Frankly, Mr Shankly

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

Bad Weather, Bad Karma

The next time some smug buffoon sidles up to you as you curse the opening heavens and tells you that "Theres no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong choice of clothing......", do me a favour, once you've finished sticking the head on them and take a few seconds to audibly curse the name of the man who originated the phrase.

Yes, your friend and mine............... Billy Connolly.

Now, I'm a fan of Mr C believe it or not. I like his acting work, I enjoy his stand-up, I can even bear to watch his slightly puffed up travelogues. It's when he waxes lyrical about the good old Scottish weather that I find myself reaching for my trusty blunderbuss......... Aye Billy, that's right, we should all rejoice at the pissing rain, gale force winds and hypothermia inducing cold, cos you know what? If it wisnae for yer wellies.......

Fuck that! Billy Connolly pissed off to LA when he got the chance, just like the rest of us would. I'm sure he'll tell you it wasn't for the weather, but it's a bit like a man saying he's not going to a brothel to get laid. He's fooling nobody. Of course, he's got his wee castle somewhere in Aberdeenshire now, so he can enjoy all that wonderful pissy weather safe in the knowledge that he needn't go out in it and get trench foot any time soon.

I, on the other hand need sunshine. Not endless days of blistering heat and clear blue skies.........that would be a bit silly. No, just some sunshine here and there. A half decent spring and summer please. I have to be honest, it feels like it's been one long winter since about April last year in Britain. The only difference is that it got a bit humid in the summer months. I can't think what's worse. Cold and wet or hot and wet? It's a rhetorical question, but those with mucky minds are free to divulge their preferences if they wish...........

Anyway, heres to January! Long may she stifle our souls, piss on our chips and strangle our bank accounts.

Blue Peter For Grown-Ups

I HATE The One Show!

Yes, in letters that big. I'm not the only one either.........

Unlike the soaps, which are on just late enough for me to be able to sit at the PC in peace, The One Show is invariably on when I pop round to the folks to use the PC. So it's on in the background, and like most pointless froth, it seems to have the aggravating effect of not allowing me to concentrate on other things. Put something on involving wildlife, science or archeology and I'll merrily ignore it for it's duration. On the other hand, any flavour of mental chewing gum and it's like toothache, you simply cannot ignore it and you're left with no option but to prod it a bit and make it worse. One could argue, I suppose, that what early evening television has been screaming out for for years is a sort of update on the old Nationwide format, though this isn't it. Of course, what I really mean by 'update' is to cross Pebble Mill at One, with Watchdog to get a sort of Blue Peter for grown-ups. The tone is distinctly 'daytime' and it's all very mimsy, with an unhealthy fixation on lifestyle and pointless scare stories. In fact, if one word could be used to sum the whole thing up, it would be 'facile'. The reports seem to be based on half-baked theories or non-stories about various tedious Daily Mail style issues. Then there are the wacky presenters with their wacky props cajoling the human contents of some God-forsaken concrete shopping trench into saying or doing something amusing. It used to work, but these days we're all a little too smart to make too much of an arse of ourselves on the telly. Worry not though, there are plenty of pro-am attention seekers available to cover that quota adequately.

Quite what professional Brummie Adrian Chiles is doing on it is unclear, though he does actually anchor it reasonably well. The presenting style in the studio is very much similar to his Match Of The Day approach, i.e. slightly less obvious than your average TV host. But only slightly. His replacement this week is a small bald chap with a gruff cockney accent. He's fine doing 'to camera' stuff, but he doesn't quite have Chiles' amiable banter and iron grip on the conversation (which stops dull guests prattling on too long)

There are little islands of hope to be found in this river of toss though. They did a pretty good feature on Cloud Spotting a while back, and tonight there was a slightly disturbing chap on who seemed to revel in prodding freshly laid piles of cow shit (it was about Dung Beetles) It's this combination of whimsy and a little bit of wonder at the world around us that maybe gives the show an escape hatch to a better place. Then again, why not just do a programme about Dung Beetles and Cloud Spotting?

Still, it'll run forever, just as long as there's a never ending supply of arse-clenchingly dull semi-celeb guests (Penny Lancaster anyone?) , alleged experts on rubbish topics ('How to pose in clothing', 'prevent your cat from killing birds') and pointless vox-pop surveys and features (I remember one hideously ill-advised week-long feature about inter-town rivalries that reached it's nadir with an array of Channel Island yokels acting like pricks on St Hellier seafront. Or was it St Peter Port? Who cares.......)

As I said, I wish I could hide from it, but I can't. Virgin!! Get yer fucking arses in gear and bring me my ruddy broadband!!!

A Plea For Understanding

A little message to people who send those chain e-mails with jokes and 'hilarious' pictures from the internet.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE STOP!!!

Seriously, I can just about hack them at work, if only because they divert my attention momentarily from the sound of my teeth grinding to dust. However, I do not want them filling up my inbox at home. You give people your email address for the purposes of communication and other practicalities, not so you can learn the '50 things that make women better than men', or lose your appetite over pictures of grisly road accidents with jokey captions under them.

Think on and ask my permission first. Ta!

'Life In A Scotch Toilet Cubicle Pt I'

"..........and then I stumbled upon the comment box and realised I could truly say nothing of any real worth.

To those who engage with the spirit of humanity alone, those who accept dichotomy and exception, those who reject simplistic, verbatim reasoning and easy answers, those who actually understand what they are saying..........

I give my humble respect and hope against hope that you aren't wasting your time."

On the other hand, all you can expect here is witless swearing, obnoxious flippancy and few, if any prisoners. Oh yeah, and the odd YouTube clip. Hurrah!

As predicted, I'm three sheets to the wind and presently doing my best to making the situation worse. Aren't weekends wonderful? If you're wondering why my spelling is so good, well don't. I'm just better than you, get used to it.

Spent the night with some peeps from work and the lame buffet at La Tasca apart, it was fairly enjoyable. Got to meet my pal Adam's girlfriend and to be honest she was the only thing stopping the the evening descending into one long 'footy centric' circle jerk. Instead we talked about who we fancied, what makes a man 'gay' and who we would shag if we had to 'do' a bloke. All very much to the amusement of the female company.

For what it's worth, my choices were Amy Winehouse, 'Fucked If I Know' and Kevin Spacey.

or have I got that the wrong way around?

Ok, enough pish, let's go Youtubin'...............