The Pin-Striped Men of Morning are Coming for to Dance. Forty-Million Dollars, The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance

No. I don’t understand what the lyrics mean either, but Vampire Weekend are a smashingly quirky wee band. They’ve been on my picnic bench all week.

There have been requests for more mainline, sorry, mainstream Scottish bands but I draw the line at Fran and Anna. I did, however, consider stone cold sober by Del Amitri, particularly for every student I know who should be studying, not clubbing. Aye. Right. Go for it, guys!

Big week ahead of us down the sandblasting centre. Not only are the quiet lot joining us for Monday and Tuesday, whilst their lasers get serviced, but it’s the Wee Man from Denny’s final day (Okay he’s actually from Falkirk, but I’ve been protecting his identity). It’s the last Big Slag Off between him and me. I will choose my wardbrobe carefully and get there early. I’ll miss the seventy seven year old bugger. Who would have thought that six weeks ago? See cancer cameraderie?

And my heart leapt at one stage, when one of the lady radiotherapists said the magic words, “Eight and a half”. I’d forgotten they work in millimetres. I also heard the words, “Oh, that’s nice”, but to be honest, I’ve given up.

Still, ten trips to go and counting…Phase 2 starts on Tuesday and my final large injection also happens on Tuesday. (C, did we ever establish if Laura reads this ‘cos I’d like to run the gag in Wednesday’s blog? ….just in case.) So we’re building to a climax.

And elsewhere, I will say nothing about the events in Manchester, other than to relate the tail end of a conversation I heard South of the River the day before……”Aye. He’s got a ticket all right. It’s whether he gets outta jail in time, that’s the worry.”

And I will say nothing about the passing away of Tommy Burns, other than to say the excellent Herald obituary was written by Robert McElroy. If you don’t know what that means, there’s no point in me explaining it.

And, Torrance One – the Vampire Slayer, thanks for your e-mail last week explaining your absence, so far, from your appointed task. Just stay away from naked flames, okay? That’s all I’m saying. There was a blog comment last week suggesting T1 join the cast of Heroes, but I’m sure I saw the Vampire Slayer in Gladiators, with large cotton wool buds. Either that or it was a fantasy brought on by the medication.

And as for your mate, GK, she’ll thank me alright for cyberspace bubblewrap, but give her a whole paragraph in a blog and it’s hee-haw back.

At least my “good frnd clr” (vowel problem easing as we get closer to end of sandblasting) was straight in there, thanking the businessmen sponsoring her in Race For Life…men she’s never met before, mmmm….. I’ll move swiftly on.

Well, maybe not that far actually. Yesterday I bought some old music magazines from a second hand book shop. The man from the shop very kindly put them into a brown bag for me with just the highly coloured tops peeping out. Of course, when I got home and lifted them out of the boot, all my neighbours were there. Older male readers will understand my need to shout, “These are music magazines…not magazines with pictures of naked ladies.”, but I didn’t. 

And to the house down the road from me with MASON above the door, “You’re supposed to be a secret society, ya numpty!”

And finally, move over Peter Philips, Hello magazine, and that weird burd he married. This blog is currently negotiating for the rights to preview the wedding of the year in the mid-week edition. Watch this space! 




One Response to “The Pin-Striped Men of Morning are Coming for to Dance. Forty-Million Dollars, The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance”

  1. Jock Says:

    What’s needed here is pictures!

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