with a degree in some vagueology, the fresh air industry was calling, and with an inability to blush and an enthusiasm for crawling, twig boy chose the media, he loved its lack of grace and overcropping (the nightingales)

So where to start this week? With one of those e-mails where you hit Send rather than Save? No. Least said, the least said. Except to say Sorry but I worry. Or the fact that I felt a wee bit like a milk monitor at the Paisley School during the week? (Actually some memories came dribbling back to me recently. One of them quite frightening). Or a possible future piece of father-son bonding which terrifies me? 😦

No. Let’s start with Billy Connolly – a man whom I have met a couple of times. I think the longest conversation was, ‘F**king wet, innit?’ to which I replied, ‘F**king right, it is.’ It’s this thing about age. He agrees with me and Paul Weller, who I’ve never met, that we should not be defined by age, cos it is just a number. Some of his tips? Stay Into Pop Music. Don’t Wear That Beige Shirt. Don’t Get The Old Guy Haircut.    

(And my thanks to Nessa for saying at the school kinda reunion, ‘I see you still flick your hair, jt’)

And, yes I did speak to the assembled Post Grads….I just knew I would…but not the walking ad I suggested it might be to some people, but about something else. But, hey, they now know me…….Do you know it’s exactly a year since snash, crackle, white noise, fzzzz, shooky shooky, brrrr, whirr, whirr but hey, you never know. 🙂

shooky shooky ?

And I did manage to catch Ross Kemp’s Extreme World where he visited Glasgow. Now much of the pre-prog publicity was about the guy who tore his toes off cos he’d frost-bite BUT Kemp took three recovering/recovered/former addicts to one of the toughest places in Glasgow – The Butney! It’s just past the ASDA and over the Maryhill Road and until recently was baaaaad, and they said it still is. But it’s not that long since me and Study Buddie Fi and Sasha the Wonder Dog walked along there, and another time,  me and e and AJ as well. Nae sweat tae us. Come on Kempie, come and have a go if you think you’re hard enuff! 😛

It’s down by the canal and, reportedly, got its name cos that was the starting-off point for convicts going to Australia …… to Botany Bay.

And it was here, dear listener, that a memory came back. Of a man called Davie. Who claimed he lived in a gypsy encampment near Balloch near Loch Lomond. And he drank in the Maryhill Tavern. He’d an eye that was semi-closed. And he knew people. Baaaad people. But liked the BBC………Other memories that came back this week were in dreams and were more childlike. But Davie was baaaad. His contacts were not on LinkedIn. He knew people.

And so I missed the meteor shower (I was at a party) but the wee wummin who served me my scrambled eggs on Satyrday morning lives on the sixth floor of the Acre Road flats and she saw it and did an amazing one woman show in the ASDA café with all the hand actions you naturally associate with a meteor shower and I felt as if I had been there it was so graphic.

But it was a good party but I do miss alcohol but I know I can’t have it but when you see people’s inhibitions being loosened, you can’t help but wish you could join them. Sorry. I think I’m making it sound more hedonistic and bacchanalian than it actually was.

Two words that were used extensively in a book lent to me by the man they call Bean called Out of It and it’s the kinda sociological history of drink’n’drugs that makes you wish the book was not so much scratch’n’sniff but scratch’n’snort but of course, I cannot openly advocate the taking of currently illegal drugs but I can’t help but be envious of the likes of the Bimin-Kuskusmin tribe of Papua New Guinea who do a kinda reverse Twelve Steps in which they progress onto more potent substances as they try to achieve the status of senior elder. It seems to involve them climbing up a mountain, doing without sleep and living off a certain type of mushroom.

My favourite Step is Six which involves a lot of root ginger, a lot of fasting and no water. In addition, the ordeal is augmented by ‘the application of a stinging-nettle frottage to their inner thighs.’ At which point the author adds, helpfully, ‘Initiation is not meant to be easy.’

Anyway, I’ve now met one of the bridesmaids, and we’ve discussed an option for the Wedding which involves ice-cream and basketball, and I’ve now met the best man twice and he, Son Brian and me, are playing badminton later this week. It is years since….. and it was knackering then but as long as I take plenty of root ginger and stinging-nettles with me, I should be fine. And, slowly beginning to look forward to the Event. I’m now touching appropriate bases.

And finally, to those who know what I’m talking about with regard to a site for sore eyes, maybe it’s not the age factor, but the pretty pix where they’re holding up a wine glass, saying they’re ‘social drinkers’…… 🙂

Cya, (keep)ing it fun and still wearing that badge? We asked one hundred people and they said, ‘too right, he freakin’ is.’

Johnt850, not so much a milk monitor, more a cream boy.

So the one serious thing I want to say below the line this week is that I was talking, at the party, to two doctors about some of my own recent experience (they wanted to know why I was doing drink’n’drugs in Paisley) and I had another memory flashback.

My own recovery from cold turkey and cancer took a lot longer than sometimes I think it did. Sometimes I need reminding of that.

Here’s Mumford and Sons


Here’s this week’s Stolen Gag of the Month;

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?


Shit! Stop the funeral!

And here’s a Paisley band called Close Lobsters with a track that sums me up sometimes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOovHxNKpt4&feature=related 😦


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