And then all Hell breaks loose. Yes. It’s Twisted Sister’s version of Christmas carols on their album called A Twisted Christmas and if you want to get a good flavour of what the band is about then check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=De47fjH6RKY and ask yourself why that demure young lady is kneeling in front of that guitar hero.

Well, blow me down.

So, it’s the Christmas edition of the blog and as tradition calls, it will have cracker jokes, but this year it’s the ones they’ve decided to ban.

Q   What shoes do frogs wear in summer?

A   Open toad sandals.

Ho, ho, ho, let’s go…….(also from Twisted Sister)

So socially a good week. The office lunch took place (me and one other) in Prince’s Square where my favourite line from the table next to us was ‘Both your father and I have had long term relationships….’ I mean, break it to your daughter quietly, why don’t you?

That’s as bad as me telling you, the listener, that my son’s adopted, before I tell him. Except I’ve just done that, haven’t I? Ooooops. I’ll maybe reinstate the allowance. Albeit unwittingly.

And I was also at the excellent House For An Art Lover in Bellahouston Park for lunch on Wednesday.

Q   What’s green and turns red at the flick of a button?

A   A frog in a liquidiser.

And as the nation searches desparately for comic relief with the demise of Watson’s Wind Up (Christmas and New Year specials coming up) can I recommend the Jung Wan? She very kindly suggested that I might be interested in attending a comedy writing workshop at Maggie’s Farm, gave me the time and then phoned me ten minutes after it started to tell me she’d given me the wrong time. Well, I drove like a Bat out of Hell (Meatloaf, and one of my late dad’s favourite songs); arrived at the original, agreed time (but an hour late) and just as they were breaking for coffee. Comic timing? Sheer genius. Serioulsy.

Q   Mum, can I have a dog for Christmas?

A  No, you’ll have turkey like everyone else. 

Incidentally, bestest friend Caitlin, I’ve bought yet another new jacket thing. If I come over at Hogmanay, I’ll wear it. Black. Obvioulsy*. And Vampire Slayer? Your ‘cool’ mum. She’s not Sicilian Mafia is she? I’m treading gently from now on. And Missie K? It all happened in one guy’s bedroom in West Princes Street. (I realise that line is open to misinterpretation. I’m keeping it in) And, L frae Troon, don’t worry about last Tuesday. Every cloud, etc. I met Peggy Sue on the Maryhill train. Moving on…..just in case.

* That night of the year, there’s a barrier comes down by the Lidl preventing people from leaving Summerston unless they offer Ferrero Rocher to the guard.

Oh, a propos, c’etait ton appel toujours. C’est dommage, mais merci pour tout. Je sera toujours ici.

And bestest literary line of the week? ‘Lolita, not a book you’d take to a Parent’s Evening.’ And I loved the way Peter Kay destroyed Adrian Chiles the other night. ‘I’m not homophobic. I love my house.’ And next week is the annual Awards ceremony. I have no idea what the categories are.

Q   What did the transvestite do at Christmas?

A   Eat, drink and be Mary.

And to the Great Council and the sub-committee known as TMCB(AK) plus the person I had the office lunch with, I have two extra resolutions;

To make up my own mind more often. What do you think? And, also…. ‘to pull an all-nighter’. I have no idea what it means, but Jon Sopel on BBC News used it so it must be okay. Any thoughts, BBC Al?

Q   What pet makes the most noise?

A  A trum-pet.          (I’m sorry but that is awful)

Incidentally, I have little to say on the Rage Against The Machine Facebook campaign as I’m sure that all those people who signed up know the links between RATM, Simon Cowell and Sony, especially those who work for multi-national, global enterprises with branches everywhere, Capitalist Greedy Grasping Bastards inc. (See me, see Marxism. I am old and unrequited, eh, unreconstructed), but if you do want to make a real difference to the World, please have a look at www.workersuniting.org/valeinco. Kids are steelworkers too.

Q  What do you call a deer with no eyes?

A  No idea.

And I’m staying quiet on the cancerly, alkoholically front this week, other than to say, if you Love Film, Love Charity, have a look at http://www.justgiving.com/LOVEFiLMLOVECHARITY/ Please. Except to take issue with ageing misogynist Peter Alliss, whose views on Tiger Woods are that  ‘if you declare yourself an addict of something and that you are getting treatment for it…..you get sympathy.’ Not always from the management people, Peter, but often from the most unexpected sources. But my world knows that.

He also dismissed Tiger’s friends as ‘good looking women, irrespective of whether they were waitresses’. (sic)

Q   What lies in a pram and wobbles?

A   Jelly babies.

And this space had been set aside to chronicle Partick Thistle’s amazing ten goal victory over Ayr United doon the watter this afternoon, but it never happened……the game that is, not the victory……and so presents have been finally wrapped, neighbours’ cards completed (all others in the post and hopefully well received) and the mulled wine kit in the cupboard completely ignored again, so it’s maybe time to reflect a touch.

The blook (of blessed memory and its material will be recycled and serious thanks to all concerned) contained a chapter in which I chronicled the fact that several recent Christmases had been spoiled by death, dependency and disease, and last year, by everyone else’s flu. So three years on from the Sunday that has shaped my life in recent times, I have decide to embark on a spirit of selfishness I have not displayed for a long time. (pauses).

Nup, I can’t do it. There are people out there to whom I owe my very existence. And if some times I have a child-like innocence, then that’s not a bad thing. Regaining innocence? Not a bad wee trick.

So, some doors will never be closed. 

Moving thoughtfully but swiftly on…….Final gag;

Q   What is green and stands in the corner?

A   A naughty frog

My favourite. No. No reason.

cya

Johnt850

So, have I missed anything? Oh, yes, to quote laconic, laid-back comic genius, Phil Differ in his e-mail keeping me posted; ‘Oh, almost forgot, merry christmas and a happy new year.’

Limmy, coming to a screen near you soon.

Yes. I know. I promised a Christmas ditty but I realise that the lyrics of Oh Come All You Faithful are exactly the same whether sung on Twisted Sister’s Christmas Album, A Twisted Christmas or by Peterhead Academy Choir when that, and not Sexy Lexy Burke, was the highlight of the fishing community’s festivities.

I wasn’t born in Peterhead but Peter Mullen (star of My Name is Joe…interesting plotline), Tony Robinson (boring fart) and one of the Sutherland Brothers (Sailing and Arms of Mary) all were. I was born in Ellon, where the other Sutherland Brother was born.

So, instead, I give you a nice festive song by the White Stripes.

I feel in festive mood this week ‘cos I’ve now done three years ‘clean and clear’, Son Brian has now fully settled in to his new penthouse suite (and I’ve terminated his allowance with extreme prejudice) and my cancer consultant told me he didn’t expect to see me for fully one year. I loved the receptionist who asked me if ten o’clock in twelve months’ time would be okay. So far, so good. Acceptance, but never closure.

One person I’ve never thanked is the 999 operator who talked me through my emergency call on Cold Turkey Sunday. Not only did she tell me to leave the front door unlocked, to dress warm, to take (with me) whatever drugs I was on and to have money and some form of ID, but to Stay Brave, Stay Cool, altho’ I think she meant calm cool rather than Ginsberg cool. Chillax.

So let’s move on somewhat dewey (sp) eyed, altho’ a Game Plan for 2010 is being drawn up and will be submitted in full to the Great Council. It’s currently with a sub-committee known as Two Men Called Brian (and Katie).

So a quick Well Done to former student, current pop picker and top PR, Heather C, for getting an award. No. I don’t know what for but, hey, the closest I ever got was being nominated. (Sony, since you ask)

And Missie K and I both watched Frankie Boyle on Buzzcocks (separately, I should stress) and honestly, people Carol Vorderman’s age, why don’t they just act sensible and not pretend immaturity?

And the Vampire Slayer’s on TV on Sunday night, having infiltrated SuBo’s audience, but the top performance ever of Cry Me A River is by Joe Cocker at Woodstock (check out the female backing singers); Leon Russell was my first ever Rock God (check the hair); I hope Stacey wins X Factor; and I still wonder about Same Difference. Don’t you? No. No reason.

And to people who say they don’t understand the blog, can I just say……It’s as easy to understand as the theory of relativity. Honest. E =MC2 means your uncle is your father’s brother. Simple.

And ‘Hello There’ may not be the World’s greatest catchphrase but I’ll miss Heather the Weather from BBC Scotland screens (If only Gail the Gale would stop dressing like her spinster aunt, ….altho’, having said that, I’ve never met etc, etc………’I refer m’Lord and jt850 to the case of Beggars v Choosers’……VS, I trust your choice. Go for it.)

But that’s enuff about Carol Vorderperson and people acting their age, albeit unwittingly.

X Factor, where the judges have a make up artist each, and the contestants have to share two.

(Note to Epsom Printer. ASDA didn’t have your ink in stock. That’s why I bought theirs. Don’t do this to me. It’s dark out there and I don’t know a 24 hour ink salesperson. Crack cocaine with pipe would probably be easier.)

But this week’s big disappointment? Somebody at the screenwriting class I go to (her mum drinks tomato juice is all I’m saying) listens to Watson’s Wind Up and of course I’m giving it big about being a writer and of course it’s announced the next day that this incredibly popular programme which encourages so many new writers is not being re-commissioned. Oh, and I didn’t have any material used this week, either. I’ll maybe slip in at the back of the class on Monday.

Oh, and next week is the Special Christmas Edition and the week after it’s the Annual Personality of the Year Competition won last year by 3 year old Ruby, who this year is 4 years old, but you can’t win it two years in a row, and you don’t have to be a person. C’est tout que je dis.

Et, puis-je dire, c’est ton appel. Toujours.

So before I finish, I’m torn between telling you about the total annihilation of Airdrie United (Death to the Diamonds) by the plucky Thistle in the fog in front of the notorious Section KKK, or the photo that was there for me in a Christmas card of a young one and a half year old lady to whom I’m related to by divorce or somebody’s re-marriage or something. This, and every week, the wean wins.

And finally, Tiger. I do think he’s entitled to Privacy (it’s the name of his yacht. Serioulsy). In the midst of all the stuff from amateur and pro psychologists (his parents said ‘no’ to most of his friends, he turned his back on his mentor and so on) I think we’re missing something. Here’s a young man who used his fame and fortune simply to enjoy himself. I know I used mine but, hey, I was single. (You still are, points out Jayne)  

I was going to do a gag about one of his lady friends who apparently is into bondage (but that doesn’t make her a bad person) but it involves a well known knot called a sheepshank. I didn’t even bother phoning BBC Al.

cya

Johnt850, sober and solvent free if not sane and sensible

Some of you may have noticed that Tiger’s lawyers have won a case in the London courts which is supposed to prevent the press from not only publishing something but also from saying what they’re not allowed to publish. In short, total silence.

Reuters in Miami have reported that Tiger’s legal team have won an injunction against the publication of any nude photos or any videotape of Woods having sex, although his lawyers say that this ‘is not to be taken as an admission that any such photographs exist’. (Or that a magazine called Playgirl has been offered any.)

As my gd frnd Clr said, when I told her; ‘That’s probably the most expensive Just In Case in history.

And that’s the version by Journey, seasoned performers as opposed to X Factor karaoke singers. You know it makes sense for Christmas Number One.

But if you have to vote, vote early, vote often for Stacey. No. No reason. (Other than the bleedin’ obvious )

Also bleedin’ obvious is Christmas, with special blog editions and annual awards and stuff. Maybe Christmas music next week? I have a festive album. I think I’ll put my tree up this weekend. Anybody got any good Christmas computer wallpaper?

But first, I have to report back on the meeting of the Great Council held in great secrecy (in a basement bar in Bath Street). Even whilst I was thinking about it last week, a convocation was called. It was as if my mind was being read. Ambitious, and risky where the Vampire Slayer is concerned. Hot. Sizzle. Leah Cairns has no chance.

I would love to tell you all that was said, but ground rules are ground rules, but I have a version of the minutes, ‘like, properly, chopped down’ and my quest for a companion will be answered by (fanfare of trumpets)…Harry Poland of Garnethill…(eh?) But I want a woman. Hang on. It’s maybe the first step in the challenge.

I will keep you posted (or will use Match DOT Com….or blind dates considered. Serioulsy.)

And then the next day I was interviewed by a student, whom I know, from Glasgow’s newest university, and difficult it was as well. Now, I’m well used to telling the tale of my cancerly alkoholic time. I’m open about it, in the hopes, for example, that closed minds will give alkies a decent break. I tell it once or twice a week it seems which is why certain things will never leave my life. Good and bad. So far, so good.

I think it’s also the detail, that I did guzzle the equivalent of a bottle to a bottle and half of whisky every day every week for thirteen and half months, and that I was confirmed as alkoholic and having cancer within just eight months. I don’t know if the Guinness World Record people keep that kind of records, but it was detail enough to persuade the young ladies at the next table to ask for their bills and leave.

It was a good interview. I had to address things I’d not thought about for a long time. My eyes moisted over but I don’t think I cried. I am now. I look forward to reading it.

Anyway, it might be appropriate to get the wise words of Lindsay C, the Record’s Top Teen Angst Queen out of the way; ‘Stick with the people you trust. There may not be many but they are all you need.’ Wise words.

(Lindsay’s is one of the mail addresses that were sacrificed to a Virus recently, so can you let her know please? She’s nice but from Airdrie. Talk slow.)

I think it’s been a quiet week after all that, except I helped Son Brian move stuff from his maternal home to his new flat in posh part of posh suburb. Son, I have spoken again with your uncles. I have some news for you.

(I got an old black desk chair as a reward for my efforts. It’s like the Captain’s chair of a Louisiana tug, the greatest boat in the history of the world, as it manoueuvres an oil rig in Peterhead Bay Harbour. I’d forgotten that afternoon. That was, like, serious wow. We almost got pulled over at one stage. I was 21 at the time.)

And I’d like to say thanks to all those who grew moustaches to raise awareness of male cancer…..except you didn’t succeed with everyone. One footballing legend talked of men checking themselves for prostate cancer. Em,….does he know where it is and how you get at it? Leave it to the nurse, I say.

So there’s a certain element of housekeeping this week. Clear the shelves before the Christmas cards flood in….just in case. Em,…..well just one so far. From Canada.

So incredibly big one first. Most listeners know the influence of my gd frnd Clr and the blogmeister in getting this blog going, but there was an incredible amount of help and stuff from another person who, for kinda professional reasons, (you don’t reveal sources) I couldn’t mention at the time. 

But incredibly incredible Suzy is about to move on to pastures new, so before you start your new journey, thanks for all your help with mine (double x with mega-hug). 

So to Ms Siobhan, Happy Birthday and it makes a big difference when you catch the right bus;

to bestest friend Caitlin, I’ve been given yet another date but I’ll keep you posted;

to my website designer, Jack Gringo, congrats on son Dylan;

to journalist legend Joe Quinn, good retirement;

to the Comedy Unit who continue to use work of mine in Watson’s Wind Up, thanks;

a gratuitous mention to Oonagh, whom I’ve not menshed for some time ; 

to the good looking female assistant in a shop just off Byres Road for meeting almost all my Christmas needs;

to Liz and Jaymi for breakfast this morning, well worth your early start;

to the drama students who attended the game to hear the banter, can I just say we have steak pies with creme fraiche every week! 

and to the Daily Record asking for peoples’ memories of the world famous Rogano restaurant, here in Glasgow? One, and she turned down the invite. C’est toujours son appel. (that’s the French fem, isn’t it?) Mais j’ai une autre idee, d’accord?

All the above without a single innuendo, BBC Al. Mind you, I don’t half miss a good slagging, now and again.

Moving swiftly on, and finally…Tiger Woods – a man who makes Jordan seem a paragon of virtue. To Gillette, is that apology the best a man can get?

So I won’t do the Tiger Woods gag about him hitting the fire hydrant and the tree but missing the windmill, the dogleg, but finding the clown’s mouth, in the same way I didn’t do the gag last week linking the town in Cumbria most affected by floods with Monica Lewinsky. What town? Oh, Cockermouth. Why?

cya

Johnt850

oh, and to another good friend of the blog and, indeed, of its author, can I also say well done to e and her husband, ‘the main man’ as opposed to ‘the other man’ (me) for producing their own ‘wee man’ (a wee bit overdue) and his name is, oh shit, ‘I’ve like, properly, chopped down’ these notes as well. His name seems to be 7lbs 1 oz. Nice one. The present’s in the post, btw. It’s a puppy.

Well maybe not everyone, but I am only days away from the annual night when my demons come out and if I survive, then I am three years sober and solvent free (the sober is obvious, the rest is known to a few friends). Throw in the fact that my PSA (prostate blood test) has finally started heading downwards after all the treatment I had last year and the world seems dead good from here.

That’s why I’m happy enough to play The Answer (great gig during the week, btw) twice in two weeks, altho’ as JC, producer, said, ‘Don’t make it a habit.’ I think it’s a musical reference rather than a drink one. More of JC maybe next week but can I just say…..What magnificent chips Michela had, JC.

And can you stress to your students that I don’t normally carry small jars of hand and face balm with me, available from Lush in Buchanan Street, to hand out to good looking young women as soon as I meet them? Altho’……

No. In the spirit of upbeatedness obviously pervading me this week I have had discussions (not quite lofty) with the Vampire Slayer and I have set her a task. There is a grail to be sought. (Crossword buffs amongst you will have instantly gone anag 1,4 and you wouldn’t be far away).

I have left it to her to call a meeting of the Great Council and to set the agenda for the task ahead (like, is skank or trailer trash necessarily bad?)

The last time there was such a meeting was a defining moment in my life (pudding….toffee…..sticky.) As I was saying to Missie K only last week, not only did I come to terms with various decisions in my life that night but since then I have acquired eight albums by Green Day, and a DVD of them at Reading.

Oh, and following the expert slagging from my gd frnd Clr that night the house was redecorated. I look forward to recreating the full experience, with artistic licence, in the screenplay. No. No reason.

Indeed a marvellous example of the species, skank, albeit unwittingly, was on the train to Paisley the other day;

‘I genuinely can’t remember a thing I said to her, but I definitely didn’t say that. Count.’ It’s at moments like that you turn the MP3 vol down to zero but continue to drum your fingers….just in case.

But it’s a pleasure to write for Watson’s Wind Up on BBC Radio Scotland; the writing credit, the audience laughter, the cheque……I’m a showbiz pro.

So let’s get The X Factor out of the way. Yes, Daniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, it’s a singing contest. I saw no magicians, vent acts or fat Greeks dancing on TV the other night.

Let’s cut to the chase and let me take the heat off the 1.24 Girl. Let’s talk SuBo. I agree she has a good voice but on the evidence of the pre-recorded, second take we saw transmitted last week, she has so much to learn. She has no stagecraft. Please will someone tell her how to get on and off  the stage. And not to make faces. It’s not funny. I’ll stop there.

Anyway I notice that another X Factor person, Alexandra Burke, is set to play my home town of Peterhead, described in one newspaper as ‘a small fishing community’. No. It’s more boring than that. It’s the ‘White Fish Capital of Europe’. That’s how boring.

So it is no coincidence that sixteen miles up the road (Fraserburgh) the world’s strongest and most expensive beer is now on sale. It’s called Tactical Nuclear Penguin and retails at £30 per bottle.

Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time in the same coffee houses as Frankie Boyle. I was very lucky in that I grew up with the North Sea at the bottom of my road. Literally. Rocks. Sand. Water. That’s not a bad place to learn about the facts of life. And death. Although I should stress that one was much more pleasant than the other.

So, to Christmas and some dates are being filled in and my first cards have been sent abroad, including a world renowned soccer academy in the USA, and I’ve bought my first present by mistake (it’s a long story and I’m not referring to the one last year that never got given…..gulp, sob, gulp, but I await guidance again this year. I could always phone…..mmmmm…..it’d be my call)

And so to those who say they don’t understand this blog - remember I write it sober; to the blogmeister you show me yours and I’ll show you mine; to Son Brian your latest biggest day ever is in my diary for next week; to BBC Reevel, you really pressed that guy on garlic futures the other night; and to bestest friend Caitlin, it’s almost exactly one year now and so much has happened, but you’ve always calmed me down when needed, so ta - I mean what is there not to understand?

And that’s maybe the point. For the first time since I went self-employed I’ve just arranged to draw lots of money out of one of my business bank accounts, not for a certain expense or business matter, but purely to shove in my wallet and spend, not even on ASDA groceries or my bar bill, but to have in my wallet so that the Great Council shall have champagne if they want; so that if I buy a Chrissie pressie and it doesn’t get used then so be it; and as all good bosses should do, when I take my staff out for Christmas, I’ll pay the entire bill.

Maybe it was worth being cried ’scum’, ‘unlikely to cope’ and all these things…..maybe even the cancer helped…….maybe one of the greatest freedoms in the entire world is not having to do things that people always understand. Maybe……. No. No maybe. Definitely.

So if you’re not happy, don’t really understand what people or lecturers are saying, and it’s maybe only cos they wrote a book they’re there, you’re not alone. They don’t always know best. That’s my view, not a visual. Generally.

Today I helped arrange a meet for two good people. They both agreed without any fuss and it will be done. No. No hassle. It’s how it should be. Real journalistic PR. I’ll let you know when it’s published.

Yours, always keeping it fun, (smiley, smiley, george smiley)

cya

Johnt850

‘Welcome to a new kind of tension, All across the alien nation, Where everything isn’t meant to be okay……..’

and then the drums kick in…..(Sorry, neighbours….this was written about five in the morning…..)

American Idiot. Green Day.

Not my original choice this week but I like The Answer now I understand which band it is with that name that I like. Top pop picker, Emma J, is as confused. I had previously chosen something not quite as happy cos it’s not been a good week, work-wise but….well, let me explain. Get it over and done with.

Basically one income stream from the BBC is not going to happen and another with a nameless College in North Glasgow is not going to happen and another BBC stream may be diverted into the next financial year. Ho hum. It’s  a bit of a nuisance.

However, it does not excuse me saying to Son Brian; ‘I’ve had worse weeks.’ (He was standing on the balcony of his hotel in Hull at the time overlooking the Marina there. Serioulsy). That was just poor/pure self-pity and is not me. Had that happened in the early days of the blog, the Editorial Committee would have had me by the balls and…… (pauses briefly and leaves the room….returns a few minutes later). Is it me or are cold showers no’ as cold as they used to be?

(Sorry I’m practising some of the screenplay stuff I’m writing and L, frae Troon, last Monday night….the Christmas lights? Scene 71)

So we move on. Maybe I forgot to send on one of those e-mails that I’m supposed to send on to create world peace….just in case. But thanks to those folks who I told earlier this week about the week and who sent on best wishes and I’m following the first rule of freelance journalism – my freezer is full. I will not starve.

Even if I’m the sort of person who, when told the word ‘gullible’ had been removed from the dictionary went to get my copy of Collins to check.

But silver clouds when the door slams in your face and for the Vampire Slayer, Missie K, and an anonymous third who I shall not name cos to do so might identify a prof of yours who I’m told is rubbish at five-a-sides,….flexibility and bendiness remain the order of the day, you know what I’m saying;

bestest friend, Caitlin, I am such a creature of impulse but the actual ideas are worth working on;

and Siobhan, nice facebook quiz;

and my gd frnd Clr……. (stands up from computer and goes through to kitchen to re-arrange the cards for the screenplay yet again, sighs and eats an individual cheesecake from Morrison’s with a plastic spoon) No. No reason. (Well, actually they’re my latest addiction….sticky toffee, since you ask. Really nice….and sticky….and toffee)

But this is maybe not the best week to get my latest PSA test.

Yes*. This long after treatment finished it should be lower than it is but there is a slight problem, but it’s more technical than anything else. No. No reason (bites lip bravely). If The Sun says all my bits are working then who am I…….? I’ll keep you posted.

*Like much of the blog, there is no real reason for this ‘Yes’ to be there, but it just is. It may just appear again like the penguin in Gregory’s Girl.

Incidentally I watched the programme about John Smeaton and did anyone notice that the Guy Fawkes masks they chose were actually from the movie V for Vendetta ( a marvellous irony, eh?…No, I don’t understand what I mean by that, either, but it sounds good) but I do know, and not ‘cos I did Politics at Uny, that Smeato didn’t stop the BNP in Glasgow North East….the voters did.

And I am thinking about the Christmas office party for my one man business (turns away from camera and sobs, swallows pride and looks pleadingly into camera…..Voiceover….‘All it would take is maybe a couple of hours of your time , just hours before your own office party’) C’est mon appeal mais c’est toujours ton appel.

Incidentally, whilst I remember, nice to see The List featuring some of my own fave bars in Glasgow, including Bar Ten, Upstairs in the Doublet and Brel down Ashton Lane, but can I draw your attention to page 8 of the current edition, where they’re looking for a list of Hot Ten Talented Scots nominated by you, the listener, well maybe in this case, you the reader. Why not nominate me on www.list.co.uk/hot10 ? See, clrly, the self-pity is ebbing away even as we speak.

Yes*.

And I’ve to choose a bit of dialogue from a movie for the class as well. I’ve watched Debbie Does Dallas a few times now, but repetition of the one word is not good dialogue. So, it could be American Psycho, a gentle comedy, and its descriptions of food. It’s like reading the labels in the new Waitrose, in which I have not been yet. I have a friend. Who has. So far, so good and don’t the former Somerfield staff scrub up well.

And I’ve just spoken to someone whose judgement I trust who has heard the new Susan Boyle album and says it’s very good, but I tell you Wild Horses wouldn’t make me buy it.

I hate Children-in-Need but that’s because of an unfortunate incident a wee while back with a woman selling balloons in Edinburgh Waverley Railway Station and a presenter who was not paid to run, he said, but to everyone else involved, I hope you raised a lot of money, unless of course you’re a business presenting a cheque for a suspiciously well rounded sum of money.

Gary Tank Commander BBC 2 Scotland watch it and laugh.

And finally can I say a big thanks to Robin Galloway for not only growing a moustache but actually explaining in his column how prevalent prostate cancer actually is and why the moustache thing is happening.

(Laughs quietly, goes back through to kitchen, picks up one card and stops………..) Yeah, I haven’t a clue how it ends either. A bang maybe, rather than a whimper?

cya

Johnt850

Except to say thanks to the Comedy Unit for the mail about the contract for some stuff they seem to like. It’s not  a lot but it will help pay for beers, pasta, coffee and tomato juices in the run-up to Christmas. You know where to find me. I’m handy. Try me.

Wise words there from The White Stripes and whilst it might seem quite innocous, try it turned up to vol level 11 and beyond in the ASDA car park with the windows open. Scared the hell out of the folk waiting for the free bus to the Acre Road flats.

Must have been what it was like at the Alice in Chains gig at the Barrowland (no ’s’ and it’s safe) during the week and nothing like their dreadful performance with one song on Jools’s show the other night. Sorry about that, blogmeister et al. The ‘heads-up’, not the performance, that is.

But before I go any further, can I just say one thing; everything in the blog happens, with maybe a slight embellishment. It was my gd frnd Clr in her semenal work Literary Generations which I (in-gag deleted) the other day who drew parallels between blogging and New Journalism. Albeit unwittingly, but to be on the same page as Wolfe and Thompson was a tremendous fillip in early daze. Serious ta.

So, yes, dear listener, I have been through the front doors of Bubbles, the Sauna on the South Side but for what purpose? My thanks to a number of ppl who contacted me to confirm it was in Merrylea ‘just beside the American Golf Shop’ but was now demolished. But, no, they had never been in. I merely make an excuse and move swiftly on.

And the reference to new shops in the Byres Road area was not about Waitrose and the (soon to be) Tesco’s Extra but some amazing new shops just arrived above De Courcy’s and anybody wining and dining with me in the Ashton Lane area in the near future (bookings being taken and some are being discussed and please feel free to get in touch) are welcome to come and see them with me. (C’est toujours ton appel, btw)

I was La Maisonette’s first ever customer yesterday. A birthday present for Son Brian’s mum, since you ask. No. I’ve never remarried. No. No reason.

And not all my presents for people come from Papyrus and Urban Outfitters. C’est tout que je dis. Actually, Francophiles out there….the gag that finishes with the line, ‘That’s You, That Is’, what’s a good translation?

But Gary: Tank Commander is back on BBC 2 Scotland. PT fans are soooooo talented. And the rock that says Limmy on Tour remains untouched in Summerston – cultural centre of…….Summerston. And someone must have died violently recently at the bottom of the road, cos there’s lots of flowers saying whatever flowers say at a time like that. Must have been someone local ‘cos no-one’s pinched the flowers.

And when I tell ppl I spent Friday afternoon in The Social, they all assume I mean the Job Centre and not the bar/brasserie place in Royal Exchange Square where I actually was.

And the Winers’ Club did meet last night and only time will tell regarding its impact on World events. I’m still coming to terms with the fact we had a Powerpoint presentation on Tin-Tin, the Belgian boy reporter. Serioulsy. I’d like to say I was tomato-juiced out of my mind, but I stay amazingly surprised at the number of licensed establishments in Glasgow who don’t stock it. The look I get when I ask for a virgin, Mary.

But I absorb enough of the vapours and the vagaries to have a hangover without feeling the need……..worry not, support team.

But bad news from the Dinner for Son Brian from your Uncles Brian, Dennis and Jock. You’re….you’re….you’re paying for the next curry. Not. I tried, guys, I really did. Aaaaaargh!

They do do a good Virgin Mary (it was a joke, okay?) at the Lansdowne, where you can watch Scottish international football matches (if you must) when a bunch of rugby playing Fijians and First Scotrail combined to make it difficult to reach Dunfermline if you’re a PT fan but to see it described in The Times of Evening as ‘the pub hidden in a housing scheme’ came as a real surprise.

But speaking of PT fans with talent a big Well Done to Erik the Floodstalker, and his mate Martin, (both Caley Uny journo students) and their big Local News coverage of the Glasgow North East by-election. But before anyone accuses me of having any reservations about journo courses can I reassure journo students everywhere that, when Darryl (about to leave the Herald) Broadfoot says he learned more from (now dead) former colleagues than any journalism course could ever teach, that I think he was referring to just one, but WTF do I know….just in case.

But get out there! Come on down from the Tower Blocks and talk to people. There are a million stories out there, just waiting to be told. It’s what I love about travelling on trains, altho’ big apologies to Liz for the other day. Out of uniform it’s a totally different story. (Can I say that? Actually Jaymi said it, so I think I can) 

I think I meant Ivory Tower just there, didn’t I? Just Come on Down, anyway. You want introductions? I can do introductions.

And am I bovvered that we have a Prime Minister who has sight problems and writes with a thick black felt pen and seemingly can’t spell? Naw. Iraq, Iran…does it matter? (It’s a joke okay?) Incidentally we don’t elect Prime Ministers in this country. The party with the most seats in Parliament wins.  Its leader, which the party members choose, becomes PM. C’est tout. So the cheap Kharzai dig doesn’t work.

So how much is fact, how much is fiction? How much is fantasy and how much embellishment? To quote Wolfe himself ‘Even hostile parodies admit from the start that the target has a distinct voice.’ Clrly I have absolutely no idea what that means.

And finally, in a week when nothing continues to happen - e, BBC, longed for meets and Leona Lewis phoning – can I say a further thanks to all those, including some sports pundits I was with, who are currently sporting moustaches to bring awareness to male health issues. No. I wear the ‘blue man cancer badge’ all the time. Yes. There’s a reason. But serious thanks.

cya

Johnt850

Incidentally rainforestriverman, ‘blue man cancer badge’? Not one of mine. I think it works out 50-50. So far, so good, so I can’t stop laughing some times. So, What the Hell?

No. No message there other than to say Sting’s a pretentious tw*t and I was so glad that the Foo Fighters followed him on Jools Holland the other night even if they did sound a wee bit like Status Quo.

And speaking of guitar heros, how you doin’? Long time no…….

And in a complete non-sequitor (honest) can I say how long it is since I held a decent twelve inches in my hand, although seven inches seem okay. I refer, of course, to the new computer game DJ Hero which reminds me of the Co-op camp in Rothsay and Uddingston Community Centre et al. I’m tempted. As I was then. I succumbed in just one of those situations….just in case. But I’ve never been to Bainsford.

Scratching and mixing and the other skills go back a long way and the first guy I remember who did more with records than just play them was the brilliant Robbie Vincent. He played a lot of soul like northern soul Dave and Craig Charles do on a Saturday night, but now head 2 head, so maybe this week, with gd frnd Clr’s permission, we can keep it funky.

Incidentally, Jaymi and James Ellroy? I am just soooooo jealous but I’m not saying for why.

And the screenwriting class continues. Tutor Jim (I call him that cos he’s my tutor and he’s called Jim) has set us dialogue tasks. Now unfortunately I have been trying to develop a character from real life (No. Not one of my usual very patient people) but for some reason I have to set my dialogue in a porn establishment.

Now this is good ‘cos it gives me a legit reason for my hard-drive history. But it’s given me  a really red face in writing it. Incidentally, younger listeners ask older male members if they remember Bubbles, a Sauna and Massage parlour on the southside of Glasgow which stood in a building all on its own seemingly in the middle of a field. Well, it still exists.

Incidentally, in another non-sequitor, can I say Hi to Siobhan, one of my favouritest ever students who once said to me, ‘Not now, John, not now.’ Next week, The Question. Regards to Fiona btw.

No. I’m just a wee bit annoyed with the BBC Trust (and if anyone else has views about them, then I’d be happy to hear them). Have they no sense of humour? No memory of childhood? When Frankie Boyle talked of Rebecca the swimmer as being reflected in a spoon, to me it brought back memories of those concave and convex mirrors in amusement arcades. How we laughed. But then I grew up in Peterhead.

Not every gag can be accompanied by the words hahahaha……….but then even at the age of 42 I’m old enough to remember the days when to work for the BBC meant you believed in the existence of Santa Claus and specific instructions from on high as to when you could mention Christmas. No. No reason.

However, I’m not too sure I remember my alkie thirteen months that well. I must have been really boring when people look at me now and laugh and say things like, ‘Well I still keep my fridge full jt’ or ‘I still laugh at that story about the electric blanket jt.’

That last one comes from a High Court lawyer who attends that Winers Club formal dinner thing I go to and it’s that time again, next week, Friday 13th.

We’re not a secret organisation, like, say, Bilderberg* although membership is by invitation; as a committee member I have access to only eight addresses; and the goat is a volunteer. We have politicians, professors, businessmen, broadcasters and lawyers amongst our members (I am there to remind people of why it is important to stick in and get a good degree. I didn’t. That is possibly why I am its public face) Oh, and we have the manager of a football club as well, kinda. And yes we do set interest rates and the rest of fiscal policy. So far, so good. I just wish we made these decisons before the others reached the brandy.

*At the College where I used to work, somebody asked me about Bilderberg and I started my answer by saying, ‘It’s a secret meeting where……’ and someone else in the room said, ‘If it’s secret how do you know about it?’ Yes. He does have responsibility for student journalism. Worrying isn’t it?

I didn’t make it to the fireworks party, Caitlin. Did you? I got held up in town.

And wise words from Lindsay C, the Record’s top angst queen. Respect is indeed a two-way street. The rest is a bit too obvious were I to quote.

And this week’s Heroes of the Week are the taxi drivers at the top of Byres Road who boxed in the East European Big Issue pimps who think they run the world.

But I do think it’s important we get over the message about drugs accurately and whilst I’m more on the side of scientific advisers than politicians (remember that interview I gave you Parfery person?) I think the kids on the streets will really get down to the wise words of a boffin on the recent BBC Scotland prog  ’How to grow your own Hash’ with the gorgeous Sam (what a woman) Polling. It told you almost everything apart from naming that shop just off the Saltmarket.

The boffin made a comparison between ‘drinking a pint of beer or a pint of port.’ Yeah. The Summerston Zombies (their ‘menchie’ is YSL) doing in the cheap cider in the graveyard with the fireworks and the AK47s know exactly where you’re coming from with that one. It’s a wee bit like Andre Agassi saying he now regrets taking crystal meth in the years he won lots of tennis championships, millions of dollars and pulled lots of women. And your point is?

And to all those I’ve invited across to the West End in recent months, if not years, the shopping just got better but the restaurants are just as good. C’est ton/votre appel(s). That didn’t really work, did it? It’s kinda Stingly pretentious, isn’t it?

So, and finally, can I say a big thanks to all those who raise money for cancer charities (I’m selfish. Okay?). I’m a lousy fundraiser. So whether you do ceilidhs, strange Facebook pages, run 5k or grow moustaches, can I say thanks? I’m an awareness man myself but not always formally. Thanks. Serioulsy.

cya

Johnt850

And incidentally to set all sorts of things in perspective this weekend including football matches, being upset by Twitterers, getting voted off reality shows and falling out with friends, here’s a track by Siouxsie and the Banshees. At least these days we can bring bodies home. It’s called Poppy Day and it’s exactly two minutes long with reverb.

…in Flanders fields The poppies grow Between the crosses Row on row That mark our place We are the dead…….

Perspective is good. Isn’t it?

And I make no apology for playing Green Day and other loud rock’n'roll bands over the last twenty four hours or so ‘cos what should have been a really good week became a really good week but with a ‘but’….my PC got attacked last week but all boarders were repelled with but one casualty….I’ve lost a lot of e-mail and, unfortunately, my e-mail address book with loadsa contacts, both business and personal. My network nerve centre.

I wasn’t looking at anything ‘iffy’ or ‘pervvy’. It was websites to do with Andrew Lloyd Webber (Actually now, when I think about it…..) who, according to The Sun, has been ’struck’ with prostate cancer. (I wasn’t ’struck’; I just ‘had’ it but then again I’m not a Lord). The newspaper, which very kindly told the world recently that ‘all my bits are working’, then goes on to perpetuate the myth that it usually ‘kicks in at pensionable age and beyond’.

FFS, according to my birth certificate age I was 51 years old when it insidiously worked its way into my defences like Security Tool tried to, only I was too busy pickling my liver on a daily basis to notice. So, please, if you do know males who have questions about this, then tell them to go to the doctor. If I, or Prostate Cancer Charity Scotland, can help in some way, just ask….just in case. Andrew, I know you read this.

(And Dennis Hopper, star of Apocalpyse Now and Easy Rider, has it as well. ‘Get your motor riding…..straight along the highway……looking for adventure…..and whatever comes our way’. C’est moi, c’est tout)

So anyway if you know my alter ego (I am/he is calming down) and you communicate with him or there’s anything outstanding, please get in touch. I think he’s lost some business as well. On the other hand I bumped into Gwen the other day and she’s just back from travelling the world. Some you win; others you don’t lose. (God, that sounds like one of those twee calendars doesn’t it?)

(Does a funny calendar lose its impact the following year, if  it wasn’t used as a Christmas present this year?)

And Caitlin, my taxi driver taking me to the Hilton the other day (it’s business, okay?), took me to the back door thinking I worked there! (I was going to say rear entrance but then that becomes the sort of obvious innuendo that frightens Adrian Chiles on the appalling The One Show).

But a lot of the social stuff is also on Facebook and my own little BBC Friends Re-United (No. I still haven’t heard) continues with re-finding the amazing Ruth, the World’s Second Greatest Researcher (apres moi, d’accord). And her first question on re-connection? ‘How’s your Son?’

I think it was ‘cos, long before the sexism of Take Your Daughter To Work Day, I had Dump Your Son at a Spare PC Afternoon once a week after Primary School, and when other estranged kids got taken places at the weekend, he got taken to Studio 6 in Queen Margaret Drive. Happy Daze. Yes. He’s an accountant. No. No reason. 

(And it’s thanks to him I’m reffing a Beaver football tournament instead of going to Firhill. Don’t ask. Let’s upset Adrian)

So I can’t say much about the very diverse group I was working with last week but it was helping people into employability and it was the last week and two out of fourteen have already got job offers. Listen, I was chuffed.

We did mock preparing for employment interviews and stuff and no smartasses were (allegedly) deliberately failed but I was reminded of a previous similar exercise and when I asked the question, ‘Have you had any recent experience of the NHS?’, I got the answer;

‘Aye, when my brother was murdered a few weeks ago. Me and my maw stayed with him until he died.’ My follow up question was more journalistic than Human Resources.

But as ever I learned a lot and I was tipped off about a band called The Tenements (lots of good talent now in the East End) but they seem already to be known to quiet but busy top pop picker Heather C, who once wrote of them; ‘they are all like strawberry jam’….aw. Who taught you journalism stuff H? Oh, aye.

Incidentally, gd frnd Clr and bestest friend Caitlin, met a colleague of yours the other day. C’est tout. And I am now a legit member of Strathclyde Uny Library. Guided tour a possibility?

And the screenwriting class thing continues. Again not a lot I can say, except they think I’m a bit weird. It’s maybe to do with the short movie we were shown, where everyone else raved about the child actor, whereas I enthused about the druggie mum, who seemed to me the eternal optimist, stealing the car keys, stealing the car, stealing the ring and then punching her daughter to help get away from the police, Cool, eh? But not to be condoned, obvioulsy. (Way to go, smackhead mum)

But I’m sorry, blogmeister, I did go to a PC recovery man. In the past a guy called Yassim has done work to my PC but when I took it to the Sick Computer Hospital at the bottom of Byres Road (it does all sorts of other stuff but not the sort of place ethical journos should know about.) I was told Yassim has gone. To Duke Street. Lots of good talent in the East End. He has been replaced.

By Jo-El, who also dances the tango of  a Friday evening and was having a party that night for his Kung Foo pals. I declined the invite. Well, to both since you ask. He wasn’t that expensive. He wasn’t responsible for the parking ticket I got for waiting outside the hospital, which added to the cost. Jo-El exists btw. Creativity does not have to be about invention but talking to people, not ignoring them. We, I’m sorry, they have stories, different from those  you might expect. Still waiting for the call, as it were. As  ever.

And so, finally, I knew a lot of students at the College where I taught, not ‘cos they were students of mine but ‘cos they came out of Summerston. (I think for many people my nickname was ‘He-who-teaches-at-college-and-therefore-must-know-the-answer.)

So Big Hi to Jo-Anne, due to give birth in about ten weeks and who is organising a Big Night for the Beatson Cancer Centre at The Scotch (pub) down the road from me. I won’t be there. She does it ‘cos she lost two males from her family to cancer. Sometimes I feel such a fraud. Sometimes I don’t even pretend I can’t find change.

I do hope this explains to people in the high flats why I was giving a pregnant woman money the other day. It’s a strange form of guilt but not as they thought it.

cya

Johnt850

Oh, and bytheway, a big thanks to Missie K and the Vampire Slayer for their patience. Yes. Loadsa reasons.

To whom it may concern; my obsession is not an obsession, it is a belief and if it is still an obsession, it’s not that obsession.

I’ll explain all that in a wee minute but my thanks for this week’s music to Heather C, quiet but busy. It took me a wee while to get into Mumford & Sons but well worth it.

But first, as unimaginative presenters might say, news of a top appointment. (No. I’ve still to hear from the Beeb. They did say the ‘end of month.’).

I have been made the Vampire Slayer’s Hit Man, although I suspect the contracts may be different from the one I’ve just signed to provide some freelance training services in Glasgow. (Some people see the present, not the past).

No. The Torrance One came to me with a problem and I have offered a solution. It’s cool. Although I suspect I may need to learn an entirely new language, LOL, smh, btw.

Unfortunately they’ve already made a TV series called The Hit Man and Her and younger listeners can find it on YouTube. (Michaela Strachan in the middle of the night. ) As you watch it, please remember that I was officially single as of 1990, and still looking (2009).

Please feel free to ask your mums, aunts or whoever if they ever went on girls’ nights out to Bonkers, Clatty Pat’s or, if I was on PR expenses, Victoria’s (The Piano Bar). No. No reason.

Actually isn’t it interesting how many panellists on Question Time sounded as if they’d just discovered YouTube. They had over-prepared. They ignored the first rule of journalism; they didn’t listen to Griffin’s answers. They were too busy reading their cribsheets. Aaaaaaaargh!

(Missie K, that’s a different aaaaargh from the one that’s on its way to you)

Still I think it’s only right we listen to folk with strange views on immigration. Go to BBC iPlayer and listen to Baroness Warsi, the cherrypicker. Jeez.

Schweppes Russchian tastes awful on its own. How could I drink it even with vodka? And I hate the clocks going back. I just wake up earlier. Thank God for the twenty four hour garage.

No. I started my screen writing class this week just past based in the Dr Livingstone I Presume Tower in Strathclyde Uny and it was a good start. As with a previous class certain rules of confidentiality exist. But it was really nice to meet up with someone from the previous class who shouted, much to the fear of the others, ‘Hey the blogger’s back’, and described me to some others as an ‘aspiring writer’. I may yet have an identity for Match.com.

And I got a really nice note from a previous writing tutor who was asking after the blook as well as me. See, C, it’s made academic circles as a word. Maybe even that new Glasgow Uny Thesaurus.

So, yes, I have a belief. I have a story I want to tell, which is fun (alkoholism and cancer) and it involves good people, and some bad………. Moving swiftly on as imaginative presenters say. (Plus I have still my homework to finish)

Strathclyde University where the student newspaper leads on false fire alarms by students and hides an amazing story about a student caught up in riots at the G20 on page 6. A firefighter friend of mine (a real one) at Maryhill tells me that the biggest cause of callouts are the students who live in the Glasgow Uny flats at Murano Street who don’t realise that grill pans need cleaned after toasted cheese.

I got round it in the first flat I stayed in after living in a mixed sex (eh?) Uny Hall of Residence by stealing  a brand new combo grill and oven from that Hall. After three months they came and asked for it back. No charges were pressed. Serioulsy.

Sailor not Santa by the way. Christmas can come too soon, and I still have last year’s pressy to give. Call, etc, etc……Aaaaaargh (It’s a different one. I have many voices)

And Jaymi, I was going to use Diana Ross’s Chain Reaction as the lyric but then I actually checked the lyrics.

And I love all the publicity for Frankie (he seems okay on Saturday mornings) Boyle including the jury ruling on two of his recent gags. My own favourite was always about Princess Diana and ended with the punchline,……….actually, you might be reading this after 9 p.m. I’d better check with BBC Al. Maybe next week? Or I might just take my lead from the new series of The Thick Of It.

See the person, not the age.

Incidentally, Jordan not wanting publicity? Priceless.

And so I was out yesterday with a blooming and blossoming e (there may be a special blog edition in 3 weeks or so….Son Brian’s birth anno was done on BBC Radio Scotland) and we went into the ol’ Fopp shop, and I bought a CD and The List and e said, ‘So you’re hiding the CD behind the mag’, and the assistant smiled and I said to the assistant, ‘No. You don’t understand. No’ and the assistant continued to smile.

Albeit unwittingly.

And finally, I realise I like the lite club in The Corinthian in Glasgow but I now realise that many welldressed women do not instantly relate to my crumpled Timberland look. I keep saying to them , look at the person and not the shirt.

Thoughts, Caitlin? As I say, you’re the boss.

So, Son Brian we’re moving the venue for my final show but we’ll keep the music. Dare I risk deathclock.com? It’s beginning to tick.

cya

john ‘the hitman’ t850

Reg McKay (56) died this week. He’d written about his cancer in the Daily Record and, as regular listeners will know, his style was different from mine. But he had a different editorial team; his wife, the gorgeous Gerry, who herself had beaten breast cancer. So far, so good.

Like me, Reg came from the North East of Scotland. He was a social worker who went into print. I was a community worker who went into broadcast. Neither of us had a formal qualification in journalism but there the similarity ends. He drank with, knew and wrote about people I may have met ‘just the wance’ – scary people. (I knew the footsoldiers).

Now at a time when the McGoverns, the Daniels and the Lyons cause such misery in North Glasgow from their homes in Cumbernauld and Jordanhill, there is a big vacancy, but it’s a serioulsy scary vacancy. Take care, prospective applicants.

It’s been a wee while since I’ve played Steve Earle, so thanks to David L for the suggestion. Nice also to see Northern Soul Dave back spinning the platters on Radio Six International and maybe I should ask Tony Currie for my own show*. Excellent book on the history of Radio Clyde btw, Tony, altho’ I’ve long given up waiting for my cheque for the stuff I did for Clyde many years ago. Anderston Bus Station – that’s how many years ago.

*Is there internet radio demand for a show featuring angst and addiction rock, I wonder?

I know. It’s not a normal start but at one point I thought this week’s blog would have to be a simple record show cos it was going to be so quiet with so many of my pals away for school and college holidays but the way it worked out can only be described in one word; artyfartyhealthythingymybobbity.

The arty part could well have been vampires cos news programmes tell me they’re sexy again. Well, the slayers always have been. Torrance. So near but yet so far. So good? So safer.

No. I’ll give you an example. On Tuesday I was at an NHSScotland (sic) seminar and I met a community artist called Claire (No. Not that that Clr. Nor indeed the other Claire). This Claire can’t practise her Art for health reasons. So, obviously, she gave me a lift up the road. To Summerston.

And then……she’d never been in my ASDA. And so it was, dear listener, that Tuesday afternoon was spent giving this Claire a guided tour of my local supermarket. I know how to give a girl a good time. (Call your it’s) Oh, and this Claire is getting married next year. Her bridesmaid’s called Claire as well. Moving swiftly on. To Wednesday.

And this was the day the surveyor was due to see whether the new windows in the flat where I flat sit were working. (To the taxman: Yes, some money does go into one of my six bank accounts but it’s only to cover the gardening and cleaning costs and is well within the Legg Guidelines. Honest….just in case)

Well his visit took longer than expected. He’s also a part-time lecturer at the School of Art, and maybe this is this week’s serious stuff, except…….

Y’see, he’s had two cancers to my one. And this is the bit that’s sometimes difficult to explain. The laughter. So he’s telling me about getting some of his vocal chords cut out to stop the cancer spreading, and I’m laughing my head off and then, well that’s the words he says, ‘And then…….’ and at this point I hit the floor and roll about laughing. He’d also had a cancerous kidney removed.

People used to say to me how positive I was. Naw. That sounds like biting your lip and putting on a brave face. Maybe for me, C, the mantra became Find The Fun. And then…….. Keep It.

I did. And so have many others. So mega ta.

Moving even more swiftlier on.

To several of my student and former student friends; hamsters do get pregnant and they do have lots of little hamsters; To Jaymi, well done for abseiling across the River Forth for the Chest, Stroke and Heart people; And to the blogmeister’s wean, ‘Happy Birthday Ali’…a bit belated but October is a busy birthday month. Ami, next door to me for example.

I have what age cannot wither; boyish charm.

Oh, and to all those folk I contacted regarding finding a Cumbernauld flat for filming, I’ll drop some of you a wee note explaining more but if it’s going to happen to the guy who Erik the Floodstalker put me in touch with, then I’ll let some of you know when the party is.

Incidentally, I wrote last week about the importance of contacts? One of the reasons the film production company contacted me was the fact that I write about Cumbernauld occasionally in the blog and it was spotted (seriously)…….I’m now dreading the call from another film company who notice my link to Airdrie and ‘dogging’ contacts. Altho’ as my mate Alan said in a beer garden in Dundee last week; ‘Cross dressing does not make you a transvestite.’ Factoid.

None of that was logical, was it? So what do you follow a non-sequitor with?

To Missie K and the others who tried the Musicians or Serial Killers quiz on Facebook; was that Carlos the Jackal or Carlos Santana, and Frank Sinatra could have been either.

Oh, and interesting conversation down at the cornershop with the rainforestriverman who’s trying to kindle interest in a new product. It looks good. (Technically it’s not product placement, okay?) However, I was overwhelmed by  the fliers you gave me for HP Lovecraft – an author, btw, and not merely an interesting way of passing the time on monthly payments. Tommy T has tentacles everywhere, indeed.

Books are like newspapers; hopefully they will always be with us. Their reading can only be enhanced and encouraged.

As, hopefully, will my screenwriting skills as of Monday evenings. My tutor has written and produced a Tartan Short and directs a daytime soap from time to time; I’m quite nervous. What If I’m asked the last DVD I watched? (For the record, it was resident evil degeneration which seems to be an animation based on a computer game. Blogmeister?)

‘Rothesay – It’s wilder than Millport’ kinda summed up the pub conversation amongst those who didn’t get away this week. L frae Troon seemed to go further afield. So can I just say Happy Holiday (again) to Son Brian and Katie who are off to the States within the next couple of days. 19th October. Big day for lots of people. No. No other reason.

So, on that note, a simple ‘and finally’,…..On Friday I helped a young Korean lady and her wean from Summerston Railway Station to Cessnock Subway Station (it’s a long story but a fun one). I noticed that not once did she take her hand(s) off the buggy. A lesson to be learned, Australian lady?

cya

johnt850

And a kinda apology to some Motherwell fans who I described last week as ’spliff smoking’ and ‘Buckfast drinking’. I now realise that the spliff was started by a PT fan before doing the rounds. I, of course, simply passed (it on). Sober and solvent free. C’est tout que je dis. Mais c’est bon, n’est-ce pas?