Glasgow Blog

That's No Ma Wean

2011-04-16T02:40:00.006+01:00

I don't get the train often anymore, which is a shame as it can be a wealth of material for me.

On this particular day I was walking to my local train station, and saw a family of tracksuits approaching, having just come off the train from Glasgow.

There were two older people who I assumed were the parents of some if not all of them, and then maybe five children ranging from late teens down to about two years old.

The parents were walking ahead and I saw that one of the neds had been struggling getting the young child in the buggy over the bridge and down the stairs, across the railway line. He looked about fifteen. Dark blue tracksuit, little black woollen gloves, shaved head, and face showing a bad attitude. Standard.

He managed to get the buggy down the last few steps, and exasperatedly shouted after the rest of his family; "Haw, gonnae someone else take the wean noo?" The rest of the tribe looked back at him. Turned, and kept walking, heading up another set of stairs.

He shouted again, but louder. "Haw, yous, monty fuck, gonnae take this, man!?" He was bent over with his hands on his knees, out of breath. A few of them stopped again, including the older couple.

One of the younger kids shouted back at him; "Naw, you dae it, you're daein it the noo anyway."

"Naw, I'm no daeing this anymore," and with this he absolutely lost it, and exploded.

There was a metal sign, pointing the way to the station and he kicked at it with the sole of his foot flat against it, and bent it, screaming "I'm no daeing it, man," pointing back at the child who sat in the buggy watching him, "I'm no pushing that thing anymore, I'm getting sick of this."

The metal sign got another hard kick and he decided to really hurt it and start punching it as well. A couple of the younger family members started to walk back to him but were told not to.

He could see not one of the family would be coming to help him, and he then shouted the rather heart-warming line; "That's no' my wean," and walked off, leaving the child in its buggy about fifteen feet away from the edge of a railway platform. On it's own. Bewildered.

As I had been walking towards them, it had only just kicked off and just as I was about to walk past him, he had done this. I felt very uneasy walking past the abandoned child, and starting to walk up the stairs to go over the line, but there was no way that I was going to get involved with this ned going mental, though I kept a careful eye on it over my shoulder.

The shocking thing about this is that after he abandoned the child, not one of the others rushed back to get the child. They just stood there watching his tantrum.

When I got to the other side, he was halfway between the child and the family and showed no signs of going to get the child, who was still strapped into the buggy, watching him.

To this day I still can't believe he left that child there in the buggy and walked off. Maybe it was the sight of another set of stairs that had upset him.

White Suit...Don't Mention It.....Don't.

2009-10-19T23:14:00.000+01:00

A colleague told me this story the last week, after we discovered we used to drink in the same pub in Finnieston around the same time.

He had worked in an office around that area and they used to go the pub at lunchtime.

The pub was called Brooklyns, but it has been renamed now. The time was around 1990. He said they'd decided to go the pub to start their Christmas office night celebrations.

One of the team was a guy from Maryhill. He had on his white suit. Yes. His white suit.

As they stood at the bar, there was a voice from the other end of the bar which resonated quite easily around the small pub.

"Look at the poof in the white suit".

Oops.

Do you remember the scene in Trainspotting when Begbie puts down his pint before going mental? Keep that in mind here.

The chap from Maryhill set his pint down and made his way around the bar and with a swift movement, lifted a table by its legs and ran at this man and his two friends, with the table acting as shield.

He piled into the group of men sending them into the wall, their pints flying. He then rammed the table into them a few times for good effect before dropping it. But he wasn't finished there.

As they were still stunned he set about all three of these grown men with his fists and from the first hand account I heard of this "punched fuck out all three of them" until they were immobile on the carpet.

Nobody tried to stop him.

Arrested, Released...Straight To Work

2009-10-17T09:39:00.001+01:00

The man who I have talked about in the last two posts is something else.

He is a man that I work beside, is skint four days after payday, doesn't take drugs (that I know of), does take plenty of alcohol, boasts of 'happy times' (masturbating) before he gets to work, and generally turns most conversations to porn or sex.

He is also a man that is 'pals' with the law. Well, he's woken up in a jail cell a couple of times. At the time it was slightly ironic, as the colleague who took the most delight/umbrage in his predicament was a colleague, a very well-to-do lady-like lady. The bonus was that her husband was quite a high level police officer, and she took mock exception to this guy's claim that anytime he gets arrested he'll just ask for her husband.

His arrest a few months ago, basically for being very pissed, caused him to end up again on a thin mattress. When he woke up, he realised where he was and they soon let him out.

He still felt pissed and got the bus to work.

He described sitting on the bus, absolutely stinking, dirty, still drunk, feeling nauseous as the bus bumped through Clydebank and Partick into the city centre.

He felt the need to tell us this story after someone noticed that he had turned up to work - in the same clothes he had on the day before. He couldn't really explain why he never went home.

Don't Put Baby In The Corner.

2009-10-16T09:41:00.003+01:00

The same guy who nearly killed his granny knows no bounds of his behaviour.

He was lying in bed on a Sunday morning after a particularly good night. Again after many Stellas ands JDs.

Some of his family came round including his sister and her baby. He's very fond of the kid so he quite often watches the baby in his room. The baby was placed at the end of his bed in the little carryseat, safely in a corner.

In his wisdom, and his still drunken stupor he got a doll from another room and replaced the baby with the doll, went to the top of the stairs and dropped the whole lot down the stairs to where his mother was sitting.

He heard her scream as she leapt out of her seat at lightning speed, squealing about the baby.

With the baby safely in his arms he walked down the stairs to see his mother nearly having palpitations, pulling at the blankets around the bundle, and sprung his surprise on her.

Why did his sister not race to save her child?

Worry not, he had clearance from the baby's mother all along, so that makes it okay.

She Screamed, He Screamed.

2009-10-15T12:35:00.002+01:00

This guy I know told me this story about himself. He was quite proud about it.

He'd come in from a night out at the pub. Very pissed. It was 4am and also after far too many Stellas and JDs.

Walking through the house he saw a figure sleeping on the sofa. In the dark it looked like his sister's friend and being in a playful mood he decided to scare the crap out of her.

So he grabbed her and shouted at her.

She screamed out, then he screamed. And then his Mum and Dad screamed when they ran downstairs and saw him standing over his Gran who had fallen asleep on the sofa.

True story.

Mr Bannerman

2009-10-13T00:57:00.001+01:00

I heard a story years ago from the naked shower lady (That Woman Was In The Nip 30/8/07).

There was an incident in the office when the ladies toilet became a little 'jammed' one day.

Someone had gone in and been absolutely repulsed by the sight of a huge log in the bowl. It wasn’t one that someone had forgotten to flush away. It was lodged in there.

Naturally she didn’t try to flush it away or go to use another cubicle…she went back out to tell everyone which prompted a discussion as to whose it was. Some people actually went in to view the log and came out almost pissing themselves.

They narrowed down the list of culprits to a middle aged woman who would have been mortified if she knew they were discussing her huge shit. Apparently the log stayed there for some time. At some point during the day, someone overheard this middle aged woman having some trouble on the phone with a customer named Mr Bannerman, as they learned.

After short discussion, someone suggested that they name the shit “Mr Bannerman” and so it stayed as that and was literally talked about for years afterwards. That shit is now office folklore.

I often wonder who Mr Bannerman is and what he would think if he knew he had a huge turd named after him.

Glasgow's Dumbest Criminal

2009-10-06T22:55:00.002+01:00

One time in the recent past, it was 1.30am on a Saturday morning. I was standing in front of the television, doing the ironing, a bit drunk and watching Scarface. As you do.

My wife came running downstairs and told me to cut the sound and put the lights down.

'What the hell are you talking about?' I enquired, swaying slightly as I turned, gripping the ironing board for support.

'There's a guy in street with a baseball bat and he's smashing car windows'. That perked my interest.

We bolted upstairs to view the scene covertly from a sliver of a gap in the curtains in the darkened bedroom. We were just in time to see him disappearing round the corner 100 yards away.

She described him to me. Tracksuit, cap..... and a baseball bat. None of that surprising.

She'd seen him walking past, stop at a neighbour's car and smack in the back window, move on then take the wing mirror off another car.

I went out the front door under cover of darkness and checked the headlights of my car on the driveway but they were intact. My car has been vandalised a few times over the years from having the wing mirrors battered off (using a For Sale sign out the garden opposite - which we witnessed) to the car being keyed. The second time the car was keyed, you could see where the scumbag even lifted off, then started a new scratch to get the last last side panel as well. I keep my car on my new driveway now. £2000 well spent.

We called the Police and to their credit they were there quite quickly. After a short talk they disappeared round the corner at the end of the street, and into the park area. About an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. The Police arrived to take statements from us.

An hour later. More Scarface. More wine. Very little ironing.

With the excitement and all, I'd kept on drinking, even cracking open a new bottle.

As the policeman and policewoman sat on our sofas taking statements, there was a slight comedy moment when I wobbled slightly and knocked the ironing board, causing the iron to fall.

Instinctively I grabbed for it, and thank Christ, I managed not to grab hold of the hot bit. It was 2.30 in the morning, and I'd had a couple of bottles of wine. The Policewoman on the sofa just looked at me.

What the Police told us next just made our night.

Very soon after we'd called them, they sent a car that was nearby into the area. An unmarked car.

At the end of our street, there is a large area of grass leading to three paths and when the police arrived they drove forward onto the grass to drive through one of the pedestrian tunnels to follow the likely route of the ned. But their car became bogged down in the soft grass.

The two policemen got out their car and began the job of rocking it and pushing it to get it moving again. Out of the darkness this guy came along the path and seeing their predicament, walked up and offered to help them push. It took a fraction of a second for them to note the tracksuit and baseball cap and slapped the cuffs straight onto him.

What a dick.

Of course he denied it. Denied it all. What evidence did they have? It could have been any other ned walking around at that time of night in a tracksuit.

Well, his baseball bat. Distinctive. Even at a distance, under the streetlights as he had swung it around his head, my wife had seen it had a striped design to it. But there was no trace of it. It was gone.

As I walked to the train the next morning, I saw a broken piece of wood lying behind a fence. Striped. It was the handle of the broken baseball bat with nice smooth blue and yellow tape carefully wrapped around it in a beautiful striped design. Smooth tape. Probably covered in fingerprints. It went to the Police later that day.

Apparently he was a bit squiffy from some drugs that night.

Jam With The Fellas

2009-01-31T21:15:00.000Z

Some time ago I was walking along St Vincent Street on my way to Queen Street Station to go home after work.

There was a couple of women behind me chatting about the weekend that had just past.

From what I gathered one's boyfriend had been out with his mates, flicking away at his guitar. I got this snippet of information from what she said to her mate.

She actually said this....

"Yeah, he went to jam with the fellas on Sunday"

What?

Firstly, was he actually 'jamming' in the Bob Marley sense? and was he with any 'fellas'? Would he call his mates 'the fellas'. I doubt it. I've only ever seen that word in The Sun newspaper which gives it no credence at all.

Who actually says these things? I felt like slapping her.

Feart of Busking? Bring Your Dad

2009-01-31T20:50:00.001Z

A week ago in Sauchiehall Street, I walked past an unfortunate couple of guys.

They were standing against the shutters of a closed shop busking. They were singing their hearts out. Although they were singing so quietly you could hardly hear them.

No instruments. No microphone, no speakers. No fancy outfits for the performance, they looked as though they'd just finished shopping and thought, "sod it, let's have a wee busk".

All they had was a sheet of paper between them, and not even a hat on the ground to collect anything. Bloody amateurs.

The son looked about 17 years old and the Dad about 40-ish. Nicely dressed. But very very normal. You know, they weren't looking uncool or anything like that. They looked normal. And that made them stand out even more. When someone performs you expect a bit of an outfit. A bit sparkly or something. Like Liberace. It looks so weird when someone goes on stage in a jeans and jumper. You never saw Freddie Mercury looking normal.

Except for the fact they were standing motionless against the shop shutters with an A4 piece of paper in their hands singing whatever words were written there, with their heads bowed so no-one could hear them.

As I walked past I looked across at them and realised what they were doing, or trying to.

I slowed down a little and actually cocked my head towards them to hear what the hell they were singing. I still couldn't hear it.

I was almost tempted to walk across to them and throw them a couple of pennies and throw them a hint as well "Louder!!"

I felt so sorry for them as I walked on, just ignoring them.

They were shite after all.

It's Not Cool But It Keeps The Rain Off

2009-01-17T01:00:00.003Z

Tonight I have a simple story.

It is a story of a simple man.

I was in Morrisons supermarket earlier tonight, and a man was walking around with a rather oversized but heavy duty waterproof jacket on. Like it was pishing down outside. It wasn't.

The jacket seemed to have been washed recently.

The evidence was the two large yellow washing pegs clipped to the man's hood as he wandered around looking rather nonchalant....with two clothes pegs clipped to himself.

Um, check with your wife first?

Knob.

Free Beer

2008-12-18T22:35:00.002Z

A couple of weeks ago a colleague of mine won a crate of beer in an office raffle and had to take it home on the bus.

The bus he gets is the 62 from Glasgow via Faifley. The "party bus". He calls it the party bus due to amazing and varied type of people he sees on it, who believe that the journey home should be some form of...party.

He says he's never seen so many freaks of nature, drunks, neds or psychos in the one place. He always plugs in his ipod and tries his best to ignore them in the hope that they'll ignore him.

This day he got on with his box of beer and sat in between his legs on the floor.

After a while he was getting nearer his stop, and he heard someone get up from behind him and brush past him, walking sideways down the aisle.

As the man turned to face the front of the bus, my pal noticed a large box in his arms.

A large box of beer. The same type of beer that my pal had between his feet. What a coincidence......

He looked down.

Gone.

"Haw you!!!"

"Huh?" the man grunted turning his head but keeping his body turned away.

"What the fuck do you think you're daein. That's ma beer!"

"Uh, whit....whit dae ye mean?"

"That's ma fuckin' beer, gies it back ya prick". He said he was being quite free with the language because if the man did take offence, he said he looked like he could 'take him'.

"Uh...I found this....back there"

"It was between ma fuckin' feet. You fuckin' swiped it."

"Naw, it was just lying on the floor, I found it, mate"

"It was between ma fuckin' feet. Gies it the noo". Getting louder and louder.

"Alright, alright...." he said holding the box out to my pal ".... sorry mate, there ye go".

They'd take the shirt off your back if it wasn't tied on.

Thieving bastard.

An Offer Of Dirty Sex

2008-12-10T00:05:00.002Z

I was on Argyle Street a few weeks ago doing a bit of window shopping when it started pissing down and the rain was getting heavier by the second. I was about a twenty minute walk from my office so decided to take shelter in a shop doorway until it passed.

I was sharing it with a Big Issue seller and she was dressed head to toe in black robes and a headscarf. I’d say she was in her mid fifties. I ignored her as I didn’t want her to start asking me to buy the magazine. She called out to some man across the street and I took it to be some eastern European language. He trundled across the road dressed in his battered suit jacket and into the shelter.

Then the strangest thing happened. A homeless guy walked up. He had a dirty old rucksack on his back, a dark blue parka jacket, hood up against the rain and a huge, wiry, dirty beard. He stopped in front of us and proffered a small bundle of coins to the woman, about £1. He put it in her hand and waved off the offer of a magazine. Then he just walked off.

What a bloody lovely bloke. He’s homeless, or doing a very good impression of it and he’s handing out his money to others.

After a few minutes the rain wasn’t letting up and I decided to try door hopping. Spending a minute or so in each doorway and walking a short distance in between to avoid getting wet. On thinking about it now, it’s not going to work, as I’ll still spend roughly the same amount of time out in the rain. However, I did it.

I moved off and then the rain came on heavier suddenly so I ducked into a lane which leads to a bar/restaurant. The lane is near the Argyle Street arcade, the L-shaped indoor jewellers haven.

I saw as I walked in there were two people further in the lane. The lane opens out to a courtyard about 30 metres away from the street. I turned to face the street so I could watch the people walking past. I heard footsteps behind me and voices getting closer to me but I couldn't make anything out. A few seconds later the guy walks out the lane into street and she followed. I heard her call after him. It was mumbled but I heard her say "Twenty pounds!" He was looking over his shoulder at her but he walked off and she stayed in the shelter of the lane.

I didn't want to be seen to be taking an interest about what that might have been about so I turned to my right slightly and took an interest in something else along the street. But then I felt a presence at my left shoulder.

"Scoose me mate have you got any change like, for me bus fare?"
"No, sorry" shaking my head.
"Aw please mate"
"No"
"But I need something extra for me bus fare". She unclasped her hand and I saw about eighty pence there. It was at this point I noticed her Newcastle accent, and I thought where's she wanting to get the bus to?

She said she needed to get to the hospital and I then noticed the blood on her face - smears on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, even her teeth. Her teeth.... she had four on the top row at the front and the rest were hiding at the back somewhere. The rest of her mouth was just dark spaces.

She lifted up her matted fringe of dark brown (dyed dark red) hair and showed me a huge gash in her forehead, just in the hair line. It looked about half a centimetre deep. It was red and inflamed and a wide open wound. As she'd reached up to brush her hair our of her eyes her fingers caught her roll-up cigarette and bent it almost at a 90 degree angle.

I thought this is only getting worse for you isn't it?

She kept saying she was in a strange country and that she was a Geordie. Newcastle is only 300 miles away and she had managed to source booze and cigarettes already so she was far from helpless.

I said I only had notes on me, hoping to deflect her thoughts away from my money.

"You can afford to give away a note"
"Not a £10 note I can't" In truth I had a £5 note and a £1 coin on me.
"Aw, c'mon, you've obviously got money. Look at you, with your suit n that"
"Well, I've got more money than you that's for sure" I said. I was standing there with my small Primark poly bag containing my £4 jumper.... yes, I am loaded.

Then we spent around two solid minutes going back and forth about my 'money' while she told me I had more money than her, to which I agreed numerous times. She then offered to walk with me to get change from my bundle of £10 notes she then said...

"Look if you give me some money I'll do anything you want..." my eyebrows raised "...as long as we can keep it a secret, cos I don't normally do that kind of thing". She stared at me. Her eyes were almost pleading. Cheap blowjob...on Argyle Street...on a weekday lunchtime?

I looked at at her dirty, bloodstained face and the thought crossed my mind I wouldn't want to put my cock in there for any reason. Number one. Disease. Number two, those four teeth would grate right along my shaft. And then there's the number three...blowjob in broad daylight on a city centre street... etc.. arrest, jail, divorce, bedsit.

As if to persuade me to start throwing my money at her, she sought to show me exactly how much blood she had on her.

She started to pull up her grey hooded top and I soon saw that it was only one of three she had on. I glanced out towards the street and saw people looking at me. A man in a suit in an alley while a manky homeless woman began pullng her clothes open. Christ almighty.

She pulled the first one open, then with one hand pulled at the zip of the second one. They both had blood on them. She third one came open and she pulled up her white blood stained t-shirt to show me her belly. Bloodstained. What the fuck had she been doing?

When she had pulled her t-shirt up I actually thought she's going to show me some titty here.

It was at this point she stumbled and dropped some of her change. Her head swung loosely round as she heard the clink of the coins on the ground. I helped her out by pointing with my toe towards a shiny 20p lying in the cobbles and she swayed her head back and forth tryng to locate it.

She saw it and bent down to pick it up and (very) unfortunately overbalanced and pitched forward onto her face spraying the ground with her small coins, her poly bag over her wrist rustling. She made no sound at all as she battered face first into the ground. No sound of pain. Nothing.

I grimaced at the thought of her manky bloodstained clothes against my 100% woollen suit and drew back instinctively. She was on her knees, forward on her face. She hadn't even managed to break her own fall.

I looked down at her and quickly realised it could be a while before she resurfaced from the wet cobblestone and within about two seconds I had made my decision.

I stepped over her into the rain. Leaving her where she lay, almost motionless.

Because she had fallen several passers by were looking at her, and looking at me. I realised that they might think I'd pushed her, but there was no way I was going to help her up. I walked off rather briskly, without looking back. If I looked back, I would have looked guilty of something. I stopped again in another doorway 30 metres ahead and there was no sign of her wobbling around in the street trying to find me.

I waited there for a few seconds, then buggered off.

Buckfast Boy

2008-10-10T00:30:00.004+01:00

I was on the train going home from work the other night. It was just after 8pm, so clearly late enough for me to be verbally accosted by a drunk clutching a bottle of Buckfast.

I was dressed in my suit (grey with light pinstripe...nice) and sat myself down on the first set of seats at the door, but facing the door, as I like to see who comes on and watch them. At the next stop, Partick, a man got on and sat opposite me. He was about 40 and dressed in jeans, fleece top and had a small rucksack which he put on the seat next to him. Directly behind him, two guys got on. Younger and speaking to each other. The first one seemed to stumble slightly and the one behind literally bounced off the wall as he battered straight on.

The two of them sat beside me, but across the centre passage.

The second guy was very well built, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He was covered in muscles. Shaved head as well.

The other guy was in a blue waterproof jacket and jeans turned sideways on his seat , placing his rucksack between his knees. He had turned so much his knees were almost hitting me across the passage, which I thought was an odd position.

I realised that they weren't actually together and the rucksack guy was trying to keep from touching the other guy.

The huge guy dumped himself down in his seat and swung forward in one fluid motion to place something on the floor. I risked a glance across and saw it was a small bottle of Buckfast. A very nearly empty bottle of Buckfast. He was very careful to place it against the foot height heater so it wouldn't fall over with he movement of the train, then he sat up again slamming himself hard against the back of the seat, and I could see as I averted my eyes back to my book that he was glaring at the guy opposite him.

I was sitting with a book in my lap and trying to avoid making any eye contact with the drunk.

I was half reading and half watching him in my peripheral vision. I couldn't really concentrate on my book at all.

It didn't take long.

I could see he'd changed his position and his body was facing more towards me.

"Ch' reedin".

"Ch' reedin".

"Haw!! ...... ch' reedin!?" Louder. I looked up. "What?" I said quietly.

"Whit r ye reedin?". I didn't say anything, but I simply held up my book a little from my lap. Only a little, so he had to tilt his head to see the front of it. It was a book by Karin Slaughter.

"Karin! Ha!" He almost fucking exploded with laughter.

"Karin?!. Hahaha". I gave him a slightly quizzical look and lowered the book and put my eyes back down to it, trying to figure out what was so funny about that. And then he enlightened me.

"That's a wummin's book!" He was leaning forward slightly towards me.

"Karin.......hahahah....that's a wummin's book!".

I could repeat this numerous times but you'll have to believe me this went on for about thirty seconds, with his voice getting slowly louder.

The other two men were silent. We all were. Except for Buckfast Boy.

Then, thankfully he turned to the guy opposite me, who had picked up his paper.

"Ch reedin?"

Taking his cue from me as to how to respond to this query, he tilted his copy of the Metro newspaper to appease the man.

"Uh, that's pure intellilec.... intell... intelli... lechoo.... intelligent... uh.. reading there pal."

Metro Man nodded. Saying nothing. Wise.

That was short lived. Back to me.

"You're readin a wummin's book! A fuckin wummin's book."

I stared at the page, reading nothing at all. He may have seen he was getting no reaction and he changed tack.

"That's a fanny's book. A fanny's book. Karin! Hahahaha!, you're readin a fanny's book".

He was pointedly looking at me, leaning forward on his seat at an angle with his elbows on his knees to get his face closer to me.

Still, I gave him no reaction.

I wanted to. I wanted to look up and tell him to his face to fuck off. But there were two other men there and I had the feeling they were just as sceptical as me of his response as they were completely silent and I didn't want to be the one to stand up....and take the beating.

So no reaction from me. He changed tack again.

"You're a fanny. You're readin a fanny's book. You're a fanny....etc etc etc etc" (a long time).

Again. No reaction. Again it was repetitive, and for much longer. I didn't really mind the comments on reading a 'wummin's book', but to start calling me a fanny, well, that was simply uncalled for. And it was constant. And again his little mind found something else to call me. Ingenious.

"Haw, speccy! You're readin a fanny's book. You're a fanny. Speccy! You're a fanny.... etc etc etc etc"

It was at this point he decided to make some enquiries as to the plot of my 'fanny's book'.

"Whit's s'aboot?"

"Whit's s'itsay? Whit's s'itsay?" I looked up at him. I turned my book round so he could see all the words. No pictures. I was very fucking angry at this point and took this opportunity to take the piss a little.

"That's what it says. It's all words. You want to read it?" He slumped back a little, and I turned the book back to myself.

And he continued calling me a fanny and speccy.

You know when someone gets to that stage of drunkenness, when everything they say is louder than it should be, sentences are shorter, more like brief statements, their upper body swings in short jerks back and forth, and their head lolls and does numerous nods as it can't hold itself up any longer. He was at that stage.

It was with gladness I realised my station was coming up, so I closed the book I wasn't reading and tried to unzip my bag to put it in, but the bloody zip wouldn't open, as the bag was crushed slightly against my body. I pulled and pulled at it but it wouldn't move so I gave up on it, and picked up my paper and grasped it tightly with my book.

I didn't want him to start on my 'manbag'. Christ, can you fucking imagine the abuse if that had clicked in his little mind?

I stood up, confidently I must say and stepped the short distance to the door as the train approached the station. I laughed silently to myself as the two other men happened to follow suit as were getting off at the same station.

As I stood at the door with my thumb against the Open button, I looked in the reflection in the glass which I could see clearly as it was dark outside. In between the two other men, he had turned in his seat and was still calling me a fanny as I stood there.

I did contemplate turning to him and giving him a farewell 'fuck off' as I stepped off, but it flashed through my mind that this would be the unlucky time the driver held the doors open for someone and he would have enough chance to lurch out of his seat and leap out the door, onto me and beat the shite out of me.

So I refrained. I could feel myself buzzing a little though as I was so fucking angry at him for feeling it was okay to abuse me like that purely because I wore a suit (light grey with pinstripe....nice).

However, I would throw in the argument that I could have quite easily have abused him for his drunken state, the fact that he was drunk on Buckfast, which is the accepted poor person's drink and the fact that he was getting off the train well after me, as he let slip loudly just before he stumbled onto the carriage.

He was going to Dalmuir.

"Ye Up Tae?"

2008-09-07T23:30:00.000+01:00

I was sitting on the train last Thursday morning when I felt the need to eavesdrop on the most tedious conversation between a couple who just noticed each other and she had forced her way through the crowd to talk to the guy.

"Ye up tae?" he said.
"I'm just going to work" she said nodding with pursed lips as if resigned to her day.
"Aye?" he said.
"Yeah" she said with pursed lips.
"Been up tae?" he enquired.
"Nothing much, just working away, you know", she said nodding with pursed lips as if resigned to the fact her life is crap.
"Goat plans fir the weekend?" he said.
"Nothing much" she said, still nodding with pursed lips. And there it ended. They both nodded a little, then stopped. Then one of them felt the need to break eye contact and looked at a spot out the window.

The silence were excruciating. I felt like saying to them just to make something up to make it more interesting than this shite.

Laugh? I Nearly Pissed Myself

2008-09-07T13:30:00.004+01:00

I was at a show in Glasgow a few months ago to see the comedian Rich Hall. It was in the Garage nightclub and like the comedy club they shut the bleedin' bar while the act was on.

I was only about 4 rows from the front and at one point I disappeared through the heavy curtain they had up to go to the bar and was amazed at my luck because of how empty it was. Very empty. Empty. The barman told me "bar's closed". Bugger. I had to walk back through the curtains and back to my seat. A lonely figure with my empty pint glass. At the interval my brother and I got a couple of pints each and some Bacardi Breezers for the women, as that's the only thing we could stuff into our trouser pockets.

Rich Hall was very good. So glad I never sat in the front row though. There was one woman who was there with an empty seat beside her and had her and her daughter's jackets piled on it. Rich asked who the empty seat was for as there had been nobody sitting in it after 30 minutes after the show had begun.

"It's for my husband"
"Well where the fuck is he, in the toilet?". Laughter.
"No, he's dead"

"He's dead?". Silence. Rich stood still, looking down at her with a slight look of what the fuck do I say now?
"Yes"
"And the seat?"
"I like to keep a space for him"

There was another unfortunate woman in the front row who had her life torn apart for any nugget of information that could be ridiculed, and it was. She had some trouble containing her laughter and was roaring louder than anyone else. After the barrage of abuse stopped she took her chance to have a break. she stood up and walked off towards the curtain, and spoke to a member of staff who directed her to the toilets.

The curtain itself hung about 6 inches off the floor and the light from the bar area caused a shiny area on the floor at the angle I was seeing it from.

As this woman walked off I was aware of something spattering on the wooden floor, and realised there was something dripping on the floor. Christ did I forget about the guy on stage. I stared.

As she was walking away from this person, all I could see was the liquid splattering on the floor. As she walked it followed her. I couldn't believe my fucking eyes.

As she walked it came in more of a rush so there was quite a pool created on the floor. Imagine if you will a half pint just emptied straight on the floor.

I looked around quickly and people in front of me seemed oblivious to this and even she seemed oblivious to the fact she was pissing all over the floor at the front of a 300 strong audience. She showed no signs of embarrassment or trying to disguise the fact.

She came back to her seat a few minutes later and walked right past the new lake on the floor, which remained there for the rest of the show and was even spread around during the interval as a couple of hundred people walked through it to the bar.

The Uniform Is The Only Style

2008-09-06T15:30:00.001+01:00

Recently I was travelling home from work on a Saturday lunchtime on the train about lunchtime.

When I got on the carriage was kind of half full. Opposite me at the other window was a couple sitting across the wee table from each other.

The man was in full Celtic regalia. Celtic shirt, dark green trackie trousers, white trainers. The girl had on white trousers with a silver belt, a thin white hoodie top with a silver design on the back. I could see the back as she was bent forward with her chest against the table edge and her arms hugged around her.

He started whistling some tune and after a very short time I noticed it repeating. It was either a very short song or that's the only bit he knew. I think the latter.

As well as whistling he was singing a line, again the same thing over and over.

"The uniform is the only style.....whistle whistle whistle...the uniform is the only style.....whistle whistle whistle.....". I've Googled this phrase and found nothing on it. I thought it must be some well known song but it seems not. It was a new composition.

He was slouched back in his seat while entertaining the troops with his right foot up on the seat opposite beside his girlfriend. Suddenly he sat up and said to her...

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking invited the cunt intae the hoose, you fucking invited Archie in, don't gie me any o' your shite, shut the fuck up".

He leant back again, and was silent.

I was scared to look across in case I caught his eye and he turned on me, as I had the feeling he may do that.

She was silent.

He then leant across the small table and put his arms around her.

She was crying. She was wiping her eyes. She leant back in her seat which exposed her stretched belly. She was pregnant. About 6 months by the looks of it.

Now that's how to properly court a girl in Glasgow. They probably were still courting. The baby's probably not his.

All Five Wore Tracksuits

2008-09-05T19:00:00.003+01:00

I picked up a free paper from the stairwell of my brother's flats in Partick recently, and I can't remember if it was the Glaswegian or not. Usually in these local papers they have little 'news' snippets, strategically placed around the pages to draw your eye to the less interesting parts of the paper. The snippets of news are normally reports of the various crimes that have been committed. There's alot of them.

This week must have been particularly busy as a whole third of a page was dedicated to the various assaults that had taken place at the weekend. I shall repeat them here, for they amuse me a little.

"Gang fighting. 17 year old boy arrested on Dumbarton Road at 1.50am on Friday. The teenager detained was wielding a large piece of wood above his head and had bloodstains on his clothes. When officers tried to arrest him he became violent".

I like to imagine that as the Police closed in, he shouted "c'mon ya bunch of fannies". Here's hoping.

Next up. "A man with two knives hidden in the waistband of his trousers was arrested on the same evening in Apsley Street. As police approached they noticed a black handle sticking out. They found it was a large kitchen knife. The second knife was smaller. The paper quoted the Police "As he was unable to provide an explanation for having the weapons, he was detained".

Really? So if he'd been able to come up with a plausible reason, he'd have been let go? What is the world coming to when the Police will let a man go who has two knives down his trousers just because he told them he was going to help the man in Chapati 3 to carve a particularly large kebab.

And this is the gem.

"Police were hunting five men who attacked and hospitalised a 39 year old man in Partick in mid July".

"The victim was attacked in Fordyce Street just after midnight. He was punched and kicked repeatedly before being knocked unconscious, suffering head injuries. Police say his attackers were white, 16-20 years old and all five wore tracksuits". A direct quote from the Police.

"All five wore tracksuits". That's all you need to know.

A Wee Bam Ned

2008-09-04T21:10:00.001+01:00

This little occurrence was witnessed by a colleague on Tuesday evening in a B&Q store in Clydebank. He described the subject as a "wee bam ned" and being from Faifley himself he was more than acquanited with this type. His opinion not mine.

This wee bam ned was at the paint mixing desk and said to the girl behind it in his endearing Glaswegian dialect.

"Haw, whits that pure chocolate chip colour I waant mixed up fur me? That wan rer" he said pointing.

She couldn't figure out which colour he meant so he leant across the counter whining and pointing "That wan rer.....rer...cun ye see it?"

He leant back and stood up and to his horror realised the edge of the paint desk he has just leaned across was covered in.......paint.

He stepped back, arms out, looking down at himself.

"Aw naw, shite man, ya pure bastard". There was a straight line of white across his crotch of his dark blue trackies. Lacoste, Adidas, Nike.....doesn't matter.

"Fuck man, fuck man, ma new trackies man. Ther pure pentit". He had the pockets of his tracksuit in his fingertips pulling them out to the side, maybe trying to prevent anymore of his tracksuit becoming contaminated with the paint, but it only seemed to push his painted crotch forward.

New tracksuit. What a happy day.

for our non-Scottish visitors again, see here for definition of "bam"
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bam

Surely Every Bloke Has Done This?

2008-09-02T22:10:00.000+01:00

A colleague of mine recounted this story to us today. She had been off work last Friday and been travelling on the southside of Glasgow in her car with her mother.

Ahead of her she saw a man sort of lying across a pavement bin. His legs were spread and he was bent 90 degrees at the waist so his chest and face were flat against the bin and his arms stretched out in front of him. She could see that the man's trousers were down around his thighs exposing his rather unflattering and rather manky looking underwear. She alerted her mother to the strange sight and as they drove nearer, the man stood up.

With this movement his trousers slid to the ground and the man staggered around a little, obviously ripped to the tits on drink.

As his trousers made their way southwards to his ankles, his off-white y-fronts headed in the same direction to his knees and he was left in the middle of the street wavering slightly, with his cock in full view having just been seen pissing into a bin in broad daylight.

Two Pints Of Fence Wrecker, Please.

2008-09-01T20:10:00.003+01:00

Last Christmas Eve my pal decided to head out to the pub. He was newly single so was making the most of it. He let some of his friends know and also his brother who is a father to a couple of young kids. I'll call his brother Andy. His brother's wife said to him that she'd be heading to bed early that night so he should go out and make the most of the night with his brother.

They headed out to a pub in Bearsden called Massimo. They sell Peroni in that pub. Apparently it's had a similar effect on several of this group of guys in getting them absolutely steaming on very little. This particular night the effect was much the same, Andy was caught on camera falling down the stairs in the pub but all you saw was him disappearing from view and to this day he maintains he was just bending down to put his pint down. Keep telling yourself that.

My pal walked his brother most of the way home and told him to phone him once he was safely in his house. He got a call soon after, hearing a muffled voice saying "I'm in" like it was a robbery he was on.

The next day, it was Christmas and my pal headed round to Andy's house to watch the kids open their presents and it was obvious very soon that his wife was none too pleased saying that Andy came in absolutely steaming. My pal shrugged off all responsibility saying "I'm his brother, not his keeper".

It seems that when Andy got into the house, he'd puked all over the campbed that his wife had set up for him and over a duvet that they were supposed to be using on a wee holiday a couple of days later. But this isn't the best of it.

When he'd got to the house, he had decided that walking in through the front door just wasn't the done thing. He approached the back of the house via a lane but realised he had to get over the 6ft high wooden fence.

I don't know how many attempts he had at trying to get over the fence but at some point he realised that if he couldn't get over it, he'd need to go through it... and kicked it down. Apparently it didn’t go down too easily. It took a few minutes.

The next day as the kids were opening the presents and Andy sat there, silent and feeling like shit, all you could see out the back window was the fence lying on the grass and pieces of debris strewn around.

So it’s now known as ‘fence- wrecker‘.

Honk If Your Horney

2008-08-29T23:50:00.000+01:00

It was a Sunday morning back in April this year and I was driving along Maryhill Road on my way home. My journey had already been screwed up on the way out because of some bleedin' charity run where they have thousands of people running/jogging/strolling on the road where the cars are driving, rather than the pavement supplied. I'd already been on a big detour through Possil.

It had quietened down by midday but there were still a few stragglers around and people resting beside the road...on the pavement. Some were walking home or back to their cars.

I saw some teenage girls at a bus stop in running gear of sorts, t-shirts, shorts etc. I had a look as one might but it wasn't their thighs that caught my attention. No, it was the sign that one of them was holding up.

It was a painted t-shirt with the slogan hand-painted onto it...

"Honk if your horney"

I couldn't honk. I was too busy pissing myself laughing, crying to myself. "Fuckin hell, spelling and punctuation. Dumb bitches"

Disclaimer:- any punctuation or grammatical errors within any of my posts will be found by me ..... at some point in time. Sometimes the spellcheck doesn't work, or I'm a bit pissed.

A 21st Party. What To Take? Bottle? Food? Gun?

2008-08-29T23:30:00.001+01:00

I heard a disturbing story a few weeks ago from a guy I work with.

One of his pals went to a 21st party in a house on the southside of Glasgow. It was a joint 21st for two friends.

One of the families was there, over from Africa, and what a contrast. He said the house was packed full of wee Glasgwegian neds, and huge black guys.

The night was going well with plenty of bevvy consumed as you'd expect, people dancing and everyone on a high, until one of the little neds decided to move things on a level and glassed one of the black guys in the face. Reason? Unknown.

Chaos breaks out. Girls screaming. People banging into each other to get away.

One of the black guy's friends steps up beside him. He was well over 6 feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, and he squares up to the ned who was still acting the hardman with all his mates, strutting around on his toes like a boxer waiting for someone to try something with him.

The black guy stripped off his shirt and his muscles were practically glistening under the lights. at the sight of this the ned immediately backed up, but was still shouting abuse, his hands stretched out behind him, either to check if was up against the wall or if any of his mates were still there.

Seconds later, the black guy reached behind him and pulled a gun from the waistband of his trousers and started waving it about.

This guy said he was standing at the edge of the room when this was happening and he had never seen a room empty so quickly. And so quietly. He ran with everyone out to the street and he even saw the ned at the front of the surge of people. Wee shitebag.

You Will Respect My Authority

2008-08-29T23:10:00.002+01:00

I knew a guy a few years ago who worked as a security man in Safeway in Partick, and he told me he had to stand in the alcohol section for his whole shift, and he was kept very busy. He had no mercy when he caught someone running for the front door from the aisle with their hands full. He wasn't very gentle with them. I believe there was an emergency exit at the front of the shop at the far side from the main entrance and I think they used to try and bolt through that, and it was conveniently situated right beside the booze. Once when I was in the shop I met him at his work, and I wondered why he was standing in the same aisle when I was leaving. "Booze. That's all the cunts round here go for".

I was walking around Morrisons in Anniesland earlier tonight and the security guard was marching up and down. A thin boy with a goatee beard and an oversized hat.

He was walking up and down with purpose and my first thought was 'oooh, blog', so I followed him. He soon found some other supermarket workers and voiced some concerns...

"Christ, why do people just walk around the shop lookin' pure dodgy?". To piss you off?

Repeat after me... "Next time, I will try to look dodgy in the supermarket..."

"....to give someone something to do". After all, they have mortgages to pay....or payments on their '08 cars.

It Should Only Happen To A Cleaner

2008-08-27T22:40:00.003+01:00

A few months ago we moved to a new office and therefore the office cleaners changed. Before they used to come round after 5pm and do their stuff, but now they there just after 9am, cleaning, dusting, hoovering and cleaning the toilets.

Just like the old office the cleaner has been seen using the same cloth to dust the tops of cabinets that she'll use to then clean your phone and your keyboard. Doesn't bear thinking about.

Another thing is the bins. They collect the bins about 9.30am each day and take away the paper for recycling and the food waste, which I'm sure all goes to the same place eventually. So if you eat a banana at 10am, it'll be stinking by the next morning, and if you eat one on a Friday morning, the bin sits and stews over the weekend to provide a ripe aroma for Monday.

A favourite of mine is when the cleaners do the toilets. The old office had a wee old man who was a bit manky looking and all the women thought he was disgusting. And rightly so. He smelled, he looked dirty, he was unshaven, he had little or no teeth and those he did have weren't any kind of shade of white that I knew. No woman would go near the toilets if he was in as they hated the thought of him walking in.

This is double standards surely. I was in the toilet once standing at the urinal and a female cleaner walked in and I expected her to walk out but she started mopping the floor along at the cubicles and then the floor behind me...while I was still pissing. She was no pretty thing either. That might have made it bearable. Zipped up. Washed hands. She was still there.

It even happened to me in a nightclub once. I walked in and there were three girls talking to a drunk guy leaning up against the wall. Nothing could have stopped me taking a piss by that point anyway.

A few months ago, the new young female cleaner who I believe was Polish was working on our floor. I had been in the toilets and heard one of my unidentified colleagues groaning, straining, splashing and causing the most almighty fucking smell. Christ it was rotten.

I was finished before him and was leaving the toilets, just as the female cleaner was walking in. I excused myself and walked past her and almost ran back to my desk to take a seat for the show.

It took about seven seconds until the toilet door was yanked open and the young blonde walked out with her hand over her mouth.

Aaaahh. What satisfaction. That'll teach her. She should have knocked first.

At least he was wasn't having a wank.

Sign A Petition And Do Some Good

2008-08-05T22:35:00.001+01:00

Two of my pals were at a bus stop outside The Bombay Palace in Glasgow on a Monday night a few weeks ago.

A young woman staggered up to them and stood in front of them, swaying slightly. Either under the the influence of drink or drugs.

In the typical nasal voice of the Glaswegian scum, she asked if they could maybe help her. They thought she was going to ask for money or cigarettes,

"Can yous maybe sign a petition to help me get my wean* back?"

She was swaying about, her skin was in a shite condition and they said she looked a perfect example of a smackhead. One of the guys just ignored her and started to walk away and she began to crowd the other guy, really getting in his face, saying that she really needed to get her kid back. He tried to back off and get away from her but she kept coming at him.

He didn't want to tell her to fuck off as he didn't want stabbed so he just kept telling her 'No' until she left him alone.

Have you ever heard anything like that?

* "wean" is a Scottish word for child, see...
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=wean

If Noah Had Been This Pissed...

2008-08-03T14:30:00.004+01:00

Yesterday we took the kids out for a little treat and went to an indoor softplay area for kids. It's big inside and has a cafe area for the adults to sit and watch other kids be nasty to their own from a distance. My children have come back over to me sometimes saying that some other child has stuck the finger up at them or even told them to fuck off. Nice.

We sat down. And I watched.

The place is called Cheeky Charlies and I can recommend it. It's a decent price for entry and the food supplied is decent and not expensive, I sent my boy up with a £5 note for a bottle of water, and I followed him, mainly to make sure he got the right change, which was just as well, as after he got what he asked for and handed over the £5 note......he walked away. I said.."Whoa, whoa, whoa, money son, money son, your money, your money....my money".

My heart fell when I saw he'd bought two bottles of Volvic. Crap!, I thought that's going to skin me about three quid.

She said, "That's three eighty change". What, are you crazy?? You're not ripping me off?? I cheked my change to make sure she hadn't charged me three eighty. But sixty pence for each bottle, and it was chilled as well. What more can you do?

Time passed and I watched my fellow parents doing what they do. Some were talking at their husbands while they read the paper, some women chatted with their friends while supping the coffee.

After a little while, the inevitable happened, some kid started screaming. Excellent!

It became clear quickly that it was the little overweight four year old girl in pink. Among the wails I could hear her screaming some words, and to this moment I cannot say definitely what it was and you will understand why, but after several times hearing it, it sounded like she was saying...

"Granny Noah, Granny Noah. Wher ur ye?"

After a short period the kid started wandering around. It was blatantly clear very quickly that there was no adult there that could claim association. It took about two minutes, while the screaming increased until a woman came in from outside, with a fag between her lips. She retreated for a moment to chuck the cigarette out the door.

As she came back in I was watching her. It was obvious straight away that she either drunk or on something else. She was swaying around as she made her way back into the children's area and her speech was slurred.

Another woman appeared from outside as well, and seemed to be this woman's friend, but she was quite sober. 'Granny Noah' came in and sat down with the other woman and the two children with them joined them at the table for some chips and juice. A good healthy combo. The other child was only about two years old. Granny Noah was gripping the arms of the chair like she was about to fall off but after only a minute or so she disappeared outside again. The sober woman took charge in feeding them. Nothing much happened and I began to wonder if had imagined her being drunk.

Outside as I crossed the carpark back towards the place, having been into the supermarket, I crossed paths with Granny Noah. She had the youngest kid in a pushchair, and as we came to pass each other, she stepped back and said for me to pass.

Nay, I lie. She stumbled back two steps and slurred at me "Oan ye go pal, nae bor, oan yees go" nodding loosely to confirm I could pass. I was right after all. She was steaming. I said out loud as I walked past "Fuck me.... fuck me". I almost willed her to hear me and ask what my problem was.

I wondered as I walked away. 'Granny Noah'. Where was the kid's mother? Did the mother know the kids were out with their drunk granny? And how ironic, Noah looking after two.

But if the first Noah had been this pissed, we'd all have been screwed.

Impressing The Locals

2008-07-28T23:45:00.006+01:00

I had stopped off in Partick on my way home having left work an hour early and strolled up and down Dumbarton Road for a while before I settled upon the Clyde Valley. This was before I used to frequent it with my brother in recent times. It was about 5 years ago.

It was just after 4pm on a weekday and it was relatively busy. I drew a few looks as I walked in. I don't think it's a normal watering hole for men in suits. I ordered a pint and stayed at the bar, standing with my back against it to view the customers. I felt good standing there in my suit. Smart, tidy. I felt quite cool.

The bar area was busy and there was little space. I soon attracted the drunken attentions of two women standing next to me. These weren't nubile blondes. Remember it was half four on a weekday in Partick. Any nubile blondes are either at home or walking along Dumbarton Road with their prams, possibly standing in groups with a few neds standing close by (the fathers?) and giving renditions of their social loves to the passing public ie. "Haw yous.." "Ah says tae him, and he says tae me..." "Ya cunt..." Ya fanny..." etc etc etc.

I think any nubility in this pair vanished several decades ago, if it was ever there.

"Aright pal?"
"Hello" I said nodding courteously to acknowledge their presence...in my presence, sort of thing.

I then directed my eyes back to the high television screen hoping to hell they wouldn't talk to me again.

"Yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that"
"Uh, thanks...thank you" nodding courteously again.
"Very attractive"
"Oh..uh, thanks" Please fuck right off I thought.
"Aye, yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that. That's a nice tie you've goat oan"

I thought I was about to get fucking mugged and searched about quickly for the group of accomplices to start furtively looking around and move in on me. Nothing though.

"Thanks very much." I said, still nervous.

"D'yd dae?"
"What?" I said
"D'yd dae?" one said nodding as if to emphasise the question.
"Sorry , what?"
"Whit dae ye dae?". She said louder in that whiny Glasgow voice. It wasn't her accent that I couldn't catch as I like to think I can understand most of the Glesca vernacular. It's just that she was mumbling like a drunken hobo.

"Oh right!. What's my job?" Why the fuck didn't you just say that?
"Aye"
It's not important what I do, or what I told them, but I made up some shite to make myself sound more interesting, and they appeared impressed.

I'd had most of my pint and I was weighing up my options of ordering another and drinking it fairly rapidly and having to visit the bog before I left, and possibly losing the suit and the wallet in the process or just finish up and leave.

One of the women moved closer to me, about as close as she could get without actual fornication taking place.

Suddenly she reached out to the front of my jacket, grabbed my tie, and I thought Christ, this is it, I'm getting mugged, watch for others coming in, watch for the hand going to the wallet, don't let them get my watch, watch my pockets.....wallet, wallet, wallet!!

She said...

" 'Next'....silk....that's a nice tie"
"Thanks", heavy breathing. Watching her grubby smoke stained calloused hand stroking my silk tie. I could just imagine the rough skin ripping the hell out of the silk and grimaced at the thought but kept watching for any sign of movement towards my inside pocket.

To this day I still thank God she never pulled open my jacket to look at the label there.

George from Asda. That would have killed it right there.

Seat Sniffer

2008-07-28T20:55:00.004+01:00

Many years ago I was on a works Christmas night out with my girlfriend at a pub in Shawlands. It was her work night out. She worked for the council... as a joiner. A joiner. It did come in handy on occasions.

It follows then that all of her colleagues were men and I don't think they had ever seen her in a dress and were quite amazed, as she usually wore a boiler suit at work. I'm setting the scene. These guys weren't polite and reserved chaps.

The night wore on, the drink flowed. About halfway through the night my girlfriend was at the toilet and there was a bit of moving about between out group and the group next to us. About half of us were sitting round a couple of tables and there was a spare seat.

One of the guys went to sit in it and one guy held his hand up to stop him and said "Oh no, you cannae sit there, there's a lassie sittin' there". Very courteous.

The other man then did something I had never seen before and have never seen since.

He bent very quickly and with his nose to the material of the seat, ran a line from the front of the seat to the back, took a long deep breath in and stood up and breathed out slowly, and said "Aaahh".

The reaction was that everyone laughed, including me. What the hell was I going to do? Call him a pervert? In front of all his friends?

Are You Talking To Me?

2008-07-28T20:30:00.002+01:00

One day recently I got off the train after work and started to walk home. It was 5.30pm on a Friday. I saw a couple of neds get off at the other end of the carriage and hoped they were going to go the other way. No luck.

One was dressed head to toe in a sky blue tracksuit, the other in a white top and dark bottoms. A tracksuit ensemble obviously.

I walked out the station carpark and up the hill to home, and was aware they were about twenty feet behind me. They started talking and it went along the lines of this...

"Haw, yous are a pure fanny"
"Aye ya cunt, yoor a fonny"
"Yous have pure goat AIDS 'n' that"
"Aw whitman, aye, yoov gooat gonorrhea, ya fud"
"Fuck yees, ah goat it oav yer maw"
"Hehehehe"
"Aw whit man"
"Look at yees, ya fanny, ye couldnae get it up if ye fuckin' tried"
"Aye ya wee fonny"

and so it went on, and as I was starting to snigger to myself, they gave themselves up with this little gem....

"Aye, specky, you couldnae shag ma maw if ye tried"

Aaahh, they were talking to me! If only they'd said. I laughed even more to myself as I realised they were hoping I'd turn around and say "Are you talking to me?" and proceed to assault the guy in a suit.

I carried on walking and seconds later they disappeared up a path. Fucking tracksuits, fucking wee Glasgow neds. Fucking wankers.

He Takes A Good Picture

2008-07-28T19:25:00.001+01:00

I was walking on Argyle Street in my lunchhour and I saw an old man walking along clicking his white cane back and forth on the pavement. He had a camera slung around his neck. Quite a large one with a big lens. Probably cost a few bob.

A camera around his neck.

He's blind.

Personality Transplant

2008-07-28T19:20:00.001+01:00

One of my colleagues overheard this gem on a bus at 5pm one day recently. It was full with commuters.

There were a few people standing and at the front was a man holding a small baby. Someone pressed the bell to stop the bus at the next stop, but stood where they were, holding on to stay safe while the bus was still moving.

The bus kept going at the next stop and the man with the baby said to the driver there were people wanting off. The driver said...

"Well there's no-one down here waiting to get off and I can't fucking stop in between stops"

So the passenger had to stay where they were. Going round George Square there was a car parked at the corner which gave the driver a bit of trouble turning so he sounded the horn then let rip with a torrent of abuse at the parked car...which was unoccupied.

The man with the baby said to him "I think you should calm down a little"

The driver turned to him and said "I think you need a fucking personality transplant, what the fuck are you doing telling me that?!!"

Some re-training perhaps?

Half Price Hand Jobs

2008-07-26T02:45:00.001+01:00

Some years ago I was working overtime on a Saturday at my office. My routine was to get in as early as possible, do a full 7 hours and get home for the early afternoon. This meant I would be up around 5am, train at 6am, in for 7am. You'd be amazed at the type of people that are around the centre of Glasgow at that time.

You can see the people still drunk from the night before, the homeless, the neds who can appear anywhere at anytime with seemingly no reason to be there, early morning travellers with the suitcases and the excited chattering, the people going to work, the people at work sweeping the streets and picking up the crap the drunk people dropped the night before, and then the others.

On one particular Saturday morning a few weeks ago I was standing at Central Station in Glasgow at the exit on Gordon Street. I had gone into the newsagents to get a newspaper and was going to walk the short distance to my office but realised I had about 15 minutes before it opened and looked round and saw a few people who caught my interest, so I stood against the wall and watched.

The people that caught my eye were a couple. They looked as though they had been on a long night out. She was dressed in a mini skirt as and other skimpy items. He was dressed relatively casually. An odd couple. They were talking to each other, but after only a minute she walked away from him, turned towards the station exit and started walking towards me. There were a few people around and I thought she may be trying to get a cigarette from someone.

This is the conversation as best as I can recall it word for word.

"Hi there"
"Hi"
"What are you up to?"
"Just reading the paper for a while, before I go to work"
"You going to work?"
"Yup"
"You work in town?"
"Aye, just a couple of blocks away"
"When you do you start?"
"Around seven"
"That's good you're going to work"
"Mmmm"
"I work as well"
"Oh right"
"I'm a working girl"
"Oh right......oohhh, right"
(pause, while she looked around, and I watched her)

"Are you looking for business?"
"No, I'm not, I am going to work in a few minutes"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, I'm sorry I'm not interested"
(pause while she was considering options)

"Look, I've finished for the night, but I need some money for the bus home"
(finished working as a hooker after a whole night and no money for the bus? pimp?)

"Sorry, I'm really not interested."
"I really need some money for the bus home."
"I'm really sorry but I can't help."
(long pause while we both looked around. a rather awkward pause)

Suddenly intrigued I said... "Umm, what exactly could you do?"
"Handjob fiver, blowjob twenty, full sex forty" reeled off as quick as you like.

I never realised it was so cheap, but I suppose it's like the stock market and supply and demand causes fluctuations in prices.

I said "No, thanks anyway", and then she said the immortal words...

"I'll do it for halfprice"

A handjob for £2.50. Fuck me. That's a bargain.

I didn't.

The Spar Shop Beggar

2008-07-26T01:13:00.005+01:00

The Spar shop is a wonderment.

On a very recent travel up north this week I found it very difficult to find mainstream shops like Asda, Morrisons, Tesco, etc. All I saw was Spar shops. I'm talking north of Inverness.

Anyway, I have a Spar shop not too far from me, and one Sunday morning about 6 weeks ago I had reason to go there on a Sunday morning. I usually drive there. It's fucking sad I know. It takes just over five minutes walking, but...I drive there. It's about 50 seconds in the car. God, this is shocking actually. I must change.

Anyway. A few weeks ago I go to get milk for the in-laws who were over, and I walk past the chemist on the way to the Spar shop, and there's a man sitting on the low wall outside the chemist. He's in a tracksuit. Need I say anymore at all.

I look ahead and some of the staff of the Spar shop are outside for a smokebreak.

As I pass, the man gets my attention and asks me if I have any change for food. I give him a very quick up and down appraisal and say "No, sorry" and walk on. The man wasn't badly dressed. He sure as shit wasn't homeless and if he was that poor for food he was in some serious shit to be begging for it outside the Spar shop on a Sunday.

I bought my supplies on the Spar shop and on the way out the staff asked me what the man had said.

"He just asked me for some money for food"
"Aye, he always does that. Every Sunday. It's no' food though. It's drink"

It then seemed so blatantly obvious. Apparently he was also waiting for his methadone from the chemist when that opened. It seems he sits on that wall every Sunday morning and begs for cash....for drink. Cans of Tennants. (a small point - you can't buy alcohol before 12.30pm on a Sunday in Scotland. I know. I've tried.)

The staff told me one morning 'a little old lady' passed him and was completely oblivious to his ulterior motive, as I was. When he asked he for some pennies for food, she went into the Spar shop and bought a couple of pre-packed sandwiches and went back out and handed them over. According to the staff he was mighty pissed off.

I might take along some leftovers from my Saturday night curry in a wee box and offer that to him. I'd just love to have a shouting match with him...

"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, you fuck off"
"No, YOU FUCK OFF YA CUNT" etc etc etc.

The Spar Shop In A Hula Skirt

2008-07-26T01:03:00.004+01:00

Tonight as I walked to the Spar shop to buy a Euromillions ticket to get me out of this hole, I saw a rather startling sight.

In the queue to get money from the autoteller was a girl...woman, late teens I would say with blonde hair, a tight white strappy top (no bra - I mention purely for information so you get the whole picture...it was a bit cold), strappy white/straw effect high-heel sandals.....

..and a grass hula skirt.

She also had on a large necklace of fake flowers. Fuck know where she thinks she was going. She didn't look lost. Beside her on a low wall was a slightly drunk woman counting her money, legs splayed, low cut top...lower than it should be showing off her pink flowery bra to any bloke who wanted to look, and there was a few (inc. me), given the girl in the hula skirt at the autoteller.

I wish I'd had reason to stay. And watch.

A Tear To A Glass Eye

2008-07-26T00:31:00.007+01:00

It's good to know that people are still reading this and to receive a comment only a few hours after posting for the first time in over 3 months is certainly encouraging. I literally have only looked at my own blog a handful of times in that period. As a wise man once said "That would bring a tear to a glass eye". I say wise, I think he was mostly pissed. It was my pal, Belzo.

I had a look at my stats by way of onestat.com, a site which tells me how many people look at it on each day/week/month etc, and their locations.

Even today I have people reading my blog from Chicago, Valkenswaard in the Netherlands, Calcutta (Calcutta!), Cardiff, Dundee and Glasgow of course. Even in the 'dead' period, it has still been looked at every day with an average of around 7 hits a day. It's not quite at Bloodbus level yet but we're getting there.

A while ago I registered this site on a kind of ratings/blogger award site which I came across by chance in my internet travels.

Basically bloggers register their blogs, people vote for a blog, and something happens at the end of the year. I don't know what. So far I have 2 votes. Me and my brother.

I added my site in March this year and deliberately didn't advertise the fact on my blog to see if anything happened via that ratings site. Nope. So I'm advertising it now. Vote for me. At the moment I have one more vote than Bloodbus.com, so that's something.

Go to www.bloggerschoiceawards.com, search on the word 'Glasgow', go under the category Best Humour Blog, and then vote. I think you have to register in order to vote but don't let that put you off, you're not handing over bank details or anything.

I see, even now, the top blogger is about a woman with Cystic Fibrosis, and she only has 953 votes. Doesn't sound alot. I'm not particularly keen on knocking a woman with CF off the topspot, but needs must. So if you can, vote.

Tests and Testicles

2008-07-25T08:59:00.006+01:00

I've had a little while away from blogging. I lost the drive to do it daily for a while as there was some other things hanging over me like potentially losing my job and going for hospital tests in my nether regions.

Anyway, after a period of some uncertainty at work, we are moving to another location so that's a load off.

On the other subject I've mentioned before about some tests I had done at the hospital. The one I had recently. I received a letter for a testicular ultrasound. I started reading up on it, to find out what was involved and what exactly would be done to me. It did sound very simple.

I had to let my boss know that I was going for a test. My new female boss. I mentioned I was going in for a scan and she told me to bring the letter in as proof, so I did. When I gave it to her the next day she asked casually "What type of scan is it?" I said "Umm, have a look at the letter." She did, and I think she wished she'd never asked. Her eyebrows lifted and she just said "Oh". No more was said about it.

At the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I was kept waiting for a while in the room while other people went in the be scanned. Every time a patient was taken into the room by the male nurse, a suited man in his late 50s would drift in a few minutes later, then come out after about 5 minutes and leave. I deduced very quickly this was the doctor who was just in there to do the scan and leave.

It was late on a Thursday afternoon and the clinic was running late. I was last to be taken and the nurse apologised for keeping me.

When he eventually took me in I shed my suit jacket and he advised me to lay back on the low cushioned bed. He said just to push my trousers and underwear down to my knees and he very courteously tore off a large section of the paper roll and draped it over me to protect my modesty while I whipped down my tweeds. When I was done I lay back and tried to relax.

He said the doctor would be in shortly. About 60 seconds later this female walked in wearing blue scrubs. "Hello, the doctor's busy at the moment, do you mind if I do the scan for you?"

Female, late 30s, long brown wavy hair, pristine hospital scrubs, sexy as hell, asking if she can do some work on my balls for a few minutes.

"No, that's fine" I said.

She sat down on a low swivel stool beside the scanner and explained she was going to apply some gel to my testicles to help the scan. Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard.

She lifted the torn paper sheet back and then picked up my cock in her right hand and very casually said "Can you hold this back please?". I looked down and there it was...looking no' bad. At that moment I thanked a higher being. I was not shrivelled to a point of non existence but I was looking quite 'full'. We did the handover of my penis and I held it against my belly. This is not weird at all.

"This may be cold" she said as she started smearing some gel over my balls. I'll remember this for some time.

Well, I can tell you - she worked those balls. It took about 15 minutes while this female played around with my testicles...while I held my cock in my left hand...while a male nurse watched. I wouldn't have been so uncomfortable with it all if the nurse was a 20 year old blonde. I spent the time staring at the ceiling. With no pillow it was a bit awkward to lift my head and watch what she was doing to me, much as I would have liked to.

So after the scan she said there was nothing to worry about. She gave me some information and I asked a few questions. Unfortunately the question and answer session was going on while I was trying to get dressed.

Getting dressed wasn't too easy as, if you recall my testicles were smeared with gel. It was my job to get the gel off. I don't think that's part of the service. So the nurse handed me a wad of tissues and I wiped, all the while standing up having a conversation with the doctor and trying to hang on to my trousers so they didn't fall completely around my ankles.

There was a slightly awkward moment when I was trying to talk to the doctor about the tubes in my testicles and I held my hand out for more tissues from the nurse and he grabbed the damp ones from my hand and put them in the bin thinking I was done. My balls were still wet and sticky and he goes to leave. "No no no, can I have some more" I said holding the waistband of my trousers so they didn't fall down and the hem of my shirt so it didn't fall against me and get gel all over it.

He gave me some more but it was very awkward to get everything off and it got to a point when I thought 'fuck it, I'll just leave it" and I gave up the fight for a gel-free scrotum.

My last moment of embarrassment happened as I went to leave. I thought I'd done quite well up til that point considering I'd had to hold my own cock for 15 minutes in front of two strangers and then clean my testicles...in front of two strangers. I picked up my messenger-style work bag and went to casually sling it over my shoulder as I was walking out, but it caught on the handle on the end of hospital bed and jerked me backwards. I felt a complete arse as I stood there trying to untangle it as they watched.

But it's not all bad. I've got to keep my job and my testicles. So that's a bonus.

Falling Down

2008-04-15T21:40:00.000+01:00

A colleague of mine is a big fan of either going to the pub at lunchtime or KFC. Never McDonalds for some reason. Maybe it's shite. At the beginning of February one of his pals told him as they were heading out that he’d eaten a steak a couple of weeks previously and had felt a bit sick from it, so he was off meat for a while.

They went down to KFC and they got a table. Eventually this guy came to the table after nearly ten minutes, and one of them asked why he took so long. He said he'd asked for a Zinger Burger without any mayo and without the chicken. This clearly confounded the staff as the woman had no idea what to put through the order as, and it was this that took so long, and also what to actually give him.

When they asked him what he actually wanted inside his meat free Zinger Burger, he settled for a hash brown with some salsa sauce in it. It’s amazing how a simple thing can cause huge confusion. It’s like the scene from the film Falling Down when he asks for a breakfast item minutes after 10.30am.

Blame Your Shoes

2008-04-15T21:30:00.001+01:00

I've known for years that the floor on Central Station is very slippy, especially if I'm in my suit and black shoes with the smooth sole. It's the same at St Enoch Centre and Buchanan Galleries. As soon as I walk in I slip all over the place. I have to slow down, it's as if I'm walking on ice.

I was walking into Central Station at the Hope Street entrance this afternoon just after 5pm and a middle aged guy in a suit was in front of me. There's always a newspaper seller at the entrances and for the last few months there is also the people who give away the free Daily Records as you walk by.

Mr Suit decided that fraction of a second too late that he wanted one, and as he'd already walked past into the station, he turned quickly and strode back to the guy, but too late, his speed, his shoes and the smooth floor were the making of his superb acrobatic manoeuvre.

As he turned his feet went away from him and he pitched forward so much he had to put his hands out and then he overbalanced so his hands went to the ground as he twisted round, and with the quickness of this move his feet flicked up in the air so for a moment there was this middle aged guy in a suit doing a twisted half handstand. His feet were about four feet in the air.

Just as quickly as this all happened he composed himself, stood up a bit dishevelled with his suit bunched up around his shoulders, and casually leant around the newspaper guy and took a free paper, then set off at quite a speed into the station, clearly a bit embarrassed at having made an arse of himself in front of around twenty people. He made a bit of a show at looking at the soles of his feet and muttering 'tch'. That's right, blame your shoes.

It's 1.30am And This Just Happened

2008-04-13T01:45:00.002+01:00

I was typing up my last blog there when I heard some screams from out in the street. Now it's 1.30am on Sunday morning.

I flicked the lights off in my wee blogging room and ran up the stairs to see if any wee bunch of cunts was vandalising my car. I slipped a couple of fingers into the gap in the curtains and gently created a gap, covertly, so as not to create a sliver of light, hence enlightening the aforementioned wee cunts to my presence. I'm a dab hand at this.

I could see nothing, so I opened it up a bit further. My eyes flicked left, my eyes flicked right, then my eyes flicked left again. And I saw a figure beside one of my neighbour's cars. I crunched my eyes and peered into the darkness, but there was a streetlight feet away so the person quickly became clear to me.

It was a woman sort of crouched over the front of the car with her right hand resting on the bonnet to give her balance. I wondered if she was being sick, then.....

I saw her bend down and grab a handful of white..stretched between her ankles, which when she moved I saw in the light. She grabbed her knickers and then I realised she had been squatting in the street to take a piss. I looked closer and realised I could see a faint sheen on the road below her.

She was wearing quite a skimpy short dress as it was, but she'd hiked it up around her thighs and the split in the skirt was riding up to her waist.

She grabbed her white knickers and wriggled them in wide circles left and right to get them back up her legs, and staggered a little against the car. Her friend was standing beside her all this time while the guys in the group wandered off around the corner, clearly not allowed to see the process of one of the girls pissing. There's no need, there's websites for that.

As I realised she was finishing up with her little visit I thought, she's doing this under a streetlight, she must be crapping herself in case someone sees her but she must be that pissed to do that in the first place she can't care too much anyway.

So I thought to myself, I remember in my drunken younger days when I used to pee up in alleys I was always wary in case someone saw me or caught me. I did have the Police shine a torch on my cock once in Sauchiehall Street in some bushes. But I couldn't stop peeing and they kept the torch on me until I came out of the bushes. Thanks for that.

With this feeling in mind , I battered my knuckles against the window quite ferociously and as loud as I could, as I thought she's a wee bit away and might not hear me. Oh she did.

As soon as I started knocking on the window, her hand moved faster to get her knickers up around her snatch and she set off running with her friend in their high heels.

I was pissing myself as I watched them running and looking over their shoulders. In hindsight I should have creeped out the front door, down the driveway, and flicked on my big torch right at her face, blinding her, so as to really confuse her, and make her shit herself in the street as well.

It's amusing to see them all run away laughing at 'just being caught'. I bet she wouldn't be laughing if I got some prints lifted from the bonnet of that Honda and a swab of DNA from the street.

Colin...To Answer You

2008-04-13T01:30:00.002+01:00

Colin, It was indeed the Clyde Valley, a tremendous pub and spot on with the Blue Lagoon.

Oooh, dare I write about it again? Fuck yeah. May I be banished from the pub? They have to find me first.

I was in a pub a couple of months ago and I have to say I wasn't impressed..as I should be in a salubrious suburb of Partick. I think it was the Dolphin. It had a strange set up in the bar, a weird walkway through some perspex screen scenario I think to some very tight seats behind. My memory fails me now.

Don't take this as a slagging of Partick. I lived there for a couple of years, and loved it. I totally enjoyed the variety of shops, pubs and people. I loved the variation of people who had nothing standing alongside people in the pub who could afford anything - refer to scene in film Wall Street when Gekko points to the businessman and the tramp.

I'm out in Partick again on the 18th April, but alas, probably not the Clyde Valley. Probably up Byres Road. No doubt I'll see a whole bunch of drunken fannies then too, and then blog about them the next day.

Thanks for your comment. Please fire my link around any friends you think might enjoy my little view on life in this city.

Chinese Whispers

2008-04-06T02:15:00.000+01:00

I was walking down Union Street the other day when a woman with long black hair pushing a child in a buggy crossed in front of me at a corner. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her turn quickly and say what sounded like "coo mee, ca uh teh mee whay da...." (trans; "Excuse me, my good man, can you perchance tell me where the....")

I turned to assist her I noticed with acute embarrassment that she was Chinese and was in fact talking in Chinese to her Chinese kid and not looking at me at all. She had just turned to go the same way as me and I pretended to look in a shop window as she walked past me.

Partick...The Twilight Zone

2008-04-05T23:30:00.000+01:00

I was in my new favourite pub in Partick recently. As the night wore on I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.

Quite early on one guy about 50 years old was dancing on his own in the middle of the floor to an Elvis tune, sort of shuffling and turning around with an occasional swing of hips. Yep, just like the big man himself. He was almost bald but had swept his hair over the top in the traditional combover style of the older gent. He had a very, very thick neck and a huge pot belly, wearing a black shirt, open at the neck to show off his gold chain and as he danced and sort of walked around the pub he was clapping above his head. No one else was dancing. I stared at him for some time.

My brother and I sat in the corner and then this couple sat down beside us. I could see my brother staring and when I looked round myself I could see why. The biggest ring was about 1.5 inches square and covered in "diamonds". The other fingers were adorned with several other rings, many with black onyx, all gold. On one wrist he had three huge chunky gold bracelets, each one bigger than the one below it. Maybe he had an account at H. Samuel.

He had huge sideburns, not bushy, but covering a very large area. Cropped greying hair, slightly balding on top. He was wearing one of those "soft touch" button down collar shirts, almost the same as one I bought in Burton 15 years ago when they were cool, and dark blue baggy tracky bottoms. Quite an ensemble. When he stood up to go to the bar I noticed he had one of his front shirt tails hanging out. And he never tucked it in and it annoyed me all friggin night. He had stuffed a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket which dragged the front of his shirt down quite a bit making him look even more shambolic. He was a right fucking state.

His tattoos were nice though. 'Mum' and 'Dad' on one forearm and on the other arm a skull wearing a top hat. In one ear he had a small Samsung earpiece to make it easier to handle his many incoming calls. Obviously no-one actually called him. Why would they? All his pals were probably in the pub, sitting beside him.

Both he and his wife sat drinking Smirnoff Ice, through straws. Cool for her, gay for him.

After a while they were joined by a regular in the pub. The blind woman. Quite short and round with a blue and pink Calvin Klein handbag. Genuine I'll wager!.

It's like one of these pubs you only hear about. I remember once me and a few pals of mine went for a drive to go for a pint, to Falkirk. Now Falkirk was about 30 miles from where we lived. Christ knows why we went there or went that far, but when we got there, we found this pub near the town centre, in the pedestrianised area. There was no-one on the streets and we walked in. It was quite a small pub and I was first through the door. I swear on my life, when we walked in, every single person in that pub, about twenty in all, stopped their conversations and looked round at us. It took us about three seconds and a few furtive nods to each other to mutually and silently agree that we weren't going to have pint in that pub.

We walked back out, got into the cars and drove all the way home.

Back to Glasgow.

In Partick on this night, there were a bunch of girls at the end of the bar who took turns going behind the bar to get themselves drinks. I watched them. I assumed one was the manager and was giving her pals free reign. There was an older woman there who looked like the Glaswegian Dot Cotton. She was nipping in behind the bar too and at one point went round collecting glasses.

One woman in a white skirt was behind the bar a couple of times up on the barman.....on the barman, not the bar. She had her legs round his waist, holding onto his neck, humping at him. These women became more lubricated with the vodka and ended up dancing on the pool table at the end of the night. Always a winner. Short skirts, pissed girls, dancing on pool tables. My brother and I watched intently hoping one would fall over and well....you know.

One of the barmaids explained they were all staff who'd just been to a wedding.

After we left the pub, the show didn't stop there.

We went across to the chippy and in there was a guy leaning back on the ledge at the window just singing his heart out. He hadn't bought any chips and didn't look as though he had any intention of doing so. He was just pissed and singing. On the way out I threw 10p to him for his troubles. I was ready to run if he took offence but he never bloody noticed. Waste of 10p.

And at the end of the night I made it home without being violated. Which was good.

Two Mankers in WH Smith

2008-04-03T01:30:00.002+01:00

I was in WH Smith in Central Station today and had the misfortune, or indeed fortune to stand behind two absolute manky women in the queue, while purchasing my half price book. I say women in the loosest possible sense.

The first 'female' had on a huge white t-shirt which pulled tight at every conceivable point on her top half, she was partly bearded and her arse was I believe around 3 feet wide. Now 3 feet wide seems like an exaggeration. Get a ruler and lay it out 3 times. That's it. I stared at her ass thinking "That is fucking huge....I wonder how huge it actually is" I then pictured my 12 inch office ruler placed across in ass in succession and I got 3 times, so 3 feet across. Her lower half looked as though she had a large inflatable rubber ring under her cheap leggings. She may have done, but I really doubt it. It was all her.

The second ''female' had on some weird pink plastic looking raincoat, and her bleached blonde hair was combed in one of the most peculiar ways I have seen. It was sort of combed into sections. The fringe was combed down from a straight line across her head about 3 inches back from her hairline. The top middle section was combed straight back and straight back down the back, flat against her head, with a wee hair clip pulling it together slightly. Two sections on either side were combed down vertically over her ears.

She may have thought that looked natural. Maybe the hairdresser told her that, right before he said, "That's you done hen, that'll be £2.99".

In each ear she had 6 gold hoop earrings. I say gold, they were coloured gold. They looked cheap as shit. They must have been if she could afford 12 of them. I was trying to avoid getting seen staring at her while I counted them and just took in the whole ensemble.

Her hands now. On each hand she had several sovvy rings decorating her fingers, except for the two fingers that were held together by the double finger ring that spelled out her name "Shirley" in three quarter inch high dimpled gold letters. For fuck sake.

Her left hand, or wrist was strapped in a blue device, not a plaster cast, but a solid strap that circled her wrist and was held with many bands of velcro. She probably hurt it when she was battering fuck out of someone. Maybe while trying to imprint "yelrihS" into someone's face.

That Mouth Was Born To Give Blowjobs

2008-04-02T06:45:00.004+01:00

Some years ago, I was out in the west end of Glasgow in a pub called The Brewery Tap. I think it's under a different name now. I was there with a few of my friends, one of their sisters who I grew up with, and another guy who my pal had met recently and was a bit older than the rest of us. We were all about nineteen and he was in his late thirties. He was a mature student.

The group was quite large and distributed around the bar.

At one point, the older guy leaned across to my pal, and nudged him. He nodded across the pub to some girl, and said the unforgettable line "Christ, look at that. That girl's mouth was born to give blowjobs, fuckin' amazing".

My pal, cool as anything, called out to the girl, waved her to come across to them and said "Lindsey, this Steven, Steven this is my younger sister". Lindsey was obvlivious to what he'd just said, and he was mortified. I don't know if he ever told her.

Haw Sir, How'd You Knaw Ma Name?

2008-04-01T07:15:00.001+01:00

There has been a rather tacky fashion accessory popular in Glasgow for the past few years and maybe elsewhere, who knows.

In some jewellery shops you can buy your name in gold which can then hang on a chain around your neck. This isn't so bad if your name's Mary, Kylie, Demi or something, and quite short, but I have seen teenage girls, with names like Bernadette, or even the double barrelled ones like Sarah-Louise. A nice enough name, but just too long for a decoration like that.

My teacher friend on his first day in his new school and was keen to exert some authority and walked into the class where the pupils were talking and being a bit rowdy.

One girl in particluar was the centre of some noise and my friend said in a loud clear authoritative voice..

"Anne-Marie, will you please stop what you're doing and sit down!"

Silence.

Anne-Marie whipped round and stared at my friend. Confused. She didn't recognise him but realised he would be the new teacher. Her brow furrowed and she retorted in her broad Glaswegian accent...

"Haw Sir, how'd you knaw ma name?"

"Because it's written in inch high gold letters round your neck, now sit down"

She did, she sat down, defeated while the rest of the class quietly pissed themselves laughing. A ned looking like a fanny in front of their pals. Sometimes, life's pleasures are that simple.

Wur Pure Mental, So Ahm Ur

2008-03-31T23:55:00.000+01:00

At the end of January I was at Queen Street station at 4pm getting the train home. Neds are a great source of pleasure for me, as long they are far enough away from me and not assaulting me.

On the benches were three of the aforementioned neds. I walked past them and sat down, far enough away from them to prevent an unwanted encounter but close enough so I could still hear what they were saying.

They were all wearing tracksuits naturally, and were around 18 or 19 years old. The first one was in a rather fetching all black Lacoste tracksuit with light blue trainers and a pizza face. His acne was something to behold. I would have placed him as the leader. He was standing in front of the other two sitting and talking on a mobile. Soon enough he started to chase some of the resident pigeons around the platform. Very mature. Every few seconds he would turn back to his mates for, as I noticed, their approval of his comedic routine. He wanted it and they gave it.

They sat and laughed their asses off, but unfortunately they sounded just like Beavis & Butthead. All too soon his hilarious routine was over as the pigeon soon fucked off. Next was an origami workshop.

He then knelt down and proceeded to make a paper airplane out of his Daily Record newspaper with one hand and his foot to hold down what he had folded as he was still talking on his phone at this point. His mate noticed this and helpfully stretched out from his seat and lent one of his feet also to hold bits of the plane down while the first one folded it. Once Concorde was complete he went to the edge of the platform and pretended to throw it at the other passengers on the other side, while looking back to his mates again for approval of his comic antics, but as daring as he seemed he never had the balls to throw it.

A few moments later their train approached and I heard the smallest one say "lets force wur way oan and no' let anywan oaf" to which one agreed "Aye man that's pure mental". I would normally follow guys like this onto the same carriage just to watch them but something told me they were going to act like complete fuds on the train so I went to the next carriage. Needless to say as soon the door opened all three of them barged onto the train, not letting anyone off first. Yeah, you crazyeeee kids.

Pure Hunners

2008-03-29T18:30:00.000Z

I was in B&Q in Drumchapel this afternoon at the returns desk and witnessed lovely examples of how not to be a customer and how not to be an employee.

The woman in front of me was being refused a refund I think because her receipt was not 'old enough'. Mmmm. Yes, the young lassie behind the counter was trying to explain to this woman that she could not process the refund at the moment as she had only just purchased the item and the purchase receipt was not old enough yet, but in around ten minutes it would be. This was clearly less than acceptable as the woman argued the point for several minutes with her as she obviously failed to grasp the concept that maybe the system had to process the information for a short period before the details could be called up for the refund to be done. She slammed her things down on the counter.... and then picked them up again and stormed out in a huff. Stifled giggles all round.

The guy beside her was returning a bonsai tree which had expired. Dead. The wee girl with the huge eyes and massive yellow reflective jacket was asking him some details of how he had cared for it, explaining that bonsai trees need extra water and the leaves should be misted regularly. She didn't seem to think he had done anything like this and was refusing his refund. This guy was very tall, near enough seven feet tall and seeing her eyes looking upwards made it look as if she was pleading with him. He confirmed he'd had bonsai trees for years and was indeed very familiar with the care they required.

Mmm. She said she'd get the manager, but she explained, pleadingly, that the manager may probably just say the same as her.

Au contraire. The manager appeared and was smaller that her younger assistant. She also had to lift her eyes to the heavens to speak to this guy, but her comments were very pleasing to me. Clearly she was not educated in the care of the bonsai tree, and not an employee ever stationed in the garden centre, but she had clearly grasped the idea of extra watering, no doubt explained to her by the young lassie when she was asking her to attend.

She simply walked across and with no introduction or explanation why and said the young one would process the refund and that..... "ye huv tae make sure you gie 'ese hings pure hunners o' watter".

So eloquent.

Tesco Hikers

2008-03-29T08:30:00.003Z

I was in Tesco in Milngavie one morning this week when I noticed the suburban country set were out in force. Everywhere I looked there was retired people in fleeces or large red waterproof jackets and some with sturdy 'walking shoes'.

I don’t know why they’ve opted for this look. It’s a bit like neds in their tracksuits, looking as if they should be training, these retirees seem to wish to look as though they are going off for a bit of cross country hiking.

However a quick walk out to the car park will prove this attempt fruitless as they've all got their Mercs and Beemers parked there ready to take them back up the road to their desirable detached villas.

It's another one of the looks adopted by people who I would say are well off. There is one I have noticed of some of the mature ladies that live in that area, and that is to turn up the collar of their blouses under their wool sweaters so it stands vertically (imagine Elvis's jumpsuits). It's a strange one but one that I find is quite common. In fact it's a giveaway sometimes when I get on the train going home from work, particularly on a Saturday when they've beem out shopping or lunching in some tasteful but expensive eatery, as the train can go down either one of two lines, and when I see an upturned collar under a piece of expensive wool, I know I'm on the right train.

We're Not At Home To Mr Cock-Up

2008-03-28T17:30:00.001Z

So I was in the hospital a couple of days ago for the wee operation. As I sit typing I am still trying to avoid going for a pee as the first time I went it was as if my dick was on fire and I was doubled over in pain.

As I went into the hospital I was nervous and spent some time watching the other patients around me, as I do. One of the first people called through was a foreign guy, and the nurse immediately stopped his girlfriend from following saying she couldn’t come through with the patient. Now it was clear very quickly that she spoke no English but there was no leeway with letting her through, so she was left in reception. Soon after when I was called through and changed into the highly loose gown. Thankfully I’d taken my own dressing gown and slippers. Now I’ll pass comment on my dressing gown just now. I bought it from Next. Large, thick and warm. I noticed on the packaging on the gown when I bought it a couple of weeks ago. It said that “It lets you enjoy living the life you lead”. That’s nice, very comforting, but it’s just a dressing gown. Do they think people will buy it on the basis that it will enhance the ability for them enjoy life to such an extent? I bought it because it was less than half price. Fuck all to do with that slogan.

After I’d got changed I had to call home quickly and when I had completed that I walked up to the nearest nurse and said “Right that’s me ready”, and she proceeded to lead me out of the ward “to get your clothes”. I faltered in my step and said she turned and saw me hesitating. “It’s just through here”. I walked after her while she explained I could get changed now. Now, I was standing in the middle of the ward in my dressing gown and thinking ‘Does she think this is a big coat?’ I said, “No, that’s me ready to go now”. She nodded and walked off a few paces and turned again and said to me “You look confused” and I’m thinking “’yeah I’m confused, you get me changed, now you want to get me dressed again and leave, what the hell are you doing?’.

Then suddenly Ping!, she looks at me and says “You’re just coming in?” “Yes”. I realised later there were morning patients which were still sitting around after surgery and there was an overlap. I was in half a mind to get dressed again and then ask when my operation started and then watch the confusion on her face.

When I got to the new waiting room, everyone was in their dressing gowns, so we were all equally uncomfortable sitting in front of each other. I quite enjoyed checking out the style of dressing gowns and particularly slippers that other people had. I have to admit I had bought a new dressing gown exactly because of this. My old one was a manky old thing and I looked positively poor when I had it on.

The foreign guy was now opposite me and sitting with his legs open, letting me view his lovely paper pants. The nurse was with him and letting him write a note to his girlfriend in what ever language they spoke to let her know when she could collect him. She suggested giving her the phone numbers so she could call in later in the afternoon. It took several minutes for her to realise that giving out phone numbers to someone who spoke no English was potentially a fruitless exercise. As I saw when I left some six hours later the girl was still sitting in reception waiting for him. Now in that situation it would have been so easy for them to bring her through and sit in the patient’s waiting area.

Soon I was taken to a bed and asked some questions by one man, then ten minutes later another guy came and asked me the same questions. Now this second guy had quite a strong Glasgow accent, and normally I can tune in to accents quite quickly but I didn’t know what the fuck this guy was saying. He kept having to repeat himself. He then made a few comments and I partly didn’t know what he was saying or whether he was joking or not so I gave a few nervous laughs and said Yes or No. I hope he wasn’t asking whether I was allergic to anything. That would’ve been a bugger to sort out for the death certificate.

The anaesthetic was nice, a wonderful tingling behind my ears before I popped off although the accent guy may have been tickling me and cracking jokes again. Back in the recovery area I was lying on a bed in between an older man and woman. The guy opposite me had got dressed and went back to the waiting area and ten minutes later they wheeled him back into the recovery area on a reclining armchair……unconscious. He appeared to have collapsed in his seat and they brought him back to put him on a monitor. He came round seconds later, but at one point not long after I was watching him and he did have the pulse monitor on his finger as the doctors were standing around I noticed the screen behind him had a flatline where normally there is the rise and fall. I watched his chest to see if I could see him breathing and I couldn’t. I was becoming a little concerned as I could see two nurses and a doctor standing within feet of him, but with their backs turned, but eventually one of the nurses called his name and he opened his eyes.

Then the old man beside me pulled the curtain around and stared to get changed and in rapid succession he burped and farted, and I’m thinking awww, Jesus, there’s women here. In a entirely male situation it’s probably acceptable, but on a mixed ward, try to suppress it for Christsake.

Anyway the result of my little visit was that the surgeon found two small growths on the inside of my bladder and took a biopsy of one and I will get a further appointment to get the results. He mentioned to me that he had used a rigid camera to look inside and I was thankful that I wasn’t awake for this procedure, especially as he would have had to then pull out the piece of clipped flesh back out along my urethra. Happy days. Meanwhile for the next two to three days I’ve to drink loads of water to make myself piss, which in turn causes a load of pain in my dick, so this will be a fun few days. I still have the use of my fingers to blog though so let’s be thankful.

I See A Different Thing...

2008-03-24T01:05:00.000Z

When I was getting married in '98, there was alot to do, which my wife did. I drove and said 'Yes'...alot. I did get chucked out a wedding shop (sort of). My wife was trying on shoes to go with her dress and I was there on a consultation basis and unfortunately I ventured too far into an area where brides-to-be might be coming out - with their dresses on. Apparently this encroachment totally fucked them up and some wee lassie politely told me to leave. I explained why I was there and she still said 'leave'.

In one other shop the girls seemed totally perplexed that her husband was sitting there helping her choose her wedding dress. The reason why is that I had this nightmare of turning round on the day and thinking 'she looks crap', so I thought I'd cover it and help her choose the dress. We have a similar taste anyway and we were both happy with the choice. And it turned out well anyway, cos on the day, I had no memory at all of what the dress looked liked til she walked down the aisle in the castle.

Anyway, one day we were trying to choose the band and been told they were playing at a wedding reception at a hotel in Stepps, north east of Glasgow. A wee drive. We made the effort and went there and parked up and headed into the hotel and ask at the desk where the wedding reception was, and were pointed in the direction of it.

There were double doors and I pushed them open. Weird. Very weird.

There was a man on his knees on the floor, with a snare drum between his knees. And other various 'people' around him battering at things, not all instruments. The future wife and I stared at each other and retreated to discuss...... "Fuckin hell, what the fuck is that" "I know" "Fuckin hell" "I know".

We looked back in. It hadn't gotten any better. There was some weird shit going on with the band and the guests. Some strange dancing indeed. We drove away (see previous post for near potential murder).

A couple of days later the band guy phoned me and asked me if we'd been. Yes, I said slowly. He asked me what I thought. I said slowly and carefully I wasn't sure if it was our thing. He wasn't sure what I meant, I asked for a ceilidh band? Yes. What was the problem? So I mentioned the man on his knees battering the drum and the fact that he had long hair and wasn't wearing a kilt, but more of a leather trousers outfit.

"That wasn't us.......we were in the suite at the back of the hotel". Fuck.

Murder In Progress...Go Around

2008-03-24T00:40:00.000Z

I was driving through Drumchapel a few nights ago, and there was a queue of traffic in front of me going onto a roundabout. It's a major roundabout on the main road through the west of Glasgow. It's the A82 road, I've checked and it actually starts in Inverness in the (almost) north of Scotland (as far north as I've been) and it ends in the centre of Glasgow where it meets the M8.

Over a small grassy hill beside some shops came a posse of neds. There was about 10 of them. Every single one of them was wearing a tracksuit. I wouldn't expect anything else of them. It's the next national dress. Looks shite though.

They piled across the road, fighting with each other, kicking each other. They didn't even stop for traffic. One car came off the roundabout at a bit of speed and nearly killed one of them as he strolled across the road. I accelerated slightly before being quickly told not to by the wife in case 10 of the wee bastards decided to stop killing each other and decided to come after a moving car. It's unbelievable. How fucking stupid are these people to have a fight as they're crossing a main road?

I remember a time some years ago when I was driving back from Stepps, north east of Glasgow. We had gone to see a band who we would potentially hire for our wedding (see next post), and we were going along a dual carriageway and came up to a junction with traffic lights where there was a pub on the corner standing alone as often in Glasgow, pubs do.

As I neared the junction, the pub doors opened and about five people tumbled out. Two were fighting with each other. The five were followed by about thirty or forty others (thirty or forty...no shit) and these two guys were oblivious to anything else and brought their fight to the centre of the road. One guy went down on the road and the other started kicking him in the head. It was some sight. I saw a gap near the central barrier at the right and realising the potential danger I (and my car) was in, I slowly moved the car round them and horsed it down the road, looking at the fight in my rear view mirror.

Fill A Cup Before You Go Go

2008-03-23T23:05:00.003Z

So, after my trip to the doctor I had an appointment at the hospital at the end of February, and of course I knew again that it would involve some probing.

When I got to the hospital I needed to pee, so quickly went to the toilet at the main entrance. I then went through to the urology department and immediately saw the doors of the toilets there beside the reception. There were huge red signs warning "Stop! Please check with reception if you need to provide a sample". Bugger.

I sat in the waiting room, and after ten minutes, a round nurse came out and called me, so I gathered up my coat and bag, and she waved me down back into my seat. "You do know you're here for a flow test?" "Umm, no. No-one told me that". "Alright, well we'll need to get you to drink some water so you'll need to go".

So I sat for 45 minutes, drinking nearly 10 cups of water until I'd emptied the water jug in front of me and the one from my neighbours table. Eventually I walked up to the nurse's station and told them I could give a sample now if they wanted. "Ok, come this way and we'll put you on the machine". Put me 'on the machine'?? What the hell is this? I thought I was going to be milked.

If I want to be milked I'll buy something online for about £30. www.medicaltoys.com/insertables2.html I may do.

She led me into this room and just said to pee into the machine. Once I got in I was thinking a little bit more explanation could have been given. In this room was a large almost industrial sized steel toilet seat, and beside the door, a machine with bucket making a humming noise. I hung up my coat and looked around. This machine beside the door had a bucket on it and pipes coming from the base of it into a larger square bucket. The bucket at the top was about ten inches across and twelve inches deep. The base of it was a black section which was spinning, and I figured out this was to collect the pee, and disperse it down the pipes. I was really none the wiser as to why I was doing this. I decided I would pee into the humming contraption and hope I'd guessed right.

I unzipped and freed the beast. I then realised that the bucket was a bit low. It was probably higher than the average toilet bowl but at that height I was thinking I'm not going to get everything in there. Then I noticed the huge absorbent pad on the floor. Okay I thought, here we go, so I bent at the knees which only pushed my open fly back up against my todger, so I repositioned. I had one hand pulling the base of my zip down so I didn't piss all over my suit, one hand obviously holding my cock, and I leaned forward and rested my head against the wall trying to get the optimum angle for the delivery.

As I started peeing, a little grey box on a shelf started churning out a length of paper with a little graph going up and down, and I saw when I peed the line went up. It was like a seisometer for my cock.

Because the whole thing was so awkward, I was stopping and starting, stopping and starting but eventually got it done, washed my hands and went outside. I was then directed into another room with a angled bed with a long paper towel down it, and a curtain around it. The wee round nurse told me to lie up on the bed and undo my trousers "just so they are open like this", and she held her hands at her own thighs making a downward pointing v-sign with her fingertips. I lay up on the bed and undid my trousers and pushed them open as far as they would go and down a little. Not showing anything. Even at this point I had no idea why I was in this room with my trousers open. A distinct lack of information all round. Is this what I pay my monthly National Insurance for? For me to guess what the nurses want?

She arrived back behind the curtain, looked and told me to open them a bit more and down a bit and then she left again.

Okay, I thought, she's not saying exactly how much skin I had to give her so I'll decide how much skin to give her. I lifted my hips and scooted my trousers down with the shorts so everything was clear of my tackle. And I waited.

Just a minute later she came back in. And I watched her eyes. She walked in and up the side of the bed but I saw it....the movement of her eyes to her right, and down....to my cock. Yup, she wasn't expecting it to be out there at all. She got busy with what she was doing, a bit of cold gel on my lower stomach, above the willy, and did a little scan of whatever is in there.

That over, I got dressed and went to the door of the room, and found three nurses talking amongst themselves, so I busied myself looking at diagrams of the male and female genitalia on the wall until one of them told me to go back to the waiting room.

Shortly after a woman in a suit came out and took me through, explaining she was helping out my doctor today, and she would do my consultation. Slight nerves...a woman....an impending probing....oh fuck it, what's worse, a guy with his finger up your arse, or a woman. Happy days.

We went through my history then she told me to "pop up on the table and we'll have a look at your tail end". I love the different phrases different doctors have for acutely embarrassing procedures.

She commented that my flow test was a bit erratic and it was only at tha point it clicked...a flow test, to test my flow..... Doh! I felt like saying if I knew that I'd have pissed like a horse for you.

She had a feel of my balls first. No complaints there. Absolutely none at all. However, a furtive glance down and I noted again my cock was failing to perform in the length test. If anything it'd gone smaller. I willed it to move and have a wee expandy-poo, and even when I noticed the doctor's cleavage and her bra peeking out I was thinking 'Go, go now, do something, please'. Nothing. Roll on the side, knees up, lube, finger, aaaahh, twist, nnneeearghooooahhh ...ooohh.....plop, wipe.

Conclusion, she didn't think my prostate was enlarged. How did my own doctor think it was? Never mind, I've had a whole new experience.

What she did was though that she thought my problem may be a stricture in my urethra, a narrowing, and what they'd do is 'pop a camera along the urethra and have a look'. Uh-huh, what...say again. A camera up the cock. She said it too casually, and I'm thinking 'is she going to go and get it now?'. I said "What today?", No no no, they'd arrange an in-patient appointment for an afternoon.

She then explained it could be done under a local anaesthetic, and immediately I'm picturing myself in a highly unfashionable paper gown, lying in a theatre with the gown pulled up to my chest, and knees up, and spread, and several nurses standing around watching the doctor holding my cock and sliding a tube up it....

...or a general anaesthetic...Yes please. And she nodded and said that most young men prefer the general anaesthetic. Most young men? I should have asked her why. That intrigued me. Do you enjoy it more as you get older?

She then suggested in the meantime I could try massaging , my urethra after I'd peed to try to entice some more out. Please clarify I asked her. she took me to a chart on the wall, and we stood there looking at a diagram of a cock and she used her pen to show me where to massage myself. It was only after this that I saw the funny side of that and realised that I should have asked her to demonstrate just exactly how it should be done...on me.

I got a date for the camera insertion and it's 26th March, so no doubt I'll be blogging that night, depending on whether I can sit down, with my views on the comical side of having a camera shoved up my cock.

I Saw Him Coming

2008-03-23T02:30:00.001Z

I'll say now, I'd had this post on draft for some months. I was never sure whether I wanted to share it, it's rather personal, it could be potentially bad news health wise, but on the other hand I tend to view most things from an angle that makes me think about human behaviour and how absurd some situations are it you deconstruct them in a certain way. Ooooh philosophical.

A hospital date has been set for next week, for a wee procedure and I wasn't sure whether to talk about it or not, but after a few days deliberation and I have to admit...a bottle of wine, I'm going to tell you all about it. It's 1.30am as I type this, and I'm feeling confident. I'll wake up in five hours, and think "Shit, did I really write that?"

I had to go the doctor recently. A testicle problem and a problem with peeing. I could cover it with “Gentleman’s Troubles”, but I'll explain by saying a strange pain in each nut and a slight need to go visit the toilet ten minutes after I've just been.

When I decided to go to the doctor a few months ago I knew in advance that my prostate would need to be checked and I knew what that involved. I didn't actually know what my prostate did (a high percentage of men don't) so I Googled it. I Google everything.

I prepared myself...how to say this nicely..umm....I'm aware that my brother & his future wife read this blog sometimes so I almost feel like I should watch what I say, but they are both very 'open' to some detail and some language, so I'll say...I cleaned out my ass...mwuaaaaaaaoooooaaaaa. Oh fuck. eeewwwww. Well someone's got to do it, and it's my own ass. I assure you it's better that I did it, than I saw the doctor's gloved finger in the air covered in crap.

OK, we're past that. Fuckin' eeewww.

My appointment was a 9am one, to get into work soon after, and as I was standing at the reception desk a young man came through from the back with an anorak and a wee rucksack on and walked past me to one of the rooms.

I've never waited so long for my name to be called.

How amused I was when I walked in and sitting beside my normal doctor was a young, nervous looking student doctor. The guy that had just walked past me in reception. My doctor explained he was there for training and asked me if I minded if he sat in. I'm fairly easygoing in certain situations (some not) so I said "Not at all". I did laugh to myself as I already knew what this young doctor was about to witness in his first appointment of the day and so soon after his breakfast.

I explained about my Gentleman’s Troubles and he asked me to pop up on the table, and slide my trousers down. Now, as any man will know the penis comes in many many sizes, and during any given day your own takes on several different sizes itself at any time it so desires, it really does have a mind of it's own. That may sound like a myth, but when you're half naked in front of a stranger you realise it's very true.

I was hoping that when I wheeched the tweeds down my cock would have been a suitably impressive size. It was not to be. It wasn’t a cold day, but my dick had decided to shrink to about half the size it would normally be at, while “at rest”. When I was lying there I looked down to check what size it was an was mildly embarrassed. Fuck it, I thought, you could at least tried to have had an erection. I'm not going to go into sizes here, as my sister in law may see this (Hi Kathy), but suffice it to say, it is normally fucking huge (är-tĭs'tĭk...lahy-suhns).

After a quick feel of my testicles, and very gently I must say, my doctor explained that he needed to have a check up my back passage, and that I should lie on my side with my knees up to chest. I haven’t felt quite as exposed for a long time. In fact, never.

I heard him squeeze on the rubber glove and the slap as he pinged it into place on his wrist. I then heard a squirt noise and a cold sensation on my rear entry point. He’d only fucking lubed me up. Be gentle I thought as I squeezed my eyes shut.

The probing was not as bad as I thought, I have to say. Although it took a turn for the worse as his hand decided to take a turn....in me. Ninety degrees to the right. The finger going straight in wasn’t too bad but when he started turning it around it felt slightly uncomfortable. I heard a faint plop as the sixty year old man withdrew from my ass and it was running through my mind to look over my shoulder and ask the young doctor if he wanted a turn. It would've been my way of diffusing a 'slightly' awkward situation with humour.

If this wasn’t weird enough, my doctor then got a wad of tissue and with one hand lifted my left cheek and started to wipe the lube off my ass. How thoughtful I thought as I lay there thinking 'Can this get any more embarrassing?'.

He told me he thought I had an enlarged prostate and he'd send me for more tests which I will cover soon.

And you know the funny thing, some months before I'd been at the doctors about something else and thought about raising this but chickened out at the last minute. And thinking back now, maybe I should have just told the temporary doctor then who was a rather saucy looking young lady that time. Nothing against her sticking her finger up my ass..... normally that's so difficult to get.

I have read up on the prostate thing and the thing you see the most is 'cancer'. I have seen a treatment for an enlarged prostate where they insert a thing up your penis and proceed to chip away at the enlarged prostate gland basically with a hammer. Is it just me? Is there not some better way?

The cancer thing scares me a little, but I read that one in three men will get cancer at some point in there lives, and I know that my one of my brother's had testicular cancer a few years ago and one of them removed so I guess that rules me out of the cancer market (a layman's take on the law of probabilities). When he called me to tell me, he told me after it was all over.

I got a phone call and he said 'I just wanted to let you know I'm out the hospital'. It's maybe the best way as they're talking to you so they're alive. He said he'd just been in to have a testicle removed after they found a cancerous lump. Like I say, I'm glad I found out after.

Anyway I'm sure I haven't got cancer. I give my balls a good battering every few days and they seem fine to me.

Where's Ma Three Hunner Pun Phone?

2008-03-23T01:15:00.002Z

A colleague of mine was on his way home on the bus some weeks ago. The bus from Glasgow city centre through Drumchapel and Clydebank. At 5pm, it's safe enough, anytime after 9pm, I'd suggest a stab vest, mace and a signed life policy. He'd testify to that, he's from Faifley. Now, I'm not slagging the place, it's my pal that says it's like that.

The bus was busy and a few people were standing. Then the one person everyone wants to avoid gets on.

Early twenties, scruffy, and blood all over his face. Blood all over the face should sound alarm bells straightaway. Everyone was trying to avoid eye contact.

He then started walking up and down the bus telling people he's lost his £300 mobile phone and making people in the seats stand up and move so he can look under the seat. He'd only just got on the bus but no-one was arguing with him.

"Haw, I've loast ma fuckin phone, fuckin three hunner pun, ya cunt, where the fuck is it...........you ..............move". "OK".

My friend just stared out the window and turned the volume up on his iPod headphones. He's seen it all before, he's a veteran.

He then headed down to the front of the bus and stands beside the driver and starts on some unfortunate bastard there. He told this guy that he looked like the guy that jumped him at T In The Park. The other guy explains quickly and nervously that he'd never been there. He was obviously thinking the bloke would suddenly set about him, and he looked well tense.

He then started asking the guy where he was earlier in the evening and the man amazingly deflected his questions and the nutter soon became bored before he jumped off in Faifley. The same stop my pal gets off.

He walked off the bus behind him and somehow managed to slip past him into the dark and avoid being questioned about a £300 phone. Lucky lucky lucky.

No Hankies? no matter 2

2008-03-22T09:40:00.002Z

On Thursday I was crossing Renfield Street at the junction with Gordon Street. There were a few people crowded at the traffic lights waiting for the green man.

These two scumbags come up. They were both wearing shellsuits, trainers, the whole ensemble. A quick glance at them let me see their faces had been hacked up at one point, scars aplenty.

Then one of them very smoothly twisted to one side, one forefinger on his right nostril and blows. I was treated to seeing his snot jet out and smack on the ground. He then turned to his friend to continue his conversation and then thought maybe he hadn't been so accurate after all and started turning himself in circles to check his trainers to make sure they hadn't been hit.

His friend was right at the edge of the pavement and still talking. The first guy was obviously one of these people who has to be facing someone and have their face right in the other person's to hold a conversation, as when his pal said something, he walked round the front of him and stood about twelve inches from him and put his face forward so it was about six inches from his friends.

Not so weird, but to do this, he'd stepped out onto the road and into the path of the traffic. Now this road is a major bus route through Glasgow, and the road bends slightly at this junction so he could quite easily have been clipped by a bus coming through the lights, but he was totally oblivious to the cars flying past right behind him.

Nothing would have pleased me more to see the pain on his face as a wing mirror sliced through his tracksuit and into his ass cheeks. Alas, luck was on his side, and nothing hit him.

As the green man came on he turned and they both set off across the road, and to my left I just heard "Jesus, that was disgusting". I turned and saw this middle aged woman staring at his glob of snot on the ground with her face twisted as if she'd just sucked a lemon. That pleased me immensely.

Roller Blade Bandits

2008-03-14T13:15:00.000Z

On Gordon Street a few days ago, an old woman came from behind me at a bit of a run, and pulling her suitcase which bumped down off the kerb as she ran out onto the road. She was running with her hand outstretched as if she was trying grab something. I then saw two 14 year old boys on roller blades trying to get away from her. I thought they may have robbed her.

They both had long hair. But not cool long hair, the kind that looked like a girl's. Big flock of seagulls at the front and sweeping round and down their back into a wee curl. White t-shirts and flowing open shirts. Wee knob heads.

They'd been throwing those little bangers at people. I thought I'd heard a woman's high heels clicking behind me but it was those little gits throwing bangers. This old woman had taken exception to them and tried to catch them. I could hear her swearing behind me.

To be honest it made me angry and I felt like grabbing them myself. And I could have. Even though they were on roller blades they were going as fast as anyone else walking along. But... I couldn't be assed. One nearly got hit by a car as he flew across the busy street. Christ that would have been satisfying. Little prick.

Bloodbus This Isn't

2008-03-13T21:05:00.003Z

A colleague of mine was on the bus a couple of weeks ago at 5pm. The of the day so very busy and only standing room left.

There were several people standing in the centre aisle and at the front, just beside the driver was a man holding a baby.

Someone pressed the bell up the back somewhere fore the bus to stop at the next place, but it kept on going. Whoever it was hadn't deemed to move down the bus to grace the driver with their presence, so the man holding the baby quite politely raised a point with the driver mentioning there were people wanting off at the last stop

"Well there's nae-one doon here waiting to get aff and I cannae fuckin' stoap in between stoaps". Alrighty then.

As the bus then made it's way around George Square the driver had to manoeuvre round a corner where some diddy had parked his car. This kind of riled the bus driver somewhat and hammered on his horn and let rip with a torrent of abuse at the parked car which I think was empty.

The man with the baby said to him "I think you should calm down a little".

No.......don't.......say.......that.

The driver turned to him and said "I think you need a fuckin' personality transplant pal, what the fuck are you daein telling me that?".

I think he should get a job on one of those tour buses and be a real face to face advert for Glasgow. Then he could drive them somewhere for a group mugging.

Unethical, illegal or stupid?

2008-03-12T07:10:00.002Z

I don't know if it's illegal to dump your rubbish in someone else's skip which is in the street. It's definitely annoying when you pay £100 to hire one and in the morning you find everyone else's crap in there.

We have Litter Wardens in Glasgow now and the other day I walked out my office and immediately saw one of the emptying his pockets into an skip sitting on the road. And there was a normal bin within 20 feet of him.

The skip isn't there for public use. It's outside a building site. Can I fine him myself?

Is it unethical for a Litter Warden to dump some of his own rubbish into a skip in the street? Probably. Is it illegal? I don't know.

Is it a bit stupid? Almost definitely.

Drunk Diving

2008-03-11T06:40:00.002Z

I was out at the weekend for a wee swim with my son and went to the PlayDrome in Clydebank. I paid a little more for the thrill of having large chutes available so we could experience sliding down the massive chute and disappearing into the swirling pool at the bottom, and trying to clamour back to the surface and coughing out the water from my airways. Oh the joys.

Alas only one chute was open. The wee one. I say wee, it's still as high as the ceiling but to get up any speed you have to get your arse off the surface and slide on your heels and shoulder blades. This of course causes acute pain to those areas sliding along hard plastic at speed. I did it once. Never again.

Anyway, the wave machine was next. Bloody fantastic. I now know if was actually at sea, I'd drown. I never appreciated how hard it was to swim vertically. I had to do it as my son was there and I didn't want him to see me struggling to stay afloat and coughing with each mouthful of water, so I smiled at him and tried to keep my head above the water. Several times though the wave came up behind me, totally covering me, and I had to bob through the water to a calm bit to push the hair and water out my eyes and force myself to shout "Great isn't it?!"

The pool was also quite busy with your groups of various ages.

The twelve year olds were amusing. They were sitting opposite us in the jacuzzi at one point and the boys were fighting with each other, and twisting each other's arms in a clear show of masculinity for the girls who just talked amongst themselves. Unimpressed. At one point, the girls asked them;

"Do any of yous fancy any of us?"
"Aye" says one boy as they confer with each other.
"Which wan?"
"Her" one boys says, pointing. Oh so romantic.
"Which wan o' yous though?"
"Him". One of them pointing.

So that's how you chat up a girl. So many of my teenage years wasted. If only I'd known the secret, I'd have got my Nat King much earlier. Not at twelve though. That would be illegal. Good, but illegal. I'm not condoning that, oh no.

The next group were the neds. The eighteen year old guys with the muscled bodies, shaved heads and battered faces. They were running round, splashing people, throwing floats around, just missing me, and making a friggin nuisance of themselves. At one point a blue float flew past me within inches of my face and I turned and stared at the prick and mouthed something which hopefully looked like "What the fuck are you doing you little prick?", while letting mt jaw hang slack as if I had more to say. I got a palms raised apology, and I stared at them for a few seconds longer to show them I wasn't to be messed with.

Now clearly, if my son hadn't been there, there's no fucking way I have even looked at them. If I had, I'd have apologised to them for being in their way. There's no way they were going to set about me in the pool in front of everyone and even if I'd got out, changed and reached the front door, I can run like a motherfucker if someone's chasing me, and I've got a car as well.

Then there was the two older neds. You know the guys whose intelligence didn't quite corrolate with their physical age as they grew. I'm sure there's a medical term for that. Two guys, again, very fit looking, shaved heads, unshaven, battered, scarred faces, and clearly a bit pissed. It was 3pm, and they at the swimming pool...drunk.

They were being a bit loud and unruly, and I pished myself laughing as the pool manager, some overweight goober in a shirt and tie, and a wee radio, called one of them over to the side and said "I need a word" and indicated he should move up the shallow end. I watched as the man gestured for the drunk to leave the pool and get out, which he sheepishly did. The hardman seemed to know he'd met his match. A pool manager with a bad tie.

A Bit Old For A Tracksuit

2008-03-03T23:55:00.002Z

Recently on Buchanan Street I saw a rather disturbing site. A fortyish year old man out of his mind on something.

His eyes were barely open, and he was swaying left to right and occasionally stumbling a few feet, nearly falling on top of a baby in a pushchair. It wasn't his drink/drug induced state which alarmed me though.

He was wearing a bloody white Lacoste tracksuit with wee bits of sky blue, mismatched Adidas tracky trousers and white socks tucked into his untied white trainers. I shouldn't judge him. Maybe he stopped off for a pint on his way back from the gym.

What a sad advert for Glasgow though. A forty year old in a tracksuit.

Glassed In The Face.....Sir

2008-03-01T09:50:00.001Z

One of my friends is a teacher and a few weeks ago ago he met an ex-pupil of his on Byres Road, in the west end of Glasgow.

The boy, now about seventeen years old noticed my pal first and said, "Alright sir?"

My friend has always got on well with his pupils and responded "Hi, you alright?, have a good new year?"

"Aye Sir, it was alright."
"Oh?" my friend thought he didn't seem that pleased about something.

The boy lifted his car and my friend immediately saw the bloody mess on his forehead.

At some point in the new year festivities he'd been glassed and had to be stitched up at the Western.

"Was it sore?" my friend enquired.

"Aye, Sir."

Apart from the fact the boy seemed to think there was nothing out of the ordinary about getting glassed around the face, I liked the way he still called him Sir. A bit of respect. That's nice.

We'll Just Drink The £25 Instead

2008-02-25T20:36:00.006Z

I heard a story at work today which brightenend up my day.

One weekend four guys went up north in a car for a wee weekend break. They were from Clydebank so it was really just a piss up.

They had arranged a B&B at £25 for the night.

When they got there, they found the local pub and settled in with a couple of pints. But at some point during the proceedings they made the unanimous decision to forget about the B&B and just drink the £25 it was going to cost them, so they called to cancel it. I've no idea what they thought they were going to do when the night came to an end and they fell out the pub.

Anyway the pub came to closing time and they were looking forward to a night of clubbing ahead. They asked where the local "nightspot" was. Or the dancin' as they called it, but apparently it had burned down just a few weeks before.

So there they were, in the street, a bit pissed but not quite pissed enough and nowhere to sleep.

They ended up just sleeping in the car. All four of them. In a wee hatchback. Imagine the cramped conditions. Imagine the pains and sore necks in the morning. Imagine the smell.

Armani....or Primark

2008-02-23T09:38:00.001Z

I was walking behind a woman in her early 20s on St Vincent Street a week ago and was looking at her long black cardigan style coat thing with its woollen belt. A favourite of some people. Personally I thought it looked cheap, and I checked myself for assuming the cardigan looked cheap. Who I am to say that? It could be an Armani at £350. Otherwise she was dressed nicely.

But then I noticed the blue Bic biro pen stuck through her hair bun. Tacky.

I thought, “go with the gut feeling“, it’s not Armani, it’s Primark. All respect to her, I get my gear there too.

Charity Volunteers In The Street

2008-02-21T06:15:00.000Z

Is it a pre-requisite for doing this volunteer work that they have a hairstyle that no self respecting person would have? I suppose it's all part of being a student and wanting to express themselves. Gits.

There is various aspects of their “job” that annoys me. The arm waving as if to say “Look at me, I’m a bit crazy and carefree, woo hoo, don’t you want to stop and discuss something with me?” No.

There are some that literally dance around you as you walk past. Some quietly ask you if you want to stop. Some catch your eye from a distance and those are the real buggers as it makes it more difficult to pretend to ignore them and look somewhere else.

I've never stopped to talk to one, I just can't be bothered, maybe I should before I pass judgement on these people who are doing something for charidee. Or I could just tell them to “Fuck off”. I’d like to do that.

Expensive Free Cutlery

2008-02-20T06:20:00.004Z

Every day a guy comes to our office to sell his wares. He owns a sandwich shop in the centre of Glasgow on the next block to our premises and many people would just go there for their lunches etc. After a while I suppose of getting to know faces he arranged to bring baskets of his food to our office mid morning to save people the walk at lunchtime, and of course to his benefit he had a captive audience.

There are seven floors with around 40 people on each and I think at least 10 people on each floor buy stuff from him, spending an average of £2 each. That's an almost guaranteed extra income of £140 a day approximately, £700 a week, £36400 a year.

50 metres past his shop there is a supermarket. I always go in there before I get to the office. He was in front of me one day, buying huge bunches of bananas. He walked straight out across to his shop. He sells bananas in there for 50p each, as part of this "5 a day" thing people have got going on. I pay around 15p - 20p for a banana in the supermarket. If I went to him, with me getting a couple each day, I'd be giving him an extra £156 every year.

The number of times I see my colleagues flocking to his baskets when he comes onto our floor, trying to get to him as quick as they can is comical. They pay him about 60p for a pot of yoghurt that costs about 35p at the supermarket across the street. His rolls and sandwiches are made by him fresh that day and they pay him for the privilege. A basic roll with some cheese and tomoto is around £1.90. One of my colleagues once asked him if he had only cheese rolls and he offered to take out the tomato, and reduced the price to £1.10. 80p for a single slice of tomato!!

The other day one guy actually said to him "I've only been off two days and it's gone up 20p". He didn't didn't even crack a smile, and my pal was still bitching about it when he got back to his desk still within the guy's earshot. I suppose it's city centre prices. He's got to make his rent and costs and we've got to eat but do we have to give him over £36,000 every year because we can't be arsed walking a hundred metres to a supermarket? People have said that his prices are dear, especially after the 80p tomato slice incident and a couple of people stopped buying from him and actually go to another place around the corner now.

For the people who still use his services, I thank you, as you give me much enjoyment watching you scurry over to him to buy your expensive rolls and cheese (single slice) and yoghurts. One thing though, he does supply free plastic cutlery. Mind you, he probably lifted that from the supermarket. I know I did.

Clown Man

2008-02-17T23:30:00.001Z

Today's freak of nature story was a strange looking sort of weeping clown workie.

I saw this guy on Gordon Street a few weeks ago. To describe how he was dressed I must start at the bottom and work up.

He had workie's steel capped beige workboots on, baggy trousers, some form of grey smock, and there it stopped being normal. On top of the smock he had a fluorescent tabard over this, and brightly coloured strings of plastic pearls, the like you might see draped around the neck of Mardi Gras ladies and catching on their nipples. On his head he had a soft clown style hat, which splayed off in different directions, and had small bobbles on the end of each piece. Over this , there was numerous orange and yellow strings which looked as though they had just been dropped on top.

Then his face. He'd even painted his face. But not in some sort of traditional clown style. It seems he'd tried to paint on tears, all over his face, but it just looked as though his face was a mass of running paint. And the only colour he'd used was grey.

What am extremely bizarre man.

Lick The Lid Of Life

2008-02-16T16:55:00.003Z

On my way to work yesterday morning I was walking down Buchanan Street, crossing St Vincent Street, and had to wait for the traffic to clear.

As I was looking left I saw the guy beside me had a Muller Yoghurt in his hand. It was open with the lid bent up in a wee curve. As he lifted it I noticed it was almost empty.

He tipped it up and I saw his freakishly long tongue slide out and waggle around inside then tub to get the rest of the purple yoghurt from the bottom. He was doing it all one handed and seemed quite skilled at using his tongue to go in a good couple of inches and hit the right spot. His girlfriend must love him.

£1000 To Shut Your Mouth

2008-01-22T00:54:00.000Z

I was in Morrisons a few days ago and I saw a couple of guys walking around. The older one in front, and the younger walking behind with the trolley. To be honest, they looked like a couple of farmers.

The older guy had a sort of worn look about him, hair that hadn't been cut for some time, or combed at any time, sturdy shoes, heavy dark cord trousers, a check shirt under a dark/dirty waistcoat, and a padded coat/bodywarmer thing, and a ruddy complexion, oh, and a huge beer belly.

The younger one was a thinner version but in slightly more fashionable clothes, however still looking like a farmer...and he had a beenie hat pulled down over his blond locks. I know he was a blond due to his unshaven face. He was trailing behind and looking slightly pissed off.

It's not usual you see a father and son walking round that shop, one with a trolley.

Normally I wouldn't mention it if it wasn't for this line....

Son: "Dad, I'll give you a grand if in April you don't moan for a whole week". April?

Glasgow Council Save Money!

2008-01-19T08:28:00.000Z

I heard a very interesting story a few months ago from a guy who works for Glasgow City Council.

There are some offices in the city centre and they have their own off street parking. The managers who work in the offices see it as their birth right to use the parking bays for their own vehicles rather than park in the street like all the other staff and pay the parking charges every day.

Now, being a council operation, they have council vehicles which operate from that office, used by the staff that work there. The council vans are supposed to be parked in those parking bays when not in use, and why not indeed? If the council have their own off street parking in the city centre they should be using it to minimise outlays and reduce the cost to the customers. You would think.

Back to the managers. As far as they are concerned, there is free parking at their office and they are going to use it. So they do. Where do the vans go? Out on the street at parking meters. The parking meter tickets are then put through as expenses and no-one knows the difference.

Then someone thought it might be cheaper daily to park the vans in the NCP carpark nearby. Genius.

Bugger. The vans couldn't get into the NCP carpark because they have orange light bars on top which make them too high to get under the maximum height bar which hung over the entrance. Bugger indeed.

Then someone thought of an idea to get the vans into that carpark.

They spent a few thousand pounds, as I understand it, fitting all the vans with new light bars, newer and lower ones that could fit under the maximum height bar to get them into the NCP carpark.

Genius.

So, they spent thousands of pounds which in a roundabout way gets charged to us, changing their vehicles to save money on parking charges....so their managers get free parking.

One word. Wankers.

The Minister's Cat 2008

2008-01-11T00:36:00.000Z

So it was New Year's Day and the moment arrived. We decided to play the Minister's Cat. I do enjoy it. My brother and I try to out do each other with exceptionally long and obscure words.

As the circle of people took a turn, it came to the aged uncle's turn, and he did not disappoint. He stared off into the distance and held his hands clasped over his yellow woollen v-neck sweater. Silence fell and we stared at him. Nothing. Then a faint "Emmm, oh, ah, umm, I cannae think of anything". He looked around the group with his slight grin, and appeared to be making no effort at all to think of any word.

Eventually he came up with something and we moved on.

Each time it came round to him, we got the same thing. People were prompting him with answers he could use, and he started coming up with answers that other people had already given and his response to that was "I thought I'd heard that before".

He did this so often that almost became a catchphrase. It was verging on the ridiculous, as people gave him the answers he was either refusing to use them or he didn't realise that someone was giving him an easy way out.

And as for the 'F' word, I had successfully persuaded my son that he could do well in the game if he prepared a list of words beforehand. So he never said 'fuck' which I was glad of.

Hogmanay 2007

2008-01-10T18:41:00.000Z

Well, it went off without a hitch. I didn't fall over. I was at a friend's house along the road with his family, his sister's family and his parents turned up after midnight. It's fair to say I did well. I didn't fall over, but also fair to say I don't remember getting home.

I had my kilt on, and although there was no dancing in the kitchen this year I do think the kilt puts me in a different mood rather than just wearing a pair of trousers.

The evidence is that a couple of months ago, my brother was over at mine for a wee bevvy with his fiance and I was trying to persuade him that he should try a kilt for his impending wedding.

"There's no fucking chance" I think were his words.

So I gave him some more alcohol and said he could try mine on if he wanted. Trousers rolled up, kilt on, sporran on, jacket on. Tell him he looks lovely and the next minute he's saying "I'm, wearing a kilt at my wedding". That's the gemme.

Anyway, back to the kitchen. The same girl was there this year and because all the other kids are boys, she stayed downstairs with the adults. So, I'm in the kitchen and I see her mobile phone is on charge, and I say, "That's a nice phone, I was looking at that one myself".

She says "What phone have you got?" I tell her. She purses her lips and they turn down at the corners. Unimpressed.

She says "Why don't you get one then?" I say "I was going to wait a while before I buy it, I'm not sure".

And then she comes out with a gem of wisdom, and honesty that you can't disagree with...

"You mean, you're going to wait til it's cheap then?"

"Yes".

Bloody kids.

Pyjamas Off For A Screw

2007-12-30T18:14:00.000Z

There's a fashion movement just now which involves wearing your pyjamas to go out.

I saw a young boy today being pulled along by his mother. He was about five years old. He had on a large raincoat and heavy duty outdoor shoes, and multicoloured striped loose cotton trousers. Obviously pyjamas.

I have noticed young teenage girls wearing loose cotton colourful trousers in the pyjama style when they are out and about in the city centre. I don't know if these are sold as outdoor trousers in the style of pyjamas or whether these girls are making a fashion statement by wearing what they find under their pillows.

A few months ago I saw an extreme case of this though.

I was at B&Q one evening in the summer, about 9pm and it was getting dark. A family got out of their car and came towards the shop door, as I was leaving. Mum, Dad and young son were fine. The teenage daughter was wearing a very fluffy and very pink dressing gown over her pink pyjamas and huge soft pink slippers.

What the fuck?

What the fuck are these people thinking? Dad says he's just nipping to B&Q to get some screws for that shelf. Wife says she'll come and bring the kids. She asks the daughter if she's not getting changed out of her pyjamas. "No, it's fine Maw, naebody will notice". Yes everybody will notice a loon walking round a DIY store in her pyjamas and dressing gown.

I have seen both women and men in my local Spar shop wearing their slippers, but this was beyond anything. It's mental.

Cheerleading Moves In A Kilt

2007-12-30T00:23:00.000Z

Last year at Hogmanay, we went to a friend's house along the road. There was three couples and the kids. I had my kilt on and plenty of wine.

It was a great night. So great in fact, at one point I was seen in the kitchen with a ten year old girl, dancing and doing cheerleading moves wildly with my kilt flailing around me. We're going to the same house again this year and the same people are coming so there's a good chance I'll be doing that again.

Dear Old People, If You Are Done...Move On

2007-12-29T10:17:00.001Z

I was at a checkout yesterday in Morrisons in Anniesland. There was an old woman in front of me. Old people sometimes take a long time so I prepared myself.

The young female assistant had helped her get her items into the plastic bags and then stood back a little before scanning my things so let the old woman put her purse away and move away. But she didn't.

As it became clear to me the old woman in front of me was basically hanging around to maintain some form of human contact in her empty life, I thought 'fuck this I'm not waiting on you', so I moved up past the till to start packing my items. She had finished putting her purse away and was just standing there. Not going to go anywhere. She didn't even move round to give me more room.

I moved up right beside her, inches between us, and reached right across in front of her to reach some bags. She was a bit smaller than me and my upper arm was only 3-4 inches from her face. I made a point of reaching back again, trying to get closer this time to try to give her a hint. No go.

I hadn't heard any of the conversation before I arrived, but it her next line was "Aye, I huv tae take my cod liver oil every day" to the check out assistant, obviously thinking their conversation was still going on, even though the young girl was now scanning someone else's items and that person was right fucking there!

After this comment I did start laughing out loud a little and a few seconds later she wandered off. I felt sorry the for young girl who clearly felt she couldn't tell her to move on.

Next time this happens, and I'm sure it will as it has before, I will not be so polite as to simply laugh at them, I will simply ask them if they have finished their business, and if so, to please bugger off.

The Minister's Cat

2007-12-29T09:51:00.000Z

This is a game my family play every New Year when we get together. It’s been done since as far as I can remember. Everyone in the room takes a turn by describing the minister’s cat with an adjective starting alphabetically. Everyone does ‘A’ then ‘B’ and so on, by saying the full line “The minister’s cat is an active cat” etc. According to Wikipedia it's a Victorian parlour game. How quaint.

Last year was the first year my son joined in. He was seven years old. As we went through the alphabet I realised with some uneasiness we were nearing the letter ‘F’.

Now, just to say…. I swear. I do. And sometimes I do it in front of the children. I know I shouldn’t. They know it’s bad as I’ve explained that to them and that these are words they shouldn’t say. I’m in no way a prude of any sort I don’t think but some of my family are a lot older and well, their values and outlook are different.

So, last 1st January, my son was sitting in the middle of the room with a toy, and doing very well with all the letters up to ‘E’. I was starting to get very nervous and my wife and I exchanged glances wondering if we should prompt our son with a suitable ‘F’ word to use.

When it came to it, he thought about it slowly and actually said “The minister’s cat is an effing cat”. Not a fucking cat, but an effing cat. So close, but potentially quite bad as well. There were a few nervous laughs, and we moved on.

A few days ago, I sat my son down to explain that we’d be playing this game again in a few days, and not to use any naughty words. Time will tell.

There is also another highly entertaining factor in this game, in our version anyway. It’s the elderly uncle who sometimes nods off to sleep during it. When it’s his turn, we have to shout at him to wake him up and remind him, and then he takes ages. He’ll stare at a point off in the distance and we think he’s ‘gone’. After a minute or so, my Aunt will remind him and he’ll slowly say “Aye, aye” in his really soft voice, then as is normal after another minute or so, he’s says the line “Which letter are we on?” It’s a drag, but very amusing.

So, if my son says “Fuck” in front of my eighty year old relatives on New Year’s Day I’ll report back.

Half Price Diamonds and Sweaty Balls

2007-12-26T23:18:00.000Z

I went out shopping today for the sales. Where mugs like you and me can buy things at half price one day after we've just given it to the wife and kids... having paid full price for it. I say I went shopping. I actually drove my wife to the shops, and therefore the kids had to come as well.

It pained me when I went into the jewellers, not just another branch of the same chain, but the very same shop where I'd bought her some items of silver for numerous pounds, and saw the very same items for half the bloody price.

She was wanting to get a "winter coat" in a particular shop...which was closed. It opens tomrrow at 6am. Bugger that. We'll go when we want. If at all.

She did seem a bit miffed when I disappeared for half an hour and came back with a coat myself. Now, mine was not a winter coat, well it is, but I don't call it that. I don't winter coats and summer coats. I have coats, and several of them. In recent years, I had a fetish for shirts, and had amassed more than sixty of them. Since I do the ironing in our house it was a real bastard. I don't understand the need to have a winter wardrobe, and in the summer you take out all the bigs coats and jumpers and put them in another cupboard. Why not.... just not wear it. That's what I do. In saying that though, my wardrobe is twice the size of my wifes as I have shitloads more clothes than her.

Anyway, shopping at Braehead Shopping Centre today. Brilliant. Especially as I wasn't after anything in particular. I felt as though I could just walk round watching other people go mental.

I did have to stand in a frigging queue in Argos though as the returns desk was buggered so had to join the main queue, then when I got to the front, the lassie told me she didn't do returns, so I had to stand aside while she served a myriad of other people while I waited for the young boy with the flock of seagulls hair handle a return for some Indian guy and his whole family. The Indian guy was overtly polite to me, apologising profusely to me for keeping me waiting and I did feel a bit as though he felt as though he thought I was thinking it was his fault for me standing waiting, so I tried to put him at ease by basically blaming the shop staff myself, shaking my head etc. He was a lovely bloke, but he did leave his five year old son to carry huge Next Sale bags which were almost bigger than him and kept falling open, spilling clothes on the floor. That was funny.

Then another girl came on the tills who could do returns, but she ask me forward to do mine? Don't be stupid!. She took the first guy in the queue behind me...who had a return to do, then after that, she served a couple who were standing randomly in the shop, not even in the queue and had just walked up to her. Bastaaaaaardd.

And after they left I took my chances and just walked up to her without being called, but then her friggin till roll ran out and she wandered off for another two minutes searching under desks to find another.

Before I left the house, I had put on a white shirt with a light brown v-neck woollen sweater and thinking I would look quite stylish in the cold weather, left the house. I hadn't bargained for standing still in shop for thirty minutes under strong lights. By the time I left the shop I was sweating buckets. That was the first shop I went into. I had another four hours to go in that shopping centre. Later on I could feel the cold sticky fabric under my armpits and I couldn't figure out whether it was better to hold my arms out to try and let a bit of air in or just give up and rest in the sweat soaked fabric.

I don't even want to describe what my balls felt like. The sweat was pouring off them. I had an extreme urge to shove my hand down there and just unstick them from where they were attached to both thighs. It was almost like wearing a kilt with no underwear. Mucho sticky. I always wear boxers under my kilt. I went without once, never again.

Anyway at home, now and feeling a bit "stuffed up". A result of walking around in a sweat soaked shirt in cold weather. Ah well, I do have a nice new coat though.

Never Mind The Hillside Strangler...

2007-11-23T13:46:00.000Z

This guy's the Hillfoot Wrangler.

There's an old man at a window. He watches. He watches cars in the train station carpark outside his house. Hillfoot train Station.

The parking bays outside his flat are for residents only and once I parked near there for two minutes to go to a postal sorting office. I must have been just in "his" road because he vanished from his window and appeared at his front door and stared at me when I came back to my car and even as I turned and drove off.

A few days ago it happened again. I drove into "his" street and turned and parked in a valid space. I was tempted to drive into his road and stick the car up the kerb again. He stood stock still at his window watching. He must be there all day. Maybe he's got no telly. It's like he's just waiting to catch someone and argue with them. I'm going to park there more often.

Golf Range

2007-11-13T13:21:00.000Z

There's a golf range close to me and I went for the second time last night. Took the kids along as it's great fun battering the balls about. Most of my friends play golf and go abroad for a week just to play and have a bevvy. I'm not part of that elite crowd though.

Having never played golf in my life I thought I'd be shite and would be slicing the ball everywhere or missing it. Imagine my surprise when I managed to hit it straight for 150-200 yards almost every time. It's a piece of piss. Very satisfying.

The golf range is in a leafy suburb of Glasgow and the carpark was filled with Mercs, Audis, and other executive style cars...and an L-reg burgundy Nova. How that must piss them off.

I'd picked up a couple of clubs for a fiver each in Braehead at the weekend.

Onto the range and the kids started popping out the balls and I was impressing them with my hits.

A few minutes after we got there a skinhead in a Metallica t-shirt came in with a bag of clubs and set up in the next stall behind me. Soon after we were deafened by a huge bang, and a ball landed at my feet. The stalls are covered by a tin roof which is about 10 feet high and protrudes about 4 feet out beyond the stalls. He had been using a driver and managed to hit the ball straight up the air and hit the roof. I moved stall.

Next in was a procession of well-to-dos in their soft comfortable shoes, pastel coloured slacks or cotton shorts, t-shirts and checked sleeveless jumpers with little logos on the chest. I overheard a conversation between two pals who each had just returned from holiday. Florida and Italy. Then one guy's son is telling how he got all A's in his exams. I'm surprised they let me in here.

One small woman dressed appropriately in a soft yellow jumper and check slacks looked very good, big bag of clubs, all with their little hats on. Until she tried to hit the ball. It wasn't just a practice swing. You don't take five or six practice swings surely.

Then there were the guys who were only hitting the ball about twenty feet. I had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.

So get down the golf range and watch the "experts" play.

What's Small, Pink and Wrinkly?

2007-11-12T11:55:00.000Z

On Argyle Street recently, I saw a vision in pink coming towards me.

Top to toe she was dressed in bright pink, not soft pastel pinks, but really strong colours.
On her head she had on a pink headband around her short dark brown ponytail. A pink t-shirt with a pink vest top stretched over it, large pink faux pearls hanging down low and bouncing left and right with some momentum.

For her pins, she had leggings of course, in pink. I can't rermember what she had on her feet as I was trying to take it all in and not stare too much on the way past. She saw me staring though and think she caught the expression on my face.

She was quite short and round as well, but what made it worse was she was about 60 years old. I heard other people making comments and turning round to laugh. What a shame, they shouldn't mock.

Tits Oot

2007-11-10T18:34:00.000Z

On Friday I was on the train home from Queen Street and a woman got on at Charing Cross. 5pm on a Friday. I was expecting nothing weird.

She had a young baby in a pram, and she proceeded to arrange her bags, take off her coat and get herself settled in her seat, then she got the baby out of the buggy. I happened to have noticed that she was a lady of large proportions in the chest area. I'm a man. I see these things. She was also very attractive.

I was sitting against the window, an old man opposite me reading a book and a man to my right reading a large newspaper. She sat in the empty seat in our group of four and sat the baby on her lap. She chatted away to the baby for a couple of minutes.

Now, I wasn't expecting this.

She lifted her top with her free hand, pulled down her bra cup and squeezed a very large boob out and sat it there. She then fiddled with the baby a bit, moving it around on her knees, so her arm bumped her boob back and forth. She then arranged the baby and let it clamp on to her nipple.

The old man opposite me looked to his left and his eyes went wide. He quickly looked the other way, out of the window. The man to my right couldn't see shit as he was holding his large newspaper up in front of him, and he couldn't really just put it down so he could watch the show.

I couldn't really help but have a few looks, but as the old joke goes, the baby's head was spoiling the view. A couple of times though she did shift the baby so it became detached and she was left sitting there with her boob completely uncovered.

I can't deny it brightened up my train journey, and I'm hoping she gets on my train again. I think it's good that women can do this and feel comfortable enough to do it without fear of people asking them go somewhere else.

If there was some law proposed for this kind of thing, I'd vote for it.

Burberry x 5

2007-11-08T23:13:00.000Z

Now there's Burberry and there's fake Burberry.

I recall a few years ago, there was a rise in people wearing Burberry, but unfortunately for the Burberry company, it was mostly 'undesirables'. Neds.

At the start of the week, I passed the job centre on Renfield Street and outside were 8 neds. In full uniform. Tracksuits a-plenty.

I haven't seen Burberry caps for some time but as I walked past I saw that 4 of these guys had the fake Burberry caps perched on the back of their heads. I stared at them as I walked past. Couldn't help it. When I passed them I saw another three neds coming towards me. All wearing tracksuits. One of them was holding his fake Burberry cap in his hand but doing something you don't see too often. He was busy stuffing it down the front of his tracksuit and into the front of his underwear. God knows why. Maybe his tracksuit pockets aren't big enough.

She Shags Me Then...

2007-10-31T14:11:00.000Z

Last week, I was heading home on St Vincent Street, and there was a guy walking towards me talking on his mobile and gesticulating wildly. He was a student type guy.

He was talking very loudly and telling the listener...

"She shags me then tells me to fuck off the next day. If I did that to here there would be riots in the streets, I'm telling you".

A woman walking in front of me just about pished herself laughing at him.

Riots in the street? A little over expectant? And anyway, was this not a perfect result, not having to promise to call her later?

Two Senses Down, Four To Go

2007-10-25T22:42:00.000+01:00

Today, crossing the street outside Queen Street Station, I was behind a woman with headphones on and a backpack. some tinny music was battering away.

When she walked off I saw the white cane clicking away left to right in front of her. she must be psychic or just kidding us on. If you're blind, if it not a good friggin idea to make sure you can hear as well??!! Maybe one day I'll be just in time so see her get blatted by a bus.

What's In A Text?

2007-10-17T14:14:00.000+01:00

Recently I was walking in the St Enoch Centre behind a young couple and the blonde woman started cicrling her boyfriend trying to grab his hands. He had her mobile in his hand and she was begging him not to read it. I thought he might just hand it over but he kept a hold it and it went up in the air, behind his back, anywhere she couldn't reach.

The more he did this the more she begged him and became angry then upset at him while constantly asking him not to read the message.

This went on two to three minutes and I was dying to go up and ask her what the hell was in that message. What naughty text did she get that her hubby should not see. Maybe it was his best friend telling her what he'll do to her next time they meet.

Wet the baby's head

2007-10-13T19:35:00.001+01:00

I was at Asda today, and when driving in I saw a woman about 50 years old walking out through the carpark. She was pushing a pram, and in the tray underneath, had various bottles poking out. I could see two whisky bottles. On top of the pram, perch on the cover that stretches over the baby's feet to keep the wind off was a 12 pack of Miller beer.

Some people.

No hankies? no matter

2007-10-12T17:50:00.000+01:00

One morning I was waiting on my train to work, two guys were standing outside the ticket office and one of them kept hacking up thick mouthfuls of spit and splatting them on the ground. Not just once. Several times.

As if that wasn't bad enough, his pal who was holding his Helly Hansen jacket in his hands rather than wearing it in the cold weather, obviously was lacking any tissues. He grabbed his jacket, put it over his nose and blew his nose into the inside of it. Couldn't believe it. What a dirty bastard.

Blind Man

2007-10-05T00:21:00.001+01:00

The other day on on Argyle Street, I saw a old man walking along clicking his white cane back and forth on the pavement.

He had a camera slung around his neck. How's he going to take any pictures, or would he just click away and hope for the best?

Pregnant? You Need Some Drugs

2007-09-24T14:07:00.000+01:00

On the train on the way home on Saturday I had my head in a book and didn't look up when a couple sat opposite me. I waited for a few minutes. It was a sort of mix match of a couple at first glance.

He was a skanky mess. Dirty white trainers, dirty old black denims, dirty white/blue 'windcheater', dirty face, dirty dark blue baseball cap perched on his shaved head. His fingernails were dirty, caked with some black filth, his stained fingers rolling an old yellow pence cigarette lighter around and occasionally flicking it on.

When he spoke to her his teeth weren't dirty as I first thought. They were decayed. His two front teeth had two large dark cavities on them, right on the front.

She, on the other hand, at first glance looked amazing. At first glance...

She was wearing a long white and black dogtooth check coat, matching handbag, long dark hair. Her face was striking. Dark eyes. Amazingly cheekbones. Bloody huge cheekbones. She could have been a model.

They were having a quiet conversation between themselves. I tried but I couldn't hear. Then she leant over and spoke to me.

She mumbled and I leant forward and said "Sorry?"

"Is the next station Anniesland?" she mumbled a bit clearer. Her eyes were dead. Her eyelids drooping down, half closed. Her face was caked thick with makeup. She was completely off her face. It wasn't drink though.

I told her it was Anniesland, but thinking it was a bit late to be checking if you're on the right train.

As the train pulled in, they got up, and I saw for the first time that she was pregnant. The big coat had hidden it. How sick can you be? Pregnant and getting off your face on drugs.

It's Been A Dry Week

2007-09-13T23:06:00.000+01:00

It's been a poor week for people doing weird things and this was really the most exciting or tedious actually, thing that happened to me.

This morning I was on the train into Glasgow and there was a young guy sitting opposite me. The train was busy with plenty of people standing.

I heard some woman saying "Excuse me, excuse me" and looked round to see her pushing her way through the crowd to stand beside me. Her and the guy opposite me swapped 'hellos'.

"Whit ye up tae?" he said
"I'm just going to work" she said nodding with pursed lips as if resigned to her day
"Aye?"
"Yeah" she said with pursed lips
"White ye been up tae?"
"Nothing much, just working away, you know" she said nodding with pursed lips as if resigned to the fact her life is crap
"Goat plans fir the weekend?"
"Nothing much" she said, still nodding with pursed lips.

She'd pushed her way through the friggin crowd to talk to this guy, started a conversation and then this is the pish she comes up with.

At least make it up for chrissake to make it sound a bit more interesting. After all, everyone within earshot was listening in.

If I ever meet anyone on the train, I say I'm just back from New York or Rome or some shite like that. Some people have no clue.

Beef Jerky 2

2007-09-05T23:37:00.000+01:00

Why does this happen to me?

Today at 5pm I was walking out of my office when I passed a car parked outside a coffee shop at the junction of St Vincent Street and Renfield Street. It was a silver saloon. There was a man sitting in the driver's seat looking around. He was balding and wearing glasses.

As I passed the door I looked in and saw he had a black fleece draped right over his lap.

It was bumping up and down.

Oh yes.....he was. I don't need to say it do I? Well, just to be clear. He was having a wank in a car parked on a city centre street at rush hour.

I couldn't believe it. I walked on, stopped and looked round, then walked on again. at the next junction my curiosity took over and I decided I had to make sure I had seen what I thought I had. I walked back, past the car and definitely saw it again. I crossed over the road directly in front of him and looked over. He saw me looking. I just walked off. I'd seen enough.

Gentleman's Guide to Giving Birth

2007-09-04T13:06:00.000+01:00

A woman was leaving my office to pursue another career a couple of weeks ago. She was a very outgoing person of about 25 years old and well known for her ability to "speak out". Gobby, we called it.

At her leaving presentation we were regaled with stories of her drunkeness and even played on loudspeaker a 10 minute phone call that she'd made to the office when she was away for a day on a karaoke bus. She was pished out her face and singing various songs. We even heard a comment that she made when she couldn't see "John" on the bus. "Is he back from the toilet yet? He's probably having a wank".

The one comment that will stay with me was when she described how it was to be pregnant as she had been twice and particularly the actual birth. She said it was "like being booted in the hole". So now we know.

It Ain't Happening Bro'

2007-09-03T14:05:00.001+01:00

Today on Union Street, I was standing at the lights waiting to cross and there was a car stopped waiting to go.

The two guys in the car had the windows open with the hip hop music blasting out, the heavy bass bouncing round the street.

They both had one arm dangling out the window, their wrists hanging limply, held down by the enormous silver bracelets. Their hair was shaved to the bone, except for the top which was gelled forward giving a wee fringe straight across.

They were slouched so low in their seats and looked they must have had trouble seeing over the dashboard.

It would have been cool except for the fact it was two white guys in a Vauxhall Vectra.

My Worst Xmas Dinner...Ever

2007-08-31T23:00:00.000+01:00

Around fifteen years ago I was in my first job and heading out on a Christmas night out. I was young and intending to get as pissed as possible. I did.

We went to a restaurant on the south side of Glasgow. A very nice Italian place. It was quite plush inside and even had a seven foot stone statue of some greek God.

As the night wore on me and my pal got more and more drunk. To the point I was visiting the toilet every fifteen minutes as the pints were going right through me. Each time I had to ask three women to move which wasn't impressing them at all.

More and more drunk I got, to the point where I started to feel a little bit sickly. One of the women spotted this and said to get into the toilets as quick as possible. I did. I fucking ran. Thank Christ because I just got in and started throwing up in the sink. I couldn't even make it to the toilets.

I started chucking up my dinner, bloody loads of it. All orange, I remember that. I was running the taps to rinse it away, but in my pissed state I didn't realise that it wasn't running away as I was swirling the water around the basin. I noticed when it started swishing over the edge onto the floor.

I rolled up my sleeve and jammed my arm into the watery vomit and tried to loosen the chunks around the plug but it just wouldn't drain away. It was even worse as some old man came in to the toilet and saw me swaying around, steaming, with my arm in a basin of puke. Then my boss came in, the fifty year old company director. He didn't seem too happy, but left me well alone.

After several minutes it eventually drained away, and I rinsed my arm and washed it as best I could to remove the stink of puke and staggered back out into the restauarant. I was very pissed and almost fell over something. I was aware of several people crouched down on the floor, but I just got past them, stepping over something and back to my table, hoping I wouldn't fall over.

I needn't have worried about embarrassing myself any further. My colleague who was quite pissed as well had been on his way to the toilet, past the seven foot statue and grasped it around the waist and the outstretched hand as if he was dancing with it and managed to pull it over to the floor.

I found out later it weighed 3/4 of a ton and he had managed to knock the whole thing over which snapped the remaining arm off. It was the fallen statue I stepped over when I came out the toilets.

The restaurant sued my employer and as an insurance broker that was fun having to submit that one to our own insurance company.

The only other amusing Christmas office lunch story I have is when I went to two. It was 1994 and I was leaving my first job in the November. I'd committed to the first one then got invited to the second at my new job. I said Yes immediately than later realised they were on the same day. No matter I thought, one was a lunch at about 3pm and one was a dinner around 6pm. Good times.

I didn't want to let anyone down from my old office and wanted to be part of the new office crowd, so I went to both. I thought 'it can't be that difficult. Two meals, hours apart. I won't eat that much'.

It wasn't the eating that scuppered me. At the lunch I was saying goodbye to my pals for the last 4 years, and I'd been out for Christmas lunches with them before and it was a beerfest. I drank and I drank.

When I got to the meal later with my new colleagues, my wife had been invited to that one and she waiting for me. Thank God, cos she kept me right. It was going quite well....I thought. I was feeling a bit stuffed with all the food and the drinks kept coming.

The turning point though was when I turned to my wife and said :-

"When are we having the main course then?"

And she said "You've just had it". I was very confused.

I was also pished out my tits, and at that point I knew it. I was thinking 'Oh Christ, I'm with my new colleagues, I'm absolutely steamin', I'm going to look like a fanny'

No worries, my wife ceased my drinking, much to my displeasure, and got me the hell out of there still looking no' bad.

That Woman Was In The Nip 2

2007-08-30T14:00:00.000+01:00

As a young lad I did my duty and did a paper round. I did have trouble as I was usually the last boy into the shop, and the last one back, and had to be rudely awakened on occasion by the guy from the shop by his hammering on my front door. This is surprising as I lived only 100 yards from the shop and the first house on my paper round was my own and the round ended about 150 yards from the shop.

At one point I was given another round and delivered to houses in a more affluent area. In the winter months you’d walk around in the near dark shitting yourself at the slightest noise, but it also had its advantages.

One morning I walked up to a door, and was almost going to slide the paper through, when I saw movement through the small glass panel at head height. I knew someone was walking about inside and didn’t want to batter the paper through the letterbox and make them crap themselves so I respectfully held back a few seconds. And thank lordy I did.

I then saw the person walking towards the door. There was a faint light on inside, and I could make out she was carrying a tray with mugs etc. She was walking towards the front door to go up the stairs.

She was also only wearing her tiny white panties.

Yup, here I was a young lad watching some topless woman’s breasts bouncing around right in front of me. After she’d gone up the stairs I waited about 20 seconds then pushed the paper through and walked off feeling slightly uncomfortable.

On looking back on it, she must have thought she was so lucky to have just gone upstairs and just avoided showing the paper boy her tits.

There was also the time I walked up to a door and got a view right up the stairs to some female bending over and brushing her teeth in the skimpiest of night attire. Even better that it was one of the most sexy girls in my year at school. Please bear in mind I was the same age so this was completely legal.

I think I’m too old now for a paper round. Bugger

That Woman Was In The Nip !!

2007-08-30T13:48:00.000+01:00

Every so often at my office the head office IT people upload some sort of software to our PC’s in Glasgow and a few of us go in at the weekend to check the systems are working before the Monday. This involves sitting around for up to eight hours as the IT guys keep fannying around before we can do anything. There’s usually five or six of us. There’s me and the girls. Interesting conversations indeed. And double time for doing nothing.

One day we even brought a few bottles in as it was supposed to run into the Saturday night. Someone even located a key to a cabinet under a keyboard on another floor and raided that department’s drinks cabinet, then locked up again and returned the key. Good times.

One day, this girl brings in her holiday snaps and starts showing them round. They’re making the rounds with me passing them on and one of the women says to her, “Can he see this one?” Without knowing what it was but with my mind running amok, I say “Yes?”, almost pleading with my eyes. A short debate ensued and she shrugged her shoulders and I was passed the photo.

To see one of your female work colleagues naked in the shower, facing the camera, drinking a beer is a wonderful moment. One to be savoured.

If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still see it.

What A Cult !

2007-08-30T07:58:00.000+01:00

A few years ago a friend of mine got married. He was never much of a churchy bloke. He liked to fix cars and anything mechanical.

His family was quite well off and lived in a reasonable large house in the country. It was one of these houses that was dirty as they were just so careless about their property and belongings. In his bedroom once I saw numerous televisions and radios lying in pieces all over the floor and oily carparts on the carpet too.

Their garden was nice. Swimming pool and a church to the side. A bleedin' church. The church building was used a garage. I think it was about 7 metres wide by around 20 metres long. It was empty inside, a very high roof, and a large opening at the front where they drove some of their cars in.

They also had a family living at the bottom of their garden. Literally.

The far end of the church had been converted into a small house. It took up the last 5 metres of the building and had a wee door at the back. Those people were wonderfully friendly. I still remember one drunken night lying on the floor on the garage, some people were sat on small stools, and their homemade wine was being passed around. I think the guy took care of the garden for the family and they had lived for 20 years or so.

Anyway, as time went on, I heard rumours that my pal had joined a religious cult while away at University. His parents were worried as they couldn't contact him sometimes and when they did he seemed distant.

Sometime after we heard news of his impending marriage to his cult girlfriend. Exciting. What the hell was a cult wedding going to be like?

The wedding reception was to be held in his garden. The swimming pool was boarded over and a marquee erected in the grounds. I drove up to the gates and was met by the gardener, who was there to direct the traffic up the long driveway. Apparently the long time family friend, who lived on their property hadn't even been invited to the wedding but had been asked to direct traffic.

The wedding reception was as normal as could be after the ceremony in a very normal church in Govan, until later...

If you've ever seen Four Weddings And A Funeral, just picture the hippy couple who dedicate a song to the happy couple and sing with their guitar.

There were several weird people at this wedding. You could just tell they were from "the cult" just by looking. Quite decent people when you actually spoke to them.

Well, after the meal, there were a couple of speeches, then someone announced that a couple had a special gift for my pal and his new wife.

As they started strumming away at their guitars, and singing some weird religious song I didn't understand, I looked across the sea of guests and saw my best pal at sitting at the other side of the marquee.....staring straight back at me.

His look said it all.

"What the FUCK is this !!!!"

If you ever get the chance, go to a cult wedding. You won't regret it.

...My Name Is...My Name Is...My Name Is...

2007-08-30T06:20:00.000+01:00

I was on the train going home at Queen Street this afternoon and I saw the weirdest thing. I caught it out of the corner of my and I had to crane my neck around and half rise from my seat to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me.

The girl was standing on the platform, wearing faded blue jeans, a pink zip up hoodie, and she was slightly overweight. Around her waist she had a distinctive belt.

The buckle was a large scrolling LCD display. It was like the thing you see inside the carriages... the next stop is Partick....the next stop is Partick.

Except this one was announcing her name.

...Rachael....Rachael....Rachael.....Rachael....Rachael....

...constant scrolling in bright red LCD dots across her belly.

Bloody hilarious.

If you can't picture this thing, visit www.scrollingbuckle.com

It's one of the tackiest things I've seen.

Village of The Damned

2007-08-27T06:50:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago I was in Asda and got to the checkout. The guy serving me came out with the line...

"I don't mean to be rude but, is that your oldest boy over there" nodding in the direction of my son who was standing against the wall about twenty feet away.

"Shit..." I thought "...what the hell has he done, has he got his hands down his trousers? is he making faces at someone, what has he done to bring shame on me?"

"Yes, that's him" I said enquiringly.
"Umm, it's just that he looks like a character from a film"
"Oooh..." I thought "...how cool"
"Oh right, what film?" I said.
"Have you ever seen Village of The Damned?" he asked rather slowly and a bit nervously.
"No" I said honestly
"It's just that he looks like the boy from that film, the spitting image of him."

He then tried to explain the film to me, as I said I said I'd never seen it, and I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. He kept talking about the original version. I said I would get it to see the resemblance myself.

He kept saying "I hope your not offended". Offended? I was pissing my pants as the guy was so scared he just pissed me off.

My wife didn't know what the guy was talking about and as we walked away she asked me and I told her wait til we got outside. Outside the doors, I explained what the guy had been saying in between pishing myself laughing.

I haven't seen the film yet, but I've looked at some 1960s posters for it, and you know what?

He does.

Drug deal witnessed....exciting

2007-08-27T06:29:00.000+01:00

Last Friday night I was at a works night out in The Auctioneers pub in Glasgow.

At one point around 5pm, I walked to the toilets downstairs. There was a line of four guys walking down to the bogs, and as I walked into the toilet the second guy casually handed a small white bag containing white powder to a man who had just walked out of a cubicle. He walked on to the wash basins and then just turned round and looked around nervously. The other guy just walked out. I went for a piss.

I have to admit I was impressed with the choreography of it. The guy appeared from the cubicle at just the right time when the other walked in. Not impressed with the taking of the drugs though. Who am I to say what he can and cannot do though?

I don't need drugs myself. I'm high on life. What a lot of shite.

London incidents

2007-08-26T18:24:00.000+01:00

I went to see my pal in London a few times. I was about eighteen to twenty years old and he could get me flight tickets for a tenner. So'd I'd fly to London on the Friday night after work, go out and get pissed for two nights and fly back on Sunday. Occasionally I would fly down for just one night. Very jet set. The taxi to the airport cost more than the flights.

He lived in Hounslow which is a cultural hot pot. A bit of everything.

He lived in a rented house with four other guys who were very decent. But their house was a fucking tip. The kitchen was a disaster area. Unwashed plates, mugs, food in the frying pan left for days. I washed up once and one of them walked in and laughed, asking "What the fuck are you doing, just leave that."

One particular event made me laugh. They didn't use a hoover...for a good reason. One day, someone dropped lump of hash on the carpet and with the shitey brown design, they couldn't see it, so we were all down on our hands and knees crawling round looking for this wee lump of hash. They eventually found it and the day was saved.

I also once experienced a "deal" in front of me. One of them called someone and within ten minutes a car pulled up and the guy came in and sat on the sofa. He got out these wee scales about five inches high and started weighing out hash for them.

I never smoked it. I was more than happy just getting pissed.

The people that lived in Hounlsow were a source of entertainment for me.

Walking along the street behind some old man, he was sort of "jiving" along the pavement. His hands were shaking to some silent beat and he was bobbing around. As he approached people he would stamp his feet as he came to halt in front of them, and bring his hands up to the side of his face, shaking them shouting "Ta Dah !" as if he'd just finished some sort of performance. He continued this all the way along Hounslow high street.

I went to the supermarket and was buying dinner. A tin of beans. The old man in the queue behind me just asked me if I was having the beans for my dinner then asked me if I had a job which he seemed very impressed with. Short and sweet.

There was a pub along the road my pal took me to which he warned me could get a bit rough as it was used by soldiers from a nearby barracks who clashed with the regulars. On the night we were in it was very quiet and he was facing the door. For good reason. He'd positioned us away from the main area, near the back and the pool table, and apparently the fire exit. For good reason. He saw the soldiers come in and warned me. After about thirty minutes the fighting started. My pal obviously used to this just grabbed my arm and dragged me over behind a wide pillar and there we crouched with our pints. He warned me that it was a favourite of theirs to throw the glass ashtrays at each other. And this I will never forget because within seconds one of those glass ashtrays smashed against the pillar above my head and I still remember the sight of the shards of glass spraying inches away from my face. I think we left by the fire exit.

One other pub we went to I saw a young man holding court to several visitors. He was wearing an absurd jumper with a huge collar and lapels...on a jumper. His fingers were covered in chunky gold rings and he was drinking a coke. A succession of people would walk over to him and talk in hushed tones before a series of nods and thank yous and they would leave.

My pal went out one evening to meet up with other mates in a wine bar in Kingston. At the end of the night we went out looking a taxi and outside there was a very tall black man sitting on the bonnet of a gleaming white Mercedes with one foot up on the bumper showing off his leather boots. He was built like a brick shithouse.

"Yaw lookin for a tawxi mawn?" he drawled very slowly in his thick Jamaican accent. We negotiated £15 and to his credit he took us straight home. Didn't mug or murder us. There's no way now I get a lift off some guy in the street.

I still remember the first time I bought a round in my friends local and asked for two pints and the guy said £5.30. I said to him innocently I only wanted two. He said he knew that. I was a bit embarrassed. Bloody London prices.