Sunday, January 31, 2010

She Walks in Beauty

I am neither mad, bad, or dangerous to know. Except when I am, which isn't very often

I wish I had not grown to a reasonable height. 5'4" seems to be the optimal height. Byron and Martin Amis have something in common but the former had the advantage of a club foot, the lucky bastard.

I'm becoming more Shortist by the day. Death to the dwarves.

I was far too tall all my life, and rarely at eye level.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Dangerous Sports

I am Danger Mouse.

Show me danger and I'm under the sofa, hiding in the wardrobe, or making excuses to the local Constabulary.

Actually, I'm fitting a kitchen when I was made to wield a chainsaw with lethal intent. You don't want to get on the wrong end of my chainsaw. Do so, and I will force you to consume 3 Pot Noodles at a single sitting.

You have been warned.

Thursday, January 21, 2010


Watching Kenneth Branagh as Wallander last night I temporarily suspended my hatred of the man for being the worst Hamlet ever (apart from Gielgud, obviously) and remembered this:

Pure Soap Opera, but also a time capsule of life in the great triumvirate of cities: Belfast, Glasgow, and Liverpool. It's not so very long ago, but it's another world. Das, Aunties, Nans, and milk bottles with cream at the top and a silver lid. Outdoor toilets, the Racing Post, and the wee sleekit bastards that sneaked off before getting their round in.

Would I want to go back? Yes and no.

Community and a bar tab, there are worse things. Outdoor toilets and wee sleekit bastards I can do without.

Monday, January 18, 2010


I've been dosed by Dr Feelgood. The shoulder is still there, but strangely it isn't. I could get used to this medication, but I wont. No pain, as the cliché goes, no gain.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Arse Over Tit

There was I, skilfully negotiating the thawing permafrost with my trusty hiking pole when I had the grim misfortune to discover that six inches of glacier remained beneath the rapidly melting snow.

Going backwards while accelerating rapidly is not a pleasant experience. Shoulder is very annoyed. Shoulder is irate. Thankfully skull is intact, not that cracking that at 30 mph would make much difference. It was cracked years ago.

2010 and my arm's in a sling.

Thankfully it's not my drinking arm. I am comfortably numb.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Vegetable Love?

To his Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Absolutely Marvellous. I'm getting an allotment and plan to distribute prize marrows. It won't be 5 a day but at least nobody will be required to ingest celery when a large butter nut squash is available.


What are butter beans for?

I think I'll stick to shin of beef.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Shoot the Aged

I have been roped in to the point of strangulation just because I have a quad bike and a couple of chain saws. This is most discomfiting because this week was supposed to be a wipe out.

Unfortunately its turned out to be a white out. The crumblies have been shivering grievously so those of us males who are supposedly hale and hearty have been told to get chopping.

This we have done gladly, in the sure and certain knowledge that a large dram for each of us will be guaranteed when we deposit some logs for their hearths.

Nobody can claim that we are not altruistic to a fault.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

My Nuts Have Shrivelled

I'm snowed off. Christmas and New Years Eve both ruined by the necessity of riding a trailer endowed quad bike filled with turkeys, presents, luggage, complaining Great Aunts, and litre bottles of whisky up a steep hill liberally festooned with glaciers.

Why must my guests insist on tramping all over the white stuff? It turns into the sort of impacted ice that a pick axe will merrily bounce off and perform a frontal lobotomy.

And then one of them complained because his foul BMW 4 by 4 slid onto the bank despite his skilful use of his low ratio gearbox. He had a low ratio brain having been told in no uncertain terms not to attempt the ascent. Yes, knobs do drive BMW's. I left him to the RAC.

My purple lined suede Hush Puppies have been ruined by the slush, the local shop has run out of booze because supply van drivers keep driving into snowdrifts and dying from hypothermia, and my meals on wheels service has been suspended indefinitely.


Fuck it, I'm off to roast some nuts in Malawi. Preferably my own as they have been shrivelling alarmingly due to this perpetual cold.

Friday, January 01, 2010

Mr and Mrs Scotland

The beauty of New Year in Scotland is that it stops on the 31'st and doesn't start again until the 3'rd. It's even better when the Hog coincides with a weekend. That means we get the 3'rd off as well.

Happy days.

God help us come the 4'th. Some of us will remain standing in a queasy and unconvincing manner, but at least we'll have made it.

Happy New Year.