Saw a dragon shake cathedral walls while a steeple bell rang out in anguish calls And I turned my eyes to see a bird fly overhead and I dreamt its wings of freedom could be mine instead…..

So I started the week in the classroom with a confession. No. Not that one; nor that one; certainly not that one; and only the Vampire Slayer knows that one – not even Skippy knows about that. No. It’s the fact that I am now a total technophobe these days.

I’ve not always been like this. Once upon a time I did lots of things for myself (this is an innuendo free blog – okay?) but when I took on board this semi, other things seemed to get in the way. It started harmlessly enough with Kenny the Shed Pimp (and I’m still waiting for those estimates, big man) and somehow it spread.

I admitted to several things in class. For example, my BBC connection on Cable TV is not good…except when I stand on the stairs with the remote control in my hand and then it’s perfect. All I have to do is switch the box off at the socket (and I’ve done that before) and it’ll be fine. But if it’s not, then I’ll have to fone 150. And my record with them is not good. 😦

On one occasion I was reporting a problem and I got really angry cos they kept cutting me off. It was only later I realised I had a dodgy battery on my phone and I actually needed a new phone. 😦

The light fitting problem is now well documented and then there’s the printer. I hate changing the ink on it. It doesn’t like it. It needs to be persuaded. It has to want to change. And it gets a wee pouted lip daring me….I’ve tried motivational interviewing and I’ve tried Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. To be honest, and to my shame, I’ve even threatened it…’if you don’t do as I tell you, then you’re going to bed without any supper’….that kinda thing…….and then obviously, as soon as I leave the room, it moves into position……’I’m ready to take your cartridge now big boy’…that kinda thing.

And it manifests itself in different ways.

On Wednesday I planned to spend some time in the school library but I was in Govan for a meeting with the Prostate Cancer Charity (and can I say a massif thanks to all those doing something for Movember). I did the sensible thing. I printed off AA directions as to how to get there. From Govan.  Straight onto Paisley Road West. So how the hell, Glaswegians, did I find myself south of Bellahouston Park? Once I was onto Mosspark Boulevard (and that brought back memories, rainforestriverman) I was fine. Particularly as the rest of the directions seemed to involve bars of Paisley e.g. turn right at the Afton Bar onto Causeyside Street……..cooking with gas I was (except my fan heater’s dead in my oven)

Anyway, I get to the school where I’m due to meet my study buddy, Fi. Drove into the multi-storey, collecting my ticket from the machine on the way in, clutching it in my mouth as I drove up to the top floor in search of a parking space. I find one out in the open air – no problem to find on the way out.

But we have another problem. The ticket has cut my lip. It has caused a paper cut – the most dangerous cut known to man. I panic. If I do the studently huggy thing that studentlies do, it’ll look as if I’ve taken a chainsaw to Fi. Go to toilet; do not pass go. See just how bad it is. So I do and whilst I’m there I decide to use the urinal for its intended purpose and (some listeners may wish to look away at this point) I feel the need to spit. It’s a male thing. I think.

(The only serious time I have ever spent in ladies’ toilets I have been in drag and I didn’t see anyone spit)   

Anyway I spat…..a horrible blood spattered spit all over the urinal. And the man (a workie) standing next to me, happened to glance over a second later, saw the blood spattered mess and said, ‘I’d get that seen to if I were you, mate’, zipped up and walked away.

Oh, and I couldn’t find my car when I returned to it. I didn’t know that that multi-storey had so many levels open to the sky and, yes, when I got to the bottom, I had to stop the car, pull on the handbrake, get out of the car to put the ticket in and then obviously I stalled it on the way out……..but thanks to my study buddy, there are two intros now written……:D

Other points of note this week – I’d like to thank almost two year old, AJ for his help in chatting up that blonde in Tesco’s Maryhill and well done to friend and colleague and time traveller, W, for academically being in two places at once last week and well done for both (‘rug users’, eh?)

And finally, can I say thanks to the young woman in Glasgow Central Station who gave me the wee fix of honey and lemon Beecham’s the other morning in a cardboard cup. I felt the burn, James Ellroy, but I didn’t go back for more.

Cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? Yes, and it’s been joined by two more for Movember. There’s still time.

Johnt850 – I used to be self-deprecating but I gave it up cos I was rubbish at it.

And this week’s serious message below the line is slightly different. Under the Freedom of Information Act it’s been established that investigating the unsolved killing of Emma Caldwell has cost almost £4 million. Emma was killed at the age of 27. She became addicted to heroin following the death of her sister from cancer and began to work as a prostitute to feed her habit.

Four Turkish men appeared in court in connection with her death but the case against them collapsed after ten months. I have a very good friend who looks at miscarriages of justice in a very specialised field and I understand the need for evidence that matters and is correct and proper.

But the money is well spent, if one day………No. No reason

I have no real idea what this vid is. It is not what I was looking for. I was trying to find something musically techno but failed. Sometimes keyword searching is soooo hard. 😉

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