! It was Guatemala............. Anyway, talking of copping yer whack, it looks like I'm up for possible redundancy at the end of the month. It's hard to say how I feel about all of this. On one hand, I need to work to pay my way, but on the other, if they got shot of me, I doubt I'd give much of a fuck. Jobs are hard to find this weather, but I think if I lowered my sights just a notch, I'd find something. I don't think I'm for the chop though. Don't ask why, but going on the selection criteria, I think there are a couple in the queue before me. Sadly, one of my colleagues has taken to chewing the furniture and getting in a bit of a tizzy. She's easily the most competent person in the section, but she's driving herself mad, to the point where she's convinced HR have it in for her and will take this opportunity to ditch her. She's an awkward sod for sure, but if they ditch her I might as well get out a too. It's a ship of fools as it is, so if they do make redundant the only person in the department who knows their arse from their elbow, I doubt I'll be able to take any of it remotely seriously. So, what's everyone else been up to?

How about Cocktails?

Cocktails has been mulling over the question of one's earliest memory and the effect in has on who or what you become in later life. As stated in the comments section of her original post, my earliest memory was probably on a beach on the Isle of Man, playing with an orange & black football. Somehow it ended up in the sea and floated off into the wide blue yonder. The effect it had upon me at the time was not documented, but I can say with some certainty that I'd rather have had the football to play with than not. I have wondered on the odd occassion, just where a cheap plastic football kicked into the Irish Sea by a bent-footed three year old would end up. Did it deflate and sink? Did it wash up on a faraway shore? Did it circumnavigate the globe and return to it's point of origin? I don't remember if my parents bought me another one. Why would I? I was only three........ Other good stuff I've read and seen recently, but forgot about. Ed Milliband Robert Louis Stevenson The Cockenspiel (apologies in advance) Didier Drogba Finally, a snippet from a current YouTube favourite that seemed to get consigned to the backwater of BBC3 some years ago, sandwiched between their interminable "Two Pints of Lager & A Packet of Crisps" marathons. Snuff Box - Boyfriend sketches (1-5)

Smell

2009-05-01T00:22:00.004+01:00

Like burning, but no fire...........

It's like the smell you got when you played Scalextric for eight hours solid on Christmas day as a child.

I think my computer might be about to die on me. A Viking burial might be in order.

Ten More Things To Make You Paranoid And Insecure.

2009-04-28T00:18:00.014+01:00

Having read this interesting little piece on MSN, I was curious as whether or not these were things women really liked in their men, or if it was simply the twee fantasies of a pair of middle class media types out to make a bob or thousand in the shit book market. Being currently long-term single, I decided to ask my good friend Barry from down the pub to run his rule over their slightly specious looking list of rules.

10 things you didn’t realise she liked about you by Penny Isaacs and Sarah Lockett 1. Your baked seabass. Eating out is hugely enjoyable and you both love a delicious hot curry on a Friday night after work. But, what she really likes is when you go to the trouble of making her your special foil-wrapped sea bass baked with teriyaki sauce and fresh ginger. Women love being cooked for because it shows you are capable and sophisticated. We also appreciate it when some thought has gone into choosing a tasty dish which will appeal to the calorie conscious. If you are a beginner in the kitchen, get a good quality ready-prepared fish dish and follow the instructions. Plus a pillow pack of salad. You know she hankers for fantastic fresh cream chocs for dessert though!

Barry - I did have a look at doing the Sea Bass, or some other fancy dish, like steak pie & chips. Since all I have is a calor gas stove and a three bar fire, I decided it was best to splash out on a tin of Heinz baked beans & sausages for tea. I put some pepper and dried parsley in it to tart it up, with a few slices of toast on the side. This was washed down with a bottle of Lambrusco from Lidl and followed by a couple of those nasty, gelatinous individual trifles. Audrey's making those "Go to bed" eyes at me, but I have bowel rupturing gas and have to make my excuses. Not a good start. 2. You bought her a DVD of Casino Royale. You were neither threatened by, nor made fun of the fact that she ogled Daniel Craig and openly declared her undying devotion to him when Casino Royale came out. In fact, you rather like him too! Well, you would like to be him yourself, so you bought her the DVD the day it went on sale and you have watched it together about 100 times already.

Barry - Well, I didn't have the money to rent, never mind buy Casino Royale. That said, my mate Nasty Dan did get me a copy of Bukkake Royale for the price of a blank disc. I very much identify with the male lead in this film, and see him as a role model worthy of emulation. Sadly, Audrey thinks he's a hairy fat bastard with a curiously deformed penis. She claims that shagging him would be only slightly less pleasant than sharing a bed with me. A qualified success.

3. You get somebody in! She enjoyed watching you gamely try to help her dad jump-start his car but she admired the fact that after 5 mins you got out your mobile and called the AA. She finds your candour about being unable to replace a wheel, fix a drain or do anything handy about the house quite refreshing. Changing a fuse/lightbulb/battery is about as useful as you get but you don’t pretend to be Ray Mears and have the telephone number of an all purpose Mr Fixit pinned to the fridge.

Barry - Not a good round. Me and her old man hate each others guts. Honestly, if the old prick was trying to jump-start his car, I'd be busy trying to cut his brake cables. This is where I have to take exception to Penny & Sarah. I'm no handy man, but have you seen what tradesmen charge these days? Fucking crooks the lot of them! This is why I take care of these things myself. That I currently have no running water, no gas and half the lights in the house don't work is neither here nor there. 4. You never flirt with other women in front of her. You sensibly keep your opinions about other women to yourself. Women do not like their date to flirt with another female. They particularly dislike it when another woman plants herself at their boyfriend’s feet, kitten style, peering upwards, all doe-eyed. Nor do they like you to compliment someone enthusiastically on their appearance/success. It is bad form to bring this up with your girlfriend even once you have got home.

Barry - I have to say, I fall flat on this one. After eight pints of wife beater, three V&C's and only a packet of KP dry roasted to line the stomach, I find it hard not to let my crotch do the talking, and more often than not I can be found in the snug, on the way back from the bogs, sticking my tongue in the ear of some old dear that's done up like a christmas tree. I must say though, I do take Audrey's feelings into consideration my doing any drunken fumbling well out of her sight. 5. You let her hog the bathroom. She appreciates the fact that you shower and change in ten minutes flat so that she can spend hours doing her toilette before you head out for the evening.

Barry - My bog's fucked. You don't stay in it any longer than you need to unless you fancy catching cholera. 6. You never go clothes shopping with her. You understand that men and women have different ideas about the shopping experience. Men know what they want and buy it. Then go home. Women regard shopping as a leisure activity and can spend hours trying on every item of clothing in the shop. You let her get on with it.

Barry - Well, I once made the mistake of going to Primark with Audrey to buy her summer wardrobe. The security guard wouldn't leave us alone and rudely interrupted us as we were stuffing a five pound blouse into her bag in the changing room. Our protestations that we were simply putting it there until we got to the check-out fell on deaf ears and we spent a night in the cells. We used to end up in Littlewoods or What Everyone Wants, but now they're gone, the only other option is the charity shop circuit. It's not too bad though, she looks for dead peoples shoes and stone-washed denims, I check out the records and tapes section for the latest Suzi Quattro and Shakin' Stevens releases. 7. You are charming to her parents. According to the old saying, ‘my daughter is my daughter for all of her life; my son is my son until he gets a wife’. She loves the way you engage with her mum and dad. You treat them to the theatre, offer them lifts to the garden centre, buy her dad books on famous dictators and you haven’t yet complained that he has repeated the same lame joke about stamp collecting - ‘be like a nun- get in the habit!’– six times now.

Barry - I have a restraining order keeping me away from her parents. They failed to see the funny side of things when I pissed through their letterbox one Christmas eve on the way home from the pub. I mean, take a fuckin' joke!! 8. You take her to the sun. A girl likes to get into a bikini and worship the sun god for at least two weeks every year. She has also told you a hundred times that Mama Mia has made her lust after life on a Greek island. You realise that sun and sea are essential to her mental well-being. A fortnight under campus in rain-sodden Devon is not what she really hankers after in July, so even if it is going to be Torremolinos you make sure that she gets her annual beach fix.

Barry - Sadly, Audrey has been banned from every Spanish beach we've ever been to. Let's just say she makes Donatella Versace seem alluring. For this reason, we end up at Pontins, getting minced on cheap wine and spirits and entering Lambada contests with couples from Larkhall with matching King Billy tattoos and 'UVF' Indian inked across their knuckles. 9. You bring her coffee and toast in the morning. Women can be slow starters in the morning, especially after a big night. Once we are fully alert we can beaver away like dynamos until late at night but those initial waking minutes are painful. How fantastic then to rouse to the aroma of a strong cup of coffee and hot buttered toast! It is one of those small but significant gestures of affection and appreciation which makes her love you! Ditto bringing her a cup of tea when she looks exhausted.

Barry - Due mainly to the lumpy mattress, soggy quilt, rising damp and the lack of heating, Audrey tends not hang about in the mornings. I do remember once bringing her breakfast in bed, but I tripped on a pile of Exchange & Marts, sending her bowl of cornflakes all over the shop. Just as well I suppose, the milk was on the turn if I remember right. 10. You indulge her interest in chick lit and chick flicks. There are few things more irritating than having a partner expressing patronising views about our choice of light entertainment. We do not want to have our ‘cultural’ preferences ridiculed particularly if our partner’s tastes run to more esoteric and heavyweight intellectual literature and film. But, to your credit, you do not smirk when she goes to see the latest ‘bonnets’ film or slushy rom-com. Nor have you been sniffy about all the self-help/chick lit/cookery/horoscope books she devours.

Barry - Audrey's not one for Chick Flicks, and all she reads is TV Quick & the Star. As long as a film has Jean Claude Van Damme, Steven Segal or Vin Diesel in it, she's happy as larry and randy as a goat. No complaints here.........

So, there you have it. The verdict on the ten things men didn't realise their women liked about them. Barry knows exactly what Audrey likes about him.

Fuck all.

Three cheers for Penny & Sarah!

Piss & Vinegar

2009-04-24T23:08:00.005+01:00

You know your day's off to a rollicking start when you find yourself offending Dr Who fans.

Look, all I said was that Dr Who was "Camp as Christmas". No great shock there, surely?

I must confess I enjoyed the old Timelords adventures as a kid. I still retain a spot for the Peter Davidson incarnation in particular, but the return of the series failed to excite much in me. One grows old and bored I suppose............

Christopher Ecclestone is a fine actor, but his take was rather stiff, like a PE teacher with constipation. Likewise, David Tennent is a good actor, but he seemed to become possessed by the evil spirit of Dick Van Dyke and spent most of his time mugging and hooting like a loon. The two extremes never sat well with me and I switched off. It was enough to make me to hanker after the days of Sylvester McCoy quite frankly. Add to the equation the fact that I'm allergic to both Billie Piper and Catherine Tate, and you end up with something guaranteed to rub me up the wrong way. Anyway, I digress.............

Ok, so I say "Dr Who is camp". At this point, I'm accused of not knowing what the word camp means. Lets be honest, does anyone know what that particular use of the word truly means? It's a bit of a floating definition. To some it means limp wrists and Larry Grayson, to others it means anything that's flamboyant, outrageous and OTT. It's a subjective term. One mans camp is another mans serious drama. To me, Dr Who is ridiculously melodramatic, over-written, over-acted, cliche ridden and ultimately annoying. Maybe it always was, and maybe these are good things, the show undoubtedly still tells good enough yarns to make for entertaining mass appeal TV. I'm just non-plussed as to why someone got all worked up because I thought the show was a wee bit silly.

I was then accused of saying I didn't like things that were popular to make myself look 'intellectual', but that's another story........................

Me? Intellectual?

Then I got verbally accosted by a tramp on the way home. Nice job!! It wasn't even proper abuse. It was that "yeah, just you wait until it happens to you" bullshit. Fucker! Reminds me of the old Bill Hicks gambit about bums.

"Definitely wasn't your personality that put you on the street".

Isn't that the script with begging? Some folk give and some folk don't. I didn't, and in return I get a po-faced lecture. Heres's the thing, I don't think he was a real tramp. No gent of the road worth his half bottle of Frosty Jacky would bother to abuse someone for not giving in such an erudite fashion. I have no proof, but if you see some prick begging at Charing Cross in Glasgow and he gives you any shite for not contribuing, feel free to piss on him, he's probably an undercover Guardian journalist.

Albino Burns Victim

2009-04-17T22:36:00.003+01:00

The Easter egg lies to one side, ignored. The last stubborn gesture of a doomed man. Under his tenure, the department was cut off, not just by time and space, but by a belligerent autonomy that that led to it's current isolation. Nothing worked, least of all us. This was where you ended up if you annoyed someone or fucked something up. This was the Dead Letter Office. We hadn't received Easter eggs from the company for a few years. No big deal, just a box of cheap chocolate, but it told you everything you needed to know. We were the Damned United. The wee man though, he won't be suckered with this tawdry gift. The gaudy carboard box sits on his desk and gathers dust. A bit like he did, truth be told...... He's letting us all know what he thinks of the company who gave him the boot, as he winds down his last few days before finding himself a job more suitable to his talents. Like a shelf stacker. Or a toilet attendant. Who'd have thought he was once one of Sir Fred's little devil spawn? I tell you this though, I envy him. Next month he'll be at home watching Jeremy Kyle, Bargain Hunt and Fuck Truck Vol IIV while I grind through spreadsheets and write letters to the sort of wankers who remortgage seven times a year. What's fair about that? Brough Park, Newcastle Easter Monday is usually a hellish drag of a day. It's like a 2nd Sunday, except without the speedway. That's why this year I accepted the offer of Ashfield aquaintance Paulco and took a berth on the Glasgow supporters bus down to the north east of England to watch the Tigers take on Newcastle Diamonds. Glad I did. The journey down went by in a flash, as did the return, due mainly to good company and constant banter. Brough Park, being a night track based at a greyhound stadium, is a very different prospect to Ashfield. On the up-side there's no dust and the floodlighting provides a great atmosphere. The hospitality and facilities are also top notch and on the night we visited, they had sorted the track to provide maximum entertainment. The rubbish elements included limited viewing (only the home straight, about thirty feet from the track), and the sense that photography is a bit of a no-no (I could be wrong on that though) Anyway, a great night out and better than spending the day sleeping and watching fucking Bond flims and religious epics.

Easter Wanderings

2009-04-16T00:24:00.003+01:00

You sir, are a fud!

Bunnies!

More Here!

Sorry there hasn't been much in the way of anything to read out of me recently, I'm kind of tied up with various other things. I'll pop back on Friday with some random musings, just for old times sake............

2009-04-10T23:34:00.001+01:00

Choolup

2009-04-08T22:57:00.005+01:00

Spring has sprang (sic) and I've been shooting away like a man possessed. My latest efforts are now up on Gasoline Rainbows. Gasoline Rainbows is also now in my sidebar, as I realise I've been hiding it away for some reason known only unto myself.

Anarchy In The UK(ulele)

2009-04-03T22:36:00.005+01:00

I love my Uke! I've only had it a week and already I can play Smoke On The Water........... Actually, that's a total lie, and you all know it. I haven't even managed 'Bobby Shaftoe' or 'Michael Row The Boat Ashore' yet, but it's a lovely thing to be able to pick it up, fiddle about with the tunings and find new chords that one day I might be able to mangle together into a song. It's also performed the function of getting me interested in playing again. Believe me, after the ukulele, my acoustic guitar no longer seems like such a chore, and the electric is a breeze to play. As one who takes nothing to do with barre chords, the uke is a bit of a bitch to play, but I've spent half of tonight figuring out some really nice sounding open chords that even the most club fisted struggler with 'stupid fingers' can play with ease. Can I also just say "Ha! Ha! Fuck You Barry Ferguson!! Ya over-rated wee tadger! I bet the guys who went and backed you up to keep you in the squad are wishing they hadn't bothered now............. The Monster Munch Committee is now adjourned.................. One final football mention. Rafa Benitez, manager of Liverpool gets the phrase 'squeaky bum time' thrown at him by some dinlow hack. Poor guy, he probably thought it was a new pole dancing bar that had opened up in Liverpool, and was expecting to hear that several of his players had been to see what was on offer................ Ok, Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers now............. Born To Lose

Punkrock101 No1:MC5

2009-03-29T03:33:00.000+01:00

Domestique

2009-03-27T21:35:00.002Z

In all my years living with my folks, I don't think I ever heard the people in the flat above having a row. Possibly something to do with the previous occupant of the flat being an elderly woman of the devout Catholic persuasion. Even when her hubby was alive and she had family staying, they remained obstinately neighbourly, quiet and, of course, devout.

It is, therefore, rather disconcerting to come into my parents house and feel almost a part of the raging torment that was going on above my head. I was up at the folks place to water the plants while they were on holiday, an operation that should have taken about five minutes. Instead, I was there for about half an hour, wandering with morbid fascination from room to room, as the acrimony raged back and forth.

Actually, I only heard one person. A slightly shrill male voice, beseeching his beloved to believe that he had no control over who called, texted or emailed him, and that it 'wasn't his fault'. The female voice was either inaudible or just barely distinguishable. The chap, on the other hand raged like a man pleading for his life. I came to the conclusion that he was either dicking his ex, or his girlfriend was a paranoid loon.

Much as it entertained me, I'm glad the folks weren't about, as the old fella would probably have gone up and offered to hand the guy his balls if he didn't shut his fucking noise.

Blood is a right bitch to get out of a nice new carpet.

Lighten Up Morrissey!

2009-03-21T01:50:00.003Z

Thank the Lord Russ & Ron are back to save humanity from taking themselves too seriously.

Can't wait for their next single, "Why Don't You Kill Yourelf Chris Martin, You Tedious, Self Regarding Toss Bag"

Sounds quite catchy...........

The Dark Hearted Soul Of the Average Office Drone

2009-03-18T22:04:00.003Z

Our line manager got made redundant. We celebrated. It was wrong on too many levels to count, but somehow none of us could help it. Like spiteful school children, we quietly sneered, jeered and mocked amongst each other. I am not proud. That said, I won't miss his foul breath, arrogant offhand manner, contradictory bullshit and creepy wee shell-games. So, first day of summer or what? Today had that 'feel', that scent that says summer is just around the corner, with it's mandatory six days of nice weather and endless days of humid, damp misery. I feel better already! Unlike my old Grandpa. He's 94 you know!! He's also in hospital with a sore foot. They want to get antibiotics into him via a drip, then see how he does. Mum mentioned something about MRSA, which obviously raised an eyebrow on my part. If 'Iron Baws' Jimmy Morrison can contract that sort of thing, then nobody is safe.............. Tonight's visit was fairly entertaining though, just as long as you kept him off his usual conversational trajectory. He does a fairly good Private Fraser impersonation, and it's a constant battle to keep him from getting too bloody morose. Gentle mockery and a hearty dismissal of his ruminations seems to get the best out in him, as he realises you aren't going to wear an hour of his "The world is about to end!" chuntering. We also got his story about how the humble tomato saved him from the draft during the war. He grew them you see, and the government regarded them as an important part of the British diet. So important that the Jimster spent '39 to '45 fighting the jolly hun by providing ripe, juicy toms to the populace. I did point out that had he been conscripted and survived the war, it would have constituted a different reality and different circumstances. It was possible that neither myself or my brother would have been born and we wouldn't be having this particular conversation. My brothers girlfriend asked if Jimmy would still be in hospital with a sore foot on this alternate timeline. I concluded that yes, he would still be in hospital with a sore foot, but nobody would be there to visit him.................... New York Dolls - Trash Beautiful archive footage.............

Chap Of The Week

2009-03-13T00:23:00.007Z

The first thing I do when I see Andy Neil on Late Night is switch over. I didn't tonight, mainly because I saw Barry McGuigan's ugly mush first. I shant bollock on, but as a fan of sane secular education models (Turkey, France, bend an ear....), I wish the 'Clones Cyclone' all the best as he helps the campaign to balance education in NI , in an attempt to steer teaching away from the self-interested grasp of both Protestant and Catholic churches. There is no 'solution' to sectarian hatred and dis-trust, but at least if there are people out there reducing the odds.....................

As It Should Be

2009-03-12T23:37:00.000Z

I remember the cold, the inept attempts to close it out I remember the love, words that came too easily, becoming tiresome and meaningless on release I remember you lost and crazy with sadness I remember the moments when everything seemed right We weren't happy We still aren't As it should be I pretend there's something left, in weak moments, when silence aids a wandering mind Or before I fall asleep I find it odd that I never dream of you.

No Future/The Future's Bright etc

2009-03-05T22:52:00.004Z

May plague and pestilence befall the cunts at Post Office Ltd!! Thank you for the lovely quarterly bill for £112.52 that landed on my floor today you hopeless fucking arseholes! This in spite of the fact that I have a monthly direct debit with them. The woman on the help-line tried to explain it, but I couldn't quite figure out what she was getting at. Nor could she if the truth be told, so I bit my lip and left it. I'm crap in these situations. Hopeless in fact. If only I could hire an army of bitter, snippy middle aged women, or a gang of argumentative Glaswegian navvies to handle my telephone correspondences. I'd be swimming in free stuff and goodwill. I'm currently considering one of two options. Either I accept my financial hosing with good grace, or I call up again and ask a few more pertinent questions, like............ "Why wasn't I warned in writing that my line rental had 'expired'?" "Why has this occurred? Was it something I said or did?" "Why do I have to cough up for a quarterly period instead of just the last two months?" "Do you enjoy ripping off increasingly depressed, poverty stricken oafs like me?" Ok, so the last one's a bit unfair, but I'm not in a mood for equanimity or fairness. The world isn't fair, which is why I'm running out of cash only a week after being paid. That said, it is my fault. I missed the fact that I'd not been debited in January, and only just realised nothing came off last month. Oh, and I hadn't received my monthly bill for a while. It has to be said, I've not been myself of late. Work is chipping away at my soul, a little every day. I'm starting to share the same dark, appalling thoughts about my manager as the weird, borderline sociopath who works in my section and won't talk to me. The house hasn't been hoovered in months, the dishes get done once a week whether they need it or not and I've become obsessed with the passage of hours and minutes, to the extent that I clock-watch relentlessly out of work hours. The fact that just under twenty quid hasn't come out of my account for a few months is of little importance to me right now.

Fucksticks!!

Marina Madness: God Gave Yacht Rock To You.......1

2009-02-27T00:17:00.009Z

So, Yacht Rock...... The addled, MOR dribblings of talent free hacks and dubious has-beens? Or is it the music of the angels, the song of the common man,the smooth sailin' sound, the only sound that matters? A bit of both and neither of the above if the truth be told. I won't lie, this Youtube series, not to mention the occasional slice of forbidden fruit over at Cocktails & Records, is the inspiration behind this particular assault on the senses. Enjoy! (or not, as the case may be......) Kicking us off are the Doobie Brothers with the Michael McDonald song 'What A Fool Believes' Smooth Sailin' Folks!

Bats

2009-02-23T23:13:00.006Z

As you walk through Kelvingrove Park, towards the Gibson Street gates, there's a little offshoot that goes under Gibson St bridge and leads past a dis-used railway tunnel and out towards Kelvinbridge. It seems a bit obvious now I think of it, but this little stretch of walkway has it's share of bat-life. First I knew of it, I was being dive bombed by the little fuckers, but after a few seconds, I was in total awe as their distinct wing shapes silhouetted against the deep blue gloaming. I'd say there were about half a dozen out and about, and they didn't seem too shy. The camera was in my bag, and I tried to get something, but one thing you can never get from nature documentaries is just how ruddy quick the wee buggers are. I almost did my neck permanent damage trying to follow one of them as it buzzed back and forth above me. It's a favourite shortcut for cyclists and joggers, meaning it's hellishly busy until it gets really dark. None of these Lycra clad squat-thrusters and go-getter's paused for a second as they motored their way past me to fitness, well-being and eternal life. Of course, maybe they knew the bats by name and were of the opinion that the last thing these winged nocturnals needed was another tourist gawking like they'd just seen the second coming...... Here's the thing. Never in my life have I seen these creatures in the flesh. It's not something I've ever thought about really, I suppose I think of them as the sort of animal I'm never going to see unless I go looking for them. Let's just say that I wasn't exactly bat hunting this evening, but now I know where they hang out....................

Unsent Letters From A Dead Man: Part 5

2009-02-18T22:42:00.015Z

The places you find yourself in when you're hiding from the rain....... I was nursing the remnants of my pint and hoping the rain would ease off enough for me to at least wade my way back to the underground station. A look out of the front door told me I'd probably need water-wings and my rubber duck. I cast a weary eye around the near deserted bar. Was it a bar? Maybe it was a bistro. It had a whiff of seediness to it, combined incongruously with a charming, if pointless attempt to propel the place in an up-market direction. The continental cuisine and over-priced Czech lagers couldn't quite cancel out the yellowing wallpaper, the 'half & half' supping gadgies and Sidney Devine on the jukebox. 'New manager' I thought to myself.... When a large red faced guy in chef's whites burst from the back shop into the bar in a roar of sweaty, rampant fury, I was all but ready to shrug and say "Ok, so it's a Bistro!". He seemed to be scanning the room for his prey. My eyes met his and I knew in an instant that he'd found it. A fat, raw looking forefinger, decorated with a blue elastoplast and trembling ever so slightly, was jabbing in my direction. "You! Cunt! I'll kill ye! Am gonna fuckin kill ye!" he growled in a hoarse rasp that scoured my soul of any bravado. I was standing by this point, and I instinctively recoiled, colliding with my barstool. Somehow my left foot went between the spars of the stool and in my haste to no longer be there, I found myself doing what probably looked to any passing ice skating enthusiast, like a drunken Double Lutz. There were however no score cards being held up as I came to rest on the stained, threadbare carpet. I felt a few dull aches, a friction burn on my right cheek and not a little embarrassment as I disentangled my legs from the now broken chair. I looked up from my prone position and once again remembered why I'd given up frequenting bars on my own. Bad things kept happening to me, and this was as bad as it got. Cookie was standing over me now, his face boiling with the kind of rage that would induce aneurysms in most normal human beings. This guy wasn't normal though. He was at least six-two, and was filling out into the 'double wide' sizes. Lying on my back on the floor like an upturned cockroach, he looked bigger than God. "Fuckin porkin ma wee sister ya shitebag!! Am gonnae cut ye tae ribbons!!" I had no reason to doubt him, standing as he was with what looked like an out sized and doubtless very sharp Sabbatier kitchen knife in his right hand. He didn't look like he was going to use it to cut us all a nice piece of birthday cake. I badly needed to get up and run for it, but my 'Fight or Flight' instinct was seemingly out having a fag break. Since I was going nowhere, I whimsically decided I would waste my last few seconds on this earth feebly attempting to find out who this madman was, and why he wanted to kill me to death. "Hold on mate" I stammered. "You've got the wrong guy!" He said nothing. I waited for the cliche police. When they didn't arrive, I tried a different gambit. "C'mon, this isn't a good idea. Don't want blood on the carpet, do we? The cleaner'll throw a fit" This set something off in him and he sank to his knees, just at my shoulder. I could smell the sweat and the rancid, unmistakable parmesan stench of unwashed genitals. His fly was open. I fought back the urge to make some feeble joke concerning oral sex. He'd have done one of two things, neither of them pleasant. I held my breath and looked up at him. He looked a little calmer, but he also had the knife raised in his hand. One cancelled out the other. Suddenly, the knife plunged towards me in a stop-motion blur. I closed my eyes instinctively and flinched as it crashed down about an inch from where my right ear had been, close enough to embed the dull thud in my subconscious for all eternity. His face closed in on mine and muttered the immortal words that I shall never forget, and on occasion, quote with pride. "If I ever see yer face, or hear my sister utter your name, I'll hunt ye down, cut off yer bollocks and make you wear them as earings." With that, he lifted himself away from me and stormed back towards his lair. The knife was still vibrating slightly in the floor. I breathed out for the first time in about two minutes, but it had felt like half an hour. A pair of hands lifted me to my feet, though my legs weren't exactly up to speed on the deal and buckled a little, giving me the demeanour of a drunk being helped out at closing time. I turned round and noted that the face looked reasonably human and friendly. That would do for now, at least until I was back within the walls of my safe European home. "C'mon pal, I think you need to be anywhere else but here right now." "Took the words right out of my mouth mate" The guy looked at me, half with pity, half with curiosity. "You dippin' the big man's sister then?" "Going by the accent, it might be a possibility" I replied vacantly. We were heading towards the door now. Once outside, I confided in my new ally. "So what's his problem?" I asked, as nonchalantly as was possible for a man who had just been invited to inspect the quality of a madman's legalised chib collection. "Last guy that went with his sister got her pregnant and fucked off into the night" he said, looking me straight in the eye. "People and their secrets, eh?" I muttered distractedly. The bizarre new slant on my relations with Elaine hadn't really sunk in yet, but I knew there would probably be questions, denials and tears before bed-time when I brought it up with her. I also wondered how the missing link knew who I was. Was it all coincidence and mistaken identity? I looked up at the now clearing skies and smiled. "A good omen at last!" I declared. I thanked the guy for his help and made my way back towards familiar territory. After the terror of the previous five minutes, I wasn't quite sure what that was anymore, but I was just happy to still have all my body parts intact. For a few seconds back there, I thought I'd be attending fancy dress parties as Van Gogh for the rest of my life........

I Am Six!

2009-02-16T18:11:00.002Z

Where's My Cake!?

Well?

(Almost) Text Only

2009-02-13T00:39:00.004Z

Like Tom without Jerry, like Abbot without Costello, like Richard without Judy, the iLL Man without photographs is something of an aberration.

Sadly, I have been unable to upload photos to Blogger for most of tonight. A curse of extreme ugliness upon all of their firstborn! It seems to have resolved itself now, but like every other dreary drama queen on this mindless little planet, I feel as if I'm being victimised. For that alone, I hate Blogger with a passion right now.

If I had a phone-line to the bastards, I'd be insulting their dead grandmothers rather than making this blog post. I know things go wrong, but for fuxsakes, can't they give me any more info than "There has been an internal error"? Talk about vague. Their help desk is of no use, mainly because you have to join some obscure user group before you get to post up any problem you would expect them to fix. I object to the very concept of 'joining' anything, but i make the odd exception. I am fucked if I'm going to sign up to something I've already joined though. Bunch of mammary brained bollock ticklers!

Yes, of course, it's a 'free' service, but don't tell me they don't make their wedge. They're not a fucking charity. This is my cocktail hour they've eaten into and I don't appreciate the bullshit!!

P.S. I seem to have thrown my Tonka trucks out of the playpen. Would be obliged if someone would be kind enough to retrieve them for me............. Cheers!

Sunday Run

2009-02-10T00:07:00.009Z

Shots taken during a rather nice drive through the Campsie hills, over to Aberfoyle. Pity the weather was so overcast, creating a distinct lack of contrast in these shots. Saturday's blue skies were nowhere to be seen unfortunately.

Hawking My Wares

2009-02-06T00:06:00.003Z

Hey! More stuff up at Gasoline Rainbows. Work put paid to me getting any good snow shots, but I suppose the early evening darkness gives the shots I took a sort of grainy moodiness, especially the black & white ones.

We All Need Somebody To Come Home To

2009-02-04T22:55:00.005Z

I cannot lie, things haven't been good for the old iLL Man. Oh, don't get me wrong, I have no real money worries (yet), winter's nearly over and I'm currently itching to get started on some gardening projects with Clairwil and the rest of the Glasgow Guerrilla Gardening crew, but there's something pulling me down.............

I'm of the belief that it's my job which, to quote a wise man, 'pays my way, but corrodes my soul'. Each morning I wake up with tiny, sharpened claws of dread digging into my gut, and each night I come home and watch the clock, willing time to stop. Weekends become symbolic of my desire to simply get the fuck out of my life and do something a little less boring instead.

To that end, I have decided that I shall travel to Ayr at the end of the month for an open day at what used to be a Butlins holiday camp. It's now a 'Haven Holiday Park', whatever that is. Apparently the job entails taking photos of stuff and then loading them up to be printed out. I think. All very vague. They're probably looking for a toilet cleaner or something, but I'd still take it in a flash. Anything to be away from that air conditioned hell-hole on North Street.

Funny I should mention Butlins, because it looks like the traditional British intern......er, I mean holiday camp is due for a revival. As the 'credit card crunchie' turns into a full on recession, people no longer seem willing to spend money on foreign holidays. Or something. Look, Ruth Maddox said it, so it must be true!! The thinking is that people will still go abroad, but the likes of Pontins, Butlins and Haven will be there to provide cheap local breaks for those who find that even an all inclusive on the Costa Del Sol is just a bit too much. It's just that these places have to up their game a bit to keep people who are used to endless sunshine, cheap booz and transvestite caberet acts coming back. The mind boggles, it truly does..............

Maybe they'll have Redcoat jobs for Lucy Pinder and Tommy Sheridan......

In other news, it seems Chris Martin, of tedious pomp rock bores Coldplay has been banned from the studio by none other than the God-like Brian Eno. Apparently it's to allow the rest of the band to work up unlistenable cack without the singer chipping in every five minutes. How I hope they extend the ban indefinitely. The album will still be shite, a turd polishing exercise if ever there was one, but at least nobody would have to listen to the smug, self satisfied little cum stain's pissy little voice. Knowing Eno, Martin's contribution will be limited to him farting down the phone line and having it looped at different speeds over each track. Hell, even I'd buy that!

One final request. Can someone ask Barack Obama to stop copping for stuff? It's not terribly becoming of a world premier to state that he 'screwed up'. How does he think Bush lasted eight years? Admit fuck all. It might seem cute and refreshing at first, but believe me, people will start to agree with him after a while and then he's shafted.

New Blog

2009-01-26T00:06:00.003Z

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

2009-01-24T23:23:00.004Z

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

2009-01-17T01:51:00.009Z

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

2009-01-15T19:45:00.009Z

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

2009-01-13T00:03:00.004Z

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!

2009-01-06T22:47:00.011Z

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

2009-01-05T23:59:00.003Z

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

Interesting.

Terminus

2008-12-30T21:25:00.010Z

Thankyou mother! Thankyou for the lovely cold!

I feel fine actually, it's just that when I swallow, I feel like I've been eating hot gravel for a month.

No man-flu here, just frustration at not being able to have a drink until the inflamation in my throat goes down.

I trust you all had a decent Christmas? Mine was ok, a financial pleasure at least............... Oh, and a giant box of Daz washing powder! Apparently my brother and his girlfriend reckon I need it. Cheeky fuckers! I prefer liquid anyway, less mess and hassle plus it tastes better........... I've never been one to turn down freebies, so I'll find a use for it.

Ok, so as we wind our way through the tedious post-Christmas fallout and into the waiting arms of the New Year, I thought I'd be dead original and make a wee list. It went something like this....

Album of The Year - That Lucky Old Sun by Brian Wilson.

Blog of The Year - A straight fight between Cocktails & Records and Velo-Gubbed Legs. C&R takes it by two falls to a submission.

Commenter of The Year - It's probably Cocktails, but Kim Ayres put in a late spurt recently, so I'll give it to him for popping his head round the door when it seemed like I was not only talking to myself, but on the verge answering myself back.

Web-Comic of the Year - A new category, and it goes to the one and only 'Married To The Sea'. Read it over your Shreddies and feel fractionally better about being a chump with a shite job. Sometimes, 'fractionally better' is all it takes to get you out the door in the morning, so don't knock it!

Most Satisfying Thing in 2008 - Watching facebook and bebo die a death of a thousand cuts at the hands of spammers and viruses.

Moment of Truth- Realising I'd never be a touring folk singer.

Moment of Joy - I'm a Partick Thistle & Glasgow Tigers fan. I know nothing of such things......

Moment of Despair - Tigers 45 Monarchs 46 & Thistle 0 Airdrie 1 Both on the same day as I recollect...............

Still, I did learn a bit about gardening, thanks to my good friend Clairwil, as well as taking some of my best photos yet and getting the cheeky idea that I might be able to make a living out of it.

Ok, class dismissed! Single file and no running................

Clichéd Christmas Carping: Part 32(b)

2008-12-23T21:08:00.008Z

I've heard it stated that Christmas is a cruel joke perpetrated upon the broke, the lonely, and the depressed. A plausible, but maudlin and slightly pretentious statement. Granted, it's a right old pain in the crotch, but since it's 'but once a year', it's one I can live with. Anyway, top things about Christmas: Christmas market in Argyll Street with it's neat little wooden stalls and amusing tat. (obviously stolen from Lapland New Forest...) German sausage sellers. Without them, I'd have died of hunger on many of my abortive Christmas shopping trips. The lights on the trees in Sauchiehall Street. Lovely! In fact, the plethora of Christmas lighting strung up over various bits of greenery at St Georges Cross and Cowcaddens. Beats the cack in George Square. Not that you'd know it was fucking christmas in my current place of work. Half-day on Christmas eve? Ha! Don't be so fucking silly! No, if you want to leave early, you need to make up the time apparently. How about I turn up at 4pm tomorrow and take 45 minute lunches for the next two months? If we're going to play silly buggers, I want to be the king of the castle! Buncha Crotch Pheasants! On top of this indignity, the cretins decide to pay us on the 23rd. Every other fucker on the planet seems to get their Christmas wage a good week before the 25th, you know, so that they can go and do their Christmas shopping........... Not the employees of the company I work for! Instead I have to fight the clock as well as the crowds in an insane after work dash, two days before the day we all celebrate the birth of the little babby Jimmy Christ, usually by getting wasted and buying each other the finest consumer durables China has to offer. Stereotypical Christmas bitches in no particular order: Endless queues? Check! Doddering fools? Check! Pile upon pile of worthless tat? Check! Pissy weather? Check! Shakin Bastard Stevens and Paul Fucking McCartney on the PA? Check! (x100000) Do my shopping earlier? Fuck off! I have neither the time nor the inclination to think about the annual orgy until I need to, it's just that a three mile trolley dash in the dark is about as much fun as listening to the Catholic church whingeing about a childrens party song. Next year, I do it all on-line................ All malignance aside, have yourselves a safe, sane and gently innebriated Christmas.

Low- Just Like Christmas

Aberdeen Man Lost At Sea

2008-12-20T01:28:00.008Z

"I thought he was dead!" "Someone told me he was travelling the world in Sinclair C5!" "Really? I heard he was re-painting the Sistine Chapel with a toothbrush and a pot of Duluxe !" All wrong of course! I've been jumping through my arsehole for Jesus, if it's any of your business. Which it's not.

I have to admit, I'm fascinated by parochialism. That notion that nothing that happens anywhere else is of any importance, unless there are fellow Scots/Brits/Belgians etc involved. A prime example of it was seen today on a newsagent billboard for the Daily Record. "Scottish Victims of Nickell Murderer!" Ok, I know, it's just an angle, it's about flogging sub-literate printed bum wad to people who have trouble walking and talking at the same time. Thing is, this all comes from a newspaper that looks down it's nose at the very notion of Scottish independence as something tacky and small-minded, as something a little bit................parochial? Tonights music comes courtesy of Kinky Friedman, of Texas Jewboys fame.

Kinky for president!!

We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To You - Kinky Friedman

Curious Bedfellows

2008-12-15T23:57:00.006Z

I have two sources of junk e-mail to contend with this weather. One is a weekly bulletin from a mob of rabid yank right wingers, doubtless girding their loins for what they see as a dangerous new dawn of socialist radicalism, led by that nice Mr Obama chap. So far, so tedious. I'm also getting dyslexic porn spam, which isn't nearly as exciting at it sounds. As it stands, I don't know if I'm being tempted with internet filth or addressed by a pervy tourrettes sufferer with a broken keyboard. Slightly more amusing, but not by much. This leads me to ponder something that really ought not to be pondered. Hardcore right wing porn anyone? Now, there's a market they've yet to exploit................ Afghan Whigs - Turn On The Water

Attack Of The Killer Light Entertainers

2008-12-08T22:14:00.010Z

'Tis the season to get our panties in a bunch about contaminated food products it would seem. First of all, Country Life butter was recalled from branches of Iceland because people had been finding traces of rubber in the cartons. As a purchaser of 'spreadable' butter and various substitute spreads for most of my life, I can honestly state that I don't see what the problem is. I mean, those little chewy bits are the best part, right?..............

Do you think John Lydon might have anything to do with all this? I know he's an irrelevant old pantomime dame who no longer poses any threat to anyone other than himself and the odd personal assistant, but it's all a little too coincidental for my liking. They didn't let Him or Steve Jones do a tour of the Country Life factory perchance?

Then we have Irish pork. Or rather we don't. What an absolute bag of old bollocks!

The risk from dioxins in this situation is deemed to be very low. You'd probably need to eat nothing but Irish pork products for the next two years to become ill, but that hasn't stopped vast amounts of only slightly iffy food being binned to fend off the prospect of Daily Mail fueled mass hysteria. Fuck me! Does anyone realise how much filth and poison we consume on a daily basis? If you ate a supermarket apple, a Big Mac and drank a can of Coke today, then let's just say that a few dodgy Irish bangers aren't going to make a whole heap of difference to your general health. Look, I'm not advocating a laissez faire attitude towards food safety ("yes you are!" - blog readers), but can we all just accept that you might as well withdraw ready salted crisps because they carry a threat of scurvy if you ate twenty bags a day.

There, that made no sense at all.

Mind you, nor did seeing Bernie Clifton* on TV recently. (Caution ladies!, site contains semi naked Keith Harris/Bernie Clifton photos)

I quite like Paul O'Grady, I also like some of his show, but the moment Bernie 'fucking' Clifton appears with his blessed ostrich, well, I'm off to do something a little more entertaining, like rub salt in my eyeballs, or count my nostril hairs. I thought that guy was dead, but hell, I suppose those old lags never die, they just disappear into the anonymity of pantomime and local radio.

Or maybe, if they're particularly poor, they get gigs as opening night turn at slums like Lapland New Forest.

My first thought when I read of the Dorset hell hole was "Pah! What did you expect?". Having seen this article on the Kent Lapland experience, I can now honestly say that the notion that people would be mugs to think such a theme park could ever be anything other than a dismal rip-off, is a little bit inaccurate and unfair. The £75 per head entry fee is horrific, but there is something of a 'Christmas Experience' involved, with customers booked in small-ish groups, rather than the messy, disorganised, turn up on the day approach of the New Forest site.

Having seen Youtube clips of the the approach to the infamous park, I can tell you that it's the sort of place that had I been taken there as a nipper by my folks, they would have turned tail before they got to the pay gate. Therein lies the problem. Some folk most probably did smell a rat, but a promised day out in santa land for the kids is not easily weasled out of. It's very hard to explain the concept of cheap, shoddy crap to a six year old, and the attitude of 'best just pay the cash and keep them quiet' seems to prevail.

This sort of shit is everywhere, and even the sharpest folk get suckered in occassionally

The Nazz - Open My Eyes Taken from Lenny Kaye's Nuggets comp *Not Bernie Winters, of Schnorbitz & Glasgow Empire infamy

A Picture & A Song

2008-12-04T01:23:00.003Z

View of Kelvingrove Art Galleries and Glasgow University from the Forth & Clyde Canal (Glasgow branch) Durutti Column - Belgian Friends. A bonus track which can be found on the album LC, if you're willing to wallop down the best part of a ton for it on import............ Mine cost about a fiver I think..........