Archive for May, 2010

Make it last, Don’t let this feeling go away, yeah, yeah, yeah, Make it last, I need this frame of mind to stay, to stay. Make it last.

May 29, 2010

Warning. This blog may contain strong language but no adult or pornographic images…..which makes it exactly like Spartacus on Bravo the other night. What a droop that was.  😦 Hey, I did warn you.

So I did what everyone else in the West End of Glasgow did. I switched over to The Scheme. I’d already seen the first episode. For those of you, say in Engerlundshire, who’ve not seen it, it’s on BBC Aye. Right. Player. It’s made by two very talented doc makers who, when I last had contact with them, had an office in the Byres Road area. Might as well confirm the f**king  sterotype, now, but….  

Episodes 3 and 4 have been postponed ‘cos a 17 year old youth was committed at Hamilton Sheriff Court on Monday last week on charges of assault and intent to rob. He entered no plea and has been remanded in custody. His name? I couldn’t possibly publish but any UWS journo student will tell you, I’m sure. The Court is next door to them. He was due to be in Eps 3 & 4.

But we’ve missed nothing so far. It’s all talk and no action, other than Dayna getting smacked by a member of Marvin’s family….and didn’t the cameraman’s shadow look uneasy at that moment? Oh, and Kimberley (?) the dancer (?) winning gold (?) for her dancing (?). So far, it’s basically fifteen/sixteen year olds banging on about, well banging.

And Gordon, it’s easy being tough on your daughter. Shame you’re not the same with your bigmouth son, Chris! Tell you, this…if I ever see him in Beanscene, I’ll f**king tell the wee toe-rag (sp?). Mind you he did look angelic when younger (Check Candace (eh?)’s Bebo page).

Anyway, the serioulsy poignant moment for me gets menshed at the end of today’s blog. Oh, and to my Cumnock correspondent….thanks for the Ayrshire insight. You’re a good writer, btw. Keep at it. Writing, that is.

Oh, and today’s music? The band is Scheme. From Easterhouse. Early eighties, Nick? He remembers these things. Altho’ my alter-ego remembers them from a time when Radio Clyde and BBC Radio Scotland did roadshows and promo’d concerts and one day fests at Kelvingrove Bandstand and Auchinlea in Easterhouse itself.  A wee bit like The Wee Chill at Glasgow’s Queen’s Park this weekend but that’s south of the river…on the road to the Onthank Estate in Kilmarnock. (How Orwellian a name is that?!) I’ll maybe not bother, ffs.  

I worked as a community worker in E’house for a while, post grad diploma. Lochend Road. Drank in the Casbah. Wonder if it’s still there or whether it went the same way as the Caravel, the Royal Oak and the Provanmill Inn. Ah, the bodies. 😉

I think I’d better move on, before there’s a knock on the door. Let’s do housekeeping.

The conversion to vegetarianism continues, altho’ slightly more distance learning than ‘hands on’. (I’d better think about that line before publishing. I’ll go and have another virgin, Mary………..I’m back. I’m leaving it in. I need more celery salt, btw. Roots’n’Fruits, Byres Road.)

The Vampire Slayer has been quiet but has been working secretly and hardly for a mission which will take her overseas for  a while. (Updates’r’good, okay?). Missie K, e and W almost caused me textual problems on Thursday but I coped. Manfully. All at the same time. 🙂 W ?

(A mate of mine, a year or so since he finished his treatment for prostate cancer – brachytherapy – told me that he was arranging to go golfing with some mates, abroad, but he mailed details to his parish priest by mistake. The reply? ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for but you should maybe come and see me before and after!’ )

Dennis Hopper. R.I.P…..for all sorts of reasons.

And blogmeister, I look forward to telling the rainforestriverman he was eleventh. He’s not always been more successful than me, y’know. Ah, the laddish University tales I could tell. I have Max Clifford’s direct line. So does Kerry who’s the last Met Student from my era and about to finish there and truth to tell was……..(Oh, and Graeme as well, btw…..)

Workwise, it’s gone quiet. Some listeners may know that I/we put forward a commission to BBC Radio Scotland for an Investigation into why the streets are not safe for ‘women working as prostitutes’ of whom I know several, and in related work.  We didn’t get the commission. Someone else is doing ‘something similar’.

One of the things ‘Moira’ would have told us is what it’s like to have unprotected sex for seven to ten pounds a time several times a night and the fear of a smacking into the bargain. So ‘something similar’? I hope women like ‘Moira’ get a voice.

Chill it jt, chill it.

So I’m setting myself up, I think, as a Byres Road personal shopper. I’m not giving away any secrets by saying I helped e with the shopping for the child known as 16 lbs 7 ozs’s Naming Day. I got him a Partick Thistle strip………with 16 lbs 7 ozs on the back. The party was on an estate…….in Ayrshire. Actually, I think the estate was Ayrshire. It was the size of a small African country.

And if the Ivory Coast win the World Cup, I might build a conservatory. Apparently I’m obsessed. At one time in my life it was sheds and one C’mas, Son Brian gave me a photo of beach huts in a frame. Which I liked. He’s got an accountant’s sense of humour. It’s his mum’s. Give it back, eh.

And finally, if you didn’t understand half of the above don’t worry. I didn’t either. No. No reason. Not a scooby.

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, aka the Space Cowboy remix

Oh and the schemey bit……..It’s where the old woman with cancer goes to get chemotherapy and they all come back and say things like ‘she’s getting better’ and ‘doesn’t her hair look good’ and so on. (False hopes) Five years ago this month my mum (80s) took really ill and in a fairly short time we knew it was bad. I was there with her when the Registrar confirmed so many things and then I did the walk up the road to begin the phone calls. (Forgot I’d taken the car. Went back to collect it the next day.) I think it was the phone calling that maybe eventually did for me. Lots of it.

Mum turned down the offer of chemo ‘cos she didn’t want to prolong her suffering and didn’t want to lose her hair. She was also glad it was liver and not lung cancer cos that meant she could carry on smoking.

I think that is pure f**king class, man. Dignified and class. Maybe I learned. A little.

Up yours Onthank, with a bucky bottle. Square go? Any time. Ashton Lane, okay for you? Maybe a spot of brunch beforehand? Montillado sherry, anyone?

Out of place, out of time I return interior re-designed. They got me up against the wall Maybe it’s best not to wake up at all

May 22, 2010

The band? The Only Ones. The title? We’ll maybe leave that just now. No. No reason. ‘Cos let’s cut to one of several chases.

Abdelbaset Mahmet Ali al-Megrahi – the only person convicted so far of the deaths of 270 people at Lockerbie in 1988 and who is terminally ill with prostate cancer, a disease I have had treated so far successfully. So good. That is all I have in common with him. I have nothing good to say of the man.

Lockerbie for me started with the call that night telling me to go in to the BBC for six the next morning and take charge of certain aspects of the radio coverage at that end. Some things I’ll never forget.

Can I ignore all the political infighting that’s gone on this week and repeat the words of someone I was talking to a couple of days ago; ‘Well, if Megrahi’s got a few more months extra, then maybe so have I.’

Oh, and I had my own PSA tests again this week. I’ll keep you posted, shall I?

And the track title? Woke Up Sticky. Exactly. So that’s this week’s blog back to normal. 😀

Incidentally to the folk at a Wellbeing mobile stall to whom I explained my recent health history, I realise that the line – ‘I enjoy feeling my pulse every morning’ – did, in that context, sound rude. It was intended. The G in GSOH can stand for lots of things. 😛

So the conversion to vegetarianism is early doors but I’m cool and I’m working my way through the cooked red meat in the freezer. OMG! I sound such a pervvy, sick psycho, don’t I? I am rural Summerston’s Hannibal Lecter. Which, conviently, leads us to this week’s Bloggily Tirade of the Week. (fanfare of strumpets)

That annoying stv advert for ‘specially selected pork’ which shows a farmer standing in front of a well ploughed field holding a terrier dog and finishing with a plate of nice pork chops. Isn’t there something missing here? Yes. You noticed. The pig itself. It’s almost as if they’re afraid to show the source of the product. The animal that will soon be dead on your plate. How anodyne is that?

At least they’re proud of their pigs in Seattle, USA, the spiritual home of Grunge. I’ve got a mate whose Facebook profile pic shows him smiling with the statue of a pig in Seattle’s Pike Place Market. It’s worth a look. (I should probably have written that in the past tense….’had’ a friend….but he posted the pic. He’s only got himself to blame)

Incidentally, if I did want to put people off eating foodstuffs, then remember I used to work in the fishmarket at Peterhead. The tales I could tell about what eventually becomes your cod in parsley sauce………It can be a long time at sea. 😦

But all the usual gang seem fine, btw; Missie K, the Vampire Slayer, bestest friend Caitlin, Jaymi and the Magenta Girl, all of whom, except Magenta, are finishing, or have finished, exams. But why, I wonder, did Magenta repeat the word ‘professionally?’ to me in a recent conversation? My face went red.

But the sun is shining. A very pleasant afternoon for the funeral of the late gangland enforcer Kevin ‘The Gerbil’ Carroll (it’s not the cheeriest of blogs this week, is it?) on Tuesday and I was there at the end of the service not quite standing alongside Fraggle, Snudge, Muncher and Div. They take their tags, or nicknames, very seriously these people.  I for one would never laugh at them. Again.

But it’ll soon be a special day in life of young 16lbs 7 ozs when he finally gets a name. (e, I’m not sure I fully understand all that’s going on  here, but I’m young. I learn all the time and I hope the weather stays cool. Like me. 🙂 ) 

But it was nice to be in a cafe on the South side of Glasgow on Friday as well when its owner, in response to my request for a ginger beer, said, ‘Yes. I like that as well. No. We don’t stock it.’

And finally, good luck to folk like the blogmeister and Erik the Floodstalker who are up for various student writing awards. I still feel the best aspect of any degree is the stuff that is done outwith the actual course. It marks you out as being different from everyone else doing exactly the same course.

What marked me out as different when I was at Uny? Standing outside that fish shop in Byres Road….drooling.

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850 – outlaw to the end.

Except. Like the opening paras this is without comment. Except it is a comment. A few weeks ago, I wrote of a tricky few days when I came close to breakdown. But I didn’t. I haven’t mentioned my support team in a while. Thanks.

Sometimes people find these blogs a few weeks later by various means (eg keywords such as those used by ) This came in a few days ago. The track referred to is Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day. It’s not why I blog but it might make a wee bit of sense. This is from Stacy.

so, a friend of mine form years ago, having recently become “friends” again on facebook, posted a couple lyrics to that song on his “status”. i was like hmm.. those are good words.. what song is that from again? so off i went looking for the root of the meaning, and i come to this page. this particular page about an alchohlic meeting his moments of shit and happiness. i thought i was the only one who knew how to write about that kind of stuff. or at least in my “social circle” the only one with enough guts to face it…. or something. so i’m here to say johnt850, that i appreciated your post immensely. if i knew anything about weblogs i might just start one… thanks again

I cried. Obvioulsy. Maybe that’s why I’ve been in a bit of a mood this week. Ho and hum. Sorry. Pork scratching, anyone?

I think this place is full of spies I think they’re on to me. Didn’t anybody, didn’t anybody tell you, didn’t anybody tell you this river’s full of lost sharks, I know you put in the hours to keep me in sunglasses, I know

May 15, 2010

Secret Meeting there by The National and it was never going to be a secret meeting, was it, not in Byres Road? But the way it turned out? It kinda reminded me of another meet, not that long since, in the same part of town, when I was greeted with the cheery challenge, ‘Ah. So you’re the other man, then?’  I survived. I can still plant potatoes.

And, e, thanks to you and your mate for riding shotgun the other day 😉 If you’re around next week, I can update you on cupcake matters.

And I had planned to open with some decent trance lyrics – or even some indecent ones – but I await suggestions. No. No reason. But my thanks to the Vampire Slayer who, as ever, I approached for advice in this matter.

Her sage but yet hauntingly gothic advice in a strange Charlaine Harris kinda way? ‘It’s not as hard as techno but house has more variation.’ I will cope. I can harvest broccoli.

Mind you, that Dave Pearce of incredibly well listened to Six Music is pretty well known for his euphoric style of uplifting trance with the odd anthem thrown in. I notice he’s playing the Gatecrasher Outdoor Stage at ColoursFest coming up soon at Braehead.

But if you asked me my favourite version of Cafe del Mar by Energy 52, for example, I would have to go for the Kid Paul Mix.

(I can’t believe I just wrote that)

But it’s been that kinda week. I’ve asked a few questions of myself. (There’s a number of programme ideas and various other treatments floating around. I may have to investigate other income streams. You might know that, dear listener, as ‘get a job’)

Questions like……..should I consider vegetarianism? There’s a Jamie Oliver ad which puts me off sausages and an stv graphic which puts me off pork. So I went and looked at a book of veggie recipes in Waterstone’s (Can I stress at this point, dear listener, yet again, that nothing is made up in this blog? Everything does actually happen.)

I opened the book randomly. It fell open at a recipe for Bloody Mary Gazpacho. Serioulsy. Jeeeeeeeeez. Vodka, obvioulsy, is there in the recipe – ‘a splash’, it says. Four years ago I was doing that with (hot) cup-a-soups and a wee bit more than a ‘splash’. (Pauses)

And I’ve been to see my legal team this week to make alterations to my will…….just in case. It is but a coincidence…….that Son Brian is out of the country, but I may have news for him. The music is now totally defo (No. Not trance, or house, or techno, or hardcore, or bass’n’drum, or Skerryvore……….) but everything else is for him to decide, at this stage. Runner or green beans, for example.

(To Jaymi, good luck. It might be the first foot on the broadcasting ladder; to rrm, your description alone was enough, particularly at that time of night, but your driving advice may be good long term; and to Missie K, keep me posted on all the news. Okay?)

And to those who wondered how Tuesday went? 😀 😀 😀 😀

Some ppl might remember it as the day Gordon Brown resigned. I, on the other hand,……couldn’t possibly comment so I refer all questions to the Magenta Girl of Queen Street Station. But it was Thursday when I really felt my age (42). I was in my Queen Street office chatting to L frae Troon and she chanced to intro me to a colleague of hers who replied, ‘Yes. I know jt850. He taught me when I was at College.’

And how was it you described me the other day, L? ‘Not wired right’?

Y’see, I’ve always talked to strangers. I was brought up to do so by my parents, who always managed to conceal their disappointment when the gypsies brought me back.

Incidentally, I menshed a few weeks ago, my alter ego pretending to be Abbie Hoffman in a primary school mock election. No-one batted an eyelid, it seems to me. I recently came across this quote of Abbie’s;

If you don’t have sex and you don’t do drugs, your rock’n’roll better be awfully good. 

I was ten. The Yardbirds – Good Morning Little Schoolgirl – a lyric I couldn’t possibly use these days. I wasn’t elected. I didn’t know until that moment that that primary school in Peterhead had cold showers and a hose that powerful.

And finally I’d like to thank the young lady in Boots in the St Enoch Centre (once I’d found the way in) for helping me buy something I hadn’t bought in a long time. I was so flummoxed she even allowed me to do a Take Two, and repeated the words, ‘can I help you sir?’.

To L frae Troon. Your brand suggestion was easily ignored, but thanks for the thought. Your interest is hugely much appreciated.

Cya and keep(ing) it fun. Whatever happens, happens; but Decision 2 is now down the list as BYOB. Sorry. That should read AOB.

So I was going to finish off by alluding to a meeting I had this week (like I haven’t done so already?) in the hotel next to my Queen Street office with someone who, until very recently, walked the corridors of political power, but I respect a confidence.

So, instead can I mensh Robert McNeil’s column in the Herald of Friday where he talks about ‘sitting on (his) tod boozing every night.’ He now goes several times a week, pre-dinner, (how middle class! Oh. Am I? I’ll maybe ask my gardener) to the cinema as an alternative.

He says that he has ‘no physical addiction’ to drink. But he also says that ‘the other reason for the drink is pure habit. The brain likes routine.’ 

For me? It’s when you stop that routine and you ‘cold turkey’ you realise you have an addiction. Not before – despite what was suggested openly by James and John – the event, but after it. Me? I blame Nick. 😦

I did look up Abbie to see what he said. His googled quote? ‘Sometimes the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye and quorn and tofu are way down the list but they are on the agenda.’

Cause it’s one thing to start it with a positive jam and it’s another thing to see it all through and we couldn’t of even done this if it wasn’t for you…we gotta stay positive, we gotta stay positive, we gotta stay positive

May 8, 2010

The Hold Steady there, clrly, with their take on the idea of keeping it fun and, as Missie K and some others know, I took delivery of their new album this week as well as the new Alabama 3.  Add to that a couple of book purchases, courtesy of a gift from that health conference I did, and it’s been a reasonably quiet and pleasant week.

Why? What else happened? Naw, I’m ignoring that. Indeed I might stay away from the other heavy stuff I sometimes do….or more specifically, did. Yup, there was once an even worser part of my life than the one two to three years ago. It was the ‘badest’ part of my life.

At this point I’d like to thank the Vampire Slayer, not for being part of that bit of my life, but for her recent assistance in helping me to re-write the English language. 😉 bella, bella.

Actually, can I also repeat one of those marvellous conversations I sometimes hear in ASDA? This from a pyjama clad lady;

‘Naw, I’m being done for attempted murder, serious disfigurement and possession but the count deserved it.’ Aristocracy? In Summerston? Jaymi, you might have served them. Or Liz. Might have.

No. One thing has dominated life in T850 Towers this week. Bathrooms. It’s why the event has been delayed. That and a Naming Day which might mean a run on cupcakes. (But, e, I thought all seven days already had names. I’m confused)

No. Earlier this week I was in the new Blythswood Square Hotel (old RAC) in Glasgow. (If you’re going there by taxi, btw, don’t ask for the New Blythswood, unless looking for a very pleasant sauna. It’s a slightly different establishment. One week’s research for a programme that didn’t happen and suddenly I’m an expert.)

And this lady showed me into Room no 166. It’s a long story 😀 and whilst the bed bit of the room was fine the bathroom was a knockout. I could have moved in there. (Actually I’m not sure how that reads. I’ll maybe read it out loud later) So my own needs work done to it.

So much so that Kenny the Shed Pimp is having to sub-contract the work (lol, ffs and I hope he’s reading this). Proof I was there? The toiletry I stole was the body wash and it has its name in Gaelic; Siabann Bodhaig.

(A3 are on the metaphorical turntable and there’s a brill combo of Country Joe and A3 as an update for the war in Afghanistan, which was totally ignored over the last three weeks)

So, the body wash has a nice smell, almost as nice a smell as the free sample of Calvin Klein’s Eternity Aqua I was given in Buchanan Street. Damn. I should have asked the Magenta Girl of Queen Street Station for her opinion. I seem to be asking her about everything else. Bestest friend Caitlin, what can I say? 

Maybe a quick word re my own political leanings? At the age of 21 my alter ego was a member of CND but that may have been to impress Moira Corrigan (remember her, rainforestriverman?) but at the same time I joined the Scottish Labour Party which was nothing to do with the unionist UK Labour Party but I, and some others, were expelled cos we were ‘associated’ with the International Marxist Group. And then, Dr Paul, what happened was so similar to so many socialist parties. Splinter followed splinter. I think, eventually, I gave up when it became the Trotskyist Fourth International. Serioulsy.

And that, dear listener, is possibly why I’ve never been invited to a Royal Garden Party. 😦

So I also did this week what every broadcast student does automatically these days. I downloaded digital editing software called Audacity, to go with the new Edirol recorder I bought, and I did what every non tekkie person does when they do that – I generated white noise, tone and silence. The sound of laughter you hear comes from every proper audio person I have ever worked with who knows what a tekkie illiterate I am. But who appreciated my other skills. I have some.

Incidentally if you run/ran in the Women’s 10k and spot(ted) a man running beside you with recording gear that’s Mic, which is a belter of a name for a sound guy, and he’s recording for a radio drama and if anybody out there is running in Race For Life, let me know please.

And finally I am a wee bit jealous of all those students moving into broadcast work. I’m kinda involved but as a freelance working with an independent production company reliant on coming up with ideas and the commissioning system, and this is how a lot of it works as I’m sure you’re aware. I make enough to buy my round.

But these last few days of election coverage would have been so much fun to be part of. I shared some memories on the Planet Holyrood website recently, but I don’t think I can ever explain the magic that is live broadcasting. I miss it. Lots. Hopefully all those who teach broadcast share my enthusiasm. I really hope so. No. No reason.

Oh, and any work opportunity gratefully received. And accepted. You know where to find me.

It’s a freelance thang. You can tell a broadcast freelance, btw, by the clothes we wear. But you’ll have been told all about that as well.

cya and keep(ing) it fun – like live broadcasting. It’s why 42 year olds like me and David Dimbleby can keep going all night long.

Johnt850 – cyber psuedo identity disorder – marvellous words aren’t they?

So I’ve been under pleasant pressure for some time to bring closure to certain parts of my life two years after my cancer treatment and three and a bit years since my last alkoholic drink. So far, so good. So I have thought about it, long and hard.

Decision 1. My alter ego has decided to keep the ‘p’ in his e-mail address ‘cos the story behind it gives folk a laugh.

Decision 2? Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…………… I know all that is needed. It’s incredibly simple. It just happens to be different from what everyone else thinks. If anyone has any ideas, I’d love to hear them. I’ll maybe have a quiet word with the Magenta Girl……just in case.

Well, baby, when times are bad, Now call on me, darling, and I’ll come to you. When you’re in trouble and feel so sad, Well, call on me, darling, come on call on me, and I’ll help you. Yeah!

May 1, 2010

Defo message. Defo.

Janis Joplin as suggested by Missie K but from her earlier days with Big Brother and the Holding Company, which explains the emotive language redolent of the sixties. (Eh?) That’s Janis‘s days. Not Missie K.

I remember once being someone’s virtual big brother – not that long ago. I was happy with that, truth to be told. Probably still would be………Ow! That was my shin! 😦

My alter ego was around in the sixties (I am of course 42) and remembers it as the time when he became politicised somewhere in primary school. It was a General Election time and a freethinking female primary school teacher got some pupils to be pretend candidates. His job as the class smartass (I remember once….) was to explain what an election was. (Yes. That gag had occurred to me as well)

So he surprised his teacher. (Don’t even go there dear listener, altho’ even at that age….) He took on the persona of Abbie Hoffman. Yes. The Abbie Hoffman. How cool is that? Fingerlickin’ cool. That’s how cool.

(Altho’ at that time in smalltown Peterhead, not only was KFC unheard of, but ‘cool’ was a hot Summer’s day in the North East…….No. I don’t have many friends from those days. Why do you ask?)

And speaking of frnds, the reference to Clr and the connection with gd (male) facial preparation is explained in the latest edition of ShortList, the free magazine distributed outside Queen Street Station, Glasgow, where the Magenta Girl is still plying her trade but she did look very confused as I tried to introduce her to L frae Troon on our way to a business meet to discuss pirate radio. So I hope that clears that up….just in case.

Except, ‘cos I use a good moisturiser I have nothing to clear up, and the occasional red face is about the only residual I have from my hormone cancer treatment and nothing to do with anyone’s name……..I mean……anyway, it’s time to move on. Swiftly. Gulp.

And speaking of good looking women (The General Election theme, which was the intent, has just gone. I blame transcendental negativity, myself, and, yes, I do have a friend who reads the Guardian website)…..I notice that Cheryl Cole has described herself as skank for sitting around in her PJs for six hours a day. No, you’re not pet. Trust me. I know skank. (jt850 has sudden spellcheck fright and quickly looks up Urban Dictionary. Sits down. Relieved.)

Incidentally, the event I referred to last week where I was joined by a lesbian, who had turned up for a GLBT event on the wrong night but stayed on, was a screenwriting workshop where writers with real screenplays (not me yet) arrange to have a scene acted out by a couple of actors and a director so they can see/hear what it’s like and I/we observed. It was really weird ‘cos I thought the actors really f**ked up the script (that was a common word in it) and did not read it as the writer intended but she just stood there. So the whole thing was like a piece of theatre in itself.

I think it should be reviewed, Adelle. What do you think?

And, speaking of major productions don’t forget the Comedy Unit’s production of ……

Will they use any of my material on Election Night? And, if they do, will it get repeated in September?

So just one quick plug for an election candidate outwith Glasgow. If you live in East Dunbartonshire (that’s you Vampire Slayer) then vote Labour, please, for Mary Galbraith. Yes. Lots of reasons. 😉

(Nice little combo move there, jt,……altho’ I did notice Gordon Brown’s really big gaffe saying he was going to crack down on The Arcadia Group. Can’t even get the name of a Duran Duran spin-off correct. Hang on. A bell has just sounded…….Don’t I remember once……A video?)

I wonder if Sky News asked for the lapel mic back?

And ‘cos of the Weeping Angels, I am beginning to warm to Karen Gillan as a serious actress. Serioulsy.

Anyway, and finally, lots of students doing exams, presentations and dissertations at the moment – too numerous to mention – Jaymi, Caitlin, you won’t mind if I don’t mention you this week, will you? – but one I do want say Hi to is the Parfery person – to me, always redolent of a nicely blurred Timotei advert. It’s a sixties thang. 🙂

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Actually my fave overheard putdown of the week? ‘She’s the kind of person who doesn’t find humiliation fun.’ Even little ol’ self deprecating me doesn’t. Except I’m not that little and certainly not that ol’.


Actually. About Keep(ing) It Fun. Clrly. I used the phrase at a panel I was part of, at a big health conference in Glasgow this week. Just over the water from BBC HQ. I was amazed how many people I know from there who run and walk at lunchtime but it’s ‘cos there’s so little to do over there.

Kinda weird telling 250 health professionals about what it’s like being an alkie who’s come through the cancer experience (so far, so good) but their minds are willing to listen unlike…. Ach, it’s not worth it. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Keep It Fun usually works.

But I felt a fraud (I remember once……..actually, I remember several times when me and, well someone else, discussed our thoughts about this) and I’m not going to say anything about anyone I met (28, female, good looking and getting married later this year) who I buddied up with. Amazing person.

Instead, I’m going to have a go at a patronising count (Spelling? Close.) Me.

I sat on stage and explained that I don’t like the word ‘recovering’ when applied to me as an alkie ‘cos I feel I have recovered. ‘I simply don’t drink alkohol.’ ‘Simply’. Oh, boy do I regret that word. The rest I’m happy with.

And yes. Somebody did come up to me at the end, when it was quiet, and ask for some advice about a friend’s drinking. And I had none to give. Magenta, all over my face. But at least I listened. I didn’t judge.

And that is why, blogmeister, I took it out on iTunes when I got home that night. I’m still not too sure what I’m supposed to be doing there. And Nick. Thanks for the day off. Take it out my fee. 😉 hahahahaha. mweh.