And there’s nothing wrong with me. This is how I’m supposed to be. In a land of make believe that don’t believe in me.

Every so often there is a reflective blog and this is about to be one. Regular listeners will have guessed that by the choice of Green Day that something like this was about to happen but don’t worry – Boulevard of Broken Dreams it ain’t. No. I’ve come to the end of six months at uny and eleven weeks at a placement in Easterhouse and I wish I could tell you some of the stories from there. But I won’t in public. Maybe over a cup of coffee and some invites are out there. 🙂

I’ve still a lot of writing to do but I’d mixed emotions last week. And still have. About many things. But it was weird. Many, many years ago I left the BBC. For the first of many times. And I was sad. But that particular Friday night I had my son come to stay with me. What’s it called? Access? Or is it contact? Whatever. For twenty-four hours you are, if you don’t hand the child back at four in the morning, a single parent. And then you hand him back to his mum at four the next afternoon. 😦

And then you go to the pub. Even when I was a practising alkie I was good at it. Showed promise. But regular listeners know that part of the story. It has moved on. Two Saturdays ago my son and, it seemed like, seventeen million others were admitted to the Institute of Chartered Accountants. Five of us (call me Gooseberry t850) went for a meal afterwards and Son Brian and step dad both knew where the restaurant was. And walked off in different directions. I smiled. And then cried in Queen Street Station when we got back to Glasgow. Some things I never thought I’d see.

And then Saturday just past he came to my house to sort out my printer problem, uninstall stuff from the laptop, synch my blackberry to the laptop and do something with the camera. The initial payment? Scrambled egg rolls and they should have been good. Six bloody eggs and a whole lot of butter. They were. But I paid the full price that afternoon. The Scout 5k around Mugdock. (Yes, Doctor W….that one!) No I wasn’t running. I ended up in charge of registrations! And fell out with a man from the 204th cos nobody had told me that ‘to pay’ on their piece of paper meant that someone else had collected their money and had still ‘to pay’it. But I was sooooo glad just to be part of his life after all I’d put him through…….

Not much to say after that except……..

Study Buddie Fi (every week a voyage of discovery) made it to a local cattle show with Jay the boy wonder (she is an expert on all types of sheep) and we all went to a swing park up the road but, I’m sorry to say that we’ve done ASDA in Linwood….can’t tick that one off again; to the Good Doctor W… that wasn’t the episode of Lip Service we feature in. Maybe this week; to e and AJ, nice catching up; and to the Vampire Slayer and Missie K…just say when.

And finally, a few weeks ago me and Study Buddie Fi were in the ASDA Summerston and she was looking for the Beauty Counter. ‘Where is the Beauty Counter?’ she asked. ‘In Bearsden,’ she was told….aaaaah see living in one of Glasgow’s roughest areas (according to recent Daily Records)

Cya, keep(ing)it fun and still wearing that badge? Yes and it almost got me thrown out of the Edinburgh Conference Centre but some of the scouts’ mums liked it……..and I can hear Sharon shouting, ‘Thin Ice!’

Johnt850, who can do humility now and again.

So nothing serious below the line except a friend of mine moved to a new house and found a plant growing in his garden that he’d never seen before.  He looked at the books and decided it was either a strange form of parsley or cannabis. So he called in a horticulturalist who wasn’t sure either. So he suggested that he cut off some of it, dry it and roll it up in a Rizla and smoke it. And , if after that he was still worried, then it was definitely parsley.

This is Son Brian’s favourite band (kinda…altho I think it’s really KT’s)…Skerryvore that is. The track’s called Call of the Sea/Wit’s End….mmmm….. food for thought there.


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