Jinga jangler, tingalingle, picture on a bricky wall Hot and scamper, foamy lather, huggle me close. Hot breeze, old cheese, slicky slacky fish tales Brush my hair and kissle me some more

Words by Woody Guthrie and music by Billy Bragg. One for the kiddies and new grandchildren there on their holidays. Kiddies like Ruby, and Steve, will you please answer those student e-mails? Mentoring ain’t easy you know. (Not quite an Abba song)

Sorry. I’m a bit on edge. Less than two weeks to the day I’m not telling anyone about and there seems to be a bit of confusion over who does what tests before I can get results. I think it’s a bit of a communication breakdown (Led Zep) and it will all be resolved very soon.

But it’s okay, because I’m not worried. Y’see I recently bought myself a worry stone. Will someone please tell me what the hell you do with it? Please. It’s driving me nuts.

I sometimes find that when I worry I repeat myself and a recent text message to a mate told them twice in the one message to “keep me posted”. It felt like the modern day equivalent of the old World War II messages to the resistance and that a railway bridge over, say, Monklands direction, has just been blown up.

To any readers over that way, my apologies. Honest. My apologies.

But I’ve not been wasting my time. Upgrading my computer with new software has been fun. (I can’t believe I’ve just written that!). However, CD, not without its problems.

I seem to have lost Annabelle the Sheep with all her bodily functions and with Christmas coming up, it’s a disaster. Maybe if I ask the Vampire Slayer nicely, T1 might find her on Youtube. (That sentence worries me as well. I am supposed to be a mature adult. Where’s the stone?)

But I’ve dipped in and out of things, like e-bay. It’s interesting what you find there. A box of confetti, “unused”. There’s a story there, C, if you’re looking for creativity.

And speaking of which, check out the Days Like This page (“right here”) on www.scottishbooktrust.com/ . There’s a marvellous true story by an up and coming writer called John Thompson, there, just above Irvine Welsh. Seriously. Just there. See it! Just thought I’d mention it, just in case.

Y’see I’m worried that I’ve caused food prices to go up. I threw out some old bacon the other day rather than poison myself, albeit unwittingly. Selfish I know.

If only I’d bought some fresh “salt-grilled bighand thornyhead with vinegary water pepper sauce” like they served at the G8 meeting. I did ask at the ASDA here in Summerston but they just looked at me. “Try the Tesco’s in Milngavie or Cumbernauld” , they said, “but not here”. I came away with a tin of tuna chunks in sunflower oil, instead.

What evidence is there, Officer Laura F, of double standards, here? Yes. I know it’s not your usual remit but the first series of  NCIS is being run on the FX channel and they do ask the odd ethical question. Hear you’re a mean drummer by the way. Is there no end to your talents?

(C. You’ve never told me. Is LF spoke for?)

Speaking of spoke for, I was talking to the new Mrs MacL the other day. (Almost a neighbour. Only the canal, the Wyndford and several thousand pounds worth of property value between us) We were discussing books. (C’mon. It’s the West End for goodness sake!)

Did you know. Mrs MacL (I’ll do the Ms bit when the novelty wears off), that Tom Wolfe has worn the same trademark white suit since 1962?

Thanks for that, C. When does the really useful stuff arrive?

Incidentally, Mr Rainforest Riverman, currently in Seattle and not Slough, did you know that it can take the Royal Mail five days not to deliver, then lose and then find a slim volume of short stories by Etgar Keret (I am so cultured) but they can shove a very thick edition of Butcher’s Copy Editing  through the letter box, no problem at all?

See Sis, I am spending the birthday money wisely. (Don’t tell her about the new specs with the lattice arrangement instead of frames, please).

Incidentally, people have been asking about Kenny the Shed Pimp recently. Well, he seems to be back up on his good foot (long story) and chatting up the nurses at Springburn Health Centre. Meanwhile the contents of my shed are now soaking wet. Hey. he’s a mate. I don’t complain. That’s what mates are for. (I’m not doing the obvious gag)

But whilst we’re on the subject, Parfery and others (there’s an in joke for you…over three years old), all of whom criticised my garden when you were over. (“Hot chocolate fondant pudding” could be next is all I’m saying). There’s a lot of planting going on even as I write this. No. I’m not doing it. I’m paying a man to do it. Thanks sis.

I’ll send yet another pic to everyone. (One day, the wallpaper, okay? One day!)

And finally, taking advantage of my new super dooper upgraded computer (and thanks son of mine, extra RAM will be good, one day, but somehow a painful reminder…..) I recently contacted a virtual animation called Natasha (I think) to ask about train tickets, (as you do).

I don’t know what I said but I got a red card advising me she didn’t answer questions about her clothing. I am just so out of practice. Maybe, Brian, you’re right. Replacing the cassette player in my car with a new CD system is all I need. My ride needs pimped.

What a sad note to end on. I need cheered up. Hang on. Where is that Etgar Keret? That should do the trick until the new John Thompson comes out in paperback form, or even four sheets of A4.




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