And so dear listeners, I very rarely talk about my work and tonight’s show is no exception, but many of you know a lot of it is at night – in supported accommodation for the homeless and they’re entitled to their anonymity in blog terms. No. It’s Glasgow at 3.30 in the morning I want to describe. Last Sunday, or Easter Monday, to be more precise.
But it was the Sunday that made it so peculiar. Facebook had basically been split into two; those for whom Christ had risen and those for whom it was a day to hide eggs and let children find them. Should have been a quiet shift and it was but it was outside that worried me.
The only time at night I should leave the project, which is at the nice’n’sleazy end of Glasgow, is to take bin bags out to the bins in the alleyway around the corner but this night I was out several times. Sunday into Monday should be a quiet night. Very few bars and clubs are open beyond midnight but one was and it was well stewarded. The one fight seemed to be well sorted out. I won’t say why I was out but the streets were not pleasant.
Broken bottles on the pavement; taxi drivers shouting insults at drunks waiting in the ranks and then pulling out when they ran after them; and some very drunk young ladies who fortunately had friends to look after them because there are men lurking in the shadows. And there was a fog coming down the street. It wasn’t a fog that was there; it was a fog that was rolling in like some of those I remember from my upbringing in Peterhead – just off the North Sea. Those effete Southerners who were complaining of smog the other day should have experienced one of those. I shivered. A lot. I was not dressed for ‘out’ but I had to be there.
And then my shift finished at 7.30 and another twelve hours of my life had passed. All every Edgar Allan Poe-ish. I have a book of all his stories – published in 1890. When I get the chance to read to my grand-daughter, I’ll maybe start with The Murders in the Rue Morgue. :)
Right let’s brighten up.
Actually many years ago, when I was working for the BBC down in London, I met Don McLean. He was appearing in a TV show (Nationwide – ask elderly people) and I was his Meet’n’Greet and I did ask him…..’So what do the lyrics mean in American Pie?’
‘A lot of money, John’, was his reply. :D
So when a women’s team win the Posh University Boat Race what do they do with their cox?
And it’s really nice that Andy M has finally married Kim. Maybe, since he’s so rich, she could give up her job and follow him to some games…or matches…or rounds…or whatever they’re called.
And work goes on at t850 Towers where I now have a new porch, altho’ I do wish it was a new Porsche after the amount of money I’ve spent on my car this month. Zombie Michele, you will be pleased to hear that I no longer have to drive over bumps in the road to get it working. :)
And I spent some time with the latest member of e’s family – H the dog. In Victoria Park. What does H stand for? Not a lot. A very no-nonsense dog is H. She’s a labradoodle with whom I’m trying to bond……I’m more a mongrel. Which is no slight on my parents but one of my grans was illegitimate and I’m convinced my genes come from her. The rest of my family is financially inclined – even L, to whom I was once married, is a chartered accountant.
Me? An alcoholic journalist. But no longer…either. But I still have a press card. I still pay my union dues. :)
My/our folks were dead normal but the financial thing showed through. I was never really taught how to ride a bike or swim. Instead I learned how to count the collection in St Andrew’s Parish Church – four half crowns, three two bob bits and four shillings (ask elderly people) made a pound and you used a ruler to make sure every column of silver was exactly the same. Happy daze. We made our own fun but we were happy. :(
And finally, as well as my usual nights (on average two a week) I’ve been working back shifts last week and this coming week getting home ‘bout eleven and eventually getting to bed/sleep. And as Jamie T said last week (kinda) there’s someone/thing on my mind and my workmen arrive dead early so I am knacked but the last two weeks of this month? – party central would be nice. Any offers? :)
Cya, still wearing that badge and defo going for it.
So I’ve had some problems textually since I came back from Lisbon and I’m slightly worried in case I’m being blocked (accidentally or deliberately) so I’m meeting up to go drinking with the Blogmeister and he’ll be able to offer advice. In the early days of my time with Study Buddie Fi (every week a different supermarket in Ayrshire) she blocked me – by accident.
But me and the Blogmeister are going to conquer another of my fears. I have not been in Tennents in Byres Road for at least eight years (since the Cold Turkey Weekend). I only recently went back to the Curlers (Rest) and that was for an Arts and Craft Fair where Mo was showing off her jewellery skills.
I remain convinced that someone will recognise me and offer to buy me a pint. I intend to go up to the bar and order an orange juice and a pint of whatever for my mate. Well maybe not in that order. It’s in a couple of weeks’ time. I’ll let you know how I get on. :)
And also next week, why I’m giving up fishing but casting around for something else and I may have found it.
Billie Holiday had issues with alcohol and drugs but she was persecuted by the police – and a man called Harry Anslinger who is responsible for many of the closed minds toward drink and drugs that exist today – to the extent that she was arrested on her deathbed. She was also a fighter for civil rights. This next track combines that concern with her amazing voice.