Summer.

The weather has been glorious these last few days- gloriously beautiful. Ah love this time of year, especially when we get the weather we should get in June and July. Although, ah’m really strugglin’ wi’ the walkin’, it’s been great to see everything in bloom and hear the wildlife. Ah’m at the stage where ah think this might be ma last Summer- ah hope no’, but wi’ ma health ah have tae be realistic. Ah remember Two or Three days after ah’d been diagnosed wi’ the Cancer and been given a Fifty Fifty chance of survivin’ it, ah was sittin’ ootside the Bank on a day like today wonderin’ how many Summers ah might have left. Well, ah’ve had Six more since then and Two of them have been an Identikit of what ye wid’ve wanted…. Managed tae get some money in the Bank account. Davy, Chris and Linda won’t be forkin’ oot any money tae bury me. Ah went fuckin’ mental, though, and spent Twelve Hundred Quid on Bob Hope in a month- Forty Quid a day, for a month up in smoke. Ah did get a tablet, though, which is what ah’m usin’ to type this out. Ma long, long, long wait for a wee Shag( a big Shag wid be ideal, but a wee Shag wid be fine. Ah think if ah saw a fanny ma first reaction wid be tae put a plaster on it – it’s been that long since ah’ve seen One- Rivelisa, the Woman fae Brazil, hers was the last One ah’ve seen. Unfortunately, she didny look like a Brazilian Woman ye’d see on the beach at Ipanema or Copacabana, she looked like a Brazilian Woman that ye’d see doon the Amazon wi’ a spear and a bone through her nose. Ah still see her at the Mall, occasionally, but ah hide. Health wise, ah’m Fucked when ah walk and ah find it quite soul destroyin’. Tomorrow will be an abstinence day- nae fags, nae Bob Hope and nae Whisky- just tae see if it makes a difference. Whenever ah go oot ah’ve always had a couple of Rastafarian Old Holburn’s beforehand. So, we’ll see if there’s any change. Ah think it’s too late,though and ah widny be surprised if the Cancers back. Hey ho.

The curious case of Flatulencia Windass.

Ah’ve been tryin’ tae stop the fags and have been makin’ alot of Cannabis Tea and Cakes. Linda wid go mental if she knew how much money ah’ve spent on Bob Hope and drink in the last Two weeks. Ah think ah’ve left it too late, though- ah’ve got the worst cough ah’ve ever had and ah know aw aboot coughs, ah could write a fuckin’ Thesis on them. Anyway, Bordeaux for ma birthday in April and le Fitba'(which is French for ‘le Fitba’). Had a guid wee time buying mainly Shite- ah got some nice Whisky, though. The Boabby Thomson Cancer Bus will head for Ullapool in August for a much anticipated return to the heilans. Scotland bein’ back on the big stage at the Fitba’ was guid. Ah likened it a bit to goin’ to a party and no’ gettin’ a shag at the end of the night but seein’ plenty of cleavage while the party was in full swing. It’s quite sad in a way that oor Two ‘wee victories’ were the full time whistle at Wembley after a 0-0 draw and the equalizer against Croatia. We’re just Shite at defendin’. Ah thought we were OK- passin’, organization, aw good. Just Shite defendin’ – oh, and finishin’. Ah’ll stop at that before this gets like the ‘What have the Romans ever done for us’ scene, from the Life of Brian………

Jesus Christ.

  1. On Friday the Eleventh ah had nae fags. On the Saturday, Chris sent me £50 life raft money and ah went tae the Cash machine expectin’ £51.17p and, by Fuck did ah get a shock. There was a wee bit more than that comin’ up on the balance- so much so that ah had tae go tae the Bank tae ask if there had been a mistake. There hadny been a mistake and ah thought ‘ya beauty’. So ah treated masel tae a few things. Spendin’ some money was a good thing. Scotland drew wi’ England last night and it was a great performance. Had a great wee ‘Broons’ day yesterday- Linda was up fae Hawick, Chris was through fae Edinburgh and Dave gand I met up wi’ them ootside the Cemetery at Mid Calder. Oor brother, Andrew, wid’ve been Seventy and we were there tae celebrate his short wee life . We had something to eat at the Black Bull. A guid day.

Fuck the Covid

Well, that’s Springtime almost here and a bit of normality widny go amiss. The Chemist has blundered wi’ ma prescription- ah’ve got enough Amitriptyline tae kill masel aboot Eight times. No’ that ah’m contemplatin’ Suicide but it is an option, ah suppose. Ah’ve been takin’ them as normal but ah usually have a couple of extras when ah canny sleep. Ah’ve been almost in a state of Hibernation for the last Fortnight- Ah’ve hardly eaten and slept most of the time. Ah just weighed masel and ah’m Ten and a Half stone, which is aboot right. Still strugglin’ a wee bit wi’ the isolation and it gets tae me at times. Ah just think aboot bein’ in Hospital for Six Weeks or bein’ in a Polis cell fae a Friday night tae a Monday mornin, and that helps me get over this Shite. At least ah can get oot and get some fresh air.

Tales fae number Six- Jekyll and hide

Ah’ve gone on aboot auld Bunty fae time tae time and how she had that Jekyll and Hyde thing, which we’ve aw got a bit of, but that hers was tae an extreme that wee Laddies and slightly aulder Lassies, or anybody else for that matter, should ever have tae live through. Ah have very few memories of Linda when ah was awfy young but ah canny remember Chris no’ bein’ there. Davy, like Roman roads, it goes withoot sayin’, was ma closest siblin’ and we ran aboot when we were at primary School, playin’ Fitba’ wi John and Jimmy Milne and Ally Emms and the Wids, Kenny and Iany or Eeny or Eenie. Ah wid’ve saved time if ah’d just said Ian, but since ah was Five or Six, ah’ve just known Eenie or Ianey or Eeny Wood and Kenny and Lorna as the Widses Ah remember when ah’d be aboot that age, the Two brothers, I and K[ Fuck gaun through aw that again] wid be Eight and Eleven and they taught me how tae chip the Ba’ and how tae heider the Ba’. Ah grew up tae be Twice as guid as I and K pit the gither- so, whatever gift they had, they lost it when they passed it on tae me -that was oot on oor Green Mile when we were wee- ‘The Humple’. Ah remember Paty, ma cousin, tellin me that when he and Kenny W[ why did ah no’ think of that before?] played in the same ‘Seven Oaks’ Pub team Kenny used tae say about certain  folk ‘ Och, he’s a Scud Broon player – pit him on that Humple or the top Park and he’s like Pele or Maradonna, pit him on a Fitba’ pitch wi a Ref and offside and he’s mare like Madonna- and she canny sing and she’s Shite at Fitba’. Ah strayed off ma original point- which ah’ll go back tae in a minute- canny mention Harrysmuir’s Green Mile withoot Murph. Elaine, who was and always will be, for me anyway, Murph.  If she said tae me ‘Scud’, which tae this day, she still calls me, dinny call me Murph again or ah’ll knock Fuck oot ye’, ah obviously wid stop callin’ her Murph and ah’d call her anything she wanted me tae call her. Ah remember once oot on the Humple, we’d be Thirteen or Fourteen and Murph and Angela Macauley, who’s faither, Nick used tae sit at his livin’ room windie in the Summer and watch us aw playin Fitba’- ah bet Mr Mcauley never thought ah was a ‘Scud Broon’ player, he probably thought ah wis Pele after alot of ma performances oot on the Harrysmuir North Maracana- are you listenin’ Kenny W- thank Fuck it was Kenny and no’ his brother who said that – anyway, oot on the Humple one time when we were aboot Thirteen or Fourteen efter aboot Ten minutes of tryin’, they gave up tryin’ tae  get the Ba’ off me because it was a futile exercise – ah knew it, Murph knew it, and Angela knew it because she wasny as guid at the Fitba’ as Murph. There ah wis Thirteen or Fourteen, playin’ Fitba[ they were’ny, because they couldny get the Ba’ off me] ootside ma Hoose wi  Two of the Pumphy Babes. No’ that they wid’ve but if, at that age, they’d asked me tae dae anything else withoot the Ba’ ah wid’ve ran intae the Hoose greetin’ tae ma faither tellin’ him that aulder lassies were pickin’ on me. Aye, so, ah was talkin’ aboot Davy and I growin’ up and runnin’ aboot the gither[ the gither as one word just looks Shite] throughout Primary School. Davy gaun tae High School was, after ma Granny died in 1972, probably a wee turnin’ point. Up until ah was Ten and Davy was Twelve, we shared everything, we were in the same room, we shared a bath up till we were aboot Nine and Eleven, or until we got tae the stage where ah just got that scared and Jealous of his Cock that ah refused tae share a bath wi’ him and it. Bein’ near other naked men didny appeal tae me at aw and never has- bein’ next tae naked Women, that’s a totally different ba’ game[ no’ Ba’s involved, for a start, which has always been important tae me, and nae Todgers- especially if it was anythin’ like Davy’s – didny matter what they looked like- as long as they didny have a Cock and Baws and they wanted a shag ah wisny gaunny say naw. It’s been that long since ah’ve seen a Fanny[ ah see Alan Shearer on match of the day, but that doesny really dae alot for me] ah wid probably go and look for ma faither tae have a greet at if ah did.  Aye, Davy gaun tae the High School was a wee change. Ah remember in 1973, ah think, Davy and I gettin’ a Fitba Diary/ Callander each at Christmas and it had aw the League Tables and European and Scottish Cup matches fae the previous season[1972/73 and ah loved aw that- statistics and who played who and where and why. Davy, ah remember, writin’ on the First day in his Diary, ‘Had New years day kick aboot wi’ Colin and we fell oot’. On the second day he put in it ‘Had kick aboot wi’  Colin, John and jimmy'[ Milne] ye canny deny it was a rivetin’ read. Anyway ah think that was up there among the biggest faw oots we ever had. Ye need alot of patience tae be ma brother or sister- Chris has the most and Linda has the least. Davy has had alot tae put up wi stress wise, when it comes tae me and ah’ll never live long enough tae be able tae thank him, or Chris and Linda, for what they’ve done for me. This bit was meant tae be aboot auld Bunty and her Jekyll and Hyde nature, sober and drunk nature wid be more fittin’. Next time for that- it’s nearly Eight am and ah started typin’ this at Three am- that’s a Thousand words in nearly Five oors. That means ah’m a Scud Broon typist.

The big Black Dug

Auld Winston used tae call his depression ‘The Black Dog’ and ah always thought if it’s good enough for Winnie, it’s good enough for me. Ah still wrestle away wi’ that auld Cunt- part of me has a likin’ for him- his Alcohol intake alone was enough tae get him Three Knighthoods- and he had a presence aboot him, but at the end of the day he was an auld God save the King or Queen, Tory Git.  Anyway, it’s Three o Clock in the mornin’ and, unlike Crystal Gayle, ah’ canny sleep and ah’m watchin ‘Warbirds’ on the Horror Channel, in between havin’ a wee smoke and typin’ this oot and it’s Fuckin’ awfy. On an ‘unknown’ Atoll somewhere in Atoll land an American Lady Ace Pilot crash lands perfectly and meets up wi’ Japanese troops and flyin’ Dinosaurs. Enough said. Dinosaurs at Three o  Clock, Skipper, type of thing. So, earlier on, aboot half Nine, ah just had this almost overwhelmin’ kind of wee mental breakdoon. Ah’d got ‘ Linda’d ‘earlier on when she phoned me. Meanin’ that every time she phones me or ah phone her ah get aboot Eighteen and a half Minutes of Linda bein’ Linda which is a combination of Julie Andrews fae the sound of Music, the White Witch fae the East or West or wherever the Fuck she was fae, in the Wizard of Oz, and Delia Smith and Mary Berry or Hairy Belly or Halle Berry, or whatever the Fuck she’s called- but ah always get that Minute and a half where she turns intae a scarier version of Auld Bunty. Auld Bunty needed a drink tae turn intae her Mr Hyde- she wouldny be confrontational when she was sober. The Minute that Second can or bottle went doon she made Baby Jane seem like Shirley Temple and ‘ went straight for the Jugular’ as Davy, sae aptly put it. Linda didny need drink as her back up and never has needed it and that is, or was, one huge difference between them. Ah have been verbally knocked Fuck oot by Linda on numerous occasions and it’s usually aboot me smokin the Fags and the Blaw, and last night was nae exception. By Fuck, did ah get a sare ear last night. Ah felt so Guilty for bein’ a smoker when we’d finished oor blether last night that ah think ah fell intae a mini mental breakdoon for aboot an Hour after it. Haggis agus Tumshie agus mashed Tatties – the business. Ah dragged masel oot the hole ah was in and ah’m ok noo.

Address tae the uncovid

This Pishy, Poxy, Bastard virus, that’s been sent tae irk and ire us. Ah wonder, will it inspire us, tae greater heights ?- or will we faw, among it aw wi the maggots and the Shite?. Ah have nae doot the fleet o’ foot are fast enough tae flee it, but what aboot the slower Yins and the folk who canny see it?.

The Anniversary of Hell

Well, that’s that day over and done wi’. It was Thirty Six years ago yesterday ma faither died. What a Fuckin’ shit day that was. Ah think ah was still in shock and denial that he was deid in the first place and aw the Shite that came next was like ‘What the Fuck’?. As soon as ah saw ma faithers Coffin gettin’ carried in, ah said tae ma uncle Allan-‘That’s no’ ma faither’. Then the Coffin came right past me and ah saw a name on it that wisny ma faithers. What made it worse was that it was an Irish Catholic name. Ah had brief visions of Auld Scud [ ma Dads Faither] shoutin’ fae his gravestane just a few yards tae the left of the entrance ‘ Haw, there’s a Pape in that Box’. So there was this surreal burial when Gerry Adams was goin’ intae the hole ma Faither[ and ma brother Andrew] should’ve gone in. Add on top of that, a half pissed Mother wi’ the maist Summery dress ye’ve ever seen at a driech, dreary, miserable January day. Later on we had to do it all again when close family and friends watched ma faither get buried in the right hole. Ah’d gone tae ma Auntie Nells after the Second burial and sat for a wee while. Ah got home tae discover auld Bunty in her Carmen Miranda Dress pissed, finishin’ off ma Faithers Whiskey. The first thing she said as ah walked intae the livin’ room[ sittin’ in his auld seat – she could’ve pished in it and it widny’ve made it any more obvious that she was, noo, ‘Drivin’ the Bus’ as she liked tae put it] was ‘I loathed your Father’ . Ah aboot turned and went off tae ma room and just flopped ontae the bed and wished that today had never happened.

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Tales from Desert Island Scud- Jan20th

Ah think the trick wi’ this Woevid is tae just take it a day at a time. Tae be honest it’s gettin tae be quite a sare fecht, noo. Ah havny been oot ma Jammy’s for Three days and ah’m findin’ that ah just want tae stay in bed. When ah do get up ah fire intae the tranquilisers and after a joint or Two ah’m ready for ma bed again. Ah have tae go oot the morn tae the Scotmid and get stuff but ah’ve been ootside Twice in the last month. Somethin’s just come on the Telly aboot Shackletons polar expedition.

A voyage roond ma Faither

Ah thought, on the Ninety Eighth  anniversary of his birth, ah wid write a wee bit aboot ma Faither, Scud. Ma earliest memory of him is of gettin’ a good night kiss from him when ah was a wee boy and his stubbly face against ma face. Auld Bunt was in Hospital, ah, think, or she might’ve been away fae the hoose at the time. When ma dad died ah found a letter that Bunty had sent him when ah was aboot Three or Four askin’ tae come back, so it might’ve been around then. Another memory of Scud is when ah had a pee next tae him and noticed that he had hairs on his willie and ah didny. Widny have minded sae much but ah was Twenty One at the time. Another memory is of bein’ separated fae him for the first time- at a Pumphy Juniors match. Ah freaked oot because ah couldny find ma faither and for what was probably only Seconds ah was a distressed wee boy. Then oot the Blue ah saw the happy, cheery face of Chappie, ma Dads  cousin and best pal callin’ oot ‘got him Scud’. There were plenty of occassions efter that in the future where ma faither never forgave Chappie for findin’ me, but that’s for another time. In the late Sixties or early Seventies he had a Ford Consul and he was always takin’ Davy and and I and aboot Five or six pals doon tae the River Almond or the Murieston Water tae guddle for Fish or build rafts – honestly, Three decent sized logs and some rope and he turned intae Scud Hyerdahl. He used tae take Davy and I and Ben the Dug up tae the wids that are noo Knighsridge and Ladywell and climb the Chestnut Trees and shake F–k oot the branches so that the ‘Chessies’ wid aw fa’ doon. He wid get Davy and I Train sets and Skalextric and Air rifles and rubber Dinghys- because he wanted a shot of them tae. He was good on the Dinghy, though, like a Duck tae water, unlike Davy an I who were really good at goin’ roond in circles. That wid’ve been his Navy Genes. He was on a Minesweeper durin’ the Second World War[ a Telegraphist- dot dash, doo, aw that] and ended up at ‘Flowerdown- the cousin of Bletchley park, where they decoded aw that German stuff. He was demobbed Six Months after the war ended on account of havin tae copy Russian morse code at the beginnin’ of the cold war. He did tell me that he sat beside a woman who, whenever she had her period everybody at Flowerdown[and Moscow] knew aboot it. He also told me a great story about a Woman who he met up wi’ on shore leave at Portsmouth. He told me they’d have a cuppy Tea, then go away for a shag and no’ really say much to each other. Ah remember thinkin’ at the time ‘How good is that?. Anyway he never told me any of the really dirty stuff but he did tell Matt Laird and Davy Kane. So, ye’ll have tae ask them. Ah also remember the first time he caught me in ma bed wi’ a Lassie. Ah was a bit drunk, she was a bit drunk, and her pal was conked oot on the flair, drunk. Anyway, auld Scud came back fae the Bowly mare pished than us aw pit thegither and as ah was under the covers wi’ the lassie he stuck hs heid in the room, put the light on and said ‘Jesus Christ, it’s awrite for some. Ah think he was just relieved that ah wisny gay because back then ah was Shite when it came tae women. Another time ah remember quite vividly was when he came back and told me that he’d just got his’ Nat King Cole’ wi a younger woman. Bunty was away at time for the Tenth time. ,,,,,, Ah remember gettin’ older and oor relatioship sort of deteriorated. The sad thing was that we were gettin’ on great not long before he died [ he might’ve known that he was dyin’ but ah certainly didny]. Then there was that horrible day in January when he was buried. More Tomorrow.

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