We’ve seen some change But we’re still outsiders If everybody’s here then hell knows we ride alone

Franz Ferdinand there and a very uncoded message of thanks to my literary top team of two, except it’s me who’s hit Writer’s Block at 15,000 feet, eh, words. So far, so good. Ach, no doubt they’ll be out there doing valuable research. Let me know if I enjoyed myself. Oh, and did I have a celery stick in my tomato juice?

I was going to feature Nickelback (Rock Star) but I thought the lyric, “Everybody’s got a drug dealer on speed dial” might put people off buying a three piece suite. Hang on, my phone’s ringing. “No. He’s on the other line.”

I was going to play Iron Maiden as a tribute to ace pilot and vocalist Bruce Dickinson who not only flew stranded passengers out of Egypt but bought them lunch as well. I just couldn’t find an Iron Maiden lyric I would let my servants read.

Do guitar heroes just read the licks and not the lyrics? Mmm. Let me know. My fascination continues.

So let me start by wishing good luck to all those former journalism students starting university this week or very soon. Enjoy. It should be fun and not a grind. (Okay I’ve used that line elsewhere this week, but I’m doing a lot of writing, okay? Recycling’s good. I’ve done it before.)

So, first rule of journalism….if you receive a fax or e-mail obviously not intended for you, read it anyway. Ignore the bit at the bottom which tells you not to. No. No reason. To err is human; to really muck things up you need a computer. Just thought I’d mention it as a hypothetical possibility.

It’s like getting a cheque for a lot of money made out to you but you don’t really know why you have it. Bank it. Ask questions once you’re earning interest.

And so, to my usual round up of me and my “cancergitis” as it was called this week. No. This student didn’t make it to university but she is following another calling. Good luck, Blair, and may your God go with you.

Maggie’s Farm’s going okay and I’m getting to know the folks. Some of them are part of another group based on the South Side of Glasgow, so I’m hoping to get involved in the network. But I was interested to read in a Glasgow freesheet the views of the staff of Maggie’s Farm on what celebrity they would like to visit them. Me, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth or Clark Gable? Okay. I lied. Clark Gable’s dead. Mmmm, the phone’s gone quiet.

In all seriousness, quite a few of the guys are like me. We’ve had the All Clear, but still we worry. I know. Me worry? The very idea. And we were all in fear of the large hormone filled needle. I wonder how Laura F’s doing anyway? Long time, no hear.

And workwise? It looks as if I’m doing auditions and closing nights again, although I do plan to launch myself on the great British public as a freelance poorf raeder, but I’m not sure if I’m reddy for it, yet. No. No raisin.

Next first rule of journalism…do your research before talking to people. But to have a full DVD library, my gd frnd Clr, already logged just in case, was beyond the call. Was it on purpose or purpoise? I thought they were all Carry On movies anyway. Nice one. (Time) Coded.

Ah such pointless jollity at a time when we only just avoided getting sucked into a black hole. (Not quite an Iron Maiden lyric but close). I was at this point going to quote the words of Keeley, 21 from Bromley, on the matter (physics gag there) as featured in Wednesday’s Scottish Sun but when I checked a cuttings service I use, I discovered that people in England got her views on Victoria Beckham’s new hairdo instead, albeit unwittingly. No. Seriously.

And I was so looking forward to using the line, “Phwoar! What a set of Encyclopaedia Brittanicas!” Now I can’t. Carry On Round the Reading Room, I think that came from.

But how powerful was the LHC I wondered. So I contacted a scientist at CERN and asked him. His reply? “I wondered that as well, so I stood in front of the accelerator…… and then it hit me.” Kerrching. I’m here all week.

Apparently there was even a rap video that made it onto YouTube, including the lyric, “to drop some particle physics in da club”. No. I’ll never use it. Plenty of reason.

Final first rule of journalism….if you’re writing a restaurant review for any newspaper, even a Glasgow freesheet, do not use the phrase “passed over the dessert”. All it needs is a sub-editor with a grudge, doesn’t it, Kevin C? Encrypted.

And delighted to see the band Elbow do so well at the Mercury awards. Just a shame the track played was the catchily entitled, “The Loneliness of a Tower Crane Driver”, and not my own particular favourite from the same album, “Grounds For Divorce”. No. No reason. Should there be?

Missie K’s next big tip? Pooch. You get me an appropriate lyric, Missie K, and I’ll use it as long as it’s not doggerel. (Sorry. It’s been that kind of a week.)

Next final first rule of journalism….avoid commenting on the new leader of the Labour Party in Scotland. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Who cares? Cathy does. I didn’t sign up all those years ago to storm the barricades just to bring free insulation to the masses. Vote Yulia Tymeshenko. Where are the independent socialists now when you need them? 

And to whom it may concern, I accept that daddy may be providing. All I’ll say is that if you get any other offers, you should book them. It’s your call. Password only.

No, not you son Brian. You’re providing for daddy in the years ahead, but a slightly belated Happy Birthday to you, anyway. Hey, having a blog has its uses.

I know you’re not working at IKEA but that you’re on the Greek island of ICAS. It’s a student accountant gag. There aren’t that many of them. Student accountant gags that is.

And to anyone cable carring this weekend over the Catalan capital’s harbour. Lucky barcas. Obvious envy.



“It’s a small price to pay”. No. No reason. I just found it in my notes. It’s this week. It’s been a bit of a carry on, one way or another.

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