Find a cure, Find a cure for my life, Oh, my god, Oh, you think I’m in control, Oh, my god, Oh, you think it’s all for fun, Put a price, Put a price on her soul, Find a cure, Find a cure for my life

I’ll explain why I chose Ida Maria in a minute and you’re right, Heather C, I like “good shouty girl guitar pop”. I like that Suzy Quatro on Radio 2, just before Russell Brand…What? Isn’t he? Since when? No. Just joking folks.

Actually, I’m told that the Mail on Sunday journo, Miles Goslett (!), who broke that story was actually listening to the prog that Saturday night whilst cooking a bowl of pasta. What a sad, single bloke’s Saturday night that is. Mmmmm, Ice Road Truckers on the History Channel is good tonight, isn’t it?

Now, last week I promised congrats, and a promise is a promise, but on the usual guarded-name basis…..just in case. To Tam and Claire (No. No relation) from Second Year Journo, well done on your awards. I just wish I’d recognised your quiet, unassuming talents; to fellow PT fan, Noddy, congrats on your Scottish BAFTA award last week, and the new arrival in your family; and Happy Birthday to my ex-wife and son’s mum (same person). All her details available on request. It’s okay. She’ll never know.

But thanks to Tam for his “informal” help with those NQ presentations last year. Who’d have thought a boy from Greenock had so much to learn about Sexually Transmitted Infections? And, to my gd frnd Clr, well done for asking the question that still brings the likes of Parkinson and Norton out in a cold sweat in case they have to ask it… two unintroduced political journos at Holyrood last year….”Who are you and why are you here?” So far, so seminal.

And so, to the Winers’ Club Dinner where I showed control and kept it fun (see above lyric). To give you an idea of the Club (It was conceived thirty years ago and I was not present at this conception) can I quote from the constitution;

“The Club shall meet biannually, or if possible, twice a year. Failing this, the Club shall meet at least every six months” Now without being patronising – that means not talking down to you – read it slowly. Get the idea?

As regards the event itself, my lips are sealed. Can I just say, as a recovering alcoholic, the only major problem was the amaretto chocolate trifle for pudding? I left the room at that point. To four of my favourite women, it does not feature in that Phil Vickery book of blessed memory, but if you ever want a treacle toffee pudding re-run, just say the word. Any word. How about “narghile”?

Can I also say thanks to the two brilliant snappers on the night itself? (Did I really look like James Bond in my dinner jacket?) I think that retina burner had been on the developing fluid, bytheway. (Photographic gag). No. It was a good night. Incidentally, BBC Stevie Boy, I walked home with £690 in cash in my pocket, albeit unwittingly, and sober, this time. Will I ever learn?

And a sign of the times within G.U.U. You can buy singles tickets for the World famous Daft Friday Ball. How sad is that? Oh. That sad. Well, Sarah Palin likes Ice Road Truckers and that one about deep sea fishing…for fish…in the deep sea.

I went to six DF Balls (with partner, every time) and I only ever paid for one; the Balls that is, not the partner.

Speaking of which, my new career-planning goes from strength to strength but only time will tell. (Calendar gag). It seems to involve a lot of walking the streets, which is no bad thing. It pays cash. I like the streets. I like the streets of the West End, with the distinctive smell of the hookahs (sp), although I suspect the smell of the pipe I passed recently was being used to mask the smell of something just as exotic, available, as ever, from the Wyndford. Details available on request.

And that, seamlessly, leads us to where Carolyn McGoldrick seemingly is unable to answer a question about her gender. Now why mention her? Simply because she launched “Cumbernauld: A Love Song” this week, which contains the line, “I hear the way they say your days of “What’s it called” are numbered, Cumbernauld”. An ambitious line, Carolyn.

She goes on to say, “What is there not to love about the town?” Well, apart from my usual answer extolling the virtues of my gd frnd Clr, Missie K, and the Dykeenies, I think the grant of £2,000 she got from North Lanarkshire to help fund the song, might be part of the answer.

Actually I’m currently reading a biography of the great Hunter S. Thompson and I came across the following quote as he tried to get some government money; “I’m 27, married, one child, broke, holder of many pawn tickets, fighting eviction, etc”. Isn’t that sad. A great New Journo like that, using “etc”. But, hey, what do I know?

But in all seriousness, good luck to Carolyn, as she’s raising money for CLICSargant, a cancer charity for young people. 

And on my own cancergytis front (are you out there Blair?) I have my first check up, in a week or so’s time, since I got the All Clear just four months back. As some of my friends know, I think it’s still there just biding its time but I could have done without Saturday’s Herald Information Bar on prostate cancer. I don’t know where they got their information from, but apparently the best way of hormone reduction (I used the large, eh, what was the word again, Laura F, ah yes, needle) is, gulp, sob, gulp, surgically removing the testicles.

No. Honestly. I only ever paid for one Ball.

It’s enough to bring tears to a Vampire Slayer’s eyes, let alone mine. Actually, Torrance One, I remember the look on your face when I explained what the prostate did. I’ll maybe better move swiftly on.  I’ll keep you posted. Everyone that is, not just……Oh, I give up. Control is slipping, Jung Wan. Good thing, maybe? Anyway, updates’r’good. Keep me posted, folks.

Delighted to hear about the G20 Summit but my part of Maryhill is G23. We need help as well.

And finally, I notice from the tabloids that an American politician was in trouble for urinating from the balcony of a night club. He was quoted as saying, “I’m not going to let this overshadow me.” No, big man, I’m not going to let you overshadow me!

Cya, etc, and so on, and all the usual stuff as Gonzo Thom(p)son might say. It’s your call.

Johnt850, with a long lingering look at the bottle of port as it passes to the left, slowly, ever so slowly, as my hand caresses it fondly, bringing back a simple memory of my second Ball.

I never paid for that one.


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