You say you’re surprised. I thought I’d write today Pieces of my life That time can’t fade away

Some people say Jim Kerr of Simple Minds wrote pretentious lyrics. I say Jim Kerr of Simple Minds wrote pretentious lyrics. What do you think?

It’s been quiet down the sandblasting centre this week, which is good for getting in and getting out reasonably quickly but a couple of the regulars finish this week and, as yet, there is no sign of a new batch coming in. However, there is one gentleman I’ll mention who lives in a high rise over Stirling way with no letterbox. So I posted a letter for him. The next day he brought in a chocolate bar for me. See us, see cameraderie.

In one sense, it would be nice if it were busier, but in another, more important sense, maybe it’s good that it’s not so busy. What do you think, Suzy?

Incidentally, can I apologise to anyone on the Great Western Road mid-afternoon these days for my driving? I’m just so pleased to get away that I do put my foot down just a touch, just too much. I feel as if I’m auditioning for Grand Theft Auto IV, but purely from a driving point of view. Honest. Pass the AK47 will you?

By the way, C, I think there are creatures in the cemetary other than zombies and vampires. There are atavars, although it came as a surprise to find that atavars are Buckfast drinkers. Still they look as if they could do with a tonic. And, other C, I think they’ve come down the Balmore Road from Torrance direction. What do you think?

And, for no related reason, I noticed that nearly all the newspapers doing guides to Manchester for Rangers fans, missed out the large gay community based around Canal Street. I wonder why. And no. I’m not doing the gag where you drop the capital C and capital S. I heard that on Radio Scotland yesterday and thought it was childish.

However, quieter times down the centre meant another chance to read Shooting Times, our magazine of choice and the fascinating article entitled “Chinese water deer-why they are not all they seem”. Unfortunately, I got called through before I could find out what they really are. Still, we don’t ask rhetorical questions, do we, Brian?

Maybe they are charity muggers like the ones I met on Buchanan Street in Glasgow before a pleasant soup and sandwich lunch with a friend. The first one who approached me respected the cancer man blue badge I wear for prostate cancer awareness but the other one kept pestering me, saying couldn’t I spare another couple of pounds a week for the charity he was working for (that week)? Sorry, pal. My cancer, my charity. Do you need both knees?

However the cancer won a preliminary skirmish on Friday night at the birthday party. Seventeen treatments down and twenty to go and it’s beginning to hit me just how draining treatment can be. So I made an excuse and left after an hour…before the karaoke, Bruce, before the karaoke. Hope it all went well, Katie.

And Claire, that blatant plug in the previous blog’s comment column about you running in the forthcoming Race For Life will not be repeated in this edition. Actually, there’s a point. Do any of these “chuggers” give any of their own money to charity? If you’re out there and reading, please feel free to comment.

Finally, a big thank you to Katie’s mum for sharing a (non-alcoholic) drink with me the other night (Two straws. It’s friendlier) on the verandah of a posh Bearsden golf club overlooking the picturesque eighteenth green and discussing zombies. What really frightened me was the way she looked at me and said, “We all know where you live.” Is my secret life about to  be revealed, readers?

cya

Zorro, sorry, Johnt850 

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