There’s a monkey on my back makes me act like that; There’s a monkey on my back makes me talk like that; There’s a monkey on my back.

Can I stress that that was Monkey 23 by The Kills and not Monkey on my Back by Aerosmith which has lots of drugs references? As if I would. Make drugs references. That is.

And no. I don’t see Monday morning’s doc on prostate cancer as being a line drawing experience. So many friends and family have asked me in recent years to draw lines. Some lines are not meant to be drawn. Ever. Maybe Monday will explain something but it’s not my story. I just got paid to tell it.

‘Ultimately it’s all about storytelling using the most appropriate medium.’ (JC from Reid Kerr.)

*But first, an apology.*

*Last week I told of an event where Gordon Brown threw a tangerine into a laminating machine and then went on to tell of the time I swore in class at gd frnd Clr. That last bit was true and I’ve been apologising since. The rest was false. I, like LBC, The Sun and the Telegraph, was fooled by the amazing Robert Cooper. It was a spoof and I fell for it. Sorry. Check *

So, the week has been taken up by a lot of doc stuff, altho’ I’m glad it was my co-producer, Nick, who had to fill out the compliance form for the BBC and log four examples of erectile dysfunction within twenty eight minutes. You can get tablets for that. I-pads they’re called. Sorry?

So, I’ve not had the chance to plan this blog (Don’t even think it!). I would describe it as a veritable pot-pourri of my thoughts but when I asked the Reverend Ian Paisley what he thought of the idea, he said ‘There’ll be no pot-pourri here.’

But it was a week when at times I put pro journo behind me and was a cancer volunteer for a while. At an antiques fair down at the Kelvin Hall. You’d be amazed at what you can pick up there. Altho’, being honest, it was more a casual exchange of phone numbers. I’m still waiting for her call.

hahahahahhahahhaha….I’ve just realised. Sorry. Unplanned.

Anyway, I also bought a lovely wee velvet kinda jewellery box and the guy said, ‘Is that for the woman in your life?’. Well, the upshot is he’s decided not to press charges.

And, Vampire Slayer, what a jolly hockeysticks fun conversation that was the other night. Frightfully jolly. I’ve decided not to download The 69 Eyes. (69?) They are stereotypyical Finnish rockers and I don’t do stereotypes. But I did download Halestorm (not your cup of R&B tea) with the gorgeous Lizzy Hale.

Female guitarists. Doncha’….doncha’?………………………I’m still laughing from the ‘call’ thing………………just in case. 😀

And Missie K, u 2 are one with me about the three. (If I repeat that, a la Stewart Lee, I can’t help but feel a railway bridge will be blown up somewhere.)

Patsy Kensit is 42. So am I. So far. So good.

And socially things are picking up. Some good things last week and I’m going to some Aye. Write. Stuff. And saw some of you earlier today when I picked up tickets. Amongst other things planned is Edwyn Collins. But he’s the same night as PT now play Ayr, a match re-arranged by those bigots who run Scottish football, the type of people who make Celtic play under blue skies and Rangers play on green grass. (Thanks, Limmy, mate, for that line.)

And I’m going to a young lady’s 18th next Saturday. Ignore what I’m about to say about age below.

And Facebookly, I add to my collection of friends, students from times before recent ones – Hi Catherine – and BBC friends reunited, including one well known female sports presenter who almost lost us both our jobs because I thought a guest she’d booked was a man dressed up as a woman. An easy error, albeit unwittingly.

This presenter was also present to let a health visitor in to to see Son Brian weeks after his birth, at his mum and me’s house cos he had been abandoned, sorry, entrusted to a brill nineteen year old whom we’d met just days previoulsy, but she was from Knightswood. It did Son Brian no harm and age is never a barrier. Or shouldn’t be. C’est toujours……….. See above.

Apparently scientists are to study whether loud music makes people drink more alcohol. I hope not. The Cult, since you ask.

And I couldn’t help but notice all the tabloid trivia about affairs of the heart (or somewhere in the human body). My thanks to the tabloids who described a city centre bar where I occasionally drink/have drunk (Moskito) as ‘trendy and swanky’. But I have never played pool there at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. Nor, possibly, did Alan M.

But my fave tabloid tale concerns Hawick Common Riding. It gets better, but that in itself is a good start.

26 year old Paul Robson had booked an escort from an escort agency by txt. He then gave away his mobile to his then fiancee. (Last week I mentioned how some ppl don’t use ‘reply’ functions. What is it about ppl who give away mobiles (Ashley Cole?) without using the delete button?) Julie, his then fiancee saw the txt and then red.

And, this is my fave bit, the irate Julie was pictured in the paper, with her quote; ‘It’s all been too hard and I’ve had enough!’………and the pic is her eating an extra large sausage out of a hot dog roll! You couldn’t make it up. I don’t.

And finally, kinda related, was journo Andy Collier and Prof Brian McNair discussing the reporting of a well known public person’s possible problems (coming to a tabloid near you soon) which is a kinda shorthand way of saying Brian is the author of some of the best works I have read on pornography. Rousing, so they are. Inspired further research, so they did.

Yes. Next week my computer does go in to get refurbished. Yes. I am practising my plea in mitigation.

cya and keep(ing) it fun


Y’see, in some respects, creative writing fiction is easy. All you need is an idea. They’re ten a penny. See above, and it’s unplanned this week.

Once you have your characters, you can invent what they do. And you can invent dialogue.

This last few weeks I have been entrusted with real words from real people talking over real fears and telling real stories about the biggest male cancer killer. Really.

(I’ve just heard a trail. Apparently we’re demystifying prostate cancer. Aye. Right)

I just hope I’ve done Gerry, Ricky, Nurse Edi, Sue, Peter, Ross, Pauline, Larry and Doctor Rob justice. If I haven’t, sorry. It was me. Not Nick. Not JB.

Sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve lifted all the carpets in my house. New ones arrive this week. Suddenly, there’s lots of specks of dust in my eyes……all soixante-neuf of them.

The graveyard calls…………..Just in case the keyboard gets wet.

‘calls’……hahahahahaha……..ach, maybe one day. Hope springs. 🙂

2 Responses to “There’s a monkey on my back makes me act like that; There’s a monkey on my back makes me talk like that; There’s a monkey on my back.”

  1. Ted Skaff Says:

    I like the layout of your blog and I’m going to do the same thing for mine. Do you have any tips? Please PM ME on yahoo @ AmandaLovesYou702 9 2 5

  2. johnt850 Says:

    This blog was written, for various reasons, on Saturday and all I did was make reference to a certain story being in the tabloids altho’ I knew some of the direction the actual stories would take. The story is in all Scottish papers.

    All I wld add is that when news of my addiction broke (alcohol) most people (but not all) gave me loads of encouragement in my battle with demons. I wish Stephen Purcell all the best.

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