Archive for July, 2010

We are but a moment’s sunlight Fading in the grass C’mon people now Smile on your brother Ev’rybody get together Try and love one another right now………

July 31, 2010

The Youngbloods from the soundtrack of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Yes. Lots of reasons. Not the track I was originally going to play. I was driving past the scene of a killing on Thursday morning. Just along the road. The original choice seemed inappropriate. That’s a real murder btw. No’ a Taggart wan. The boy was 29. The Ram’s Head’s a good pub.

The James Ellroy trilogy getting to you then, jt? Just a bit, yes.

So let’s move on swiftly, then to the day I’d waited for. For ages.  Finally. Last week. Yes. I think I got my application form in for tax credits just in time. My thanks to my accountant. I, and many others, would find it very hard without them. Tax credits.

Funnily enough I know at least four women, of varying backgrounds (but then I would), who also rely a lot on them and all of them have first names, five letters long. Accountants can be useful too.

Oh, Wednesday? I had a brilliant day with a gorgeous female companion. 😀 😀 😀 😀 And that’s all I’m saying. Well, that and the large blue double decker that pulled up alongside us at one point and the conductor leaned over and asked if we wanted a lift. What? Mushrooms, since you ask. Why? 

That and lashings of ginger beer, which also gives me that burning feeling in the throat. But not the effect.

At which point I would like to apologise to the cash desk operator in Morrison’s Anniesland (I prefer the staff in my ASDA but it doesn’t have as good stock, and is it true that every other ASDA has two storeys?). I was purchasing some of  Francis Hartridge’s awfully fine ginger and root beer and as she put them through the Bar Code, she looked up and said, ‘non-alcoholic?’ to which I, f**king tw*t that I am, replied, ‘Yes, actually. I am.’

No matter how often you tell me, L frae Troon, no matter how often…….and, yes there’s a lot of Drink. Drugs. And Deaths in the Ellroy books but not too much swearing. Fair cheer me up, so they do.

I still slide my empties down the side of the glass wheelie bin, y’know. Some tricks you never forget. Even if you want to.

And my only dealings with Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins were when he asked me for two thousand pounds. He was at the crucible of his career. In Sheffield. My answer was no. 

So, a quick piece of housekeeping…….Happy Birthday, L; look after yourself, Xtine, and just say when; nice work business corr Oonagh, and just say when; well done showbiz interviewer Jaymi, also an Ellroy fan – does he have the same effect on you? omg, I hope not!; thanks marketing guru Jayne, I think I’m pretty cute too; and thanks to doyen of doyens Paul G for telling me that James Ellroy was given a very influential book called The Badge when young. At the end of Wednesday I was bought an actual badge. Kool, eh?

Paul’s online presence is Planet Paul, of definite interest to people interested in journalism and literature and film . It’s really good. Gosh, so it is.

And the brilliant Limmy beat me to saying I was expecting Joe McElderry to come out as straight. That would have been the real surprise.

Fave headline of the week? People may grow their own joints. I’m not going to explain it.

Busybodies of the week? Mediawatch for drawing peoples’ attention to the fact that someone had scrawled the slang for sanitary towels (‘jam rags’ in case you didn’t know) on a blackboard in Emmerdale Farm. It was a designer’s joke! Check out the large W in for a ‘rude’ word. Bizarilly splet. Prize to anyone who sees ‘that’ word. 

I switched on Eastenders by mistake and saw a vicar about to garrot a young woman, FFS! Or am I reading too much Ellroy. It’s amazing how many ways there are to kill people, aren’t there, in his books? Many of them end up scalped. As trophies. Usually from their head. 

Exhibit of the week? The large bath in the Peoples’ Palace which looked exactly the same as one in a flat in Partickhill Road where I stayed (no 47?) many years ago and yes, W, it was like a Glasgow mansion converted into millions of bedsits and flats. You remember it, don’t you rainforestriverman? The flat, not the bath.

And finally, it was a week when the Demons had a go at me. Again. And I wasn’t even wearing that sweatshirt. Not a bad attack but a sleepless night. When I’d gone to bed. Smiling. They pose questions like What If you hadn’t had that bottle of whisky on the day of your mum’s funeral and the crafty one;  Would It be so wrong to go back to alkohol, cos, materially, have you achieved that much without it?

Little niggly questions but good ones and difficult ones to answer in some respects. But allied to that Ellroy-posed need for the burn at three in the morning?

I must be one of the very few people in the World who needs a cup of coffee to go back to sleep. Smiling. 🙂 🙂 🙂 It was the other bus story. That done it. That and the mail I wrote but didn’t send. Until later that day. 😉

And anyway, I think the Demons are running out of questions to ask.

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, Sex God and with the badge to prove it

I don’t know why this has become the below the line serious bit so I’m going to stop it. We all know what can happen when you don’t think properly about a habit.  Well I do. Always one drink. One drag. One dexy away from it coming back.

So it ceases. It’s become hinky. I don’t like it. It has stopped.

As has my reading of Ellroy. I’ve finished the trilogy. The character with whom I had empathy? Book 2. Page 669. (It would be, wouldn’t it?) Kills himself. In short sentences.

Next week? Maybe I should see what influence the Bunty has on me? No. Not this Christmas. The one before. No. No reason.  But maybe it is like a mirror. But a nice one. 🙂

Oh baby baby what can I do You know you drive me crazy when I’m looking at you The summer’s really here and it’s time to come out Time to discover what it’s all about – Here comes the summer

July 24, 2010

Maybe a wee coded message. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m never sure the next day. It’s been a while since I used the opening lyric for that purpose.  Maybe it’s just a nice catchy tune. Maybe it’s the band.

I had decided, anyway, to go back to some form of mainstream music and it just so happened that I spent one afternoon earlier this week playing The Undertones whilst standing outside (fully clothed) in the pouring rain, feeling like The King of the World (Leo diCaprio). Yes. My next door neighbours were out that afternoon. I got very wet. But it was fun. Like Summer should be.

But it’s the Glasgow Fair and lots of people are on holiday this week so work opportunities are few and even a vuvuzela has more notes than there are in my wallet at present. But in its own strange fractal way I’ve had fun. And I’d like to thank a lot of women for what they’ve done for me. 🙂

They all have one thing in common. No. Not all ‘good looking and spoken for’. But amazingly patient where I am concerned.  All of them.

I should explain for the purposes of this week, and this week only, I have made Dr Paul an honorary woman for his help. When I last heard from him he claimed to be getting on a BUS. I have not since heard whether or not he succeeded and whether he then got off it. However, with his encouragement, is now out there as a sponsored link under such Google searches as dissertation editing. I’d ‘two clicks’ on Thursday. Your gag or mine?

Now if I could only get people to like it on Facebook.

So step forward, W, with whom I had a smashing conversation about lots of things including Gregory’s Girl but when I think about it, the really iconic character was the penguin. But, indeed, I still have the hots for Claire Grogan. As in the current one. Kinda loitering within tent.

Incidentally, can anyone think of a Robert Redford movie in which the female lead is Redford’s equal and not assistant or love interest? No. No reason but a long story.

And then there was Jayne, who should not be confused with Jaymi (happy 21st btw), who introduced me to something I’d never experienced before………apple loves mint tea. And did you notice, J, that cafe had no plastic stirrers? But, hey, I have a secret stash. It’s an addict thang.

Incidentally, jt850, has any piece of fiction ever pointed you back in the direction of ‘the bottle’? Funny you should ask that but, yes. This week.

The amazing James Ellroy (who once sang to Jaymi) has a line in American Tabloid with a character Littell who has been off the bottle for just over a year;

‘Littel forced the drink down. The exquisite burn made him sob.’                                        

No. No explanation needed.

And 16lbs 7 oz’s mum, e, (No. No connection to above line), later that day – I must get his latest name at some stage – was very taken with my attempt at designing a website. Not. I can make the space for the image but I can’t transfer it. Ho and, indeed, hum.

Oh, butthat ight I entto thefootball (keyboard empathy) to watch the mighty Thistle of Partick take on the mighty Rovers of Bristol. Typical pre-season friendly in which none of us could agree on the colour of the goalie’s new jersey. Cerise, green, magenta or lilac?

Then, on Wednesday, I went down to Maggie’s Farm where I met Tracey, a new fundraiser but she lives an awful awful awful, oh, and works an awful long way away. Dundee, eh? So Ian Gordon, I gave her your name.

But do I have a loud laugh? I did that morning, but I do seem to set myself up for the fall, don’t I? All I was doing was explaining I still had my prostate. So why was I called a winker?

But the loud laugh, here in jt850 Towers, is loud enough to awaken the dead. At least that’s what it seemed like the other night, given the shower of zombies and the other undead coming out of the graveyard. (Dear listener, please feel free to do your own joke at this point. I need to check that the Spanish winnings remain untouched. As yet.)

But it’s maybe propitious that the Vampire Slayer has returned, safely, from her sojourn in Southern Europe. And whilst the Grand Council may be no more, I look forward to the meet, and thanks for the recent sage advice, VS. I might have some for you. You may ignore it!

And finally, the fly. In the room which I use as office, there was a fly. I decide to open a window and let it out. First I had to raise the blinds. The fly got caught in the slats. And was squashed. Dead. 😦

It’s been a mixed kinda week, really, but lots of really nice women out there. Ta.

Oh, and this week’s pint of milk and loaf of bread is a doorstep delivery from the rainforestriverman.

Cya and keep(ing) it fun (unless you’re a fly)

Johnt850 , with patience fully under control again. Honest.

Y’see one of the things that’s annoyed me this week (and I make no apologies for returning to it) is Abdul Abasset mahmet al-Megrahi. I have spoken before about my feelings about the only person convicted so far of the killing of 270 people and my own involvement in Radio Scotland’s coverage of the Lockerbie bombing. And the article about me in The Sun, at the time of his release. So my views about the mass murderer and certain aspects of his release are well known.

However, every time I hear someone complain about the fact that al-Megrahi has outlived the terminal prognosis of his disease, prostate cancer, by a few months, I feel the need to remind folk of the (approx) 10,000 men in the UK who die of it. Annually.

I think the prostate cancer charities should be using this as an opportunity to drip feed awareness but then internal politics should always come before awareness shouldn’t they? After all, WTF do I know about increasing prostate cancer awareness? Or am I just in too much of a rush? Maybe.

Hoping for a ghost inside the shell But if it’s there it’s hidden well All we are is ticks and tocks Seconds in a pocket watch

July 17, 2010

A song sung there by singer songwriter Jeremy Messersmith, a man whose work was drawn to my attention either by a series of co-incidences or because it was pre-determined. More of that later. Or in the months ahead. Maybe I have no control over these things. The song’s called John The Determinist and it took the entire global resources of Demus Productions to find it.

‘Cos obvioulsy I don’t plan the blog. The keyboard, itself, decided not to spell obviously and serioulsy correctly in recent years but you’d all noticed but were too polite too mention, but some keyboards have a life oftheir ow , do ‘t they? 😉

A few bits’n’pieces and matters arising from last week’s unusual single issue edition of the show;

My passwords et al are in a folder called Kleenex Tissues, except, cos you all now know that, I’ve renamed it Andrex. I also have folders called things like The Recipe for Coca Cola and I love it when I’m asked if I want to save changes. 

I smashed up so much furniture during last week’s World Cup Final but mega winnings on Spain now sit in an envelope called…….hang on, there’s the phone. Interesting thoughts, as ever, from the lovely W* and L frae Troon this week, is L frae Tenerife. Carrying out detailed research into rum and cokes according to the txt she sent as the heavens opened here in tropical Summerston.

* somewhere in the broadcast World there is always a BBC commissioning round. Well done to friends in the Comedy Unit for recent successes. Why it’s asterixed next to is a story for another day. 

All credit cards are now activated, and badly needed; the car’s fine as are all my bones, thanks to those who asked; and no, I don’t worry about people breaking in and stealing my identity and stuff. Such is my liquidity, if Marvin from The Scheme broke in, he’d probably leave me a loaf of bread and a pint of milk. And maybe something else. I can be tempted…………and, maybe, one day………but out of choice. No. No reason. (It’s a free will question, isn’t it?)

So, moving on but not swiftly, but in that kinda way where I do worry about how many magic biscuits really are on the magic biscuit tree. I didn’t know there was such a thing until Thursday night. 😀 😀 😀

And also on Thursday I met a smashing lady called Susie who is an unemployed organic chemist (BSc). Now working as a masseuse. Needs website. I have her business card and mobile number if anyone needs a ‘healing hand’.

Naw. I met her in a computer lab at Strathclyde Uny. Universities are amazing places when there’s nobody else around and no regular students, which seems to be most of the year ‘cos so many students do vocational work experience. I used to hate leaving campus. Actually Glasgow University didn’t really have a campus did it? Actually given how I spent most of my time there I’m not so sure it had a university.

What’s that, Skippy? That’s what the buildings were between the QM Union and the GUU. Wow. Wicked. Naw, I’ve been seeing people wearing their graduating gear this week and I’ve been thinking what use has my MA(ord)  in Politics and History and Economics and other stuff been to me over the years. Actually one helluva lot; that and an involvement in student politics and a post grad in Youth and Community Work were what got me the original researcher’s job at BBC Scotland. That, and knowing someone. Them were the days.

No blogs in them days. Certainly nothing like the new one from the blogmeister which, now that I understand what you do when you ‘view source’, makes for fascinating reading. Try it.

What else has been happening? I should really write things down as they occur to me, shouldn’t I, it says on this piece of paper.

So, and finally, our (?) continuing stake money went on an each way bet on Justin Rose but he was one of those who suffered badly from that weather break thing. No. No wind gags. Shame. However, dear listeners, whilst watching highlights later, I heard one commentator (not Peter Alliss) talk of fifty year old Mark Cal(hang on whilst I copy and past)cavecchia who was playing really well………I did hear this commentator say, ‘Age is but a number.’ Now do you understand?

Incidentally, and please treat this with the same smile on my face that I have as I repeat his words as quoted; ‘I’m smart enough to know that couple (of pints) is enough’. If only dear listener, if only.

I have listeners everywhere. Now for the housework. Feather duster anyone?

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, determined as well as a determinist.

Sorry but this has intrigued me during the week and my thanks to Tommy Tea for his patience and research. Indeed some of you may wish to switch station at this point. But it’s something which has, in the last few years, intrigued me about the two big health issues which have been such a big part of my life; alcoholism, which for me is an addiction, with which I can cope, but cancer which is a disease, which has been successfully treated on a so far so good basis, but will choose if and when it wants to return.

Not that I expect it to, he says, snapping out of an unnatural and sadly unshackled reverie.

No, I’ve been thinking a wee bit about ‘stuff’. And I’ve decided I’m happy, come what may.

So if you’ve reached this point, did you decide not to switch station out of your own free will, or was it determined for you by other causes? And how far should you force an issue? Is a reaction pre-determined?  And is it Thistle’s year? Well, it obviously wasn’t Justin Rose’s….. 😦

Maybe I’ll just go and make my tea. What Skippy? But you know what I’m going to have. Bread and milk. And magic biscuits. Thanks Marvin. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Yup. Help yourself to the TV on the way out. What? Oh, some **** must have stole it. Sorry.

You’re only young once…..but you can be immature for a lifetime……..maturity is overrated

July 10, 2010

Not a quote from a song but from the Birth Date card send to me by son’s mum and his step dad. Oh, and she’s also my accountant……she seems vaguely familar somehow.

So in a week when The List published the first in a series of classified ads offering the services of as a dissertation reader and editor but added a typo to it (!), when I got new lenses costing £170 fitted and when journalistically I phoned a woman on her mobile only to discover she’s at the vet having her dog put down…….I want to talk about my car.

Bear with me dear listener, this is no ordinary blog about bad service, say, this is a jt850 blog.

So the Saturday morning after my Birth Date I had a very pleasant socially business cup of coffee down Byres Road and then headed home. Just before I arrived on the Maryhill Road I drove over a speed bump. Within seconds I was smelling the smell and feeling the shake, the rattle and the roll. I drove off the Maryhill Road onto the Lochburn Road.

This is a  road which is nowhere near a loch or a burn. It is next to the Forth and Clyde Canal. In Maryhill. It is a very thin road.

At the end of this road is a new private housing development with a ‘4 bedroom duplex with private garden and sun terrace for £137,950’ and you can have ‘breakfast on the balcony’. Overlooking the Forth and Clyde Canal. In Maryhill.

The main landmark in the ad showing you how to get there is Maryhill Police Station (useful) whose car park has been firebombed at least twice in recent months, presumably from the grassy knoll on which they built the Health Centre. But I digress. Lochburn Road.

I stop the car. I get out. I kick the tyres. I get back in. WTF else do you do?

I turn left into the Cadder Road which must be one of the biggest widest streets in Christendom. Sarah Palin is closer to Russia than numbers 1 and 4 are in the Cadder Road (No. I don’t know why I use the word ‘the’ when talking about some streets.) 

A tyre blows. The passenger one. The offside one. The nearside one. The one played onside by a defender. I don’t know what they’re called. It goes bang. Loudly. The car slews into the kerb. I’m very lucky. No parked cars. No mums with triplets in a big buggy stepping off the kerb. No Orange Walk. It was that Saturday. Not just another one, but that one.*

*I wonder who will understand that reference…………?

This has two effects; half of those around jump over hedges thinking it’s a gangland assassination; the rest come over and see if I’m okay. I’m fine. Shaken but not stirred. Like my women. Okay. A touch thrown but otherwise okay.

I call the AA. (At this point, dear listener, I will go and make a coffee while you fill in your own gags. I’ve done them all already) Smashing wee AA  guy comes along, sees it as a Euclidean challenge and two hours later we’re offloading it in the forecourt of Arnold Clark’s in Bearsden…………Part One ends. Ad break.

Have you ever thought about having your holidays in Summer’s town? Our high rise flats have recently been refurbished.

Or feed the pigeons in the Asda Car park – others do(o)

Or take the free bus to the Acre Road flats. And come back.

Part Two. A few days later. To Arnold Clark’s to pick up the car and the bill. It’s £622…………I complain. Not that unhappily but on the basis that altho’ I agreed to the work, I didn’t agree to all these prices.

But, dear listener, I had done. And how do I/we know that? They played me a recording of my conversation with Graham the serviceman from earlier in the week. I gave in. I am so embarrassed, not because I got caught out (I’ve done similar but never broadcast) but because I had tried to play the laddish testosterone world of knowing cars. I hated myself. I don’t even watch Top Gear. I, yes, me, I think Richard Hammond should grow up and get a proper haircut. But that applys to all three (?) of them.

I agreed to pay.

It’s okay. I have a credit card I haven’t used for ages. Its PIN is in the computer folder called Kleenex Tissues (No. No reason) and it has 69 in it. Unforgettable. Whatever way you look at it. Except Arnold doesn’t take AmEx.

I have a debit card and it has an overdraft facility. I’m fine. Its number is *&^”, or is it *^&”? Of course I get it wrong. Twice.

At this point the PLONKER alarm has gone off within the salesroom and all the salesmen have stopped showing each other their new ‘Wallace shags Gromit’ mugs and are all watching me. The very nice woman behind the counter, Fiona, says ‘We can put it through as a phone transaction, if you like?’ and we do. The nightmare is over.

I drive off giving them all the sign of the devil and flipping my middle finger at them. In my head. The combo of new lenses and good steering is a mighty one to control and I wonder how safe I was before. Indeed, how safe are you now when you drive?

So there you go. Ho and hum.

Roll closing credits.

To two brilliant women who kept me sane during the week; to the lovely W for ALL her thoughts this week and for telling me about Paul the psychic cephalopod long before anybody else had noticed his existence. Our money always was on Spain (ta xx); and to the shapely L frae Troon who also shared so much with me, including her recipe for smoked smorgasbord (ta xx)

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, aka the Summerston Tourist Board

Highways hard in this modern world
Battered boys and shattered girls
Leather bombers that rule the streets
Setting fires and living heat

Let me tell you what we been doing
Neon angels on the road to ruin
Let me tell you what we been doing
Neon angels on the road to ruin

The Runaways


All of a sudden I’m overcome by a feelin’ of brief mortality ‘Cause I’m gettin’ on in the world Comin’ up on forty-one years Forty-one stoney gray steps towards the grave You know the box (that) awaits its grizzly load……I’m gonna be food for worms.

July 3, 2010

And so dear listener I decided that once I got past that age (41) I would stay there (42). No point in going any further. I have outwitted Alabama 3, the greatest ever band ever in the entire history of the world and the known universe since Archie Bell and The Drells.

It is not forty two (42) ‘again’ like some people say about being ’21 again hahahahaha.’ It is nothing to do with Douglas Adams and the meaning of life. It is the product of an oft feeble and yet surprisingly virulent imagination and, d’you know something, if Stephen Fry came up with the notion, everyone would jump and down and shout ‘Lickety Split, what a brilliant man! Let’s get him to write a Guardian column about it.’

Obvioulsy I give credit to Walton and Cockcroft for having the imagination to split the atom but can you imagine the night they had in the pub afterwards. ‘You’ve done what? Made an atom into smaller pieces? What good will that do us? Can I have peanuts, unsalted please….I mean who ever thought of putting salt on peanuts…stupid idea.’

Do you want further proof we live in a world where imagination is frowned upon?

Adrian Chiles and James Corden. I rest my case.

However, I would like to thank all those who wished me Happy Birthday in the conventional senses thru Facebook, txt, personal and cards and all sorts of ways, and similarly all those who wished me ‘Happy Forty Second’ in so many other ways. (eh?) As ever, it’s early in the morning but it’ll soon be the football season.

(Eh, Ms McGarvey, who seems to have come back into my life with a vengeance, your birthday greeting led to a really weird video game trailer on Youtube, eh, thanks)

The words, btw, are the spoken bit to Woke Up This Morning (The Sopranos) and d’you know, I too have a (semi) spiral staircase in my semi-detached. Yes. I have a semi. It was a Friday night txt what done it. 😉

How did I celebrate? I played A3 all day, upstairs and downstairs, loud and menacing addiction rock, and had a very pleasant family meal at night. I drove. Others drank. Mmmmm, sobriety is so useful. 🙂

But I’m not going to Barca. I got the bathroom painted and tiled instead. How boringly grown up is that? So I sat and ate tapas in it the other night. (Tapas are fridge leftovers that have approximated their sell by dates)

Oh, and a spring (?) went on my car and the tyre blew (?) and the word ‘lucky’ comes to mind………..Wow.

Mind you, I owe nothing on the credit card…………..Except I also need new lenses for my spex. My eyesight is deteriorating. (Sorry. That looks awfy heavy. It’s just getting ‘less good’)

I saw Alabama 3 a couple of years ago. It was at Loch Lomond………mmmmmmmmm……..they were ‘less good’ than I’d expected, but it was outside.

So to W, can I say your keyboard sounds real heavy with the cold.  o.  o reaso . I always took Benylin, but I didn’t always have a cold. Oh, and thanks for the warning. I was very careful in Byres Road, Friday night. I sat with my collar up.

And to e, the strawberry sick washed out okay. I should point out that this came from young 16lbs 7ozs, who obvioulsy hasn’t been weighed for some time. Nor have I. Wousy isn’t it? 😦

And thanks to the blogmeister (I used to have a txt mentor, y’know) for his help with launching on Twitter and on blogger. I haven’t actually posted anything yet cos the contents of the bathroom are lying on the office floor. Well, not all the contents………but I have stepped on the toothpaste twice already and I found some really interesting pills in the bathroom cabinet. I flushed them away, straight away. Sober and solvent free. Happy daze.   

Jaymi has returned from her sojourns, safe but scathed; and the Vampire Slayer has informed me of her undercover (eh?) activities and new identity abroad. No. She is not the redhead Russian spy…….or is she?

I liked the spy’s husband who said, ‘I knew something was wrong when she wouldn’t introduce me to her new Russian friends. I just assumed it was ‘cos I was boring.’ Actually he didn’t say that last sentence.  He just struck me as the kinda person who would sit up to three o’clock in the morning on his birth date and say, ‘Well that’s me a year older now.’  How stupid is that as a concept, dear listener?

(Note to self. This is the last time you drink coffee at four in the morning whilst Jack White is on TV having read Charlie Brooker earlier in the day. It’s beginning to show.)

And can I also say a big thanks to those lovely people with amazing imaginations at the V & A Museum in Londonshire who are currently running a massive exhibition on sheds. Yes. They are.

And finally, a big thanks to all the ppl who genuinely said nice things about me (Apart from the rainforestriverman and that was sneakily nasty. You must never forget what I know about you……). I’m often asked (eh?….oh, poetic licence) ‘so do you prefer being well liked and poverty-stricken to being hated and rich?’…….I mean has anyone ever followed a bear into the woods? 

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, so defo not a Tory gayboy…….No. No reason………….But am I immortal? Only time will tell.*

* If Fry said that on QI, how witty would that be?

So, let’s go back to this old-fashioned notion of arithmetical age and let me tell the true stories of two men I did not meet this week but was told about.

One is fifty and has bad prostate cancer. It had spread. Bad, but got treatment. He went back for a catscan (CTscan) Ooooops, there’s still some spillage; the cancer is still there, but they’ve got a lot fewer options, now. The room went very quiet after he told that story. He’s fifty.

The other is a seventy year old man. Went to see his consultant in Stobhill and took his family with him to hear his results (Son Brian and his step dad came with me………..) Dr Russell says to this man, ‘Well, this is a first for me.’

‘What do you mean?’ says man.

‘Well’, says Dr Russell, ‘I’ve never had a seventy year old man come visit me with his four year old son before. The results are good, by the way.’

Age by numbers. What an old fashioned concept. Now do you understand?