Anarchy In The UK(ulele)

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

Clichéd Christmas Carping: Part 32(b)

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

Avoid Christmas Disappointment & Stay In Bed

It's that time of year folks. The time of year when you start to do the 'heating's coming on dance'. Usually around about 5.45pm. Not long after the frostbite has set in, which of course makes dancing a tad difficult. Ventured out tonight in the freezing fog to get some messages. I did consider going back out again with the camera to get some moody fog pics, but I wasn't for doing anything until I regained the feeling in my fingers and legs, by which time I'd decided I'd rather set fire to my armpits than go back outside again. Of course, a good old cold snap is no bad thing, if only to freeze snot nosed, paranoid, mentally deficient wanker students to the pavement as they queue ACROSS the pavement to get their money from cashpoint machines. The result is the sight, all across town, of absolute fucking morons causing a major obstruction to passers by in the name of the confused notion that just because someone is behind you,they can't see your pin. Fucking hell!! It happened to me the other night and it was frankly embarrassing to have to join in with this 'dance of the retards'. I could see people joining the queue and thinking the same as me. NOBODY CAN SEE YOUR PIN IF YOU COVER THE KEYPAD!!!!!!! If someone is too close for comfort, simply fucking turn and stare at them, as I did a few weeks ago to some toolbag outside Sainsbury's. It ain't fucking difficult. In fact, it's rather satisfying and empowering. Just watch them sheepishly step back and out of your face. Even the meekest of spoddy studes should be capable of such a feat, though if passive aggression is your general MO, then I have to admit that such activity may not be for you and queuing across across the pavement must seem pretty natural........

Built To Spill - Nowhere Nothin' Fuck-Up

Not my favourite BTS song, but the best one I have to hand. Still better than most stuff you'll ever hear.

People Were So Much More Attractive In 1993

Dedicated to mania inducing bores everywhere.

Lord Snooty's Giant Poisoned Electric Head

The Bonzo Dog Band - My Pink Half Of The Drainpipe Every time I have to go across to the other office to pick up filing, I'm reminded of the above song. Office life has a habit of turning even the nicest and most amusing people into brain buggering bores, but the group of halfwits I spent two hours in the company of today make the more annoying folk I normally work with seem quite witty, erudite and fascinating in comparison. Quite a feat really........... Where do these people come from? These blank eyed monsters with their tales of suburban terror. Their miserable holiday snaps, banal chatter about what they had for dinner last night, about what their boyfriends do for a living, about how they went to Miami on holiday and DID FUCK ALL!!!!!..................... Apart from go clubbing and shopping.......... Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggg!!!!!!! Pass me the white hot needles, I feel a migraine coming on............ Why bother even leaving East Kilbride? September is 'Bonzo Dog Band Month' by the way..............

Wanker

Hello!

If you ever meet this man, plees give him a kick in the shins for me. He won't apresciate it, I'm sure, but I will.

I have no problem with language variations, both spoken and written, they evolve over time, often through isolation and written versions of local dialects. I do however draw the line at lazy fucktard lecturers who would rather indulge the shortcomings of people who can't be arsed looking up a dictionary, than actually taking issue with their inability to spell very simple words.

The fact I can't spel myself is niether here nor there, I shouldn't be indulged. ;)

As a footnote to this nonsense............. My boss asked me how to spell 'International' today. He's older than I am, what's his fucking excuse? Bring back the spelling bee's and handwriting contests!

Filth: The Plot Thickens

A note to the binmen and my neighbours: WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCKING BIN SHELTER GATE AFTER YOU!!!!! Thankyou.

Well, it looks like a new face has entered the fray with regard to the disgusting shitehole that is my back court. I thought I'd pretty much sussed out the problem with the rubbish build up and the crap strewn bin shelters. I assumed it was to do with lazy tennants, poor quality bin bags, badly desigend bins and opportunistic wildlife. Enter the newest gladiator to the fray, our very own bin men. Yes, the chaps whose wages I fucking pay to lift my refuse. I may well be putting two and two together and getting five, but it does seem like a bit of a coincidence that the garden path was clear of garbage on Tuesday night, yet this morning I was awoken by a bin lorry, and only an hour later looked out my window to see a variety of product wrapping and other detritus strewn across the back path again (see photo)

You really don't want to see the nick of the shelter itself. Not sure what to do other than get obsessive, camouflage up and hide in the communal garden, waiting for the true culprits to present themselves. I have a feeling it's not that simple, and it is indeed an unholy alliance of bad design, tennant negligence, slapdash binmen and scabby pigeons and magpies. I don't know, maybe I'm being too picky. Maybe that's how most people live, happy to ditch their crap any old place, as long as they don't have to look at or enter the 'midgies' for fear of catching something unpleasant. I dread the day I find the first bin bags to be left at the back door of the close. I don't intend to let it get that far...............................

I'm getting on to the GCC and insisting on bigger, covered bins. If this is a problem for them, then all I can say is they have a cheek claiming what they do off me in council tax. Songs of Summer No 8: JC - Sonic Youth

Hot City Symphony (Sweating Like A Kraft Cheese Slice Left Out On A Formica Worktop Remix)

I hope you can forgive the 'hot and bothered' tone of this post, but that's just what I am right now. I can barely move without working up a sweat. It's cooled off as little now that night has fallen, but the haze that has enveloped Glasgow in the past few days seems to be sealing all the heat in. It feels like it anyway.................... I hear ice cream vans in some parts of England are being forced to curtail their 'jolly jingles' to blasts of no more than four seconds at a time. "What a travesty!" I hear the reactionary press holler, hastily reaching for their well thumbed book of heart warming 'This isn't our country anymore' clichés. They seem to be under the impression that these guys tootle about dispensing joy to all and sundry. Sorry folks, this isn't the 'Good Humor' man we're talking about here. Have you ever been served by one of the surly fuckers? Oh, and their jingles aren't 'quaint', they're a fucking earsore! Do I have to hear the fucking bastards at all? Can they not get something done about the coronary inducing volume they play their jingles at? See when some prick in a big yellow van parks outside my front door and lets rip? I'm not thinking of buying ice cream, cheap fags or pirated dvd's off him. No, I'm thinking of gouging out the fat cunts eyeballs with his ice-cream scoop and having them with my spaghetti hoops! Then theres the bins. Like Clairwil, I seem to have utter cunts for neighbours. The bin shelters in my back court are less than ideal, it has to be said. They're open, the bins are too small and have no lids, but how does that prevent anyone from performing simple tasks like putting refuse in the bins and closing the shelter gate behind them? It doesn't, but it seems many human beings are more than happy to inflict their filth on others. One last thing, I know in these days of watching the pennies and cutting ones cloth to fit, that sacrifices need to be made. It's an Aldi microwave curry instead of classy M&S ready meals, it's a packet of gristly looking 'Tesco Value' mince instead of a pound of the butchers finest.............What it doesn't mean is buying 'so thin they're transparent' bin liners. Bin liners are dirt fucking cheap anyway, even good quality ones. If you see a roll of 200 going for about 50p, take it as read that if they don't split half way to the bins, they'll get ripped to shreds by the local wildlife in seconds flat, thus decorating the back gardens, both communal and private, with your unattractive personal detritus. You thick cunt! Anyway, I bought a sunflower plant today, so I have no real right to be so grouchy.

A quick guide to seedbombing and a wee link to the Guerrilla Gardening site., then............ Songs Of The Summer No6: Teardrops Falling by The Versatiles (what a name!)

My Mantras

Mantra No1 - Hold your counsel.

Better to say nothing and have people think you a fool, than to open your mouth and confirm the suspicion. It's amazing how few people consider their words on the internet, and how few understand the ramifications of their casually tossed off bullshit.

Mantra No2 - Never mock what you don't understand.

Twitter is something I have no time for. I can think of nothing worse to do with ten minutes of precious free time than go online and tell people what I'm doing at any given moment. I tried it and it was shite. Of course, it wasn't designed for friendless (in the sense that I can count all of mine on the fingers of one hand) twats like me. No, it was made for the go-getter, the jet-setter and the sort of person who 'makes fast friends'. All fine and well, but it seems it has performed it's ultimate function already. It can get you out of that 2 star North African state run 'accommodation' you wound up in while you were acting the arse on yr gap year. For that, I can't praise it highly enough.

Mantra No3 - Never tell people the truth to their faces.

It seems honesty doesn't go down very well with people who have fragile egos.............. In a bit of a comedy moment from yesterday, one of my dimmer colleagues pressed 'reply all' in the email he and a few others were swapping back and forth between themselves. Quite an eye opener it was too................. It seems that someone I gave a well deserved verbal slap-down to some months ago still harbours a great deal of resentment against me. Apparently he thinks I'm the lowest form of life and won't attend any post work leisure activities if I'm present. Hilarious, a more inadequate and miserable man I have never met. As for not coming to nights out because of me, he never came to them anyway, it's just that now when he's asked, instead of looking like an anti-social saddo, he can now point at me and say 'It's that bad mans fault, he called me nasty names!'

It would also help if he had the balls to say what he thinks to my face, but then, that would involve having a spine and guts, something the said individual has never had, and nor will he at any future date.

Of course, maybe I should have listened to mantra No1 and held my tongue in the first instance..........

Mantra No4 - No Regrets.

Or maybe not...............