One Last Scream In The Dark

Sunrise on New Year's Eve

The year is done and so am I. I feel a bit lethargic to be honest and won't be going full tilt at the finishing line like many of my fellow countrymen. It's been a strange 12 months and I'm not sure if I'm sad to see it go or glad to see the back of it. A bit of both. As usual.

This year I discovered the joys of Speedway, bought a house (or part of a house), finished my year long photo blog Seven Days, started a fiction blog, became an 'Idler', briefly 'fell in lurve' and became unofficial match photographer of Maryhill FC. I may have done other more exciting or interesting things somewhere along the way, but I can't for the life ofme remember what they were, so you'll have to use your imaginations.

As for tonight, I'll have my slippers on and my feet up after a nice wee curry from Adeel on Maryhill Road. Maybe a bit of 'First Footing' after the bells. As for you lot........have a happy and safe evening, whatever you're up to.

See you all on the other side..................

A misty haze floats just above the river Kelvin.

Every Ruddy Year...............

...........at around this time, I get the same shit-miserable cold. Last year it was New Year in Amsterdam, this year it was Christmas at home...........Without fail it comes round and belts me one just when I want to be eating, drinking and being merry. Bugger!

It's also why I haven't been blogging. Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose.................

I'll be back to rage at cyclists soon. The fuckers!

Christmas Elsewhere

I'm always fascinated as to how they do things in other countries. Christmas is no exception. I suppose it's that 'same but different' thing that I like. This is Christmas in Hungary

Cheers to Szelsofa for a wonderful post.

Thanks!

Christmas Means..................

.....................Four ageing Teddy Boy brickies in sequins, doing an Elvis pastiche. Still the only Christmas song I can listen towithout puking through my eyelids.

Cheers! Mines a glass of sherry and a mince pie mother!

Happy Christmas to all of you!

Welcome To My Grotto

In a moment of delusional madness, I have dubbed myself the Santa Claus of Blogland, dispensing joy and happiness to all.

Leave your requests below please.

Requests for Hard-Core Porn will be considered.

Requests for World Peace will be passed on to someone who deals with that sort of thing................

I must go now, I'm off to beat up some fucking elves.

Fog On The Clyde

Hello, Good Evening & Fuck You!

Is it just me, or are bus drivers some the least pleasant members of the human race? I hate to tar a whole group of people with the same shitty brush, but I'm not in the mood to be conciliatory right now, having just had a brush with one of 'Glasgows Finest'............

So, there I am, making my way through town to get some Christmas shopping done. I stop at a pedestrian crossing and wait for the green man. In this instance, I forego the traditional Glasgow pastime of ignoring the lights and bolting across in front of approaching traffic, in favour of, well, staying alive..... Anyway, as I wait for the lights to change, a bus driver proceeds to commit what would, in any sane world, be a capital offence. He moves his bus into a space on the road and in the process straddles the crossing. I roll my eyes and think 'If that light changes, I'm going to have to walk round this fucker. If I can see the light through the bloody bus..............'

This thought takes about two seconds to cross my mind, but the fat bald cunt behind the wheel of the bus has seen me pulling a face and he's virtually chewing the dashboard with rage. Helpfully, he's pointing upwards at something, his cheeky wee face twisted with hate.........I look up and see a traffic light. Oh, I see............! He's pointing out to me that the pedestrian crossing signal is still red, and indeed he has the right of way. Not content that he's fully conveyed the gravity of the situation to me he rolls down the window and continues to verbally abuse me, for which I'm eternally indebted to him. How else would I have known just what a shit-witted and vile little gonad he really was............

I didn't get the licence plate, but with a little luck one of his passengers will report him for acting like an irate baboon whilst in charge of a motor vehicle. Failing that, I hope some wee shite on a scheme somewhere lobs a half brick through the cab window and gives him the lobotomy he so desperately needs.

Mentalist of the Year Awards

Nominee No1 - This guy. In fact, anyone who does this for fun...............

I've seen wider (and better surfaced) garden paths.

Behold! The Boosh!

Just for starters, it's the only one you seem to be able to embed............

Am I alone in feeling like the only person in the world that watches this show? Being stuck out in the limbo of BBC 3 doesn't help I suppose. To think the truly fetid 'My Family' gets continuous prime time, year in, year out..............and quite what the BBC were thinking of when they decided that John Sullivans 'Boycie' spin off was worth another series I'll never know..........

Anyway, Thursdays, BBC 3, 10.30pm.................

The Camden Leisure Pirate

All I Want For Christmas............pt1

Actually, all I want is peace and quiet.

Ok, maybe one of those joystick thingies with old video games on that you plug into the telly. Lovelyjubbly!

You can fuck off with yer 'Nintendo Wee's' as well, ludicrous shiteboxes that they are. You can tell that every wanker in the universe will be getting one and then boring you tearless about it in the New Year, to the extent that you'll be forced to cram sharpened pencils into your ears and staple your eyelids shut, just to escape from the horror.

I know people who think video games are real. People who would marry their X-Boxes if they could.

It's got me thinking though. I've been trying to remember all the Christmas presents I got when I was a kid. Some were life altering, like my first bike or first computer. Some simply provided hours of fun like the Subbeuteo set, the Scalextric and the train set. A few were utterly ridiculous though, like the BMX add-ons I got one year to make my poxy single gear mountain bike look good. This would have been about 1984 or so and my father, for reasons best known to himself, managed to source a bike with a gear so low, that it was only any fucking use for climbing near vertical gradients. All very well if you're into that sort of thing, but I was eight years old and just wanted to race my mates along the pavement and knock little old ladies over as they came out their front door. This became impossible, mainly because my legs couldn't pedal fast enough to go at even half the speed of some guy riding a Raleigh Bloody Grifter. My pensioner skittling days were at an end, mainly because I wasn't going fast enough to be a danger to anyone (I think I'm beginning to understand.......). I also looked ridiculous, my legs flailing impotently in thin air, which meant most people got a good laugh at me to boot.................

Somehow or other, I must have thought a number plate and foam pads for the crossbar and handlebars would make things better. They didn't.

From one deluded Santa request to another. As a nipper, I had a bit of a thing for Astronomy. I'd read books, memorise the planets and pester my dad to go up the hill at the back of the house with some binoculars to look at the moon. It stood to reason that I'd want a telescope eventually. Thing is, instead of getting it out at every opportunity (Easy!), it lay virtually dis-used on top of a cupboard for years until it finally made it's way to the charity shop. Quite sad really, wonder who's got it now..................

Strange things Christmas presents. Massively over-priced gifts given to undeserving brats on one special day every year, sure, but they also sort of demarcate the process of growing up. They give annual insights into the strange thought processes and odd whims that kids harbour, just before the world turns ugly and Christmas becomes a tedious and empty ritual involving banal rubbish like money, gift vouchers, cheap perfume, Hai Karate toiletry packs and disappointing packages containing socks and comedy ties.

Still, at least theres the food......................

Turning Tricks In Chad

Boo!

Bet that scared ya! In accordance with my readers wishes (or those who chose to vote) I have lost the beard. For the time being at least. Larry's suggestion that I grow a Hitler tash was considered for a nano-second, but ultimately bowed to the practicalities of the job. As I needed a machete to get through it, I decided against any type of styling. I'm not ready to get fanmail from budding Unity Mitfords just yet............

Anyway, as I said, it was quite a job and it wasn't helped by the fact that the beard trimmer I had borrowed from my father was, unbeknownst to me, very low on battery power. It ground to a halt midway through one of the thicker parts of my beard, resulting in more than a little pain. I had visions of walking back up to the folks house with a half shaved face, looking like an escapee from a mental home to put the thing on charge. Or even worse, having to walk into a shop and shell out about seven quid for a new hand-held razor to finish the job.

I was rescued by an old and well used Gillette Mach III razor I had kicking about in the bathroom cabinet. After much face soaking and with a heavy heart, I set about hacking the rest of the beard off. I had expected the razor to be as effective as a rusty single blade Bic in the face of such a mountain of hair, but it stood up to the task valiantly, and now has pride of place in the cabinet for a few shaves yet.

You'll have noticed that I did 'the double' and got my head razored. Don't be alarmed by this, it's an annual occurance and you'll get used to it.

Finally, a warning to be heeded by all cabbies..............

So, a taxi driver bangs on about 'Paki's', 'darkies' and 'Chinks' . While I've never personally experienced it in Glasgow, the dribblings of middle aged or elderly men who drive cabs is the stuff of legend. I suppose if it stops them holding forth at will on any topic they've half understood to a captive audience, then I'd say 'fine and dandy!'

On the other hand, being arrested for having an opinion about something, no matter how ignorant and ridiculous is something that doesn't sit well with me. Why in the name of God could the occupants of the cab not have asked that he concentrate on the road and cease interrupting what was, after all, a private conversation? If they had actually bothered to challenge him on the subject(he claimed that all the school places were being 'taken by Paki's') ,instead of getting all pissy at his use of certain words (a semantic dead end which was exposed in court), they could probably have had him contradicting himself in about two minutes flat. I find it to be the way with most numpties.

What a waste of fucking time and money!

Wireless Headphones...........Brilliant!!!!

I cannot over-emphasise just how much a pair of wireless headphones have revolutionised my life. Honestly, I have no idea how I made it through 31 years of my life without them. Music at full blast as I cook the dinner or wash the dishes gets the serratonin levels up a treat and after a while you forget you have them on. Bathing, with the correct choice of music, has become an altogether otherworldly experience and is a fine way to block out the dirigable like hum of the extractor fan that kicks in when I turn the bathroom light on. It also means I can conveniently blank out the infernal racket made by the other residents in my block as they enter and exit the close. I had no idea you got a herd of fucking Rhino to yourself when you moved in. Do you think it's something they give you after six months tennancy, or have I just not been looking in the right cupboards?

I'll be updating Tigerblog later on with a few bits and bobs regarding the new season and some sad news regardingone of the Tigers riders.

Cheers!

Consenting Otters

It's never been my desire to pry beyond the banal day-to-day existances of people who work in the law racket. Lawyers, solicitors, para-legals, their lives have never exited or interested me in the slightest. Until now.............

On Thursday, I witnessed someone wandering obliviously around the office with a large, white streak of 'something' on his shirt, just at the shoulder. It looked like it had encrusted somewhat................. Far be it for me to suggest a possible explanation, but peurile, pornographic imaginations were exercised without mercy.

All very unfair it has to be said. Maybe he spilt cappucino on it (How do you spill cappucino on your shoulder? I believe an experiment would need to be done) Maybe it was just one of many house-hold spillages that go undetected...................

Neither of which provides an answer to the question "How did it get up there?"

I'll leave you with an idea that I believe could revolutionise the lives of every office worker in the land.

Do you like crisps?

Do you hate it when your fingers get all greasy from eating them and cover your mouse and keyboard in a shiny film of saturated fat and artificial flavourings?

Your woes could be at an end, for 'iLL Man Enterprises' is proud to bring you................

'Crisp Tongs'

Ok, so you'll look a bit of a tit using them, but I see a bright future for such a simple product.

Bye!

One From My Gramaphone Collection

A long, long time ago, I bought this single and fell in love with Therapy? One perfect album and a shitload of great songs hasn't saved them from relative obscurity though. In fact, I was asked who they were and what kind of music they made by an urchin serving behind the counter in HMV last week. I couldn't come up with an adequate comparison at the time, though I told him their early stuff was 'Industrial'. He looked at me like a teenager might look at an uncle trying to tell him about the good old days when Mud and Showaddywaddy walked the earth. It occurred to me later that what they sound like is a cross between Metallica and The Buzzcocks, though the clip above demonstrates more than just a passing fancy for Nine Inch Nails and Front 242. It should be noted that it seems fair to say that Liam Howlett of The Prodigy probably cocked an ear to this one on hisway to making stuff like Firestarter and Breathe.

Also, just tolet youknow, I'm back to using Fotothing to upload photos online. Theres a slideshow somewhere at the bottom of this very blog which I shall try to update every day.

Cheers!

The Answer To A Maidens Prayer.............?

'The Beard' is at critical mass. Either it goes now or it stays in the family until after Christmas. I'm throwing this one open to the floor and I promise to abide by your decision..........

The poll in the sidebar awaits you..............

Further to that, can anyone tell me which member of mid seventies period Beach Boys I most resemble.

Sunday Silence 1

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

Fuck Me!! What does it take to get through to some people? About a week ago, I cancelled my very brief tenure with Virgin Media as providers of my Broadband and cable TV. I finally thought I'd managed to get the message through to them. Alas................

I hadn't even got as far as installation to be honest. I saw the shambles that passes for one of Britains biggest companies at close quarters and didn't like what I saw. Three times I've cancelled it now. Three Fucking Times! Yet, they still send me packages detailing new installation dates, dates I simply shall not be in the house to keep. Do they fucking think when I call them up to cancel my account, I'm somehow playing a wee game with them? Do they think I'm calling up to cancel the installation date? Are the people who work for Virgin mental retards? I feel we ought to be told. Dickie Branson can go and fellate himself quite frankly. Maybe he could do his shit-witted, feeble minded call centre staff while he's at it, the grimacing minge faced prick.

You'll be glad to know that I tried to set something up with the Post Office, but they seem to have proved themselves to be nearly as incompetent. At this rate I shall have Internet access when Hell freezes over, or when Partick Thistle win the Champions League, whichever comes first...................

Talking of arseholes, it was only a matter of time before this bunch of walking abortions took to the streets. You know what? You could do quite good business if you were to set up an Islamic Fundamentalist Rent-A-Mob Agency. In fact, pick any group of people who think the world revolves around their chosen ideology and you could be onto a winner..................

News Just In

I won something!

Cheers Szelsofa!

It's Stoneybridge!!

Hola!

What's in a name? Rather a lot if you live in Clackmannanshire or Fife. Seems that while the new bridge under construction across the Forth near Kincardine links the Falkirk and Fife regions, it's the neighbouring Clackmannanshire council who want to claim the name of the bridge(check out the clip in the link, it's a hoot!). All very petty of course, it should just be called the 'Upper Forth Crossing' to annoy them both and make it hard to remember. The best bit was the item on last nights Scottish News involving what can only be described as Maigret and Boaby from Stoneybridge Council stating in their own inimitably couthy way, why the bridge should be named after their respective (Fife & Clackmannan) counties. And you thought your local councillors were an embarrassment............

In other news...........Morrissey outrages the nation once more. Andrew Collins takes a sane and rational view of it all. May his soul be damned!! ;D

English school teacher gets off lightly. Or something................

Deeply depressing really, mainly because it gives utterly loathsome 'Culture War' cunts ample ammo to continue boring us all fucking rigid. I'm caught on two minds. On one hand, surely it ought to have struck her that naming an inanimate object 'Muhammed' wasn't going to go down well. On the other, I think it's shown up just how absurd rigid application of religious law is and the deranged, paranoid mind-set of the clerics in these countries. Of course, our Sudanese chums aren't the only ones who like to get 'a tad medieval'. I'm just an old softy though. Human rights abuses don't suddenly disappear because the person in question happens to be a citizen of the country they're detained in. Anyway, hope Miss Gibbons is home soon and able to get over what must rank as a deeply confusing, distressing and ultimately futile ordeal. Maybe it pays for visitors to tread very carefully and learn the 'ins and outs' of local custom when going to such far flung places.

Facebook?

Folks, It's Lowest Common Denominator Night! - Bikes..........

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So, what is it?

What does it do?

I'm led to believe I have a Facebook account but I've never used it in anger. It always seemed to me to be a bit on the prissy side, you know, all that '...and where do I know You from?' rubbish. Bebo is the same, very up itself and cliquey. I do have a few Myspace pages and frankly, I've encountered some genuinely interesting people on it and it seems fairly open. I think the music element helps, many people want you to come to their pages, rather than closing them to outsiders and only responding to their own circle of friends. This is what I don't get though, why not just email yr mates? Want to send them photos? Again, email does that............Ok, a social networking site allows people to communicate with each other on each others sites, but it's not long until the novelty wears off. How many holiday snaps can you bear to look at in one sitting? Social Networking? I thought that was things like Meet-Up and Gumtree, you know, where people actually socialise.................

Of course, there can be problems with being too open. I've been 'Phished' at least once on Myspace and you get plenty spammers. Ah well, no change there, eh? YouTube is also hellish for that sort of thing. I do believe there is a sub species of humanity who spend their days commenting on Youtube clips. Arty clips are usually fine, but anything involving popular sports, music, movies, tv etc..............Well, it all seems to degenerate into the most ridiculous playground cat-calling. It can be captivating stuff to read, purely from an anthropological standpoint, but it's depressing to know that so many people cannot spell or punctuate.

I'm afraid I agree with Cocktails and Records, nothing beats a blog. It's your own space, you can say what you want, never having to worry about offending people or saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong person. Then again, self expression isn't for everyone, so I suppose leaving impenetrable comments on a friends Bebo and posting blurry pictures of their latest night out is probably the pinnacle of Internet usage for many people.

Ok, so I'm an incurable fucking snob. Can you blame me?

Facebook indeed...........

I hear it's a bit passé now anyway. Bring back Bravenet message boards, that's what I say..............

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...................'Burds' and Beer.

An Announcement

Some of you may be aware that I have a handful of other blogs. Some of them are a little on the neglected side. Derelict for instance is merely waiting for me to get my arse in gear and add photos to it. Fiction Depot is where Clairwil and I attempt to make sense of the Universe through the medium of fiction. Tigerblog is all about speedway, and as such is of limited interest.

One blog however that has consumed a fairly large portion of my time over the past year and is resolutely un-neglected is Seven Days. Except it's now at an end. 365 days ago, I started it as a photo diary and now it's come full circle. To add any more photos to it would be to dilute what effect it may have. Theres only so many locations you can get to going to and from work every day A few heroic types have been following it from the start, and for that I thank them. They know who they are. For the rest of you, please pop over and have a shufty, it's not all pictures of my ugly hairy mush you know................

Finally, visit this blog/website, it's damn fine..........

Cheers!

Ever Had The Feeling You've Been Cheated.............?

No matter how much irony you watch X Factor with, it's still telling you how to think, still making people believe some bint rocketing from one end of the octave range to the other like a Happy Shopper opera singer has 'real talent'. No she fucking hasn't! In terms of pop music, her 'TALENT' is redundant, anodyne, pointless...................

Here is a man who understands. Here is a man who realises the truth of pop music. Here is a man who knows that no matter what you can do with your larynx, if you haven't got a personality or tune or something to make the nations collective arse wiggle on the dance floor, well, you might as well fuck off and leave us all in peace. Here is a man who makes most of what I'm writing here fairly redundant........................

He's also a man who understands that Simon Cowell is a cowardly, tedious, tasteless 'past his sell by' little pederast impersonator, whose 'trick' is wearing decidedly thin. Sadly, there are enough people out there who seem to have bought the X-Factor/PopIdol schtick and have solemnly conceded that pop music needs to 'grow up' and 'real talent' needs to be recognised, ever willing to believe that some egregious talent show can combine the best elements of Eastenders and Top of The Pops AND ensure that the music they will listen to in the future is made by people who can REALLY SING.

My advice? Go listen to the new PJ Harvey album, then buy a ticket to see Take That.

Dichotomy resolved.

As if to prove my point............If Blondie came from Glasgow

Checking On My Flock

Just a quick post tonight. My life looks like it might just be settling down into something approaching a routine and the last step is to get hooked up to broadband after the 'Virgin Saga'. Then you'll be seeing a lot more of my ugly mush.

Condolences to the Scottish National Team who fell heroically at the final hurdle. A couple of defensive lapses, a few missed opportunities and a linesman with a lovely new Ferrari in his garage this morning......... I missed the game due to the fact that the world and it's fucking wife wanted to see it and just about every pub in the city centre was rammed. If I'd gone into town early on I'd have found a pub, but somehow the idea didn't appeal to me. I went to Lochburn Park and took some photos of the Clydebank v Maryhill game instead. After that, I hung about at the folks place, then went home, made my tea and washed the dishes. Ach well, if it worked for Denis Law..................

Looks like we will be playing England next year after all. 2-0 down to Croatia at half time. Wonder who they've got lined up to replace McLaren? Mike Bassett?

Best Of Luck Lads!

We'll fucking need it.................

Haw Pal! I Hope Yer Next Shite's A Hedgehog

On the whole I don't have a huge problem with the human race. A frustrating bunch, yes, but in the words of Douglas Adams, 'Mostly Harmless'. Of course, there are exceptions and I bumped into one today.

It happened on the way back from the football. I crossed a road and as I reached the other side, some old lad and his dogs were walking down to the same bit of pavement as me. I stepped onto the pavement and he halted just to my left. I murmured an apology, as you do when you think you've got in someones way slightly. As I walked off, he called out at me.

"Is it raining?"

It was raining, but I thought nothing of it. Again he called out.

"Aye,it's hard tae see in the rain wi glasses on, i'nt it?"

I looked round at him in askance then continued walking. He was an old jake in a cap and wearing tinted glasses. The irony of his words weren't lost on me. Just before he turned up another street he called out something crude about the umbrella I was carrying, something about a 'Dolly Brolly'. Maybe he was jealous of it, I don't know...........

What got me was that there was absolutely no call for the outburst. I had done nothing more than walk past the stupid old cunt, but there he is, haranguing me in the street. See, that's when I find the human race intolerable. I can't stand bad manners, intentional rudeness. Sure, people can do things that annoy you, but most of the time it's unintentional, most of us understand this issue and simply mutter a few oaths under our breaths and get on with it. Rest assured though, there are always pricks like the 'gent' I encountered today who act like aggressive little fuckers at the slightest provocation, regardless of what age they are.

Round 'em up and send 'em off for 're-programming'...............

Spatchcock!

I've just realised it's been a week since I last posted. Things have been a bit hectic and to be honest and I haven't had the energy to post anything of any substance.

Over at Seven Days, things are winding down to an end on the 27th of November. A full year of photographs, mainly taken in and around Glasgow, interspersed with odd trips to strange new worlds, have been posted on a daily basis. I'm in the process of making the tags clearer to allow navigation of the blog. I'm also adding little bits of annotation to the site to augment the visuals.

Next, as most of you will be aware, I like to swear my little fucking head off on this here blog. Most therapeutic it is too. Clairwil brings to our attention the absurd notion of being taken to task for uttering the odd profanity. On one's own blog!

Apologies to Clairwil if I'm covering the same ground as she did, but I just found the whole thing so deeply amusing. I'll admit that the Devils Kitchen, like Pickled Politics, is one of those places I don't lurk about in, mainly because I'd end up saying something I'd regret or making a total tit of myself. I'm fine if I'm sober, but a few drinks and a shit day behind me and I come perilously close to the sort of belligerence that would make Terry Kelly blush. I find it best if I stick to subjects that no-one really gives a fuck about.

Anyway, it just amuses me the way political bloggers, a generally confrontational and forthright bunch of fellows, can get so touchy when it comes to 'unparliamentary language'. Some of the naughty words on DK seem to be swearing for the sake of it (What better reason can there be?) , though often there seems to be a genuine rage behind it. Been there and done it. Sometimes calling someone the most appalling thing you can imagine is all that stands between you and eating the nearest piece of furniture. If DK is reading this, he's free to come over and use whatever language he wants here. ;D

In all honesty, I could do with a mother hen type to disapprove of my reckless language. Sometimes when I go to my tracker, I see the things people have been entering on Google and they make my hair stand on end, simply because of a preponderance of four letter words on my blog.

Lastly, three cheers for Glasgow and it's successful bid to host the 2014 Shit Olympics.

Sorry, that's the Commonwealth Games................

I shouldn't be so snide. The total cost of hosting the games in Glasgow looks to be less than what London are spending on their main Olympic arena. The infrastructure is all there and it looks like Glasgow's East End is going to get a much needed boost out of it. Hopefully.

Of course, a few of our southern chums are smugly reminding us that we're a bunch of 'Scrounging Jocks' and that they, personally, will be paying for this folly via their tax money. Sadly, this isn't entirely true, as most of the funds will come from money raised by the Scottish Government*. I can't help feeling deprived of the chance to watch the Kelvin McKenzies of this world turn purple as we spend their pennies on Velodromes and Swimming Pools and other such frivolities.

I really do feel a sense of loss in that regard................

Ok, I should be back on Friday, God willing...................

*Yes Yes, I do realise Westminster subsidised our parliament and our little dry run at self government. It's very nice, cheers!

Reading through the BBC 'Have Your Say' link, it's plain that there are as many, if not more English people who are happy enough about the Commonwealth Games coming to Scotland than those who want to use it as an excuse for a bit of Jock Bashing.

Remember, Remember.............To Sellotape Your Letterbox Shut

Let's face it, when it comes to lobbing exploding things about, the human race really doesn't need much in the way of an excuse. Why the fuck do you think we like going to war? Why the fuck did they invent the nuclear bomb?

We like things that go BANG!! It's that simple

Guy Fawkes is just such an excuse, and along with New Year (ask a Dutch friend...) it's the pinnacle of our race's achievements with regard to making a fucking racket and scaring pensioners and household pets. I must say, I do like fireworks, but I have to confess that I find the idea of them being so easy to buy slightly disturbing. The average back yard fireworks show is a rather dreary affair all told. Dad buys about thirty quids worth of cheapo fireworks, sets them off and then everyone wanders back inside out of the cold. Pure anti-climax. Take it from one who, as a kid, saw one too many rockets tip over and fly into the neighbours pot plants or had to yawn through yet another malfunctioning Catherine Wheel as my Dad tried set off a Roman Candle without giving himself third degree burns. (I think I covered all this last year now I think of it..........)

Of course, the feral kids and wee hardnuts get to run riot in the backstreets with them. Bangers seem to be the weapon of choice. Easy to throw and loud as fuck. If acting like an obnoxious prick for most of the year doesn't quite do it for you, Guy Fawkes is a rare treat, as you can then upgrade yourself briefly to 'Evil Little Cunt' status.

Anyway, have a nice night and hope you enjoyed the whizzbangs. Me, I'm off to see if my flat is still there.............

Heroes Of Indy Rock: No1 - Brian Molko/Placebo

Brian Molko, yesterday

Top Single Chart Position - No2
Number of Albums - Four. Maybe five, can't remember.
Signature Songs - 'Nancy Boy', 'Pure Morning', 'Anyone Can Fall In Love', 'Wig Wam Bam'
Weeks In Charts - Too many
No. of Band Members - 3+
No. of Tedious Pseudo-Sexual Deviant Dwarves With High Pitched Voices in Band - 1
No. of Dull Looking Potato Men in Band - 2+
Tales of Hedonism - The night Brian did Crystal Meth & Lemsip in an old folks home in Doncaster.
Last Seen - Leaving a trail of blood & spunk around the country, to general public indifference.

Current Prospects - meh!

Placebo arrive for the 2nd leg of their US tour at the Caerphilly Masons Arms.

Further reading here

and here

Quick Everyone, Pretend We're Not At Home.........

It's the night every urban attention seeker looks forward to all year. That chance, so rudely denied in everyday life and seized this once with feverish enthusiasm, to dress up (and act like) a twat.

This evening I'm round at my folks house to hide from the local wildlife and their take on 'trick or treat'. Not sure what they get up to in Woodside, but I'm not really into finding out.

Do kids still go guising? Maybe they don't bother. Maybe it's the same routine of getting up to no good as any other night, but with a cheap plastic horror mask on as a concession to Halloween. Or are they busy playing with fireworks? Sounds far more fun than trying to threaten pennies out of students and OAP's.

I won't bang on about the evils of 'Trick or Treat', if only because it seems so Pavlovian and predictable to do so. Needless to say, a fair amount of kids are escorted around neighbourhoods by adults and shout the term without any intent, satisfied with a few pennies and a handful of Mini Heroes. It's when they're five foot five with bumfluff 'taches and broken voices that you need to be mindful.

For my own part, I recall Halloween with a mixture of fondness and embarrassment. The dressing up bit was always something to look forward to, but having to remember jokes that weren't too rude to tell the old dear upstairs was something of a chore. Costumes? The year I went in drag sticks in my mind for obvious reasons. I could only have been about nine or ten...............I doubt there are any parents who would allow such a thing now. Such parental 'misguidance' in this day and age would be deeply frowned upon, no doubt leading to them being put on the sex offenders register or some such nonsense.

It's funny really, that's the kind of leap of logic you would make when faced with having nothing to wear. Every other kid in the street had something worked up, but coming home from school in a town ten miles away meant that sometimes I had nothing planned out and if you were in any way intending on boosting that weekends pocket money, then you damn well better find something to wear.

Sure as hell beats going as a Blues Brother or Franken Furter or Elvis or sticking on an afro wig and pretending to be from an obscure tv sitcom.

Tonight I'm going out as Phil Collins, circa 'Face Value'/'Something In The Air Tonight'

Now, where are my portable sine drums..............

A Quick One..........

..........Before the off-licence shuts.

As you may have guessed, I'm still broadbandless, thanks to Virgin and their utter, utter cack-handedness. Fuck you and the grinning buck-toothed cunt you rode in on!!!

Understandably I just cancelled it and I'm looking at other options. Any thoughts?

Youtube is Hole. Just after they were unlistenable and just before they thought they were Fleetwood Mac. Absolute Bliss.

You Can Do What With Your Breasts?

Maybe it's just me, but somehow this all sounds like something of an over-reaction. Ok, so it's not exactly becoming of a lady to crush beer cans with her cleavage, and yes, you can see how some patrons might get a little uptight about it, but for fucks sake! 1000 dollar fines all round? Mind you, we seem, as a race to have a bit of a problem with breasts, be it hang-ups or fixations, so until we stop wetting ourselves over a bit of bare flesh I doubt very much if you'll see this sort of thing down yr local.............

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!

Sickener

Life ain't fair sometimes, just ask David McAllan....

This year, he's visited the crash barriers and medical facilities of British speedway venues just a little too often, sometimes through no fault of his own. He even got a black eye off an opposition riders father in Newport and was then fined for 'starting' the rammy that ensued. See? Not his year. He's been pretty good when his bike has been on song and he's recovered from his various knocks, but last Sunday was to prove a rather grim reminder of the dangers of the sport. He wasn't the only one, a Stoke rider took to the air at one point and almost landed in the stadium bar for a premature pint, and another Tigers rider lost control and almost ended up in the crowd as well. In David's case, he was bashing it out with Birmingham rider Phil Morris for a minor place when he got punted unceremoniously into the chain-link fencing and suffered a horrible back injury. Nerve damage seems to be the diagnosis and he has no sensation in his legs at the moment. Fingers crossed his recovery is swift, but I have a feeling he'll be laid up for a wee while. I hope he's back next year and even faster than before. He's too young to hang up the gear just yet.


Get well soon David

This is for..................


People whose favourite colour is gold.

White House Zen

Hola!

Top prize this week for getting up the right peoples noses goes to the USA for awarding the Dalai Lama a gong and sending the Chinese purple with rage. I can see where they're coming from. I mean, the man is obviously scum and mustn't be encouraged!!, what with his benign smiling, and his NHS glasses and pacifism and that...

Let's be honest, a "Universal symbol of peace and tolerence" accepting such a prize from a warpig fuck like Bush is a clear indication to me that someone is pulling Beijings chain.

Maybe I'm being cynical here. Maybe George has seen the light and converted. Wouldn't that be lovely? Maybe he'll tell us he was a Bhuddist all along, just not a very good one............

Whatever it is, it made me smile anyway.

Will This Do?

It'll need to. No time to write anything. None at all. Sorry, will rectify this soon.

Cheers!

Picking At The Edges Until They Fray A Bit

Due to being unable to blog with much frequency, I've been reduced to doing a sort of round-up of stuff that's taken my interest. Very dull and a bit 'rote', but until I get my arse in gear, it's all you'll get.

First up, I found this awe-inspiring message board. Let loose on the object of your loathing in the workplace and have readers rate your rage. Please visit the rest of the site too. My favourite was the chap whose wife "looks like Lorraine Kelly, but ten years younger"

Beautiful!

Next up Kelvin McKenzie. Ok, who's first to kick the fat faced cunt in the arse? I must say, rising to the bait is never a good idea, as the outraged complaints to the BBC illustrate. People were falling over themselves to call him a nasty racist so & so without realising that the words dribbling from pudgy lips are the utterings of a total simpleton, and the alleged racism was probably the least risible thing to emanate from him (I found him quite amusing in a 'panto villain' kind of way). Kelvin, poor soul that he is, still thinks the streets of London are lined with gold and that on every corner there lurk a dozen wide-boys and spivs, just waiting to turn a buck and rocket the economy into the stratosphere.

Mr McKenzie reckons we 'sweaty socks' just aren't 'entrepreneurial enough'. If you say so Kelvin. I wouldn't know of course, having spent the past thirty years suckling on the teat of the state and piggy-backing off hard working 'Del Boys' and used car salesmen in the south of England with my miserable tax paying existence. Oh yes..........

In his mind it's still 1987, and maybe it always will be.

Finally, a requiem for Berti. Whatever you say about Berti Vogts, he did one thing that neither of his successors would have had the stomach to do had they become national coach after Craig Browns departure. He put youth first, he gave young, talented Scots footballers a chance in the national side and encouraged the development of youth already underway at club level. Unfortunately, he got enough wrong to justify his eventual sacking (too many friendlies, not a great tactician, especially with relatively limited talent, maybe a wee language barrier, especially with the more bullish elements of the Scottish sporting press corps and wee fuds like Barry Ferguson).

According to this wonderful piece of populist revisionism, Berti left the national side (and by implication the game itself) at it's lowest ebb. Scottish footballs lowest ebb was actually prior to the entry of herr Vogts, not after it. I mean, the fact that Scotland almost made it to the 2004 Euro Championships under Vogts, only bowing out in a play off against the Dutch (another example of received history for another day) has nothing to do with anything, and you'd be a liar and an SFA lackey if you were to suggest otherwise.

Alas, it was beyond Vogts to build on this, but what he bequeathed to Walter Smith was the basis of the team that seems to be firing on all cylinders (touch wood) at this moment in time. What Alex Mcleish inherited from Smith when he smelled the prospect of a return to Rangers was phase two of the rebuild. If this is a work in progress, then I have no worries for the future.

Phase three begins after the next Euro championships, regardless of whether Scotland qualify or not.............

Ok. Zep time. This is for Flying Rodent




Ok, so the sound is horrible and the audience look Keith Moon's got to them with the elephant tranks, but it does rock like nobodies business.

A Moment Of Your Time Please

As some of you know, I have a bit of a love affair with Speedway. It's gonna be a long winter without it, but the news I learnt last week regarding the future of Ashfield Stadium, home of the Glasgow Tigers, has meant that the long-term viability of the sport in Glasgow could be under threat. Essentially the stadium is zoned as 'Greenspace', so any developer wanting to build on it must also provide an alternative venue for the displaced football team/speedway promotion. This is of course a pain in the arse for any would-be developer. It would seem though that the planning application being submitted will be to use the area currently occupied by the car park and the Ashfield Club. This spares the stadium itself, but as it's a combined office/residential proposal, the chances of Speedway continuing at Ashfield for any length of time would be distinctly remote. There are enough issues regarding noise as it is and this would simply make things worse. It would also make entry to the ground a logistical nightmare as the proposed construction area would obstruct entry to and from the ground. Essentially, the developer has found a way around the 'Greenspace' legislation and should the planning dept allow the construction to go ahead, it would essentially make the original designation of 'Greenspace' for Ashfield Stadium utterly pointless.

The good news is that we can object, preferably via individual e-mails sent to the DRS. For the letter format and a better idea of what seems to be going down, click HERE.

I realise this is a bit of a long shot, but if anyone reading this happens to find this all a little objectionable, or if you don't like to see any local attraction/ammenity/source of community cohesion & pride being marginalised or snuffed out, I would be most grateful if you could take ten minutes or so to send an email to the DRS, quoting the reference in the above link (take some time to read the link, it'll give you all the info you need) and stating why you feel that the application is unsuitable.

Ok, normal service will be resumed soon.

Cheers!

My Boss Is A Ninja

He is!! I swear! I never see him come into the office and never see him leave it. When he is in the office, I need eyes on the back of my head to detect his movements. If I find him clinging to the underside of my desk on Monday morning, I won't be the least bit surprised. His other trick is to wait until you've left your desk before he passes on instructions to you. On returning, a small yellow post-it with a semi-legible spidery scrawl on it is found on your desk stating your new mission in the exciting world of Title Deeds.

He reminds me a bit of Major Major from Catch 22. Does anyone else work with a similarly strange team leader/cog in the wheel type? I'd say every office has to have at least two or three of them.

On another subject, did anyone see 'You Can't Fire Me I'm Famous' the other night? Maybe it's because I've moved into the new place and I have no PC to otherwise distract me, but I've begun to watch a bit more television. I hope it isn't catching..............

I'm sure you all know the format of Piers 'Cunt' Morgans new vehicle. He basically sits and interviews celebs of varying talent and interest, all of whom have been dumped on their arses by the fickle nature of fate and fame. Quite why they believe they need to resorted to being interviewed by the worlds least sincere man is beyond me, though I imagine it could merely be an attempt to justify themselves or remind us again exactly why they no longer get the oxygen of publicity they so obviously crave and don't deserve. You doubt me? Consider names like Jade Goody, Naomi Campbell, Abi Titmuss, Richard Bacon..........

It all sounds like perfect car crash telly. There are a couple of problems though. Watching all of the above is likely to produce the square root of fuck all as far as sympathy goes in any reasonably sentient human being. What if the interviewee seems to be genuine and likable? Like Donny Osmond. Self deprecating to a fault, honest and, as a performing monkey since the age of about three, someone who has a genuine claim to have ridden the tip of the showbiz wave, as well as having been wiped out more times than he cares to remember. He didn't see 'penny one' of the fortune his family amassed and found that when he tried to grow out of his 'Osmonds' persona, nobody would listen to him. Cos he was Donny Fuckin' Osmond. Anyway, he plugged away, it came good again and he's made his fortune on Broadway. Good stuff.

Wheres Piers in all this? Or 'Pearce' as Donny kept calling him. 'Pearce' was busy nudging and guiding him along, often barely asking the question before Osmond came leaping in with a date or a time in which the incident happened, and so the anecdotes flooded out. Then it happened. Morgan had found something juicy. Something about a childhood letter Osmond had written whilst on tour in Sweden. Homesick and wanting to be back in Utah playing with his friends like a normal seven year old, he committed his his frustration to paper, only for his father to find it and tear a strip off him. This sparks off a genuinely uncomfortable piece of TV, in which 'Morgan The Merciless' ignores Osmonds plea to let it lie and continues to prod what still seems to be a bit of an open wound. Repeatedly. Until he cries. Tasteful? Only just. I saw no malice in Morgans eyes, but nor did I see much mercy.

Whilst Osmond never truly hit rock bottom, his story is full of humiliation and pathos. Being a Mormon helps. When you can't even go on a 24 hr tea & coffee bender, it's that little bit easier to focus on getting things back on track. No booze/coke/crack/smack/elephant tranquilisers etc to deflect you from returning to the top.

Just a horrifically unhip reputation that denied him any work (so much so that a pre-loony Michael Jackson urged him to change his name) and the bitterness that will eternally accompany anyone who spent their entire childhood performing for the financial pleasure of others, only to find that their dues were in someone elses bank account.
Anyway, I'm glad he's doing musicals. His singing brings me out in a rash............



This ones for Clairwil...............

Toast

Was Hippocrates a season ticket holder at Cathkin? Stone memorial hidden away at the back of the terracing.

It's always nice to get aquainted with the appliances in ones new home. The Hoover, the washing machine, the cooker and the central heating. Oh, and the smoke alarm............

It was Sunday morning (ok, it was 1pm, but that's still the morning as far as I'm concerned.) and I'dstuck some toast on. I absently wandered through to the living room and stuck the tv on, only to become slightly transfixed by the hypnotic drone of the F1 car racing. God! I miss Murray Walker. The only man in the world that could make watching paint dry sound exciting. Instead we have a couple of inane public schoolboys to add to the tedium of watching 24 men driving round in circles for an hour and a half.

.........but I digress. It was around this point the bloody smoke alarm went off and I realised I'd burnt me toast. Thankfully nothing was on fire, but what to do about the infernal racket the alarm was making. I opened doors/windows to let the smoke out, but to no avail. I then tried holding the button on the alarm casing. Still nothing. next I unscrewed the casing and tried to wrench the battery out, only to find it was connected to the mains and any further tampering could see me doing a rather entertaining 'St Vitus Dance' atop a set of wobbly metal ladders. The next few hours are too tedious to go into, but by the time I'd asked the chap upstairs to give me a hand getting the battery out (I'm such a gurl!) and the girl next door had stuck her head in and wished me luck and little else, my nerves (and hearing) were more than a little frayed.

Anyway, my knowledge of household systems is a little clearer now I suppose, but I haven't made another slice of toast since............

Taking the nets down. All part of yr duty as a Thirds player.

Ok. Some links. Third Lanark AC have a wee site up. It's not too flash but it does tell you when they're playing. It's free, you get to watch the game from the terracing of what was once known as Hampden Park (back in the mists of time), and more recently was the home of the last club to go out of business in Scotland, the original Third Lanark AC . It is just amateur football that gets played at Cathkin Park today, but the last time I went to see them, I came away wondering why I bothered going to Firhill at all. The video of the game can be found here. Mud, meaty tackles, loads of goals and some nice football, just ignore the naff Star Wars theme they've tacked onto the video in post production. Furthermore, if you watch between 7.31 and 7.46 you'll see my lanky frame descending the terrace steps behind the player being interviewed. Yes, I am an old buffer..........

Acrobatics in the penalty area
Panoramic view of Cathkin Park

"Haw! This Yin's Takin A Photie Of His Pie!!"

Apparently that's what the old lad in the cap and dirty raincoat standing by the red railing in the photo above thought I was doing. Alas, it wasn't the case. It's a tempting notion, but somehow I don't think theres much call for photographs of meat savoury products, no matter how good they are. I think the confusion came about because he saw me holding the camera downwards to look at the back-screen. The pie was in the other hand and it must have looked like I was going for a close-up on my lunch. Silly old buffer!

Still, it's not his fault, they just got colour tv in Kirkintilloch a month ago, digital cameras are bound to be a bit confusing...................*

The iLL Man is available to be lynched by people from small towns on most weekday nights, except Fridays. Thankyou.


*Just kidding. It was the internet they got last month. They've had colour tv since March.....

No!! Not Me House!!!

Not the most pleasing sight to meet my eyes as I walked back from the shops the other day. Fire engines. A ruddy squad of them, and more concerning to this new home-owner, a dirty big plume of smoke rising into the air. My first thought was "Fuck! What have I left on?".

Nothing as it turns out. There's a row of old council flats behind the house which have been boarded up for quite some time, waiting on the last tenant to move out (obviously hanging on for something a bit more salubrious) They're empty now, but it seems to have been a green light for some local cheeky chappies to find a way in and torch the place. Ah yes, the local wildlife........

Had no problems as such yet, though someone did decide to give the piece of board covering the broken pane on the entry door a good booting last night. Obviously took offence to someone covering up their previous handiwork.

Here I am making out I live in Beirut or something.....

I've got one of these things up now. Cheers to Clairwil for bringing it to my attention. Not quite sure what it's for (I'm not the only one), but I'm sure it'll come in handy.

The Sensational Alex Harvey Band had many mad moods. Too many actually. I think in the world of seventies rock they were seen as a great live band, but ultimately, neither fish nor fowl in a musical sense. Which is a shame, because they made some jaw dropping recordings, if maybe not all on the same album...........Anyway, these clips should give you an idea of how they could go from deranged prog rock to Vaudville to cheesy pop to grinding blues rock and back again. They also had a theatricality that maybe only Marilyn Manson has topped and the rabid looking Harvey whose style was a definite influence on a young John Lydon. Harvey died in 1982 and the remnants of the band were sent to serve their time in 80's stadium rock supergroups before returning to reform the band. I've not bothered to bend an ear. I hear they're not bad at all, but without Alex, it's just another band.

I've Got God In My Earpiece And He Sounds Like Private Fraser

via Seven Days

Just back from the football and I've suddenly remembered one of the reasons I'd stopped going. It was like having Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets behind me. Grizzling, moany faced old cunts.............

They were actually correct in a few of their observations, but their unrelenting dourness had me wishing I'd brought a gun with me.

I shouldn't moan, it only cost me a fiver......