gibberish

At least 5 hoops and 2 bluenosers were Hibbies.

Caldwell

Thomson

Whittaker

Brown

Riordan

Killen

Miller (after a fact)

I rest my case.

Get your own, why don’t you?

I confidently predict that Stevenson, Fletcher and McCann will be there in due course.

I went to see my one and only Edinburgh Festival show tonight. LuckilyI avoided reading the reviews or I’d have had to call off with a hairwashing appointment.

It was Orpheus X by some national USA Opera Co.

My pal George invited me and I was frank with him. (Actually he was frank with me.)

“That was shite” he said. And George doesn’t swear.

In truth it was poor. But it had its highlights.

The main female protagonist had got her kit off in the first minute, albeit on video.

(That’s her in the picture.)

Actually that was it. The one and only highlight.

So, Tommy is officialy still the only Rock opera worth writing about.

But the question remains. Why?

He’s working too hard

It’s not funny.

It’s very painful.

My new shoes are a size 9.

Sciatica 10.

Q. Why are jobbies tapered?

A. So your arse doesn’t shut with a bang.

Ok. I don’t do jokes here. But I liked this one.

A man walks into a butcher’s shop and asks for a steak and kidley pie.

The butcher says “You just said kidley”

He remonstrates “Naw ah didley”

Perfect joke in my book. 100% funny. Delivered well it will definitely get a laugh.

Glenelg.

Tom (12) made a presentation to Jeana and I about investing my hard earned cash into a dotcom venture.  He believes he can take £10 a month off me.  Give me £15 back and make a profit by buying and selling on ebay.

I’m all for entrepreneurialism.

He did a post-den interview into the grip of his putter (a surrogate microphone) claiming he had been to hell and back facing the hardline dragons.

I shall keep you posted of course.

This guy is often seen in Princes Street preaching repentance. But he obviously lives in Fife (as I spotted him at teatime last night on the Fife train) and after a hard day’s haranguing he gets back into research mode planning the next day’s preaching.

Young Marble Giants’ Collosal Youth is a monumental album and has just been re-released on CD after 37 years.

My vinyl version is virtually unplayable now.

It comes a three CD box set with all the singles, their Peel session and more. It is full of lengthy and fawning sleeve notes. The lyrics are abysmal but this is an all time classic album that MUST be in everybodies collection and, you know what, despite it’s low-fi production values, student pretentiousness (although they weren’t students) and fayness par excellence. It remains what it was when it came out.

A stonewall classic.

That was them then…

]

And this is them now…

]

Seems it’s the time of much celebration. My Grandad (him with the baldie - runs in the family) was born on August 23rd 1907 which, had he not passed away 30 years ago, would have made him a centenarian today.

Not to worry about the small matter of him not being with us, we had a family party in his honour anyway.

The party was held in a church hall in Winchburgh and this was where I stumbled upon a very interesting fact.

Winchburgh, Broxburn and, of all places, Addiwell were the world’s first oil industry boom towns.

The orange coloured shale bings which dot around the local landscape were the byproduct (well waste to be more accurate) of the parafin industry in that area.

Parafin was extracted from the shalebeds and was the world’s biggest oil supply for many years from mid 19th century until it ran out in the 1960’s.

“Bugger me.” I thought. ” I never knew that”.

And yes, before any smarty farty Jambo points it out.  Correct, even my Grandad never saw Hibs lift the Scottish Cup.  There; that’s spoilt your fun eh!

Kenneth Fowler wrote a brilliant tribute to Tony Wilson on his blog which I do not intend to attempt to upstage.

I was a huge fan of Factory records boasting recordings by Joy Division, New Order, The Wake, Crispy Ambulance, Happy Mondays, Cabaret Voltaire, The Durutti Column, OMD, and A Certain Ratio on this venerable label.

Just being on Factory Records was a thing of greatness and everything about the label was stylish.

But this is my favourite thing which I spotted as a callow youth.

The catalogue numbers were clearly an important part of the whole shtick.

To demonstrate have a look at this list

FAC 25 - Closer by Joy Division - their second album

FAC 50 - Movement by New Order - Their first album

FAC 75 - Power Corruption and lies by New Order - also an album

FAC 100 - Low life by New Order - Their third album

FAC 150 - Brotheerhood by New Order - Their fourth Album

FAC 200 - Substance by New Order - Their best of album

FAC 250 - Substance by Joy Division- Their best of album

FAC 275 - Technique by New Order - Their fifth album

FAC 300 - An untiltled New Order Album released on Cassette only (only 5 copies were ever made)

FAC 350 - Not allocated

How cool is that? No Joy Division or New Order singles ever got a catalogue number ending in 25, 50, 75 or 00. Only albums. And, God knows, there were plenty of singles to be afforded that accolade.
I’ll pick my anorak up now shall I?

Every week Jeana and I listen to the guff that folk spout on the soporama show.

But this morning Jeana shrieked.

“I hate that song. I HATE THAT SONG”; making me think that “I’m not in love” by 10cc was part of some jilting exercise she hadn’t told me about. But no, she just HATES THAT SONG.

Anyway, it got me thinking about the letter I’ve been planning to write to him for some time and I’m sure some of you must have had the same idea (If you’ve heard his toe curling two hours.)

It goes something like this

Dear Steve

It would make me so happy if you’d read out this letter on the air. My wife Jeana and I are such big fans of your wonderful show. In fact we record it and lissten to it time and again through the week in anticipation of you coming on air again. So, you can imagine how we would feel if you actually read out our letter.

Jeana and I met in 1943 in a military hospital in Belgium. I was having an ovary removed as the field doctor had just found out that I was a hermaphrodite. But it’s OK now, I am all man, even if I am getting on in years.

Jeana had no prejudice whatsoever towards my hermaphrodism, unlike some of my other, rather ungentalmenly, fellow patients who used to taunt me with cries of “There he/she goes” every time I went to the WC.

Jeana was a tower of strength at this time, and remains so to this day. So, as soon as I recovered I asked her to wed me. She accepted with good grace and we have been together ever since.

63 adoring years.

Steve, I can’t begin to put into words how much this lady means to me. She has often bitten off more than she could chew. (And believe me that was painful.)

We have 7 lovely children and 42 adoring grandchildren. Even 2 great grand children with, believe it or not, a great, great grandchild on the way courtesy of our delightful 8 year old great grandson, Ranolph.

Jeana hasn’t been feeling so well recently because of the CJD and Pleuracy she got on holiday in Iraq. And I fear she may have to have her other leg amputated too. But she still has the tine for a smile and a cuddle. Although that’s not so easy in her straightjacket.

She means so much to me and I hope her prison sentence for that mugging will be repealed because the women was due it.

She’s my lover, my best friend, my soul mate.  We’ve had our ups and downs but she’s always there for me.  Could you play ‘True’ by Spandau Ballet just for us? *

She’d love to hear her name read out on the radio, so I hope you will.

All the best Steve.

Mark

* Thanks Ian (see comments)

Or something like that.

Mark Lamaar (standing in for Jonathon Ross) opened his radio show this morning with this sublime song. It is unique. So I tried to buy it on itunes and Amazon.

Impossible.

It’s out of print and only available at £50 as a collector’s item.

I don’t suppose any of you out there in WordPress land have it do you?

Or know where I might get it?

Happy birthday Amy. You are the apple.

It’s not been a good summer for barbies and Amy, who is sweet 16 tomorrow, (Friday 17th) wants one on Saturday. What’s more, I’ve bought all the stuff.

Good stuff too.

So, like a good dad, I checked the weather on the best and most predictable weather site I’ve found so far.

It’s called Metcheck and you’ll find it here.

In doing so I discovered they have a Barbie-ometer.

How good is that.

Here’s Amy’s prospects.

“Hello. Is that McDonalds?”

Further to my rant the other day I’ve had some interesting corroborative evidence that I am not alone.

Look here

OK.

The time has came.

My dirty secret is out. BB2007 is actually quite interesting.

The freaks are gone and it’s back to normalish folk.

Liam, the Geordie soft lad, spoke words of great widom tonight.

“You can’t not upset some’dy ‘cos they’re gonna, like, put water oot their eyes.”

Nice. That’s philosophical.

And, to the point.

He then put water oot of Carol’s eyes.

I’m sorry, but I have to share this with you.

I’ve had lots of fun in the last few days in the office clicking on the freedictionary.com’s voice simulator.

At inappropriate times of the day (quiet mainly, when people are really busy working on important stuff) it’s highly amusing to hear the rich baritone of an Anmerican voice intoning “jobby” “poo” “penis” and the likes across the office.

For example.

If you don’t believe me try it out yourself at www.thefreedictionary.com/Wanker.

683 million others have.

And the comment below from Phillip Lewis shows that I am not the only nincompoop out there.

You could always use the ‘microsoft sam’ voice programme, if you are using winxp go to Start/Control panel/Speech. and replace the phrase “you have selected Microsoft Sam….” with any words or phrase of your choosing and click ‘preview voice’

Endless hours of childish fun!

I am not a particularly political animal, (in fact I consider myself politically naive) but I spent a great deal of today reflecting on Scottishness and its values.

For a start, I played golf at Kilspindie in the pishing rain (but beat an Englishman).

He refused to accept defeat as we walked off after 12 holes, completely drenched, because “golf is a game of 18 holes”.

My arse.

He lost.

Then I happened to watch the Lochaber v Fort William Shinty match on TV, commentated on in Gaelic. (What a crap game that is. Hockey with bigger bruises).

And then, most importantly, I watched Newsnight Scotland and the in-depth coverage of the SNP’s renewed and vigorous bid for Scottish Independence ; a mere 3 months into their, highly creative but minority, governance of Scotland.

I am a great supporter of the Scottish identity, but should it be tied to the Union?

This is a very big question.

For many (modern) years we have debated this in Scotland, but never, in my view, from a standpoint where a further erosion of the stickiness of the Union might actually benefit our nation.

All of a sudden, we have a statesman that, love him or hate him, has a true Presidential charisma and purpose about him.

I have never, including in the last Scottish Parliamentary election, voted SNP (but I nearly did).

But, you know what, Alex Salmond might just be the man that Scotland, as a nation, needs right now. Maybe he has the chutzpah, the gallousness, the balls to lead us out of serfdom and a sense of inadequacy.

Maybe he is just charismatic enough to make us stand up as a nation again and stand against him.

Against who ?

Ourselves!

(Our lack of vision, purpose and confidence.)

Maybe.

Just maybe.

Whatever? I cannot ever remember seeing a “local” Scottish politician stand up and make a credible case for independence. Until today. At least we should think about it.