Whatever the weather man’s saying we follow Sunshine or rain But he’ll never tell me how I feel tomorrow Pleasure or pain

Some lessons to be learned there from Gabriella Cilmi, and lessons to be learned for me from the last edition. Do not write a blog when you’re bored. Oh, the mistakes I made.

But, having bought her CD, I’m now on Gabriella’s mailing list and actually received an e-mail from her. No. A gentleman never tells. But the subject heading was “It’s Party Time.”

Sorry for that stuff about my upcoming birthday when I did that bit about the last two digits of the year I was born and my (technical) age being the same. It only made sense when I added in the bit that they added up to the current year, 2008. Simple, eh?

It was my hairdresser, Sandra, who pointed this out to me as she was cutting my hair so it can grow long. The real smiley Carol knows what I mean. And since you ask, a young mid-forties (the age I resemble) Those of you who have not seen me recently will just have to take my word.

And as for all those clever people researching the causes of prostate cancer…didn’t you see the letter in a Scottish tabloid this week explaining that it was caused by nuclear power travelling in the same way as ancient ley lines? I think the writer meant direction rather them all getting a bus together.

Now that I know that, I’m not so worried about what seems to me to be such a long time before I see my consultant. It’ll give him a chance to go out and find the eye of newt, the wing of bat and the unicorn milk which will guarantee me an exact cure. Aye. Right. My money’s still on the big….injections coming back.

You’ll just need to wait and see, Johnt850, be patient, and get on with life, without a care in the world, no worries…except just occasionally, C, just maintenant et encore.

So, C, where is yours? “On the computer”? You’ve seen mine, and Blr, I should have expected that when you promised me that you’d send me yours that night, I’d still be waiting. When did I ever get anything of yours when you said you’d deliver? Huh!

And by the way, complete non sequitor, honest, those asking about the other symptoms down below might like to know I got excited watching Carol Vorderman on Countdown the other day. I’ve never had a seven letter word before.

I worry about the fact that, when looking for a book by Barbara Horn recently in Borders (more than one way of skinning a cat than a rainforest river, I always say, and boy do I get funny looks when I say that), the young lady at the information desk could only find one by someone called Randy Horn.

Its title? Not quite what I was looking for but it did remind of the game where, if you want the name of a make believe porn star, as you do from time to time, the best thing to do is to think of the name of your first ever pet and add your mother’s maiden name. My first pet was a fish called Goldie. I think I’ll maybe stop there….just in case. Go on. Try it.

Incidentally, C, I did that thing where I said I’d bet a random page out of the Phil Vickery book against your flapjacks. All I’m saying is page 12 “hot chocolate fondant puddings”. Bring it on, as Wendy Alexander was wont to say. Are you listening, the other three members of the syndicate, G, G and C? And I’m quite happy with £10.63 from the horses. “No ceiling” on the bet. Good line, eh, Missie K?

But I’m worried for any ex-pats who come to Glasgow expecting to go visit the Broomielaw. It’s not there. I hadn’t realised that it had been completely replaced by Atlantic Quay, except for one stone cairn saying something like “Here lay the Broomielaw” and another further along saying “Here was the Seaman’s Mission”, adding poignancy to a black and white DVD I showed second year journos last year showing what it used to be like. Anyone want to borrow it? Plus some, now really amazing, pics on the walls of my front room.

But in the midst of this lay a glimmer of fun, albeit unwittingly, a sign saying “anti-climbing paint on gates and fencing”. And I just had to. Because it was there. Yes. The paint works.

I worry about the fact that Clinton Cards in Byres Road devotes a whole window to pictures of cuddly bears advertising a website called mybluenosefriends.com (phew! No direct link).

I’m pleased that my son has become step-uncle to young Stephanie, progeny of Karen and Andy and that my son’s mum is now a step-gran. That sentence needs no further comment.

I am delighted that a former journo student performed a stand up routine on BBC Radio Scotland’s Ellis and Clark Show and was really good. Nice one, Cathcart minor. Someone said to me, “I didn’t know you taught stand up.” to which I replied “There might just be a wee bit of me in there.” Don’t worry, JC, our secret’s safe.

I am ecstatic that the oven is clean and, Officer Laura F, no other evidence was found of what was obviously, at one point in my life, a heavy reliance on oven chips. In pitta bread. Go on. Try it. 

And finally, I’m slightly concerned that that magnificent seat of learning, Strathclyde University, gives great prominence to one of the streets close to the Barony (of which more in next Sunday’s graduation special) on its maps, naming it Catherdal Street (sic).

Sorry. I have a proof reader’s eye. A proof reader I know has mine. Actually I ordered new spectacles today. It’s weird cos you decide on these things although you can’t actually see what you’re buying. I just asked the folk in the optician’s. They must have been drinking. Their faces were blurred.

cya (with new gregory pecks real soon)





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