Magic Mirror won’t you tell me please Do I see myself in anyone I meet? Magic Mirror if we only could Try to see ourselves as others would

Written and performed by the amazing Leon Russell, who was possibly the first Mississippi Delta rock star that I discovered – I was at Peterhead Academy at the time – who nobody else had ever heard of. One day, when I grow up, I want hair like his.

Because, dear listener, one day I will grow up. I fully intend to get a nine to five job with pension and PAYE tax and the train into town and, and………sorry, I must apologise. I got my medication mixed up last night. The repeat prescription stuff I get? This time it was all new colours and new shapes and last night’s sleep (?) is now explained when I look at the boxes lying on the shelf in the bathroom. Serioulsy. 😦

All that, and a large root beer. Ah, the memories….if only I could actually remember them. 

Actually my sobriety was questioned by a friend this week who received, by e-mail, about five copies of one sentence, because it said, it couldn’t delete a graphic thing I’d already sent but the devious little electronic mail man was already sending it. So, there is no unsend button, so I did the Oooops thing and, jeez,………and that’s me ‘sober and solvent free’. Just imagine, What If………

But (relative) poverty has its own freedoms and surprises.

As many of you know I am one of those working people to whom the Government gives money in the form of Working Tax Credits and very grateful I am for them. I would, however, like to pay public tribute to my son’s mum (to whom I was married last century but not this) who is also my accountant. A tax rebate of just under £100 arrived this week. Which considering I don’t pay tax is pretty damn good.

Her suggestion of how to spend it – a day out in Marks and Spencer’s Food Hall – was a good one but I have found a frozen turkey giblet I can make soup from.

Instead, without a grant from the Arts Council or whatever they’re calling themselves this week, I intend to take my touring company, me and my good looking female assistant, through to Edinburgh to perform, in Prince’s Street the drama, This Is What A Tram Is Really Like. She will stand there, dressed as a clippie, uttering the immortal lines, ‘C’mon, Geraff’ and my own Bud Neill* fave, whilst pushing folk aff;  ‘Y’deef? I said the caur’s flipping filup.’ (Say it out loud for full effect)

I meantime will be passing my old Corpie bunnet around, asking Japanese tourists for redundant half crowns and florists. Sorry florins. It might just work.

*If you don’t know who Bud Neill is, go to The Halt Bar in Woodlands Road and look at the statue of Lobby Dosser and his two legged horse Effie just across the road. It explains everything.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, W. No. No connection. 😀

Actually, on the subject of good looking women, and isn’t Naomi Campbell sweet, some sympathy please for the Vampire Slayer who’s been having well publicised aural problems 😉

As she put it; ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on my ear’ which I think is a lovely line, but VS, that club name I gave you? Imagine the L and the I close together to make a U  Now do you understand it?

Yes, last week’s conversations were about clubs I knew like Volcano and Clatty Pat’s and the original Victoria’s. It happens every time we go to Kirkcaldy (what 4 – 0 defeat?). You end up talking about Jackie O’s.

All except Northern Soul Dave, who was last seen driving in an open top into a Kirkcaldy housing scheme with a good looking (male) passenger. And if you’re ever looking for really nice bespoke curtains, can I recommend Flounce in Glasgow’s Great Western Road?

But it’s been a week that has seen the death of Jimmy Reid. The nearest I came to being a TV presenter was as a researcher on a BBC Scotland programme called Angles, a real cheapo production in which I stood to camera, on my mark, with clipboard in hand, introducing the guests ‘cos no-one knew who they were. Except for one guest.


I’d gone to see him in his flat in Clydebank a few weeks previously to discuss his contribution. I hardly asked a question or spoke. I was mesmerised by his analysis of West of Scotland Labour politics and life in general. It was like having the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists in to decorate your house. 

Like many whose politics are maybe not quite so revolutionary as they were when they were young(er) (cough, squirm and red-face) he may have mellowed with old age and the odd malt but my own view of things owes much to him. And Jimmy Airlie. And the gateman Alex Stewart who was really the first to defy the bosses. He actually closed the gate.

Do y’know my first ever autograph was that of George Middleton? Naw. Don’t even bother with Wikipedia. He’s not there, but listen for him and James Jack and Bill Speirs speaking out for you and your jobs the next time you drive by Linwood. Or Bathgate. Or Lochaber. Or the ‘Craig. Or the call centre where you work. Or the nursery where you send your kids. Or the Old Folks’ Home. And the Tory Vince Cable was once a Labour Councillor for the Wyndford. 

Well that was cheery, jt. Aye, I’m not sure I’ve done that before. Maybe something, somewhere this week rattled my cage. Made me think about other peoples’ lives. Let’s move on. But slowly.

So, and finally, tbh, I have actually left myself speechless. Like I was the other night when I failed to explain, adequately, by txt, why I was unhappy at Thistle actually winning 2 – 1. Some things are just sooooooooooo difficult to explain. Under a streetlamp. But without trembling knees.

cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge altho’ finding it hard to justify down the ASDA 

Normal service will be resumed next week when jt and the lovely Debbie McGee explain why their visas to visit the Capital were rejected. Out of hand. By Capitalist lackies. In the Capital.



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