I don’t know what I have done, But I’m sure I will in the next five seconds, You see I have a telephone, When people call they don’t stop ringing for me

For once, just a jolly fun piece of music from a jolly fun band, The View. After all, it’s been a jolly fun week. I was across at the Beeb earlier this week (much talk of redundancies), was with some folk from the Herald (much talk of redundancies) and had coffee with a high heid yin from a savings bank you can trust (much talk of integration).

Just the climate to be thinking about setting up on my own. I just happen to think The Word Process is so important, don’t you?

But my thanks to my old friends at the Beeb, “old” in terms of knowing me, not age, and can I just say, Anne and Jeanette, “Car Parking Space, number ten”.

Sorry. That’s all I wanted to say. Such a nice ring to it, and such a nice feeling of having arrived, after soooooo  many years, and I did manage to drag myself away. Nice ladies, J, you work with. But, hey, they now have my address and phone number. Book.

(Apparently “Book” is what you get when you type Cool into predictive text in a mobile. Eh, what’s predictive text?) 

But also, Jeanette, only you can pull my Don Johnson sleeves down as subtly as that. I haven’t forgotten all your little tricks, though, you little minx, you. So good, so far!

Almost as subtle as the Partick Thistle fan continually looking at the time on his watch as we gubbed Airdrie Utd, (Death to the Diamonds…..it’s a petty, lower league thing), 2-1 with their left back scoring an Own Goal. So sweet, but who was that idiot who shouted “Watch!” at one point without telling the team what to watch for? Yes. You’ve guessed. That idiot was me, albeit unwittingly. My face went pink, and grey.

However, it was not mentioned in the pub afterwards, when , obviously, the conversation went straight to the death of Oliver Postgate, a real radical left winger and creator of The Clangers amongst others. I agree. The original Clangers’ dialogue was rubbish, and I never really followed the storyline.

 And as happens, with males of a certain age in a pub, the discussion moved onto other kiddies’ progs such as Ivor The Engine, Eric Thompson’s The Magic Mushroom (I know what I’m talking about) and my own particular favourite, Muffin the Mule.

It was a much more innocent age, that’s all I’m saying, but language and its meaning does change, I thought, when I heard a radio programme discussing people  “dogging” the school. Ambitious, I thought.

Sorry, my gd frnd Clr and the Rainforest Riverman, I did warn you. All these warnings I give should be taken seriously. It could sooooo avoid misunderstandings.

Moving swiftly on….just in case.

But mentioning the new BBC HQ at Pacific Quay and Steve,…. C and Missie K are very patient people but, hey I’m like a coiled spring. No. I have no idea what that means. I have been burning incense sticks recently. No. No reason. One of my neighbours was in the other day. I’m surprised she didn’t notice.

Anyway, the real BH. How sad it is to see so much of it knocked down, but the window I looked out of so often is still there. How I remember early mornings there as a keen researcher, late afternoons as a senior producer, and, very often, through the night, as a newt. Coping with creative highs and lows, I’d call it today.

Which reminds me, Jung Wan, sorry for missing Maggie’s Christmas party the other day. I’d been laughing out loud so much the previous week and missed all the details, he says, lying through his teeth. It’s actually a long story, approx 5,000 new words to the blook long, that’s all I’m saying. And some of them good words, nearly all written through the night, Thursday into Friday.

Let’s just say, however, that not everything I do, I do by e-mail. Don’t worry. It’ll make sense. Trust me.  

And on the blook front, my thanks to L frae Troon for allowing me to swear like that. The twelve hundred words I lost were far better than the ones I temporarily put in. They must be in this computer somewhere. However, copy tasters, I’m soooooo pleased to have ended the blook. And such a marvellous beginning to it as well. I just need another 30,000 words in between. I wrote all of them down on a sleepless night, last Thursday. I just need to arrange them into something sensible. Quite an ambition for me. 

But on the cancer front, I was intrigued to read Kelvin McKenzie, not a man I really want to quote, saying that he remembered a time when you couldn’t say that someone had died of cancer for fear of upsetting the reader. And for every football fan, out there, Yes, I’m thinking exactly the same thing.

Right. Back to keeping it fun. Very nicely, I got my first Christmas present this week but it has no label. How will I distinguish it from the rest of the presents currently under the tree? Well, basically, every other pressie under the tree is for other people and is sooooo obviously wrapped from the same roll of paper bought from Papyrus in Byres Road. For once, Woolworths was busy. Not sure why. Didn’t recognise any of the customers.

And Steve, I don’t want to put any pressure on you about anything, but you know who’s, is wrapped in football paper.

And finally, whilst we’re on the subject of Christmas, next week’s blog will be a Christmas Special, and something special for Christmas may find its way into peoples’ Inboxes this week as well. After that, it’s the end of the year, and there will be the annual Johnt850 Personality of the Year Awards. C, with 12 votes out of 15 on the High Horse Level Committee, you will, of course, remember that according to the constitution, you are ineligible to vote.

And Gary, the punters’ pal, if you want to offer a list of odds based on no information at all, then please get in touch with me.

And after that, 2009 begins, and then who knows? Maybe me and the editorial advisory committee should get together, maybe over lunch. It’s your call, as usual. There’s money in the hospitality budget. We’ll call it the “Sometime This Summer” Lunch. Now, where is that a quote from?

It’s okay. I’m on my last incense stick. It’s okay. I get them from the arcade off Byres Road. No. Not that shop on Great Western Road. I’m not that keen on hookahs. Cough, splutter, sob.

So cya, phonetically speaking

Johnt850, also not eligible to vote under any name

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