It was the sort of silence shared by two people who are comfortable enough not to force a conversation ahead of its logical progression (Wolf of Wall Street)

And so, dear listener, are you one of the hundreds of thousands who signed a petition calling for the re-instatement of Jeremy Clarkson without knowing the facts? There seems little doubt that there was a fracas over the lack of red meat at the end of a day’s ‘filming’ but the fact that it was eventually settled by the manager of the hotel cooking steak for the three presenters and not for the rest of the crew sums up, for me, the arrogance of the presenters.

I don’t like them and I don’t like the show. But, unfortunately for many, the right to free speech includes the right to cause offence and to be offended; otherwise both Frankie Boyle and Jim Davidson would be in prison. 😀

And another presenter with an ego made the news this week (and please move on to the next paragraph if you hate a certain swear word altho’ as usual I will employ a cunningly inserted Asterix). John Inverdale is a man with such a big ego it was once said that he travelled the world so the world could see him.

Apparently (Sorry. I meant the paragraph after this) he talked about something being rose-c*nted rather than rose-t*nted. It is not a verbal aberration I can understand. It is not a malapropism (e.g. involving Jeremy *unt) nor is it even linked to roses. I may yet use it.

You can look again.

I once worked for a presenter who whipped me within an inch of my life cos his claret wasn’t at room temperature. I enjoyed it so much he never did it again.

Moving swiftly on, now that I’ve got all that out of my system.

Lisbon. Three days, two nights. In the ‘young and vibrant sector’ of the city. And I’ve printed out a Guardian article on ‘Lisbon’s new nightclubbing scene.’ Anything else I need to think about? 🙂

And I think when I return I will start fishing in different waters. Two replies this year and one of them was to block me. 😦

And to those who have sleepless nights worrying about whether the fridge light does go off when the door is shut……does it effing matter? If you aren’t going to open the door to look for something in the refrigerator, then why do you care whether the light works or not? Or are you the kind of boss who tries to catch the fridge light out when it’s off? If you know what I mean.

And my car went in for a service this week. Well, not on its own obviously. I drove it there. (‘I went to the doctor this morning with my knee.’ ‘Oh, really? I normally detach mine and send it through the post’) And it badly needed a good servicing. (Skippy, it goes without saying, removed the next sentence on the grounds I sounded pathetic).

So it got one. And I paid. And I’m not sure why the conversation went down the road it did but we were talking about our respective jobs and my pay-off line was ‘I’d rather work with drunken Somalis than sell cars.’ The entire showroom laughed.

And finally, in the week when the Scottish party leaders sought credibility in a student hustings by confessing to the odd spliff in their student days, can I just say that I did no drugs – other than alcohol – at university. Anything and everything I may or may not have tried or taken, smoked or snorted, happened from my mid-thirties onwards, but that dear listener is a tale for another day……..and I always returned to alcohol.

Cya, still wearing that badge and defo going for it. In Lisbon. 🙂

Johnt850, I’ll get there. I might be very difficult at times but my heart’s in the right place.

As many of you know I was brought up in a town called Peterhead, part of the North East corner of Scotland that was thrown to the wolves that were the energy companies in the oil and gas heydays (sp) of forty years ago. A few days ago I saw a copy of a brochure about Peterhead harbours where I worked student holidays and immediately after graduation from my first degree.

There is a myth perpetuated by the rainforestriverman that I worked in the Harbourmaster’s Office and pimped for some of the local women who worked as prostitutes. I never worked in the Harbourmaster’s Office. It was the Collector of Shore Dues’ Office. And there was a drink in it for me.

In a small town like Peterhead, everyone knew your business. I once went with a girlfriend to the local GP’s to collect a prescription and my mother knew about it before I even got home. She was wondering what we were doing. And getting.

But the harbours were different. My father was well known but he had no idea of the netherworld that existed, particularly after the oil came to town. It was the first opportunity to create a life away from home even when still living there.

Maybe I should talk about it on another occasion, but one memory comes back. At the age of 20/21 I was in charge of a supply boat base at night if there was nothing scheduled to happen. I ran a tight base but one night a Russian sailor came to my eyrie and asked to phone home (Moscow). Technically I shouldn’t have allowed him and there were problems in making the connection, but he had an answer to the waiting time. A bottle of vodka.

Well the night passed fairly quickly. (Where did that oil rig come from? It wasn’t there when I started shift) and I rolled home about 8 o’clock – shift finished……and as I entered the family home, I uttered those words which every young person says when they go home; ‘I’m just going to bed. I’m tired.’…at 8 in the morning!…….Was there a lesson to be learned even then?

This is/these are the Kings of Leon.

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