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

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.’

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