Your friends they were so close One by one they didn’t stay Drift away like rolling sea One by one they drift away One of these days I’ll blow away

Except it didn’t happen like that ‘cos, when I resigned from the College, I took a conscious decision to stay in touch with people and, mostly, it’s worked. Of course I was thinking soooo rationally at the time ‘cos I made the decision to resign exactly one year after Cold Turkey Sunday and three months after Cancer Confirmation Wednesday. Happy Daze indeed. So, hi Lynne. 😉

The band, The Doves, chosen by top pop picker Missie K, and I’m still looking for that password for you and the Vampire Slayer. So, in a word,  divertirsi!!!!!

Heather C will have some top selections for us soon time and my thanks to Emma J for introducing me to Juliette Lewis (36). Well, not literally. Well, not yet.

And I’m going for it. So stand back.

‘Cos it was the week when I heard the filthiest story I’d heard for a long time. And I was down on Maggie’s Farm at the time. Don’t worry ‘cos I’m not going to tell it. Here. But an important part of it is to imagine Scottish Country Dance Band legend, Jimmy Shand, playing in the background. On a real record. Not a CD. Not a download. A real record.

And then picture me, hair just cut (but who’ll notice? L frae Troon didn’t) on the train from Summerston to Queen Street, quietly reading The Rum Diary by the great Hunter S (whose surname my alter ego sometimes uses) and I come across one word. Just one word.

And I’m like a schoolboy reading the rude words in a dictionary and I start humming the Bluebell Polka whilst listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on the MP3 player and I just corpse. I burst out laughing. And then I realise they’re looking. At me. The shellsuits. White. They got on at the station at the Possil. They clocked me straight away ‘cos I was reading a book and not the Metro (which I don’t read anyway. Solidarity.). And they’re staring. I am in the lime::::: light:::::

I jibber and I jabber but no words come out.

But the train pulls in at Ashfield, home to the speedway stadium of the great Glasgow Tigers, and I mutter the words, ‘I’m off to see my shale shifting mate, Northern Soul Dave.’ They stood. Uncertain. And it bought me just enuff time, dear listener, for the doors to close and I was safe.

And I spent the thirty minutes until the next train comes along, jigging away quite happily, but on my own. Content.

And it was a week when alkohol played a big part in the news but it was the fact that supermarkets couldn’t sell booze until ten o’clock in the morning that seemed to annoy folk the most. I actually heard one vox pop say; ‘It affects normal people the most. After all alkies and neds will have their stash, their stockpiles in place.’

I’d like to know, dear listener, at what time my well stocked drinks cabinet and wine cellar (mostly Rioja) became a ‘stockpile’ and I know several of you out there who work in supermarkets. Ask yourselves; did I look ‘normal’ or did I look like a sterotypical jaikie when I bought my whisky at nine o’clock in the morning? (I speak as a non-practising alkoholic who does miss alkohol. I don’t crave it, but I do miss it. Not just a glass of wine with a meal, but the whole frigging bottle.)

But the craic in the pub today was good. Hope it’s as good tomorrow. Scott Brown’s decorum at the end of the First Half helped.

And I don’t mean to belittle anyone else’s alkohol dependency. It’s my way of coping and so far, so good. One addict should never comment on another.

But I laffed when I saw that French chess player Vladislav Tkachiev turned up drunk for a major chess tournament and fell asleep after just eleven moves. I seem to remember falling asleep after making just one move. Once.

And it was the week when  Nicola celebrated her eighteenth birthday. Some cyclist your mum. Ten times better than me.

And it was the week when the Banksy exhibition in Bristol came to an end. Banksy is well known as a street artist but he/she/they are more than that. I was lucky enuff to wake up in a flat in Bristol one Sunday morning a few weeks ago and went to the Banksy thing. At 9.30 in the morning.

And as I wandered towards it I noticed a man of obvious Caribbean descent selling The Big Issue and as I approached I was aware that he was rolling the largest spliff I have ever seen outside of large spliff rolling evening classes in (for legal reasons the editor has deleted the name of a well known Byres Road pub) so I shook his hand, and didn’t wash it, but gave people the happiest High Fives they’d had in ages.

But, I now wonder, was that Banksy?

(My mobile fone pics didn’t work that well but for my favourite exhibit, Google ‘Banksy + rabbit with lipstick’ or borrow the Banksy coffee table book I gave Son Brian. It’s his 23rd birthday dead soon. I’ve promised him the coffee table to go with it.)

And it’s the week when I realised it’ll soon be the hundredth edition of the blog, so I’ll be having High Horse Level Discussions dead soon with the appropriate people. It’s a while since I’ve been slagged. Rotten. (Spellcheck can be a real spoilsport. Sometimes.)

But Edition Two saw me experiment with a hyperlink and, as my gd frnd Clr recently reminded me, it’s been a wee while since I mentioned this charity; http://www.thejohnjohntrust.org.uk/

So, there you go. 😀 No. No reason.

(Dr Paul, you’re just back from living in Greece. What do you know about Arcadia? And given the recent weather, why have you come back?)

And finally, it’s a week when a guy I didn’t know died. Others down on Maggie’s Farm did. Know him, that is. It’s one every hour. Well, not on the hour. It’d be like Bono clicking his fingers.

I don’t mean to belittle these things either. It’s my way of coping. So I raise a quiet glass in his memory. (No matter how much you use your imagination, the tomato juice never becomes a Highland Park or a bottle of Bud).

But I’ll cross that particular bridge when I come to it, as Teddy Kennedy once said. And never did.

cya

Johnt850, And for those of you still wondering about the rude Jimmy Shand gag above? I still won’t tell it. Here. But the punchline ? (Remember it’s a real record.)

‘Seventy-eight or forty-five?’ ‘No. Sixty-nine will do nicely.’

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2 Responses to “Your friends they were so close One by one they didn’t stay Drift away like rolling sea One by one they drift away One of these days I’ll blow away”

  1. Dr Paul Says:

    I came back because, ultimately, Scotland is better than Greece. What is Arcadia? Isn’t that the crap late version of Duran Duran.

    I don’t miss booze at all (except sometimes) but I do occasionally miss smoking – even after 5 years…

    … do you ever wish you were one of those straight edges who NEVER smoked or never did themselves a disservice with drink? Sometimes I’m jealous of those people and sometimes not.

    • johnt850 Says:

      Well, if you don’t know I’d better check Wikipedia……and yes to the Duran Duran connection.

      I don’t miss smoking or ‘anything else’ I may or may not have done in the past, but I do miss booze (quite a lot). I’m obviously happy enuff in its presence. I just don’t do that first drink.

      ‘Straight edges’? As long as ppl don’t patronise or pontificate……each to his or her own. Why, some ppl, actually liked Duran Duran!

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