That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

I want to tell you a story; a creepy, true story.

Two weeks ago last Monday, so that would have been Monday 14th inst., I found a fairy ring in Dundee.

A fairy ring is the superstitious name given to rings made in grass by toadstools and mushrooms. The fungi expand out like a ripple in a pond getting bigger over time until there is a ring of them. The one I found was about 10 feet across and most impressive. So in the Jungian tradition* of science meets superstition, I stood in the middle of it, turned three times round widdershins and made three wishes out loud. The whole event was witnessed by a sneering colleague who said “For fuck’s sake” (just shows you the calibre of people I have to work with.) One of the wishes was to meet another pig of 1959 vintage. This is all true. I had come independently to the conclusion that ‘59 for whatever reason, was a vintage year for pigs, then lo and behold, Mrs Pouncer drops out the ether like Mary Bloody Poppins.
I had my suspicions, for it was none other than Dick who was the witness and for a decent bloke, he can be an asshole of epic proportions. The other two wishes were lesser personal ones which would probably have come true anyway which they did. For other’s privacy, I won’t be specific, but they were trivial wishes, like I wish it would rain on Wednesday, that sort of thing.

* Jung as you will know got into all sorts of bother investigating this sort of stuff by carrying out proper statistical analysis of his results. Coincidence such as this appears to be, is only significant because we look at it from the result backwards.

i.e. I would not be creeped out if nothing had happened.
Wrong numbers only happen when someone answers the phone; do you see? But the episode WAS weird especially the shared experiences, which looked suspicious until one realises that everyone our age would have similar tales to tell.

From ‘Once Upon a Time in America’:

“Life, is stranger than shit!”

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Finally; a bit of recognition for us blokes in the Harris jackets with the pens in the top pocket. Until yesterday, I thought my life would pass in a blur of cigarettes and whisky, my value to society known only to the cognoscenti, just like oh, what’s her name?-Princess Margaret! But Mr Gorilla Bananas has set the record straight, and you can like it or lump it but the truth is out there and that’s all that matters.

One tiny fly in the ointment.
Mr Bananas’ correspondents would rather not have sex with engineers.

Who can blame them: I’m repulsed by the idea too, but if I were a lady, I’d rather do it with an engineer than a gynaecologist say, or worse, a lawyer!

Oh – my - God, think on that: a big, hairy-arsed lawyer a-huffing and a-puffing all over you with his chalk stripe trousers neatly folded over the chair.
And if we, the doers and shapers, wear tank tops in the summer, so what?
They wear blue shirts with white collars! I mean, who the hell are they kidding? That is like so Eighties.
That’s the trouble with us engineers, we see things with such clarity, things that ordinary people (no offence) just can’t.

Dr.Seymour Bush

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Mark Cavendish
- Great Human

Englishman wins FOUR stages?...never thought I’d see the day…English cycling back on the map…old Scotsman can die happy…jumpers for goalposts…Saturday afternoons…watching the wrestling on the box with Dad …Mum making custard…15-a-side in the park…grumpy old Parkie having his sandwiches…mustn’t go into his hut mind…not after little Bobby…marvellous…

Monday, July 14, 2008

For Ronnie.

1976 was a hot summer and overnight we changed into punks.
On the Monday we sang along with the Brutus advert and on the Tuesday we had slashed our T Shirts with razor blades, made our hair spikey with brylcreme and bought drainpipe jeans from an old fashioned man's shop in the Gallowgate. It was that fast and spontanious.
We played the Ramones especially "Havana Affair" non stop. We were the only people we knew, wearing all the mad gear. We learned the chords (3) and rehearsed in the scout hut. The girls loved us.

By 1977 everyone was on the bandwagon. By 1981 we were young fogeys, complete with tweed jackets and brogues and our fathers' cravats for christsakes!
For Eryl.

For everyone else, sing, "my Brutus jeans on"
for "my old blue jeans on"

Saturday, July 12, 2008

There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repenteth etc.
Stack overflow at line 0 and so on...

SafeTinspector’s back!

That’s right! The Michigan familyman, polymath, musician, erstwhile time traveller and anonymous 28 inches is still kicking.

Actually I knew he was. I was over at his bit a couple of months ago. I hesitated to leave a calling card as it seemed to me he had moved on and would not relish a visit from his past. You know how it is. You start a family, put on a few pounds, join a golf club, start voting Republican, then your hippy pals from college turn up looking for drugs and asking whatever happened to that girl with the big boobs.
Nay, I couldna do it to him Captain, ah jist couldna.

However, he broke cover first, so hell mend him.


Friday, July 04, 2008

Happy Treasion Day to all our American friends.

I've seen this picture in New York and it's almost like a mural, and who was the first person in the boat I noticed? That's right, Old Hamish Maroon (enlarge photo to spot him) and I thought, might have known there'd be a bloody Scotchman in it somewhere stirring the shit. I had a snigger to myself but the reverential people around me at the time misinterpreted and told me to move on while I still had my teeth (lousey limey bastard).