Ouch!

Need to go away and have a think for a bit. It's not the mis-carriage I posted below, that's par for the course on a drunken Friday night, I've written worse, I'm sure. It's when you post up a photo and it gets a negative response............maybe that's the signal for me to go and do something else for a while, let it all slide and come back when I can be arsed.

I'll still be about, just not here.

See y'all soon.

Ewen

Georgejonestown - A Demographic Breakdown.

You've heard of Jonestown. You might even have heard of Georgetown. They're not far from each other. I'm wagering however, you've never heard of the Free Nation of Georgejonestown .

Every morning, hundreds of drunken country singers get on their lawn mowers and head into the next town for a bottle of booze and every evening they are met by their buxom, blonde country singing wives, threatening divorce. The economy is self-contained and stable and the populace are, more often than not, very drunk and/or hopped up on pills. The population can be describes as volatile, yet strangely predictable in their behaviour.

The Gross National Product is the Lovelorn Country Ballad and the currency is The Empty Whiskey Bottle.

Current population stands at around 100, of which 50% are female and 50% are out of their tiny fucking minds on any intoxicating substance that comes to hand.

Music Shop Window

As wise aquaintance once advised, never go anywhere without your camera.................

Amusing Extract From A Childish Scrawl (The Fuck Off Song?)

Most people are hateful
Spiteful and ungrateful
Most people are a pain in the arse

Most people wouldn't care
But they will stop and stare
When your life becomes a sad and tragic farce

Life Mrs Jones
It's one long kick in the stones
And if you happen to passing and look this way

Please don't be alarmed
Affronted or dis-armed
If I completely fail in my attempt to say 'Good Day!'

Good Day!

So Fuck Off!, Yes Please, Fuck Off!
Yes, You Heard It Right The First Time
Fuck Off!, Oh Do Please Fuck Off!
Otherwise I'm Feeling Rather Fine

Down At The Duck Pond

Some News

A rough transaltion of the legend inscribed above in felt tip pen would possibly be 'Dear Sir/Madam, We would be most grateful if you could refrain from allowing your walking piss machine to micturate at will all over our little sign. We suggest you take Fido to the nearest lamp-post to perform his territorial duties, or better still, take him to the vet and have the fucker neutered. Thankyou.

Some time back, I wittered on about how the old Speedway at Ashfield was under threat and made a plea, more in hope than expectation, to any passing readers to maybe take up cudgels and write a wee note to those nice people at the Glasgow City Council Planning Dept.

Well, it would seem the planning permission for the proposed office block/housing development has been pretty much kyboshed, due in no small part to the letter writing campaign staged by Glasgow Tigers fans. If anyone put forward a response from my initial post, can I just pass on my eternal gratitude. This has bought the club the time they need to look at new options. Ashfield is probably not an ideal long-term venue, due to local housing which limits the amount of speedway that can be staged and prevents youngsters from getting much needed practice. The speedway however, will continue for now and that is what is most important. Now, all you need to do is get yer arses along of a Sunday Afternoon from March 9th onwards. Sure, it aint cheap, but for 12 quid or so, you get a great afternoon of entertainment, cheap booze, a friendly atmosphere and an overload of the senses you'll not find anywhere else. (No charge for the free ad Mr Dick ;D)

Anyway, tonights 'And Finally' story involves me going into ruddy Premark and buying the wrong size of trousers for about the third time in the space of a year. I think it's my sub-conscious. It doesn't want to accept the fact that I have a 38" waist. I even wrote my measurements down beforehand, yet I went in, picked up the trousers from the rail and headed for the check-out convinced I'd picked up the right size of breeks..........

Arse!

Janet Street Farter eat yr heart out!

Alive!!

Indeed! After what seemed like an eternity of traipsing up and down to my parents house to check email and make blog posts, I am at last in the land of the connected. I would like to thank my brother for his assistance, my folks for their patience and you dear reader(s) for hanging around to see the day. Jings!

Ok, I had a big list of stuff I was gonna blog about, but frankly, a lot of it has lost it's appeal since I jotted it down. Blogging topics have to be fresh, though theres no reason why some of them shouldn't crop up again.

We're all familiar with the term 'Jump The Shark', right? That defining moment in a tv show where the scripts take a terminal turn for the worse, the watershed moment after which the whole point and credibility of the programme is lost. Like Arthur Fonzerelli in 'Happy Days' strapping on water-ski's and jumping over a shark. Whilst wearing his leather jacket.

Ok, fine. Except it seems that actual the use of the term goes a long way beyond that. Check the Wikipedia definition of the term, or the jumptheshark.com site. It seems to me that just about any situation regarding a tv show can be categorised as some form of 'Shark Jumping'. Problems arise of course when the very premise of the show in question is a 'Shark Jump' and in some ways, to not jump the shark would indeed be an act of 'Shark Jumping'. Are you with me? No?

Good!!

I say we do away with these phony categories and get back to the original point of the phrase. It was originated as an easy, catchy, shorthand way of denoting the exact point at which the network bosses got their talons into the script-writing team, or the precise point at which the premise of a particular show had outlived it's purpose, leading the script writers to go to ever more ludicrous lengths to avoid repeating themselves. Shit TV shows DO NOT COUNT!!! Diff'rnt Strokes jumped several super-sized Great Whites the very moment it aired. Accusing it of 'Jumping The Shark' is like accusing Britney Spears of being a Pop Star. On the other hand, Happy Days, whilst being nothing more than a cheap, fairly well written nostalgia vehicle, managed to retain a thread of continuity, enough to traumatise a nation with this image.

My personal nominations are.........

Monty Python - Most of series 4
Still Game - Series whatever - When pensioners give birth
My Family - Die! Die! Die Now!

If anyone has any other suggestions, I'd be grateful if they'd keep them to themselves.

Cheers!