Monday

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Once again I have my fingers itching to write. And here I am, cold, tired, and brain dead. Last night, as I lay my head down on my bedbug covered pillow I had thousands of words running through my mind. Hundreds of points were raised and many of the problems of the world were sorted, and then I dreamt of being employed in an office with a pretty young boss. I awoke just as she fired me and have spent the day with "You mindless, incompetent lout," running through my heart. That dream was quite realistic I thought. Anyway the dullness removed all the words from last night and nothing is lined up tonight.


I could have written about music but I won't. It appeared to me you see, or it did last night, that we could not live without music. I like something tinkling from Radio 3 in the background when I write or read, sometimes piano jazz is used, but at all times there is some musical sound nearby. Builders and decorators like most tradesmen require Radio 1, or something similar, blasting out the noxious pandemonium they call music and always at a volume capable of drowning our Harrier Jump Jets! Celebrations lead to song, football fans automatically sing when they are winning (although Dumbarton fans have not been singing much this season I am told), worshippers sing, lovers sing to their beloved (unless they get a slap), and toddlers dance to music and attempt to sing along, music is part of the human existence, how could we cope without it?


Neanderthal man, (no I don't mean Hibernian fans), must have made some kind of music. The early form of man, called Adam in the good book, must have found himself singing when the occasion called for it, but what instruments did he use? Some say the Canaanite's in ancient Israel were famed for their music going back centuries. They were said to travel to Egypt and Hittite land in Turkey to use their talents. Singers, dancers, flute players, drummers, and the most awful instrument until the organ - the tambourine - were in use, along with others no doubt. Ancient Greeks had women playing 'Nose Flutes' at there symposiums before they were found playing the pink flutes.


Music reflects our age and our mood. Young folks tend to like loud crashing music because for them the world is young and full of interest and excitement. Today I spent my time listening to the 'Death March,' I wonder why? Cheery music was used during the war to keep the factories working. Some songs were banned because they slowed production and others encouraged as the workers worked faster under their tune. I think it was the 'Yellow rose of Texas' that was banned at one point as at the chorus people tapped out the tune on their machines and so many were damaged war production was seriously it! The BBC were advised to drop it quietly! David famously played his Lyre to King Saul when he was in a downer and this cheered him. Divers require music to aid them while using their satnavs or they end up in Basingstoke instead of Barnsley. Music is always with us and we appreciate this unless it is sound which clashes with our mood.


In the early seventies I worked for slave wages in a Leith Cash & Carry. The boss had decided we needed music and tapes were played, over and over and over again. Whoever it was that done the cheap cover version of Donny Osmond and 'Puppy Love' I do not know, however if they were to have fallen into a pit with ten hungry Rottweillers they will be happy to know some folks in Leith were rejoicing at their accident. Worse however occurred at Christmas. There was only one tape! We had at least two, and later three, tapes of 'music' to play, but only one Christmas one. 'Dashing through the snow' may be fun on a sleigh in some American state however singing about this while slush lies several inches deep outside the door and we have heard the song a thousand times is NOT FUN!


I canny get that song out of my head now.....


Right, I'm off to listen to 'Canned Heat' until my head calms down. I may be back by Thursday. In the meantime ask yourself if you can live without music, I can't.

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Friday

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To exercise the bulk that creaks every time I stand on the broken weighing machine I decided to clean the place this week. I cleaned the woodwork, the doors, the bit behind the loo, the cupboards and on and on,  but the glow soon wore off. While the place is unnaturally clean, what a funny smell health is, I soon got fed up with all this and resorted once again to being a slob. Partly this was my fault, in fact most off it was my fault. You see I made flapjacks. Not the sort you would buy in a shop, certainly not, well not unless you want E-Coli or some such, and the problem is I made two lots and then I ate them. They were quite good, almost tasty, which in itself is quite something for me, but they do put on weight! I have added half a stone this week while I was supposed to be exercising to lose that! 

Ian Duncan Smith wandered around Glasgow some time ago and decided that the people on benefits needed hep to get off drugs and into work. Underneath his Conservative image there is a man who wants to help those at the bottom of society. How does he intend to do this? Well he wishes to limit those on Invalidity Benefit and get them 'Back to work.' he also wishes people in Merthyr Tydfil to 'get on a bus and look for work.' There are various other money saving aids to work available from this man. Now a bus to Cardiff from Merthyr takes one hour and possibly (since Thatchers deregulation of them) costs about £4 a day. Those on benefits, of whatever sort, must rejoice at the thought of £4 to spend on a bus not to find a job! Could it be that this man, like the others amongst the millionaire Cabinet are mentally unbalanced? Or will we see IDS in the House of Commons pantomime dressed as Scrooge?

Sad news tonight that Portsmouth may well be extinct in the next few days! This is sad indeed, not because I am a fan of the club but because the fans are true football fans as they ought to be, that is fans of their local side! These are not people who run after distant clubs for glory hunting reasons, they support their side, and this is good! Of course they are not all the type you would wish your daughter to bring home, clearly, but there again all football clubs have one of those somewhere! 


This club has been handled by several owners and some board members you would not wish to be associated with. Various people with East European connections have been running the club, but to what end? Has Portsmouth been a place to launder Russian money I wonder? I ask because Russians have been involved and Heart of Midlothian fans understand some of the problems they might bring. This of course does not imply anything illegal occurred, but something morally wrong has indeed been occurring and over a good few years at that. Portsmouth reached the English Premier League. Under 'Arry ' Redknapp they won the English Cup and found themselves a glorious Euro night against Juventas! 'Arry had of course 'opped it to Spurs by this time and some wondered if there was more than football involved in his departure. No manager would refuse the offer of the Spurs job but did the man realise he could do no more for Pompey, or was he aware the money had run out? The players were on huge salaries it appears, even for the EPL, and debts soon appeared. After much struggle it looked like the team was settling down to a stable future and the former owner, Sacha Gaydamak has demanded an up front payment for reasons of his own.


This may of course all be negotiating tactics, but the clubs fans are the ones who suffer, not those in the money. All may well be brought under control, and some agreement might well be reached, however the way people use football clubs to their financial gain is a disgrace. Other clubs are also in financial difficulty, Dundee are walking this tightrope just now, and even the Liverpool's of this world have problems. However it is not the directors who suffer when clubs go bust, it is the fan of the club. He is the helpless one in these situations, and no-one appears to care about him!


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Top 50 Jokes?

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That august periodical 'The Daily Mail,' today publishes what is claimed to be the 'Top 50 Jokes!' The researchers 'researched' many online jokes to come up with their choices. Humour is subjective of course and  what suits one will not suit another, as I have often discovered! Women especially fail to 'get the joke' as they listen emotionally, unlike men who just listen. Here are number 50 - 40 on their list, the others can be found at the 'Daily Mail' online page -  It's not just the way you tell 'em:

50 I went to the Doctors the other day, and he said, 'Go to Bournemouth, it's great for flu'. So I went - and I got it. 

49. A seal walks into a club... 

48. Went to the corner shop - bought 4 corners. 

47. So I met this gangster who pulls up the back of people's pants, it was Wedgie Kray. 

46. I'll tell you what I love doing more than anything: trying to pack myself in a small suitcase. I can hardly contain myself.       

45. I tried water polo but my horse drowned.      

44. A three-legged dog walks into a saloon in the Old West. He slides up to the bar and announces: 'I'm looking for the man who shot my paw.'      

43. You see my next-door neighbour worships exhaust pipes, he's a catholic converter.

42. I've got a friend who's fallen in love with two school bags, he's bisatchel.       

41. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly. But when they lit a fire in the craft, it sank, proving once and for all that you can't have your kayak and heat it.

40. 'I said to this train driver "I want to go to Paris". He said "Eurostar?" I said, "I've been on telly but I'm no Dean Martin". '  

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Television Plays

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In the days of two channel television there used to be a thing called 'Armchair Theater' from, I think, ATV TV. This competed with plays shown on the BBC and the other day the type of plays shown came to mind for some reason now forgotten. In between those featuring Judie Dench overemoting,(at least it saved writing scripts) there appeared plays which took us well aware from the run of the mill stuff that now dominates the small screen. Today, as you know, anything that appears on screen is merely a soap opera! Often it is an American version which includes guns, explosions and women throwing themselves at the anti-hero star. (British version differ in that they contain guns, explosions and a woman throwing herself at the anti-hero star.)
However in the sixties this was not the case. One of the first, which appeared around the time we first had our Ferranti Telly, featured a spacecraft hanging over London threatening earth! I can remember the scene in the Cabinet Room as the Prime Minister and his cohorts discussed the situation. As they spoke my folks debated whether this was 'live' or not! I can remember my dad saying "That's not Harold MacMillan!" as if to convince my mum that it was indeed a play. Now you understand why I have no brains! A later play featured two men sitting on a park bench discussing life. As the talk continued it became obvious one of them came from Mars. Such events are not shown today, nor is the one concerning the department store. This featured a young men wandering around a store after closing time and discovering the mannequins that modelled the clothes in the store window. As he looked at them, and those inside the shop, they began to speak to him. By the end of the play he had of course become one of them and was found standing in the window, statuesque like. One other featured Bernard Cribbens, at least my memory tells me so, and this concerned a man who's skin slowly began to turn into steel. This began around his midriff and slowly made its way upwards. His anxious wife and not so anxious doctor stood by the bed, ignoring him, and discussing the situation. In the end he dies. Maybe this had a satiric value that my young mind could not gather, possibly it was just written by a nutter?    


Now tastes change and time passes but it appears to me that television today only wants soaps and simple to understand 'drama.' That is why the quality is so poor. A comment made on the 'Steptoe & Son,' programme claimed that comedy today was poor because it required a laugh every thirty seconds, there being no time to create characters or situations. We live in simpler times, the TV audience cannot cope with much beyond soaps and reality shows. The drama I mentioned from the past may be a bit esoteric, whatever that means, but at least it was something different. I suppose in the fifties and sixties TV had room for experiment, today this is not allowed. There again red tape intervenes. Memory tells me that the radio programme 'I'm sorry I haven't a clue,' was created by Graeme Garden and one other discussed the idea in the BBC canteen, went upstairs to the Radio controller and were given the go-ahead there and then. Now it takes several layers of suits before a programme is offered to the nation. Somewhere along the way creativity and spontaneity have been lost.


There again, maybe it's just me thinking today's telly is garbage of course and past times appear better.


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Think!

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Today I decided to cogitate on my next step. I came to the conclusion that I required encouragement where concentration was concerned so I placed a large sign above the desk to help me concentrate. Just a moment ago I noticed this sign read 'THINJ' in large bold letters!


The futures bright......

On every occasion that I have turned on the TV to watch these games I fail to find any action. All that greets me are several past 'stars,' most of whom I have never heard of, blethering on about the Games. I want to see action, something happening, not burbling as folk try to fill time! When there has been action it has always concentrated on the English teams attempts to win Gold. This was taken to the normal BBC limit as a Scots girl fought for first place, moving into second as she rounds the bend, while the camera ignored her and followed the English lass drifting backwards into fifth! British Broadcasting indeed! Naturally the Scot continued to slip away and in the end she was third and the English first. I suspect more dirty dealing there! 

I looked for action but the most I got was swimming. Now to me swimming is one of the more boring activities, I prefer the discuss, hammer and such like. However swimming dominated for at least a week, which means the English were involved. The problem above all is the limited coverage. With trendy sets you may get a choice of channels, I have only the basic five these days, and what is covered there is very limited for the most part. Sue Barker gets very excited when mentioning the medals won, but rarely do we see other nations winning  theirs. Boasting about 'British,' and I use that term loosely, medals is understandable, but then we realise that Australia and Canada have ten times as many, yet we hardly see them mentioned? I canny wait for 2012 and the billions wasted on the next Olympics!

As my mother came from Cowdenbeath, the heartland of the Fife coalfields, I can understand something of the emotions experienced by relatives of the men trapped for so long deep under Chile! When watching a TV programme set in such a town the sounding of the siren caused my mother to react. The memory of the siren from Pit No. 7, or any other close by, would bring the town almost to a standstill while they awaited news of the cause. Often this was a small fall, trapping only a few men, in some situations it may lead to many deaths. My uncles once got themselves trapped by such a fall. There was a very long shaft that they could escape through by walking round to Pit No. 1, however Will had bad feet and was unable to walk that far. He had to sit tight until men dug their way through to him. A small incident which shows that danger lurked daily down a mine, and also that miners will risk their own lives to save another's! It is an unwritten rule that if something happens you go and help! After all, even if he is your enemy he will come to your aid! That is one reason mining areas produced such close knit feelings. That grand man Mike tells us that on the day Margaret Thatcher celebrated her 85th birthday these miners were brought to the surface. I bet she thought she had closed them all down!

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So Another Day at Work Finishes...

So another day at work finishes, well my second two hour stint this week, and with it my little job comes to an end.  While it was not much to boast about, and I am so slow that snails sometimes passed me by as I went to work, at least it gave me the impression that I was working. Now I am back to being a dole scrounger and a lazy workshy parasite (@ 'Daily Mail reader'). The company has 'outsourced' the warehouse because, as they put it, "The warehouse is not working!" What they meant was, "It's too expensive." Some of the lads have already moved on, and the rest leave this week however a problem has arisen. It appears the people taking over the warehouse, based somewhere in the Midlands, are struggling to get things working there also! What appeared a good thing monywise has turned out to be harder in reality. Hundreds of items are not that easy to deal with, especially when many of them look similar and some are very small! Cynical folks laughed, and were shocked to be asked to stay on, they have refused. I ought to indicate I was not asked to stay.....


Tomorrow I will continue the search for employment of a sedentary nature, requiring little intellect and paying me untold wealth! As I have already attempted this with almost every company in a ten mile radius I am somewhat dubious of success. There are around 300 jobs in this area and three thousand unemployed! Take away several hundred unable or unwilling and there is still a problem. Even working a few hours a week was good for making me feel less guilty when sitting around loafing (@'Daily Mail' reader). Receiving the first payslip since Adam was a boy was such an experience I considered placing it on the wall! Now this has ended and I am back to lounging about in pubs drinking all day (@'Daily Mail' reader) as I will be receiving about £32,000 a year, plus house, for the eight children I possess (@'Daily Mail' reader). Now I don't wish to appear cynical, as you know that is not my nature, I am gentle and quiet usually and not one to complain, but I do get somewhat irked by the attitudes of the "I'm all right Jack" types.


So I must sit down and look at all my talents.
Right that's that done so let's move on to the next phase, this includes lying on the floor crying, "Why me?" loudly and repetitively.  This doesn't actually help, but it keeps the Jehovah Witnesses away from the door I suppose. Then I shall exercise my aching bones,(four hours work and I feel like I have climbed the Matterhorn) clean the house, open the windows, and throw out the rubbish, that bag does pong a bit after a month - or so....  Then I shall sit down and ponder the good piece of luck that came my way today. The 'Beef & Ale' pie that costs about 50p from Iceland, the store not the country, actually contained a piece of meat! Now when I the last time you found real meat in a pie? Note I said 'meat' and not 'beef,' as you never know do you.....?

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Stolen Goods

Some guy bought a new fridge for his house. 

To get rid of his old fridge, he put it in his front yard and hung a 

sign on it saying: 'Free to good home. You want it, you take it.' 

For three days the fridge sat there without anyone looking twice. 

He eventually decided that people were too mistrustful of this deal. 

So he changed the sign to read: 'Fridge for sale $50.' 

The next day someone stole it! 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

*One day I was walking down the beach with 

some friends when someone shouted.... 

'Look at that dead bird!' 

Someone looked up at the sky and said...'where?'

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

My sister has a lifesaving tool in her car 

which is designed to cut through a seat belt 

if she gets trapped. She keeps it in the car boot. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I was hanging out with a friend when we saw a woman 

with a nose ring attached to an earring by a chain.

My friend said, 'Ouch! The chain must rip 

out every time she turns her head!" 

I had to explain that a person's nose and ear 

remain the same distance apart no 

matter which way the head is turned... 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

I couldn't find my luggage at the airport baggage area and. 

went to the lost luggage office and reported the loss. 

The woman there smiled and told me not to worry

because she was a trained professional and 

said I was in good hands. 'Now,' she asked me, 

'Has your plane arrived yet?'... 

(I work with professionals like this.) 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

While working at a pizza parlor I observed a man 

ordering a small pizza to go. He appeared to be alone and 

the cook asked him if he would like it cut 

into 4 pieces or 6.

 He thought about it for some time then said 

'Just cut it into 4 pieces; I don't think I'm hungry 

enough to eat 6 pieces. 

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Saturday Park Football

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Saturdays these days usually means listening to the totally unbiased commentary on the 'Hearts World' site. While I am listening to their clear, sophisticated, objective discussions on the game in front of them, and the nonsense spouted by those commenting on the relevant facebook site, I spend much of that time burning the 'Flanders Stew.' Today was different! With no football because of the international break I looked around for something to satisfy my intellect and I soon found it - I fell asleep! 


When I awoke, about three this afternoon, I drained a pint of coffee and decided to get the bike out and develop some energy. I steered the rusty velocipede towards King George's Fields where I hoped there might be a kick around of some sort taking place, I know there is a rugby club plays there. Indeed there was, just before reaching the rugby club I found two teams, dressed like Dundee United and Scotland slugging it out with all the energy two teams of far from fit young men can slug. 


The one thing that always stands out for me while watching 'grass roots football' is the way folks kick the ball. We become used to professional players, yes even the Christian Nade's and Kirk Broadfoots of this world, being able to kick the ball over a hundred yards and find someone on their side. In Park football finding a man twenty yards from you is difficult for many! However as we have all played there, and I confess to losing more goals in one season than any Hibernian goalkeeper could do during a fifteen year career,  we know it is not the quality that counts, it's the game itself! If we can produce a good save, a telling pass, or score a goal to boast about then it is all worth while. I have seen some people who play hard because they feel they have missed out on a career they ought to have had. Others who realise they would never have made it and after the age of eighteen no longer check the passers by to see if they may be a wandering scout. The only thing such players check these days are the girls watching and the closeness of the local pubs! 


Alas my hard life forcing me to sleep did mean I arrived well after the second half of this game had started and I could not tell which of these evenly matches sides were winning. This appears to be one of those leagues where folks tend to get on with the game. Most of the time folks played the ball and while there were some hard tackling there was little reaction to them. Only one incident near the end when a tackle, hard but fair ball winning tackle, left a player in tangerine feeling aggrieved. His attempt to wrap his legs around the tackler in yellow led to a swift kick in the back and a short period of dissension amongst the two sides. Good refereeing allowed both to continue after a few words, and the game ended shortly afterwards. On a more local park I have come across a Sunday League game which features that type of 'hard man' who spends the entire game shouting rude words at the ref, even if he himself is not watching the action. You know the type. Tackling hard and willing to confront anyone who objects, yet the first to complain if things go against him. This appears to be the only league like it around here as most of the games I have seen are usually played by those who have no need to drag their knuckles on the ground.


Both sides here contained the 'airy fairy' type of player, the one who falls over in a strong wind, and both also possessed one built like a wall, probably nearer to sixteen stone than to eight, and neither of these Goliaths ran more than ten yards with or without the ball! One did remind me of Gary Caldwell, possibly this was more to do with his silky touch rather than his ape like features however. There was one word of advice I would give the yellow sides goalkeeper, don't just fall down when the ball comes towards you, 'leap' towards it, that way your hand will not be so far from it as it hits the post and goes in. 


Oh to be a teen or twenty again! There are times I want to rush out and kick the ball around as in days of yore! Only the heart seizure and bad knee stops me doing this now. The last game I played in was in 1977, and we drew 4-4 with the Spanish Church at a Passchendaele like Wormwood Scrubs. That is on the pitches outside the prison, nothing to do with being inside it by the way. Wiping mud of my glasses when in goals is probably one reason I let in so many, another may well be the difficulty of seeing the ball through the stained lens, yet another may be incompetence but I would deny this! However watching football today I realise just how my goalkeeping has improved as I can always tell whether it was a keepers mistake or someone else's. It is ALWAYS a defenders fault!   


Naturally coming home I now have to make my dinner and a pot full of 'Flanders Stew.' This is easy as I put my one in the oven while doing the stew on the top. Having finished making the stew I looked for my evening repast and discovered some fool had forgotten to switch on the oven! Oh Joy.......

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Thursday

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The above is a picture I took from a moving train as it sped (slowly) from Fort William to Mallaig some years ago. I suspect this was the steam train that runs there during the summer but it may have been the routine service.  It is of course Lock Eil, and we are looking south west towards mountains with unpronounceable names. I loved this view, the differing shades of blue in the mountains as they recede into the distance, the calm water, the boats gently bobbing happily. An idyllic peace filled view, although I suspect that any January morn will find the scene covered with snow. The highlands are wonderful when the sun shines, but not in deep midwinter! Then the locals are joined only by that daft type of man that has to 'prove himself' by walking over the hills and thus giving exercise to the mountain rescue people. A surprising number wear jeans and trainers when endeavouring to survive with a bar of 'Kendal Mint Cake' and a mobile phone. The highlands are to be seen when the sun shines and black cattle are mooing in the fields, sheep are dotted around the slopes and the hotel has a decent view and a warm bar!

The beauty, to someone who was living in London at the time, of the distant outback of Britain was the routine annoyances of the locals. I do not refer to the tourists although that must rank high, but I mean the way the guard and the driver have to leave the train and wander down the track to the lock gates and close them properly, some English tourist joyrider having failed to do his job. The danger of falling off a lock gate into a Loch is not one often heard of in Paddington.  When I was there I did detect a cynicism towards tourists, one I can understand. I did however get bored with surly service in shops from those unhappy with their lot. Just because you are trapped in a mediocre tourist trap does not mean you have to let your feelings show Hamish! I say 'Hamish,' but I think many are actually English folk who have been attracted by an escape to the country and found it is harder work than they thought.

As I espied this church it spoke to me of centuries of worship among the ancient clans of Scotland. In my minds eye I could see them, wrapped in their plaids, scurrying along on the Sabbath to worship. Generation after generation must have trod there I thought. Families going back into them midst of time gathering here each Sunday morning as the bell sounded around the hills.

Nonsense of course. It turns out it was a Catholic Church built in the late 19th century and already looking as if it has been closed down. So much for the romance of the hills.Another shot taken from a moving train and I am quite happy with the result. Using the PC to alter it slightly, cutting of the faded bits of the print, and removing the streaks that ought not to be there, is a great improvement to my photography. One day when rich I will buy a better camera and enjoy myself taking shots both good and bad, but having a great time!

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Wednesday

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Bright sunshine, blue sky and warm air forced me outside today. I actually drew back the old sacks that form curtains over the window and opened the window to let some cold air in and discovered it was almost bearable! After visiting the market, collecting fallen veg from behind the stalls, I strolled through town, avoiding those charity collectors, and wandered home via the park. The bright blue sky, the puffy clouds, the greenery all around refresh the mind and made me believe it was summer again. The holes in my shoes indicated different.  

  


Since moving here from London I instantly realised why John Constable was so impressed by clouds. They are everywhere! In such a flat land as this, with its gentle rolling hills (unless you are cycling of course) ahead of you towers the sky and the cloud formations contained therein! Admittedly Constable did not have passing jets heading for Germany or Hong Kong leaving trails in the sky to confuse him, but he was able to study clouds because there are so many around here!  These things fill the eye as I cross the park, and lead me into walking into benches and irate young mum's prams. I find them fascinating, although not as the 'Daily Mail' appears to do. Most days they feature a picture of a cloud that looks like the UK, or Jesus, or a bag of chips! I suppose I like them as having been brought up in Edinburgh I have only ever seen dirty big gray ones until now!


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Monday

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Why is it that every time a sporting event begins the opening ceremony is described as 'spectacular?'  Such events are required of course, speeches with all the right platitudes, dancing children, examples of the home nations culture, and so on. However I question why they are always called 'spectacular' when a better word to describe them might be 'dire?' I tend to avoid such 'spectacular' overblown events as they turn out to be irrelevant to the actual events that follow, are all to often meaningless, and in some cases, yes I mean the French at the opening of the World Cup finals, so 'arty' that not even the home nation understand them..
Dancing children do have fun and are left with a cherished memory, however an overpaid Diana Ross ruining the USA's 94 World Cup opening is just left with cash and a publicity stunt. I reckon there must be a better way to open such events, or at least if not better, maybe shorter!

So I bought the ticket for the Lottery. Never mind failing to provide the correct numbers for the £82 million on Friday evening I still dreamt my dreams of being out of debt via the Saturday draw. Success indeed! The numbers were similar, riches beyond my dreams awaited me. Life could begin anew! I raced up to Mr Patel in the newsagent. Smugly I passed over the ticket.
"Four and a half million please," I said in a calm self controlled manner, adding that there was a fiver in it for him.
"Oh good," said Mr Patel smiling that smile he keeps for the deranged. He fiddled with the machine, sniggered, printed off two tickets and handed them over to me, along with £2.
"What's this?" I said somewhat stunned.
"Your winnings," he grinned.
"Two pounds?"
"No, you won £10." Mr Patel stood then smiling. To his side his wife attempted to hide her giggling.
"Excuse me for asking," I ventured, "But two is not ten. And these tickets.....?"
"Ah but it is," said Mr Patel in that voice doctors keep for mental patients. "You won ten pounds yes?"
"Yes....."
"I take five, as you promised me, from your winnings, that leaves five for you!" He stood then grinning that self satisfied grin, the one that deserves a good slap.
"But, but, I...didn't mean a fiver from ten pounds. I meant from the four and a half million that you have not given me!"
"Ah but you didn't make that clear did you?" He turned to his wife who nodded agreement and sniggered again. He looked to his side where his brother in law agreed heartily with his exposition.
"Yes but.....and anyway why only two pounds?" I stuttered.
Well, as you have won you will be tempted to a ticket for the Wednesday night draw won't you?" he waited.
"er, well, er...yeah!"
"And then," he added without sympathy, "you will wish to have a chance for the Friday £112 million draw won't you?"
"er, ..yeah, well, maybe....I...I er....um..."
"So that leaves you two pounds doesn't it?"
As he said this Mr Patel and brother in law helped me from the shop and I stood there, rain dripping of my glasses, two lottery tickets in my hand, wondering, just wondering........

Tonight's 'Edinburgh Evening News' gives us the sad news that Johns Hughes has left Hibernian by 'Mutual Consent.' In short he has been paid off. This is indeed sad news as his Hibernian side had been woeful, and that, I am sure you will agree, is marvellous to behold!  The team who claim to be the home of 'Flair Football' (@Hibernian Myth.com) have been left lying on the 'flair' week after week. This was of course good to see! Now however Rod Petrie the chairman has dug into his piggy bank and scraped together enough cash to remove the 'worst manager in Hibernian's history' since the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that..... ad infinitum. I await with baited breath the next numpty to take the 'hot seat' at Easter Road. Whoever it is the Heart of Midlothian remain Edinburgh's 'Big Team,' and the Hibbys remain the 'Wee Team.'  

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Brilliant Economic Analysis!

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Steamhammer - 'Passing Through.'

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Proper music, none of today's rubbish!

SKIN ALLEY - 'Living in Sin.'



Proper music!

Door in the Wall

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Some people like doors and some people like brick walls. I like both! The walls are things I often bang my head against, usually meafo.. mentaph .metaphorl.. in my head, and sometimes in reality. The doors I tend to walk through, opening them first for the most part naturally. I am not sure if this door has been opened in a long time, I am standing in the church graveyard as I take the picture, and to walk through the door you may need permission from the various bodies concerned. Behind the wall lies a farm, although whether the wall belongs to the farm or the churchyard, the church is made of similar brick, I cannot say and I suspect you really don't care one way or the other. I suspect the farm belongs to the 'Big Hoose' that lies, surrounded by fir trees rather like a tall green wall, just down the road behind the farm. The Lord of the Manor in England liked to have his own church near by, even if there was a Parish Church available. Maybe the original house was through there and this was the main man's personal door to the service, who knows, and I again suspect you are beginning not to care! 


The amount of red bricks made in the south of England over the years, and particularly in the nineteenth century, must be enormous! Houses, churches, farms and industrial buildings, rail bridges and walls around the many manor houses and landed gentry's properties gave much work to bricklayers in times past. I suspect this is a nineteenth century wall, possibly built when the church was renovated in 1840. Such artisans would meet at weeks end in a designated public house and an offering of sixpence was collected into a fund. From this payment would be made when one of the men met with sickness, accident or distress. This is why there are so many pubs called 'The Bricklayers Arms.' I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often. I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often.

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Rich Footballers and Jealous Hacks!

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The Daily Mail

Today's 'Daily Mail' features one of their 'We are jealous' stories aimed at middle class desperation to be rich! The majority of their readers hanker after Mammon and see the world as those people who work for their money and fail to receive a just reward (Themselves) and lazy selfish scroungers who get money for nothing! (Those on benefit, overpaid footballers, actors, singers, and members of parliament who fiddle expenses). Underneath their middle class appearance lies black hearts full of greed and jealous avarice. Now we all want to buy a Rolls Royce, even if like Mr Wright-Phillips we need several cushions under us before we can see over the wheel, and we all wish to avoid hard work and seek something remunerative and pleasant instead. However the 'Daily Mail' reader will never be satisfied. The paper is full of 'celebrities' and their doings, their 'ups' and their 'downs,' although in truth the reader prefers the 'downs,' rather than the 'ups.'      

Today's whine features a rich footballer and his flash car. Claiming, without evidence, that he earns £60,000 a week, although it is possibly close (and they as always deliberately forget the 50% tax he pays) they inform us of all the big cars he has possessed. This includes the photograph of the one featured, the latest Rolls. It has been noted that they have blocked the numberplate as always, yet I must ask how many such Rolls Royce s drive around Manchester?  Details of the story are as usual incorrect, Volkswagen do not make Rolls Royce, it is owned by BMW, but we are used to incompetence with the 'Daily Mail' reporters aren't we?. Now we know footballers are overpaid, Murdoch and his 'SKY' football coverage have seen to that! Yet there will be no condemnation of Murdoch, not while he has a connection with this very paper! Footballers like many others do get overpaid, singers, actors, and bankers come to mind here, but are they happy I ask? Just as many rich folk call the Samaritans as poor people. There are just as many 'Up and outs' as there are 'Down and outs.' Money does not make for happiness and the 'Mail' reader hopefully will discover this one day. It is better to be comfortable while depressed of course, but happiness comes to both poor and rich. Until then this paper (note I avoided the word 'newspaper') will continue to be read as people fantasize of wealth and happiness beyond they reach. The question is who is the poorer? The reader in their suburban dwelling living life through 'celebs,' or the illiterate hack writing demeaning articles about the rich and famous?

This man, Ed Millibrand, is the new leader of the Labour Party, and I am surprised! I thought he was called Dave! For 24 hours I have seen him in  my minds eye as the loser, but it is the one I thought won who has lost! Elected by the Unions, but with an open mind. Aye, right! The futures bright, but not in UK politics!


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Caring Women

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Barry's

A woman was in town on a shopping trip. She began her day finding the most perfect shoes in the first shop and a beautiful dress on sale in the second.


In the third, everything had just been reduced by 50 percent when her mobile phone rang. It was a female doctor notifying her that her husband had just been in a terrible car accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU.


The woman told the doctor to inform her husband where she was and that she'd be there as soon as possible. As she hung up she realised she was leaving what was shaping up to be her best day ever in the boutiques. She decided to get in a couple of more shops before heading to the hospital.


She ended up shopping the rest of the morning, finishing her trip with a cup of coffee and a beautiful chocolate cake slice, compliments of the last shop. She was jubilant.


Then she remembered her husband. Feeling guilty, she dashed to the hospital.


She saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about her husbands condition.
The lady doctor glared at her and shouted, 'You went ahead and finished your shopping trip didnt you! I hope youre proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself in town, your husband has been languishing in the Intensive Care Unit! It's just as well you went ahead and finished, because it will more than likely be the last shopping trip you ever take! For the rest of his life he will require round-the-clock care. And he will now be your career!'


The woman broke down and sobbed.


The lady doctor then chuckled and said, 'Im just pulling your leg. Hes dead. Show me what you bought.'

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Brilliant Site!

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Saracen Personnel Carrier

I have found another brilliant site! This one is aimed at those men, and it will always be men, who spend their time collecting model cars. Now my poverty, and I will not mention it as I don't want you bursting into tears while I sit here starving, as I was saying, my poverty will not allow me to purchase such things, if indeed I wanted to. However many do and I found this site brilliant when I discovered vehicles I once owned or can remember others having. In fact most models here come after my time of playing with such things, you can tell my era. the cars with no plastic windows, seats or movable doors, simply metal cars on wheels, that is my era! However this site is worth pondering, the cars evoke memories, and for some of you the police cars will be more relevant than they are for the rest of us! 

The Saracen pictures is a 'Matchbox' model. I had a similar vehicle but made by 'Dinky,' or possibly 'Corgi,' I cannot mind which, marvellous stuff from the days when playing games in which thousands of Germans and Japs were wiped from the face of the earth. Political Correctness has removed the kids fun by stopping them playing with guns ("This encourages violence") or doing anything physical, ("This encourages Competition and that leads to exclusion and we don't want that do we?") and we soon find boys playing with dolls and girls with boats! No wonder kids are confused today! Funnily enough this is the generation of well bred children who gather outside folks homes and harass them to death! However middle class liberals know best. I bet they have 'Baby on board' signs in their cars! 

But I digress, the cars on show here sell in a shop near me. One of those shops run by a family of miserable, grumbling numpties. The Gran followed me around the first time I went in there as if I were a 'Hoodie' or something. I used to deliver to the daughter, a girning old biddy who last laughed when she got her money back pressing 'Button 'B.' The young son now runs the shop, smugly grinning at one and all and boasting of his wealth. With prices like the ones in the window I am not surprised he can be smug! This is a shame as there is obviously a sale for such items, as well as the many aircraft and other things on offer, such a shame as they could treble their sales by learning how to smile.

Diecast Toy Cars is the place to look to evoke memories and just enjoy life for a while!   

I wondered why I had to shave twice a day. I was confused as to why I was sitting on the roof howling at the moon, and I was pondering the need to roam the streets furtively creeping around the seedier parts of town. It was as I howled last night I realised that it was a full moon, and possibly had been for a few days. I should have known there was a reason I had taken that chainsaw and sorted out the crowds annoying me by living within a hundred feet of me. Tsk! The full moon has an effect right enough. 
OK you've had your fun, open this cell door now. Hello!  Hello?

Heart of Midlothian  0 v 2  Motherwell 

As has to be expected the defence was much stronger than during the week, we only lost two goals this time. The hard hitting forward line din't hit anything, and I am wondering what is the point of it all. A normal Saturday for the fan of the Heart of Midlothian! 

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