Pyjamas Off For A Screw

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

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

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 fucking right 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

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

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 have 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 overly 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...

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

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?

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

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

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...

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 was this not a perfect result?  Not having to call her again?

Two Senses Down, Four To Go

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?

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

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.

Blind Man

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

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.

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

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

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

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'

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

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 onto 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 then 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?"

"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

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 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 !!

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 !

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 reasonably 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  there 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...

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

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.

"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'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

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

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 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 thanks 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. It was the early 90s when I could get two for about £3 in Glasgow.  I said to him innocently I only wanted two. He said he knew that. I was a bit embarrassed. Bloody London prices.

I Only Want To Shag You

Many many years ago me and my pals used to frequent a pub in Finnieston several nights each week. We got to be regulars without living anywhere near it. There was a reason we were in the area and we always finished up our night with a few pints in this pub. It wasn't a flash pub, but it was a sight better than some of the shiteholes around it. One of them had linoleum and metal tables from the 70s. We stayed out of there.

In "our" pub there was a man. He became our pal. We liked him. He liked us. I'll call him Jimmy.
We bought rounds for each other. Jimmy more so than us. He insisted on getting the rounds in. It was sometimes difficult to get your own drink in. He was a pensioner, but he seemed to have endless money for our drinks.

He would sit at his usual seat in the corner right beside the bar and shout "GAS !". This stood for Gin And Soda. The barmaid would promptly bring over the drinks.

One night my pal was up from London and he came out with us. There was a group of around seven of us and that particular night we were supposed to be getting to stay overnight in a church hall for some kind of religious thing that some of my friends had a connection with.  It was a night vigil or something. Five of the group had a direct involvement and me and my pal from London were told to just come along ..... "It'll be alright."

So after the pub we all went along for this wee sleepover in a church. At the door me and my pal from London were turned away, even though we were with the others and the woman at the door took offence to the fact that we'd had a few pints and told us we couldn't come in.

Later on my pal ended up back at the pub on his own, having a drink and then went to get a taxi.

Jimmy said he would get him a taxi from the taxi rank round the corner. So they both went out the door of the pub. My pal asked where the taxi rank was and Jimmy led him off Argyle Street onto a side street saying there was a taxi rank just round there.

As they walked round my pal could see there was no taxi rank and no taxi cab company anywhere so started walking back to the main road. Jimmy followed him closely and kept telling him that he'd get him a taxi. My pal was walking up and down the road, mostly to try to shake off Jimmy as he was starting to piss him off, but Jimmy kept following him.  Very closely.

This went on for a few minutes and Jimmy stayed right beside my pal and he got to the end of his tether and eventually just said to Jimmy...

"Look what the fuck is going on here?"

"I only want to shag you," said Jimmy.

My pal recounted this incident to me early on the Sunday morning when he turned up at my door and asked if he could have a word. As soon as he said that Jimmy had asked to shag him I realised I should have told him he was probably gay, but I hadn't thought there was any need to. My pal was a bit surprised that I knew already. So I explained to him.

For the year that we'd been going to the pub, Jimmy had been kicking me under the table and catching my eye. After kicking me I'd say "What is it?" and he'd shake his head and look away. Out of the whole group he'd only tap me under the table, no-one else. This went on for a few months and my pals noticed that when I went to the toilet Jimmy would make a point of getting up after me and going to. I usually went into the cubicle so I never noticed.

One night though I was standing against the wall peeing and Jimmy came in and wrapped his arms around me, clasping his hands across my stomach...my stomach thank God.

I froze. I pushed my elbows out and broke his grasp and asked him what he was doing and he said nothing and went to pee, so I went out. From that time on, I would never pee in there again. I used to go out of the pub to a lane across the road, but my mates still noticed that after I stood up, he stood up.

He never said anything blatant to me, but that incident in the toilet confirmed it to me. He probably wanted to shag me too.

It Was Like Gone With The Wind

On my way to work the other day on Buchanan Street I saw a couple sort of calling to each other from a short distance apart and slowly moving away from each other. They both had one hand raised in a sort of farewell gesture. He was walking backwards away from her, she was standing with her jacket over her arm and a bag at her feet.

Guy: "Alright, doll see you later."
Girl: "Alright, babe see you later."
Guy: "Aye see you later, at the hoose."
Girl: "I'll see you at the hoose?"
Guy: "Aye see you at the hoose later, doll."
Girl: "Alright Davy, I'll see you later, at the hoose?"
Guy: "At the hoose, I'll see you later."
Girl: "Alright sweetheart, I'll see you later, at the hoose."
Guy: "Alright sweetheart, I'll see you later" (still each with hand raised in a permanent goodbye).
Girl: "Aye sweetheart, I'll see you back at the hoose."
Guy: "At the hoose?"
Girl: "Aye at the hoose, I'll see you later."
Guy: "Alright doll, see you later."

A couple on their way to their respective offices?  No, a couple of junkies. Their clothes were old, worn, dirty, ill-fitting, the jacket over her arm was a manky anorak, the bag at her feet was a ripped supermarket poly bag, their hair left me with no doubt it hadn't seen shampoo in weeks, and their faces were dirty and worn.

I'm now glad they never kissed. But a warming sight all the same. Even those people can show a semblance of reality which the majority would recognise.

We should all learn a lesson from this. What that would be though, I don't know.

Oh Bollards !!

I remember a few years ago in Glasgow city centre I heard a yelp of pain and looked over my shoulder to see a guy upside down in the air. He was actually vertical, but upside down, about twelve inches off the ground.

He'd run into one of those waist high metal bollards that line some streets. The impact had flicked his body up and over. On landing he stood up, dusted his jacket a little, laughed nervously and carried on running.

John My Pal, The Attempted Murderer

When I was at school I'll never forget my first day at secondary school.

I was from one of the better schools in the area. I'm not bumming myself up, that's what the other kids told me. Until then I'd never known the other schools were so shit. Apparently we were the only school that had carpets. "Did you not?" I used to ask confused. Anyway first day in registration, just getting used to the fact you get totally split up from your mates all day, me and another guy practically clinged to each other when we realised we were in registration together. Being quite shy, the both of us, we sat up the back.

Little did we know, the nutters, being workshy and a bit mental sat up the back too. Beside us.

What fun they had that first day, taking the piss out the two "poash boys". How amusing it was for them that we wore blazers and ties to school.

"Why are ye wearing them?"

"Because we've got to," we said eyeing up their windcheaters and open neck shirts.

"Who says ye've got to."

"Our Mums."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha."

And so many more.

Strangely, over that first year with sitting beside them for the first ten minutes of every day they began to realise we were not a couple of posh wee wankers from a privileged background and we realised they were not complete psychos...all the time. They were nice once we became their pals.

John and Bob. Twas their names. Or Joan and Boab, to give it the correct phonetics. As it turned out the most quiet and most violent put together.

John had the edge on the two of them as to who was more liable to act like a psycho. Later on I knew his reputation and if I hadn't known him I would never have gone within a hundred metres of him.

One day wee Boab even asked me to put in his earring (left ear). How close were we? I do recall having to stab this little thing through his ear and feeling the skin give as it slipped through which was my very first time. I was an ear virgin. Thanks Boab.

I also recall the time in Religious Education when I was sitting beside John. He mentioned to me something about a hoor.

"A what?" I innocently asked.

"A hoor," says he.

"What's that?" I asked, Well, set a match to the fucking firework why don't you. Just so happened Boab was sitting across the other side of the room. The teacher had the idea of keeping them apart and sitting them with the people of the class least likely to cause trouble. Me.

"Haw Boab!" shouts John.

"Whit?!"

"He disnae know whit a hoor is, ha ha ha."

"WHIT?!"

"He disnae know whit a hoor is,"  he shouted louder.

"Ha ha ha ha."

The volume of their voices was quickly getting the attention of everyone else and also the teacher. I was more embarrassed by the fact he was shouting across the room saying I didn't know something than the fact I didn't know what a hoor was, as I had no clue what he was talking about. He could've just bloody explained to me. So inconsiderate.

It reminds me of the time when I was at the dinner table with my Mum and two older brothers. I was maybe around twelve. The news was on and a brothel was mentioned. In a moment of sheer madness, I turned to my mother and asked what a brothel was. As soon as I'd said it I realised I actually did know what a brothel was. My Mum replied though.....

"It's where loose women hang around and loose men go and......." and she sort of trailed off. Silence across the table. Pass the salt ummm, please.

Anyway, as the years rolled on we got older and me and John never saw much of each other other than passing in the corridor at school.

When I left school it was the time of the "casuals". The neds of the day. They weren't so fond of tracksuits then. It was more kind of jeans, tracky tops or jumpers and definitely...most definitely a scarf wrapped in a certain way around their neck so it appeared to be one single roll around there. Mostly Rangers and Celtic colours. I don't think Burberry was the thing then.

The casuals used to hang about at the village centre at night and it came to a point where you went detours just to avoid the place, or approach it along a long road so you had a good view to see if the door to the chippy was clear.

One incident sticks in my mind though. Walking through the village one Friday night as I thought it was clear but at the last moment I saw a group of casuals and at that point it was too late to turn back because that would just give reason to verbally abuse me or chase me.

Walking closer to them, some of them turned, a few stared menacingly at me, just waiting for me to make eye contact so they could start on me. I heard a couple of comments made towards me, baiting me. Some more, then out of the terror a light......

"Alright, mate?  Leave him alone...he's alright."

I looked up.

"Alright John," I smiled in relief, nodded quickly and kept on my way.

One of times I was very glad of those mornings we sat together in the first scary year of secondary school.

I did hear though a few years later that he was arrested for attempted murder after glassing someone in the face at the local pub. Still, nice bloke though.

Beef Jerky

I've never told my brother this so I think it may come as a surprise to him. I only just remembered it.

Fifteen years ago, I was helping him paint his new flat on the Gallowgate.

I was standing at a window on the first floor looking out to the road, and a double decker bus passed. The bus was nearly empty on the top deck except for a few people down the front and the man sitting masturbating three seats from the back. Need to read that again?

That's right. He was a fifty year old guy whacking off on a bus.

Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you reading this, the bus stopped right in front of my window. He was beating himself to a steady rhythm, but then I noticed some new passengers "coming" up the stairs. When they came up he quickly flipped his cock away under cover of his long beige flasher mac and sat very still as if nothing was amiss. The two people sat down completely obvlious to the guy and his seedy deed. The bus then "pulled off" and he was gone.

It struck me that I had a brilliant view of what he was doing and it had clearly not crossed his mind that he was driving past flats. And the funny thing, he had a small cock...that I do remember.

Scruff and His Enormously Bosomed Wife

Opposite me on the train a few days ago were a couple. They were arguing. Fantastic. He was battering away at his mobile phone buttons, and she was getting mad saying;

"Yous are gonnae brek that, daein that,"  pointing at the phone.

He was explaining forcefully that indeed battering the buttons was just the way to do it.

"Whit ye daein?"
"Gettin a menu, hauns off."
"Naw, you'll brek it, gie it tae me."
"Naw."
"Aye."
"Naw," etc.The most embarrassing bit was when he started playing his ring tone.
"Bom Chicka Wa Wa, Bom Chicka Wa Wa" from the adverts. I had my head down reading my book and nearly burst out laughing. I had to clench my teeth to stop myself.

They were a surprising couple. He was dressed very shabbily. And I don't mean like shabby chic. More like shabby shit. He looked like crap. Dirty t-shirt, old worn jeans, a week's growth of beard and hair in no particular order.

She, on the other hand, was very pretty, tanned, immaculate hair, immaculate clothes, fancy handbag, hands manicured to perfection and popping out of her low cut top were her enormous bosoms. HH?, JJ?, who knows?. I didn't want to ask. Well, I did want to really.

In between watching them argue I was trying my best to look anywhere but her breasts. Staring off into space, finding the passing billboards fascinating, something over her shoulder further down the carriage. Anything at all, but them.

Then suddenly....quiet. They both started phoning people. She phoned her office to advise someone she would be in within ten minutes and said:

"Have you all got enough work to do?" (very well spoken now).

What??  She's checking they've got enough work to do but she'll be there in ten minutes. God forbid they might be sitting on their asses for ten minutes. I have no idea what he was mumbling though it sounded sort of IT-ish.

Then at Partick without anymore conversation between them, he just got up and left. No wee kiss, whispers into her ear, not even a wave from the platform, like she was looking out for. Strange.

I Nearly Had To Get The Window Cleaner In

A woman was overheard today describing her child's birth many years ago and she was saying how it was a difficult delivery.

So much so...

"We nearly had to get the window cleaner in to help."

And the second child, her son, had a big head. Ewwwww.

That window cleaner was going to need a bigger bucket.

We've Got That Guy Again....Over The Shoes

Last year, I was walking down Buchanan Street in my lunch hour, and I bumped into a friend who is a Police Officer. He was dressed casually so I assumed he was doing a bit of shopping on his day off.

As I was talking to him I heard a burst of static from under his jacket and he cocked his head to one side to listen to his radio. He explained he was working in plain clothes looking for shoplifters. After a minute or so another guy came up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and delivered the immortal line...

"We've got that guy in the shoe shop, wanking over the shoes again."

Now the pertinent word here is again. They've got him again. I did wonder how many times he'd done it before. And how do you go about doing that. Get a pair of shoes and head off to a wee corner at the back or do it openly in the middle of the shop? I've never considered it myself.

I won't name the shop but it's a very nice shoe shop. You can't buy shoes for a tenner in there. Anyway my pal ran off to arrest the strange man.

I'd love to be in Court for that.

It Was Like Saving Private Ryan

On my travels last week I picked up a local paper in Milngavie, the Milngavie and Bearsden Herald. I sometimes think that local papers thrive on the sensational headlines that you normally see adorning The Sun.

This headline was "Yobs on Rampage."  Excellent.

It described how "violent neds caused a night of bloody carnage...thugs armed with wooden poles prowled the streets looking for victims...gangs clashed on open ground...two plain clothes police officers arrived in an unmarked car,  and soon realised they needed backup."

One resident said;

"We guessed it was another fight and didn't even bother looking out the window."  They're clearly used to it now.

"The neds are only young teenagers but go at each other like frenzied animals."

My favourite line of all was this quote from a resident;

"The view from my window was like something out of Saving Private Ryan - pure chaos. There were four police cars, a van and an unmarked police car with officers everywhere".

Now if I recall in Saving Private Ryan there were no police cars, no police vans, certainly no unmarked police cars, and I'm sure no police officers. There were soldiers with arms and legs blown off and their faces cut to shreds. No real comparison.

A slight exaggeration on their part. But I'll bet the newspaper reporter nearly creamed himself when he heard that quote. That's me on the front page for sure!

The Day A White Tracksuit Kicked My Head In

Around eight years ago I had been out on a works night out in Glasgow city centre. I was having trouble getting a taxi and decided to walk a bit into Partick to try again for a taxi. Just beyond Charing Cross on Argyle Street, I was heading through Finnieston. I ended up walking along beside a young couple, who were visible in the dark evening in their white tracksuits, white trainers and white caps.

God knows why but I started talking to them. I don't know why. I was drunk. I don't really know what I said to them. I was drunk.

At the bend in the road where the Police Station is they both turned right and walked off up a side street. I meandered happily along. About thirty seconds later, they both appeared in front of me. They had gone round the whole block and come out ahead of me.

Slight confusion on my part. Why were they now walking back? Why did they go round a whole block to appear in front of me.

I saw the look on the guy's face. He was striding very determinedly towards me. It took about two seconds for me to realise he was going to set about me. Even before he ran, I ran.

I turned and ran as fast as I could, but.....I was drunk.

I got halfway across the road then he was on me. I don't know if he kicked or pushed me but I went down right in the centre of the road, about thirty metres from the front door of the police station. I balled up into a foetal position with my hands up at my face.

He just started kicking me on the back, the head, round the front to the face. I'm grateful now that my glasses came off quickly or I'd have had them broken into my face. I found them the next day at the side of the road. He just kept kicking me and kicking me. At one point I looked up and saw his girlfriend just standing there watching.

I don't remember feeling much pain, just the thuds of his feet against my head. I was lying there beginning to think how ridiculous this all was. I'd probably said something to annoy him and he does this.

I started shouting at him;

"Gonnae stop that, come on, that's enough, alright alright I give in, for chrissakes."

While it might sound cowardly and a bit childish all I was thinking was how weird this was. It didn't feel like a serious assault, I wasn't feeling any pain. But he kept kicking me. It went on for over a minute I think and suddenly he just stopped and ran off.

I looked up and saw two women at the side of the road who had shouted at him. They kindly took me into their flat close by so I could get off the street and phone a taxi. I went into their bathroom to survey the damage and my face was grazed, bleeding in places and I had a large gash above my right eye. Suddenly the bathroom door opened and a man was standing there staring at me.

"Hello,"  I said with my face spattered with blood. And he closed the door. He'd heard a male voice in the flat and wondered what was going on.

I phoned my wife and explained I'd be a little delayed but I was just waiting on a taxi.

"Don't worry but I've had a bit of a kicking."  Was she pleased with me.

The next day I managed to get into work for 7am despite having been drunk and assaulted the night before. After work I went into Finnieston Police Station to report the assault, more for their stats rather than for any serious attempt at trying catch the guy. The officer at the desk asked why I hadn't reported it the night before seeing as I was only across the road and then as I was giving the description of my attacker and listing his white tracksuit and white cap, the policeman actually laughed. And from then on I could see he'd lost interest and was just really ticking the rest of the boxes.

So that was my only kicking and I've been trying to avoid a repeat occurrence ever since.

Customer Service Gone Too Far

On the Helensburgh train into Glasgow a couple of weeks ago I was sitting opposite a very pleasant old couple who had a suitcase and smaller hand luggage. I guess they were around 65 years old. The suitcase was protruding into the passageway and the old man was taking care not to get it in people's way.

His wife started sifting through a white envelope with some travel documents and I was trying to get a wee look to see where they were off to. No matter, across the front of the envelope she had scrawled in huge red felt pen "London Tickets" in very squint writing. That's nice, a wee 10 hour trip on the train for them down to the big smoke. At their age too. There's no way I'd do that.

At Central the guy got up and I was of a mind to offer to help him with his case up the stairs off the platform. In amongst all the people disembarking, the ticket collector appeared from behind us and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. The old man was holding the little lift up handle at the end which allows you to use the wheels. The ticket man (TM) grabbing it caused the old man (OM) to look round and the following conversation ensued.

TM " I'll give you a hand with this off the train."
OM "Oh no, it's alright, I can manage, thank you."
TM "No, it's okay, I'll help you get it off."
OM "No, really, I can manage," (turning away).
TM "It's not a problem, it's bit awkward to get off with this."
OM "I can manage, it's fine."

He went to move and turned back and realised the ticket guy was still holding the handle.

TM "I insist, I'll help you get it down to the platform."
OM "It's fine really, it's not heavy."
TM "No, it's okay, I'll help you with it."
OM "It's fine, I can manage on my own."

The old guy stared at him, and I saw his wife is looking at little bemused. There was silence on the train except for the screeching from the wheels, metal on metal as the trains slowed down.

Inside my own head I was screaming "Let the bag go !!, he doesn't want it."
TM "Are you sure, I can lift it down for you."
OM "I'm sure, I'll get it myself."
TM "It's really not a problem, sir, I can get it for you."
OM "Really, it's fine, I can do it myself, it's okay."
TM "Oh well, if you're sure."
OG "I'm sure."

At last the ticket man let go of the handle and stepped back to let the wife past, beaming at the old guy, at which point he says simply :-

TM "Customer service !"

Customer assault more like.

Elvis Makes Amends, and Drives a Mercedes Benz

I actually went out looking for strange people this lunchtime. A little walk along Gordon Street onto Buchanan Street.

Well lawdy lawdy Miss Clawdy, did I see one?

A nice black Mercedes was moving slowly in the traffic along Gordon Street. And the driver?

Thick black hair, quiffed, big sideburns, large framed gold glasses, and a brilliant white jumpsuit, huge collar, huge cuffs and covered with a multitude of different coloured stones.

If he's in hiding from the world, someone should have a word with him.

Would You Like a Brick With That?

The neds round my way are getting more vicious as they are all over the place. My street is used as a thorough fare between two particular areas, and the neds from each place don't appear to like each other too much. On Friday and Saturday nights we can hear banging, shouting and screaming going past. I've had my cars keyed a couple of times and vandalised more but the incident that happened recently was the worst by far.

A neighbour had come back from the town on the train about 10pm and was walking back home. The route dictates that you have to walk through either one of two tunnels, which is invariably where a bunch of neds hang out. It's pot luck whichever route you choose from the station as the streets go in a circuitous route back to the same point where you must go through these tunnels to get to our street. If you see one tunnel is blocked you might have a long walk back to the station to go back again through the other just to avoid them.

A few months ago a guy walking his young daughter back from school had to walk through the tunnel and past a group of neds. He asked them to stop swearing because of his daughter. They beat him to the ground and kicked his head in. He was an off duty Police Officer.

I've been beaten down and kicked in the head before. Luckily the offender was wearing his white trainers which were relatively soft when hitting my skull. They matched his all white tracksuit. The policeman actually laughed when I gave him that description. That was in Finnieston.

My neighbour isn't frightened of them so he walked straight through this group of about eight males/females, about 15-18 years old. And there the games began.

"Whit you lookin at?" said one guy.
"Nothing, pal."

"Whit'll ye dae if I punch you?", said a wee lassie, which she promptly did, right to the side of his head.

"What'll you do if I do that to you?" he asked back.

At which point they started to surround him. He got off his mark. He might not be scared but he's not stupid. Eight wee psycho neds against one. They chased him the couple of hundred yards past his house and got round him on all sides.

The slab of concrete they threw first just missed his head. I found it later beside my car, happy it wasn't on my car. It was about 18 inches long, 3 inches deep, by 7 inches wide with a metal rod sticking out both ends.

Next came the brick. Straight in his face, and he went down. We heard screaming outside and by the time we looked out we just saw his wife run past. She told us she'd gone round the corner and they'd run off. His legs were like jelly so she had to drag him back to the house.

As I was standing outside later talking to a guy who'd seen it all, he commented that one of them was coming past again, but that he'd changed his top to avoid identification by the Police. A Police van turned up, seemingly spoke to the group, were given details of the change of clothes, but appear to have made no arrests at all.

The neds have some nerve. They've just smashed someone in the head with a brick, the Police are there and they're still wandering about.

And the icing on the cake, as they passed his 15 year old girlfriend enquired of me,

"Whit are you staring at you cunt?"

I said nothing to her. No respect or decency at all. Tch tch.

I'm going out this Saturday night. Let's see if I make it home.