Falling Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.