They call it, oh, A nation fit for heroes The evidence is all overdue This zombie land for zeros From cradle to the grave, and beyond

I was going to start this blog by saying how Glasgow became a police state this week. On Tuesday the gorgeous W and I were proceeding east along University Avenue here in Glasgow when we became aware of an incident involving sixty-four police people, eighteen police vehicles, a canine unit, tactical support and, I am reliably informed, more support teams down Kelvin Way in reserve.

They were evicting some students from an almost derelict building which they had been occupying in protest over education cuts affecting everyone who believes in the ancient Scottish right of free education at all levels including university.

Apparently everything was fine according to the policeman in charge but one officer felt frightened and pressed his/her panic alarm and there just happened to be all these police in the Byres Road area…..oh, and the helicopter…..and the unmarked cars… least two.

Still it was a good rehearsal for sledgehammering ‘battling granny’ Margaret Jaconelli out of her Dalmarnock home on Thursday. Her lawyer was told at 5.30 that morning that the dawn raid had started. I was in communication with him by seven o’clock, by which time workers backed by high visibility police had smashed their way through ‘the flat’s defences’………all this happening after the Scottish Parliament stood down to stand in Holyrood elections.

The Commonwealth Games aren’t until 2014.  Before then they’ll be coming after the communists; the trade unionists; the Jews; and then you. (Martin Niemoller, date uncertain). The organisation of those Games are, it has been reported, a shambles but security’s looking good.

I was going to say Glasgow became a police state this week but it couldn’t happen, could it? So I won’t.

The opening track is from The Damned. You forget that Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett were once at the cutting edge of political broadcast satire, don’t you? Those two sentences make a strange juxtaposition, don’t they?

I got my new car, this week.

It’s a 1.2, 100 brake horsepower turbo Renault Clio, which apparently makes me a bit of a boy racer. The turbo bit means nothing to me altho’ I’m told by Northern Soul Dave that after a long motorway journey, say, I should let the engine idle for a while before turning it off. I did that once with the Megane after a trip to Bellshill (YMCA). Oh, hang on, the engine idled after I’d turned it off that day….not one of my favest days that day.

It has two sunrooves (why?) and the mirror on the driver’s visor has a sliding thing so you don’t see yourself in the mirror but why wouldn’t I want to see myself? The stereo is thumping and bumping (and whilst I remember can I apologise to wee Harry’s mum, Gill. When I lent him my MP3 player whilst we talked Hetherington Club stuff I didn’t realise the next track up was The Wu-Tung Clan. Hey, it increased his vocabulary even if that does mean he gets flung out of school.)

And on the subject of wee boys, can I just say to e, after a Friday afternoon spent in the Botanic Gardens before returning to an evening of dissertation editing (and me wi’ a sair whiplash tae) that I am only too happy to borrow wee AJ for an afternoon. What a brilliant way to meet women including four young Japanese women tourists.

And on the subject of small men, Ronnie Corbett’s autobiography is a fascinating read btw; and it contains the script for that Two Ronnies Sketch I ran a few weeks ago. It looks nothing on paper but it worked so well on TV – one of the few that did.

And on the subject of wee men, can I also say thanks to W for a couple of smashing pressies and, honest, the shortest distance from Hillhead Subway Station to Lilybank Gardens is via Dumbarton Road. (No. No reason) 😀 

Both pressies were bookishly books and one related to the fact that it is now exactly fifty years since American nuclear subs arrived on the Clyde and we were only four minutes away from being blown to pieces. You’d think a freelance journo and his friends and colleagues would put forward an idea for a documentary, wouldn’t you?

Well, we did several months ago and it got knocked back by BBC Scotland, kinda blown out of the water, you might say. Ho and hum. But what do commissioning editors know anyway? Sweet FA. After all that effort to save Six Music as well.

And finally, Missie K, don’t worry. I didn’t burn the tea. And your drivetime show on Mondays on Bolt fm continues to get better and better.

Cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? Yes, but because someone said they were running late and then said they were on a train an hour early, I wore the wrong jacket……

Johnt850, signed autograph, anyone?

Oh, and does anyone know where I can buy mints with a hint of chilli in them other than a shop in Balloch?

And on the subject of wee blue man cancer badges, I do hope you all went into Marks and Spencer’s and bought one for Prostate Cancer Awareness Month or keyring or special boxer shorts. I don’t wear boxers but I do worry about getting the message across about prostate cancer.  

I say once again that it is not a disease restricted to old or retired men; my alter ego was in his early fifties, but looks so hellishly good looking and young and just soooooooo does not do stereotypes. I got so pissed off at a recent info stand , just ‘cos so many ‘older’ men said that ‘I’m fine. Thank you’ that I took out my aggression by blowing up Prostate Cancer Charity balloons and hiding them all over a certain garden centre. Just past the Angel of the A80. Heading North.

Y’see, if I want to unstress, then I hold out the palms of my hands like so and slowly turn them over and lower them down to my side but it doesn’t always help.

Sometimes this does. it’s the Vaselines. I’m flexible. Why not use me. And the Clio. The dressing up looks fun. Doesn’t it? But you can always dress down.


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