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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Tear To A Glass Eye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Murder In Progress...Go Around

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


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


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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Edinburgh v. Glasgow

I saw a report on the Scottish News a few weeks ago about how Edinburgh was one of the best places to live and work in Scotland.

There was some English guy who said he'd moved there years ago and loved how everything was within walking distance and all the shops were so close to his work. Aye that's because it's tiny.

Shopping? You've got Princes Street and a shopping centre at the end which you could cover in about one hour. I'm not aware of any other great shopping areas other than that. The people are only friendly because half the people going into the shops are tourists. Let's close Edinburgh Airport and make them come through Glasgow first.

And if you have a problem with that, we'll just set aboot ye.

Prams, Trains and Baby Ordeals

A colleague of mine gets the train home to a posh place on the way to Ayr and has to suffer the plebs that travel with her. She suffers them then tells us all about them the next day. Much hilarity.
One such incident was during the 5pm rush hour, and two young “ladies” got on with a pram.

If you think of the trains in Glasgow you could fit a pram in the area between the doors or in the area for baggage/wheelchairs. Oh no, these girls took their pram to the centre seats and jammed it in the aisle. They then took up 6 seats for themselves. My friend was sitting in the 4 seats opposite them, and  was wishing she could leave.

The young mother ignored the baby's cries for a while, and my friend, being a mother herself felt like checking the kid herself.

The baby kept crying, and eventually the mother lifted it out the pram and plopped it on her lap.

The kid was in a little all-in-one suit and was trussed up so tight in many layers of clothes that it’s arms and legs were sticking straight out in a star shape. It couldn’t even move.

My friend was sitting there thinking that the baby is too warm and feels like explaining to the inexperienced mother that maybe she’d stop crying if she wasn’t wearing so many clothes.
The young mum was showing much displeasure at the child for making a noise, and in between conversing with her friend is simply telling her baby;

“Shut it.”
She then had the idea of feeding the child. Yes! That’s right, it must be hungry, so she got a bottle and jammed it into the kid’s mouth which just caused screaming. The child pushed against it…no matter, she jammed it in again and again. The child screamed against being force fed, so the girl gave up moaning;

“Whit the fuck dae ye want?” (a loving mother perhaps?).

She then put the star-shaped baby back into the pram and told it to;

“Shut it,” and she went back to chatting while the kid screamed.

She maybe should have used a condom when the Boy From Burberry was pumping her.