Give me one more minute of danger some bad medicine I’ll waste it on an hour in hell tonite to get to heaven on adrenaline feel the rush

Yes it is Alabama 3 but regular listeners need not worry. I’m having no crises of angst or addiction. The last major one was just over a year ago when the blogmeister was but a boy and enjoyed rock’n’roll birthdays. Now it’s slippers and a pipe for him. And then there was that wee problem involving the YMCA in Bellshill in September last year but that was totally different from the problem in the Gents toilet in Falkirk all those years ago. And anyway, it all seems kinda settled.

Naw. It’s been one of those weeks when being a recovered (but not recovering) alcoholic has been a real pain. I would have liked some alcohol this week. Sometimes the virgin, Mary, is not enough; the orange juice in the Arches is overwhelming; and the bottle of flavoured water whilst being my entry to social circles just doesn’t cut the mustard (No I have no idea what that means either)

It’s this typewriter (what’s that Skippy?). It’s this computer. I have been stuck at it, profitably, for about twelve hours a day for the last few weeks but it doesn’t feel right. I have no crutch (sp?). I was talking to a former student of mine – Oonagh – who doesn’t get mentioned often but well done and keep me posted late May – and I think that is lacking from modern day journalism. I need a glass of whisky sitting beside me to help me concentrate. (Obvioulsy, I don’t but I would like one). I don’t need to drink it.

I worked for many years with a smashing broadcaster called Colin Bell who would come in in the morning, put a slice of paper in the typewriter (manual), type out the words ‘Hello I’m Colin Bell…..’ take a slug from his coffee cup which some wench (often me) had placed beside him and light his first cigarette of the day.

Ha! Whaur’s your journalism schools now? The earliest drink I ever had with Colin was at ten o’clock in the morning at a Tory Party conference in Perth after another death-defying programme. The problem is, I’m not too sure when we finished the night before. That was the night when a then well known Herald journalist called a taxi and asked to be taken to Perth’s red light district. He got driven to Dundee.

And the other time I could have done with a drink this week was following the great Spyware debacle of Monday night. When my machine got attacked. Now I wasn’t watching anything dodgy. Debbie does Dallas does me. And don’t tell me how it ends. I’ve never got that far.

In the middle of doing work for people strange things started being offered to me. And I wasn’t in the Wyndford. So I switched off and knew that the next morning I would be outside my IT department, Resolve, in the Dalsetter Business Park, Drumchapel. But this is half past nine. In the evening. And I am frazzled. I could have murdered a large fifty year old Highland Park or an Asda own label. But I couldn’t, could I? One drink is too many, twelve is way too few.

So I did what I did when I was very young and wanted the next morning to come sooner. I just went to bed. And slept. And woke up at 5.30 and sent mails to very patient people. This week’s Francis Gay Award for Patience goes to the gorgeous W and the rainforestriverman. And a big thanks to Simon and David at Resolve for doing what they did. Without commenting on my browser history.

No. No reason for this slightly serious note this week but I was explaining to someone that I don’t do stereotypes. I have not decided to be specifically something and one of the reasons I decided to do that was when I returned to the College I was teaching at after I’d cold turkeyed I was met with animosity and antagonism by two members of management; one of whom is still there. The one who isn’t was the one who kept saying I would relapse and alkies couldn’t be trusted; the one who is still there called alkies ‘scum.’

No. I never intend to drink again. I’m sure they never intend to apologise. They may take the view that they will only know that I never relapsed until after my death. Bum deal, that. 😦 Mind you, I’ve got all my hair. I’ll move myself on, shall I? Swiftly.

And finally, I love it when people send me mails and they have certain rude words in them but there’s an asterix replacing one of the letters. Recently I got one that (in context)referred to a good sh*g. I assume the word is shag. Now to me, one shag is very much the same as another but then I never was the world’s greatest ornithologist. Don’t be ashamed of spelling the word if you’re with friends!

Cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? With pride, World, with pride. 😀

Johnt850, who still gazes fondly into Oddbins.

Or maybe I was just a crap teacher. Maybe they didn’t like my general knowledge quiz based on Britain’s Got Talent; or me taking an NQ class to a lifelong learning event designed for staff just before Christmas and the students took all the pens for Chrissie pressies; or me getting journo students lost between the Scottish Parliament and the Dead Earth place in Edinburgh; or my two fave days when two NQ classes doing Public Relations raised hundreds of pounds for charity and increased my sexual awareness.

Yeah. I was a crap teacher. 😀

This badly shot video is the world’s greatest ‘m***********g’ acid house rock  band, Alabama 3 (Parental Guidance, etc) They also do gigs for the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation ( and bear an amazing resemblance to millions of Ronnie Corbetts when seen as my screensaver; him of the Two Ronnies fame and smashing autobiography.

or if you actually want to hear the words


One Response to “Give me one more minute of danger some bad medicine I’ll waste it on an hour in hell tonite to get to heaven on adrenaline feel the rush”

  1. Leg Pain2 Says:

    You can certainly see your expertise within the paintings you write. The arena hopes for even more passionate writers such as you who aren’t afraid to mention how they believe. All the time follow your heart.

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