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.
Monday, 19 October 2009
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Mr Bannerman
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.
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.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Glasgow's Dumbest Criminal
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.
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.
Saturday, 31 January 2009
Jam With The Fellas
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.
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.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
It's Not Cool But It Keeps The Rain Off
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.
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.
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