Love struts around on stilts of balsa wood. Love cuts. Love gives you a sweeping bow then ploughs a furrow deep above your eyebrow. Love cuts. Love curtseys. Then nuts you where it really hurtseys. Love cuts (John Hegley)

And indeed poet,John Hegley, was at the PT game the other night. He’s a mate of #soulboydaviebee – Glasgow’s fourth oldest dee-jay currently gigging at Ad-Lib in the Merchant City on Saturday nights. John is not ‘doing’ the Fringe this year but was taking his poetic show to Belladrum and Cromarty. The previous times John had been to a PT match were at Stenhousemuir and Cowdenbeath – at the latter I seem to remember spending half-time at that game doing ‘colouring-in’ with the offspring of a rich woman who had made a fortune out of gourmet soups in the West End. Or was I on acid?

Anyway, John is a very gentle man. He is not used to standing in the manic-ness that is the Shed at PT games – behind the goal, at the back and in great danger as the opposition practise their kicking skills before the game starts. Most of the game is spent chanting and fans of St Mirren – a random example – you will be amazed at the choreography of Maryhill is Wonderful. John spent the second half ‘on the fringes’, by which I think he meant ‘quietly at the side’. 🙂

But one set of chants may have puzzled him. One of the Dundee United players, David Goodwillie, has had several convictions for assault but a rape charge against him a couple of years ago was dropped because of ‘insufficient evidence in law’ for the case to proceed. Therefore, I have no reason to believe the chant of ‘No means No’ was directed against him or the scum who organised a recent pub quiz in the Radio Bar in Ashton Lane who thought a question about rape was funny.

‘No means No’.

We are Partick Thistle – we occupy the moral highground.

Great game tho’. It’s going to be a long season. But in Stephen O’Donnell and Aaron Taylor-Sinclair and Aaron Muirhead and Conrad Balatoni and Gabriel Rojo de la Vega Piccolo we have the most imaginatively named defence in the SPFL….. 😀

Wonder how long that cooked rice and prawns has been in the fridge behind the eggs and juice? Wonder what it tastes like? Here’s some music while I find out…….and read nothing into this week’s choice of music…I am currently available. Again. 😦 I still think she’s a lovely lady tho’…..I’ll maybe wait a few weeks b4 I advertise my availablity. 😉

And very nice it was.

So I’m writing this whilst taking a break from revising, again, my domination degree. It all seems so different in the hallowed halls of academia that are UWS (Paisley branch) where every corridor breathes academic achievement and men and women who have gone on to achieve so much. My tutor, clad in cape and gown and mortar board, makes a number of suggestions whilst quaffing a glass of sherry. (I decline, having had an awkward experience with a male history tutor many years ago who I think ‘fancied’ me. Or was I on acid?)

And then I come home to my semi in Summerston where the CDs remain in alphabetic order and parking has become a nightmare and the ASDA is out of quorn bacon. I try to recreate the ambience and fail miserably. But that will not happen with the big essay,…….will it, Skippy? Skippy? Skippy? But we can still be friends?

Hang on. The postman has just been. I’ve been cited as a witness following an ‘incident’ at one of the projects where I work (paid) as a relief housing support worker. That’s the one where the police took forty minutes to respond to my 999 call…….. and that’s the last time I’ll mention that. The citation that is. And anything to do with the incident.

Okay. I think we need This Weeks’ Innuendo of the Month Award.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you what Boris Johnson described as ‘a ginormous blue Hahn Cock’. (It’s an interesting Google). It is a big blue cock* made of fibre glass and painted ultramarine blue. Regular listeners may remember me drawing attention a few weeks ago to an ad for apples, that never made it to broadcast, that said that ‘English Cox were bigger than French ones’. Not now. This French cock is 15 foot high and has its own plinth in Trafalgar Square. I wonder if listeners have ever seen a bigger cock. (Yes. It’s tasteless innuendo but it’s harmless)

*I believe the whole word is cockerel.

Older listeners may remember a gifted but flawed comic actor called Tony Hancock. No. No relation.

And finally, last week I mentioned the two people who strolled out in the grounds of Buck Pal last week to tell the world that George the son of Wills and Katie (in the registration documents she gives her occupation as ‘Princess of the United Kingdom) had been born. I mentioned the Sloane milking it for all it was worth. (It’s a tasteless fantasy).

The other was a footman called Badar Azim, a graduate in Hospitality Management from Edinburgh’s Napier University, whose visa has not been renewed. Maybe his boss could have a word with someone in authority; if not, then he just becomes another paragraph in Wikipedia. Or a pub quiz question.

Cya, keep(ing) it fun and still wearing that badge? I seek comfort from it from time to time. 😦

Johnt850, and often, when in doubt as to what to do in a situation, I often ask what would uni-Sharon do……It provides interesting results.

And it was nice seeing New Horizon Community Rehab in Easterhouse on TV the other night. This was where I did my school work experience. It was an item on the administration of Naloxone to someone who has overdosed on opiates such as heroin. It’s basically jagging them with a prepared syringe. I did my Naloxone training there and carry the gear in my car. And for anyone else who’s done the training – as long as it’s an overdosed orange we’ll be fine.

The original choice of video for this piece of music was a touch sexually explicit and in the light of what I wrote I above, I decided against using it. This is another version but it’s the choon, in’t it?


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