Archive for January, 2010

‘I like the fact that you would rather we take the piss out of you a bit rather than being awkward about the alcoholism’

January 30, 2010

No, not a song lyric this week but clrly a quote from a member of the blook writing team of some time back. And yes, there’s a reason for it being there. In fact there’s several.

I came across it when sorting out some stuff in the room formerly known as the back bedroom and soon to be the office. All it requires is some furniture shifting – big desk, big captain’s rest chair and big bookcase to go upstairs, Kenny where are you? – and Son Brian awaits the panic call about this router thing, and we’re sorted. Except there’s piles of stuff that won’t get sorted. They’ll stay piles. 

Altho’ already I’ve found things that make me smile and cry, and I may yet get that tattoo. I think I’ve washed away the other three from sandblasting days. And my house is a tip.

No, it’s a week when it would have been nice to have had alcohol when things went, y’know, not quite right, but not in that ‘relapse, can’t cope kinda way’ that some College management thought. And the quote at the top sums up the real support I got, and still get, from so many people. So far, so good.

Here’s an example; Partick Thistle, the team I’ve supported for so many years 😉 got gubbed last Saturday 😦 . At home. And one of my mates leant over and said; ‘jt, if you want to relapse today, we won’t tell anyone.’ I didn’t. 🙂

Or as I surveyed the tip that is my house (did I say?) last Monday night, I really felt like a glass of something strong, ‘cos I felt I’d just given up on the house at that stage, and tomato juice in fine crystal works but only ‘cos you’ve something in your hand worth holding on to. (There is no innuendo in that at all. Albeit unwittingly. Okay?)

And my television has died. And the one that I’ve tealeafed from my sister’s Glasgow flat is stuck on BBC 1. Don’t ask.

At which point can I say thanks to Missie K and the blogmeister for updating me on some stuff which really cheered me up but blogmeister, that is really wimpish drinking for a journo, even an online one. Is the way ahead? I’m a fan/friend. Already.

But L frae Troon, can you apologise to your mates? Entering the pub last night, I genuinely was writing a note to myself about a mobile call I’d taken outside; I was not writing their names down. Honest. Not unless they’re called ‘BBC Manuscript’. What the Hell does that mean, anyway?

And one of the joys about places like Sloan’s when you’re in for a few is watching the various bar people make up my virgin, Marys. One guy last night thought he was Tom Cruise. But I said, ‘I’m not interested in scientology.’

And the interviews have started for the radio documentary, but I’ll say little about them, ‘cos I’m doing it as a pro journo, but it’s bringing back memories for other people. Sometimes I feel intrusive. Then I realise I never done News Ethics at Uny and it passes.

There’s nothing like the feeling of disgust in yourself when you say to a grieving mum, ‘And is this your son? Nice photo. Can I borrow it? I’ll be careful.’ Discuss using one side of a sheet of paper only. No. You go for a drink after that one. Believe me.


And then there’s the joys of freelance PR. If the rainforestriverman tells the world that the cornershop is doing well, from Glasgow, then at least I get fed in a posh hotel. When he does it from down South, I still have to get up early to media monitor, but at least I can do it from my kitchen (which is a tip), totally naked* and with a cup of coffee.

*Pretty damn good, since you ask and as good as any Italian anybody might meet over the next few weeks, but not the kinda photy I would put on any online dating sight (which I won’t, ‘cos I’m taking a raincheck on that idea until the doc is done) but wouldn’t it be interesting if you were shown a photy of somebody you knew? Which I was. I have personal ethics.

And, yes, I am a fan of Glee. but it’s not just bandwagon jumping. Did anyone else notice the prostate gag (by students) in the first episode?

nO. nO REASON. (Caps lock is a tip at the moment)

And my thanks to those nice people from The Comedy Unit who sent me a cheque for £7.20. I must have had some material repeated somewhere in the world. I almost had a glass from the half full bottle of wine in the fridge. The fridge is a tip.

But I’m disappointed that the screenwriting class at S/clyde has been cancelled for the forthcoming semester but I’ve found other ‘like minded folk’ at the CCA, but I think they’re really serious. I’ll be in touch, ‘tho’….just in case.

But you ask (well maybe not you or you or you but you) what about special occasions? Why don’t I have a drink then?Well, it’s the occasion that makes it special, why is why I’d like to say;


to Lady Eleanor

who I’ve known for, let me think, for all of, about, twenty one years. (Yes. I do have the obligatory embarrassing pic from way back), but can I also say a big thanks to bestest friend Caitlin and other members of their family and friends, not all of whom were there (yr Gran has interesting secrets, C) and who always make me feel welcome, and a wee while back made me feel as if I’d never been away.

I really liked the fruitbread soaked overnight in whisky.

I raise a glass. Or I would if I could find a clean one. Did I say? The house is a tip.

cya and still keep(ing) it fun


Oh, and a serious word. My attitude towards my alkoholism and my cancer is not meant to cause offence but I do know I approach it from a different way from many and from the way I am expected to do. I don’t do stereotypes and never have done. (F**k! I’ve just spilled coffee on the keyboard. Hang on a second or two. No. It’s fine)

But if there’s one, say, twenty year old that grows up realising that not all alkies are ‘scum’ or that cancer is not necessarily a killer, then I’m happy. It’s not the prejudice that annoys me; it’s the assuming without asking that gives me the thirst. It’s the lack of memories that makes me desist. Excuse me while I go clean out the drinks cabinet. It’s a tip.  

Absolutely nothing to do with anything at all

January 25, 2010

A lecturer at Reid Kerr pointed this out to me. It comes from
We live in an age where political correctness is prized by media corporations far more than a presenter’s personality. We hear stuff where media bosses implore their staff to indulge in ‘blue sky thinking’ (whatever that bloody means) but only as long as that sky isn’t clouded by controversy or inappropriate passion or daring creativity because somebody somewhere will almost inevitably be offended by something, probably. After Sachsgate, it feels as if we’re all too bound up with self-censorship to truly let our minds fly; we all know the risk of courting controversy and while the lure of notoriety might be appealing to would-be anarchists, the trauma of it all is too damn risky.

Where’s your mind flown to recently? I know where mine goes. Or do I?

I think you already know How far I’d go not to say You know the art is gone And I’m taking this all to the grave [repeat chorus]

January 23, 2010

Queens of the Stone Age there, dear listener, and I’m playing that cos it’s been a week of memories but worry not, these are not tearful memories brought about by research for the documentary. I keep personal and professional life separate, don’t I, Great Council and various sub-committees? I’ll explain the Queens reference later.

No. Kenny the Shed Pimp’s been in, flooring my attic and he was using a nail gun. And that did bring back a tearful memory. So I had to get out of the house.

I borrowed the boy child formerly known as 7lbs 1oz and took him for a walk in his pram thing around the Botanic Gardens. Okay, his mum, e, came with him and her mate and her two weans but I just let them get on with whatever they were talking about and I just went and played chicken in the Great Western Road traffic (he’s too young for kerbie, Siobhan M) but then, being the West End, we just had to go into Waitrose and yes, you’ve guessed it. The women went and bought cous cous.

At this point I was showing Boy Child pics from my mobile (No. Not the Kermit the Frog in an unnatural position one. No. No reason) Instead, ‘Here’s one of me in a beer garden in Dundee, here’s one of a strange blue Aura over Oran Mor and here’s one of the Scottish Rockette Cheerleaders at Firhill’.

You’re never too young. 😀 So that brought back memories. But not broodiness.

But then on Monday evening I attended a prostate cancer meeting and there were some new folk there and I found myself, again, explaining why I chose one particular form of treatment as opposed to another (I’d only a choice of two ‘cos my cancer was serioulsy bad but hadn’t spread) and it worked. So far, so good. Now, clrly, most peeps know the story by now, but the big thing is it brings out laughter when told. Okay, strange, uncertain laughter but it sure makes heads turn at a time when…….well you can guess. Well, maybe you can’t. It’s a ‘walk the walk’ thing.

So, clrly, that is why that story is so important (laughter at a time when I was so unsure)  and……..well, if someone could put in a good word, know what I mean?…….Ta……..Eh,……I think I’ll stop for a moment. Back shortly.


Sorry. I’ve been away for longer than I planned. I went for a walk over in the graveyard. No vampires obviously cos the Vampire Slayer has taken care of all those but the zombies are out, quaffing cheap caffeine based alkohol.

Was there a TV doc about Buckfast last week, btw, cos they were asking me about it? I gave some answers to their questions. No. I hadn’t worked on it. No. I had no spare change. No. I needed my phone. The usual banter. They kept my shoes. 😦

But my thanks to Missie K and bestest friend Caitlin; I enjoyed Glee and I really like the dysfunctional teaching staff. No. I’m not going to say they reminded me of the College where I taught. I was that dysfunctional member of staff or, at least, so some College management told me. Ah, the memories.

By the way, Louis, I’m reconsidering Barcelona and New York. I’m thinking Kirkcaldy. Okay it was a lousy game but I liked the Harbour Bar, a bar down by the harbour, which sells a real ale called equity for punks, a really good tomato juice with stuff and plays thrash metal. I could be happy there as it also has a wee lending library through the back. The town also has a huge department store called Rejects but its butcher’s seem to be closed on Saturday.

We also played an Alan Partridge CD on the way back in which he asks one of his guests; ‘your autobiography – what is it about?’ That, and Milton Jones’s gag about finding the remains of a thousand dead snowmen and then realising it was a field of carrots, provided a lot of laffs.

Incidentally, I’m reading Irvine Welsh’s Glue which contains a very graphic sex scene quite early on, written in phonetic Edinburgh dialect which needs to be read out loud. So I did. I’d now like to apologise to passengers on yesterday’s 0930 Glasgow to Edinburgh train but it sure as hell stopped people talking on their mobiles. I’ve never been thrown off at Croy before. Albeit unwittingly. 😉

Oh, and whilst I remember (it all falls into place doesn’t it?)….the Queens reference. I had a couple of hour long scans once my cancer was confirmed just to check out some ‘bits’….as it were….so CDs are played. Queens of the Stone Age was one of them and the radiologist said ‘they’re just like Foofighters aren’t they?’ And so I began to extend the music library here in t850 Towers. Mind you, still doesn’t explain 8 (eight) Green Day albums. I blame Jaymi, altho’ I didn’t know her then. Damn you Easyjet.

So what’s ahead of me this week that might prove memorable? A 21st birthday party (De Courcy’s for pressies obvioulsy), maybe some pubbing on Friday night (apparently it’s payday for some…….I must find out when I’m getting paid for this doc but there’s twelve hundred pounds floating into one of my accounts at end of March (I don’t understand it either Son Brian)), my TV’s behaving errotically (the blogmeister says scart cable) and I’ve just started to put some boxes into the attic……oh, and I’m doing a cancer awareness stand at some ecstatically happy newspaper offices on Wednesday (usual plug; if you want a prostate cancer speaker or awareness stand (or male members that you know do) just ask….I have other stories to make you laugh).

For example, …..L frae Troon, I haven’t said temporary erectile dysfunction for some time……just in case. Did Sandra ever recover, btw? Does she even remember? Does she even care? Ah, the memories.

Keep(ing) it fun



I didn’t know Bill McLaren but I once saw the A3 research sheet he prepared for a commentary for a Scotland game. It is incredibly tiny handwriting and is in more colours than I have colours of wheely bins (four). To be able to use that at the same time as do live commentary and make it sound so natural was amazing. Budding sports journalists, try and find one if you can. The one I saw belongs to my hairdresser’s husband…..a Scottish international wheelchairbound curler.

Sometimes, some memories need to be seen in context. Eh bien?

if you’re free you’ll never see the walls; if your head is clear you’ll never freefall; if you’re right you never fear the wrong; if your head is high you never fear at all

January 16, 2010

The tune? Exploder. The pop combo? Audioslave. The suggester? The blogmeister.

Doncha’ love short sentences, and it’s music that will be so recognisable to all those who voted for RATM and mucked up that nice Joe McEldeery’s Christmas whilst continuing to make Simon Cowell a rich man. It’s an obvious combo of Morello’s hip-hop-influenced guitar with Chris Cornell’s seventies metal fuelled with the spirit of punk. Yes, Dougie L, the blogmeister’s mate, indeed I do still have it.

And thanks to the miracle that is iTunes it’s playing in the background. Needs must, sometimes, rrm. I liked dealing with that young lady at Caiman, btw. What was her name again?

But first, and most obvious, having mentioned the gangs here in North Glasgow a few times previously, I must make some comment;


It’s a biblical reference and not a suggestion as to who might be involved in the gangland execution of Kevin ‘THE Gerbil’ Carroll (he liked the definite article, okay?) ‘cos I don’t know until I read what former mentor Alan Caldwell has to say about it all. Okay?

And to anyone who finds some of the nicknames given to well known Glasgow businessmen at all amusing, I did once ask Lewis ‘Scooby’ Rodden, ace security consultant and former Summerston resident, how he got his name. He said he hadn’t a clue. (That’s a joke btw. I’ve never asked him that and there are other ace security consultants available as well…just in case) 🙂

Moving swiftly on.

I actually was going to lead on one of my fave sayings from The Simpsons – ‘It’s one of those nude female fire stations’ – No. No reason – but when I did my google search, I was serioulsy distressed by what I was offered. On you go. I can wait…….

Right now you’re back.

No. We live in exciting times, albeit unwittingly and not just ‘cos it’s exam time for so many. I secured my degree in much easier times when an essay was merely a way of letting a tutor know you were still alive. One of mine once tried to seduce me with good sherry. He failed. He’s now dead. Maybe the sherry wasn’t that good after all. 😦

Several of my friends have shared their reasons for excitement with me but my lips are sealed. Except they’re not. Cos I have discovered an okay drink called Soft Brew which has got a really distinctive taste of malt, hops and quillaia extract. It’s even vegan friendly, just like Stereo. And it’s brewed by Marks and Spencer. And if anyone out there knows M & S’s Head Honcho, Stuart Rose, just a case would be good.

No. It’s the excitement of foreign travel, work experience opportunities, and some birthdays but I’m sure penguin loving Kirsten, and Tam had really good birthdays this week but I want to say a really smashing Happy Birthday to Missie K without whom……., well without whom, inter al, this blog would have had a lot less good music and I say that whilst acknowledging such really brill ppl as Emma J and Heather C. Have a nice one, Missie. xx 😀

I have just visited the serving wench’s quarters to get a plastic stirrer. BBC broadcast assistants et al know I’m getting thoughtful. Either that or a former radio presenter is attempting to play his own vinyl. 

(I haven’t a scooby what this is about this week, have you?)

Bestest friend Caitlin, this could all be yours one day, especially if your ideas keep coming ‘cos that’s what’s been happening. I’m being creative, back in the old routine, and if you’ve ever worked with me, then you know why the stirrer is back. And I’ve just enuff until early February, Jayne.

Yes. As hinted last week, I am producing a radio documentary about certain aspects of prostate cancer for tx (transmission) in March and I’m doing it along with an independent production company and I’ll explain a wee bit more about the process as we get nearer as there is so much more to it than once there was.

But I stress that I’m not doing this for charity, but for money. I am a professional, if untrained and therefore unethical, journalist. 

(At this point if I was really the horrible person that some people think I am I would make a joke about selling my granny but I know there are many of my younger friends who really miss their grandparents.)

I only ever knew one, in Peterhead, but my mum, a nice wee wumman, now dead, once showed me a letter her dad, a railway worker in Springburn, got for preventing a train crash. He switched the points manually and saved loadsa lives, FFS, and all he got was a f***ing letter! But my mum was proud of it.

Wonder what she thinks of me, eh? Especially for using language like that. Wonder what she thinks of the fact that in a recent Facebook quiz I am Hunter S. Thompson!

Anyway I’ll keep you all posted as to what’s happening and I’ll also try to get some folk a wee bit more involved more directly in this or some of the other ideas being ‘developed’. (Although I’d like to point out that is always on the look out for work) I’ll be in touch individually.

(Okay, Vampire Slayer, yesterday was an obvious flirt. I admit it, but it was worth it for the smile. Mine.)

And that relates to the other thing that makes me a wee bit thoughtful. (not the flirt)

Y’see, as I’ve mentioned before, the West Wing is being transformed into a new office complex. Aye. Okay. Kenny the Shed Pimp is turning the back bedroom into an office. He does a good job and is always looking for work as well.

So I’ve started moving stuff and I’ve come across my old contacts books and files. To me, it’s like a box of old photos. Why have I got all these phone numbers for Kurds in Iraq? (Are they still alive?) Mobile numbers for Al-Muhajiroon dated October 2001 (think about it) and politicians’ numbers many of which have x-d after them (altho’ some are no longer politicians…you never lose a phone number….) and my own fave so far, for men of a certain age, the home number of Leila Khaled. I may be some time and I’ll let you know who else I find.

To all BBC radio people with whom I ever worked, especially Max who used tape to mark it……most of the stirrer is now gone and I have moved the desk by about three inches. Self-opping’s not quite the same.



And to whom it may concern, the in-gags just don’t feel the same and if I could say that in French I would, and stuff……….

C’est tout, mes amis. Au’voir.

Oh won’t you take a ride with me through the Barrowland history and I’ll sing you a song or two. People there may stop and stare but baby I just don’t care; It’s only me and you

January 9, 2010

As written and sung by the gorgeous Amy Macdonald and quoted in a smashing centre piece Sun colourspread earlier this week by one of the blog’s top pop pickers, Emma J. Nice one.

I’ve never been to the Barrowlands as a concert gig; loadsa student unions, the Apollo, the amazing Bungalow Bar in Paisley, various social clubs in places like Birkenshaw and Tannochside, last year at Loch Lomond, lots of pubs all of which seemed to be called Sammy Dow’s and a gay club in Stepps (eh?)* amongst many other places but never the Barrowlands. Maybe this year?

*For Facebookers…, but it was a long time ago and it was for charity (twice). And very willingly…..and how do I find out who would trust me with their life?

And yes, Missie K, I did get drunk with the likes of Ian Brown and Frankie Miller and attend various post-gig parties but the bestest (drinking) session, thinking about it, was with a lovely guy who died last year called John Martyn

And then I got married (aged approx 24/25). I don’t know. Maybe nine years. But she’s still my accountant. There’s patience for you. 

And then came Clatty Pat’s. Some of you may have seen a pic this week, in the Times of Evening, of people queuing to get in a few years back. Eh,…I didn’t queue. 😀 Moving on………just in case.

Except, like a lot of people, I didn’t do a lot of moving last week. Now if I was a normal blogger I would have a rant at this point but I think the gritters have done the best they could. First Scotrail? It’s the lack of accurate information that annoyed me and simply saying all the time, ‘due to adverse weather conditions’ is not good enuff. But that’s partly why I never made it to the game today. That and some work stuff. I have the West Wing refurbishment to pay for. That and the Network taxi that just skidded here in….(Aaaaargh! I almost named my cul-de-sac)

But a quick well done to Amy, Jaymi and Liz for opening up ASDA this morning given the conditions.

Stylistically I’m happy with due to as long as they mean caused by and not because of. (BBC Style Guide)

But I did get annoyed by the woman on the radio who said ‘we live far out in the country but luckily my husband has a four wheel drive’. No. It’s ’cause you live out in the country, you have a four wheel drive……it’s not luck.

And the woman who said, ‘The schools are closed. I have child care problems. I’ve had to phone my mum.’ I don’t know your mum but I bet she was delighted to be asked. You obviously don’t ask her often enough!

But favest story of the week was the lighthouse keeper’s wife who went, pre-Christmas, to Inverness for a turkey. Now deleting the obvous gags and limericks, listeners older than me just might remember a TV ad for (Knorr?) pea and ham soup in which the (simple) crofter’s wife went to Inverness for a ‘hen party’ and ended up watching the McChippendales! You don’t think……..

I once spent a very pleasant few days with a woman who claimed to be the actress involved. It’s a long but innocent(ish) story and one of those I wanted to believe.

But it’s television and cancergytis that take up most of the blog this week.

Firstly, a preview……….BBC 2 Scotland on Monday nights….the brilliant Limmy. Now if any of my, or my alter ego’s humour in the blog, in the e-mail funnies or on Facebook, worries you….don’t watch. And certainly stay away from his website Could lead to a lot of ‘unfriending’ and deleting.

I love the character Jacqueline McCafferty, upwardly mobile (aye. right) and I love the fact that much of it was filmed in Scummy Summy, in the high rise flats just down the road from me. (All in process of being refurbished or just plain knocked down…I think they moved the people out first)

Limmy, apparently, calls himself an alcoholic but ‘was never addicted to booze’. I was. But Limmy came closer to suicide than I did. I just have mine planned. (Different plan Son Brian. You’re in the clear. Similar, ‘tho’, to Limmy’s attempt) His writing and blogging have helped him a lot. C’est pourquoi ce sera toujours ton appel. 😉

Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. ‘Life is duality’…..George Lucas on The Daily Show.

TV. Aye. Last week I mentioned some journo movies coming up at the GFT here in Glasgow (hence the G) but this week saw a much better factional account of journalism 7.30 Days That Shook The World (Hang on. 7.30 was the time it was on) It’s the true story of a Sunday Times exclusive that went wrong (BBC2 Monday just past for iPlayer) and the fear when you broadcast/publish on the word of one person. Watch it.

Y’see journalism is a trade. It’s not a profession. You just need some tools and anyone can do it. To be good? See the words of Nick Tomalin (also a former Sunday Times journo, but not a journo I drank with). Google ‘ratlike cunning’, and then add these words, ‘and willingness to ask questions, not make assumptions.’

I was reminded of this, this week, when I went down to the Beatson to see a medical oncologist but this time not for me. It was a curious experience. The doctor came to meet me. (Oncology and doctoring are professions.)

This in a week when MacMillan Cancer Support talked of ‘the lasting impact of cancer and its treatment…… and some long-term neglect’. Y’see, whilst I think it’s marvellous that we have all these campaigns and fun runs and people grow moustaches and display their bras and stuff and it does raise a lot of money for research and so on, I sometimes worry if people still avoid discussing the Big C. I was very aware during my own sandblasting, of a wee while back, when folk obviously found it easier to talk down at the Sandblasting Centre than possibly with their partners and family. Buddies are not just from Paisley.

I just wonder if maybe it’s time someone did something like a radio documentary about, say, prostate cancer and maybe somebody has just got the go ahead to do so. All I know is it’s going to be a really emotional programme to work on. So far, so good, and I’ve only cried once. I’ll keep you posted.



Oh, and my fave description of the week? The darts commentator Sid Waddell crying a man losing as having the expression of a man trying to eat candy floss in a wind tunnel.’ 

Oh, and Amy MacDonald’s at Barrowland later this month. Naw. Too mainstream, as has been the music over the last few weeks. Any suggestions? Maybe Trailer Trash Tracys? Or Don Fernando? I’ll see what I can do.

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down and I do appreciate you being ’round. Help me get my feet back on the ground, won’t you please, please help me?

January 2, 2010

No. No message. It’s just that following last week when I admitted to having all eight (8) Green Day albums (plus a DVD of them at Reading) I thought I should return to something nice and simple by The Beatles, except that version is by The Damned and over twice as quick.

So, in a week when I’ve been ‘unfriended’* from a social networking website and The Doctor has said his final (?) Goodbye to Rose, what can I write about, particularly as I’ve not been out much this week ‘cos of a cold and the cold (and before anyone says the obvious, not all my social activities get reported on the blog, like tonight’s didn’t, but it was another excellent virgin, Mary) and thanks for the heads-up about opening times, Jaymi.

*Can I be ‘refriended’? Can someone put in a good word for me please? Thanks.

Anyway, I was watching a programme about Not The Nine O’Clock News and there was a reference to student revues (Cathcart Minor, do they still happen?) So I went to look out some of the scripts I wrote, oh such a long time ago, and, of course they’re there in ‘the box’, and we all have a ‘box’, don’t we listeners? Where we keep all kinds of random bits’n’pieces’n’memories and the last time I got it out, Missie K was the very patient listener. It’s my own time travel in the week when the Doctor became so much younger. I am 42. Stay with me on this one.

‘Time travel is about establishing ground rules’…….The Doctor.

Y’see, there’s a piece here from the Times of Evening of ten years ago in which I describe myself as someone ‘happy to help (newcomers to the business) because I want people to do well’ and then there’s another article from the Herald of Sunday in which I say; ‘I’m sure I look like a stalker. Or a kerb crawler’. Bizarrely this last piece (written in 2000) was about the ‘perils of punctuality’, a penchant I had for arriving too soon. (Obvious gag deleted) 😦

And then, how dated is this? A piece I wrote for the Herald of Glasgow (17 years ago) about me and Son Brian visiting Legoland in Denmark, in which I talk about waiting for the photographs, I’d taken, to be developed!

No longer can pantos use the gag; ‘Just as Kodak tells us, one day your prints will come’…for a number of reasons.

(Incidentally, whilst I remember, I’m sure all students of journalism/communication (esp those at S/clyde Uny) will have been told about the GFT’s upcoming series of journalism movies. It’s called Heroes and Villains……..I know what camp I’m in and I’m proud of it. Am I Hunsecker?)

Anyway, carrying on in the box……., there’s a telegram (Google the word) from someone called ‘General De Gaulle BSC Calcutta failed.’  Blogmeister, I may have an exclusive for you…….I’ll be in touch. It was when I got my wee Arts degree, made easier by a love of history and politics and enuff Kellog’s Corn Flakes tokens.

‘You were fantastic, absolutely fantastic and so was I’….The Doctor.

Bytheway that Sunday Herald column has a pic of me at the top. Wow, look at the length of that hair. Hang on. I’m looking in the mirror. Mmmmmm……No. I’m happy with it. Because I can, since you ask.

And Son Brian, there’s loads of stuff about you, and from you, in here but I’ll save your blushes, especially from the time when you wanted to be a journalist…….Brian Herald Issue 1 on January 1995. Pretty damning critique, bytheway, of your fellow players in your Cub football team. Happy accountancy.

And here’s a pic of me as twelve year old and sitting next to me is a good looking twelve year old girl (Gail S). I couldn’t spell ‘unrequited’ in those days (I can now) but I felt it, alright.

I also heard the long lost sound of computer dial-up during the week. I loved that sound. It was connecting with the World.

And the final piece to mention is from the Times of Evening again when I wrote about how marriage break up is portrayed in soaps like Coronation Street. I caught Corrie the other night and I note that Sally (?) may or may not have cancer and another character is an alcoholic.

What I find quite interesting is the way people are reacting to the news of cancer. As is well known to most people, when I was told, I said ‘Cool. Can I go now? I have students to teach.’ 

The Sun says it hit me a day or two later…..but I’m so glad I did. One day I want to properly represent the help I got from those students (and L frae Troon who shortly before I was given the mantra of Keep(ing) It Fun, reminded me of the importance of laughing, and buying  my round….just in case.) 🙂

Actually I still have the ‘going away’ cards given me by students (No. I didn’t get one from the grown-ups. Shame) There’s a lovely one here, for example, from my mates, The Condom Girls, and from Oonagh and the guys, and from a marvellous Public Relations class including like, wow, Trumby (the only student ever to get the better of me with just one word), the amazing Princess Heather, and what does Debbie say here?…….’Hey, sorry we missed our date.’

I could explain, but I don’t want to.

And in case you think I only know good looking female students, Al, can I have a copy of the piece you wrote about me recently? It’s for the box. Honest.

‘I have fallen in love with a female cactus, but I don’t want to be racist.’………Me. Last night.

And there’s loads of other stuff, including the death notices for my parents. My dad died at age 85 and my mum’s funeral was on 3rd November 2005. I stopped drinking 10th December 2006. Bestest friend Caitlin, there’s an interesting pic of some of your cousins; there’s a letter here from a transexual Tory MP, friend of the Krays, who, it is said, got a Prime Minister’s wife pregnant (it’s in the blook); and stuff from Son Brian’s graduation a couple of summers ago, a day I never thought I’d ever see, cos of me. 

So, there you go, and you probably thought I’d just be writing about how I saw in the New Year (roasting the old goat down by the village duck pond,  since you ask)

And finally, as the snow continues to fall, can I quote the wise words of Lindsay C, the Record’s Top Teen Angst Queen,  the only student ever to shut me up with the words, ‘You’re asking me to use fewer words than I have in my Record column?’;

Have an amazing 2010. Here’s hoping it brings you everything you wish for. 😀



‘Ma porte est toujours ouverte pour tout le monde’………Le Docteur et moi. 😉