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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At odds

If ever ah had to live in seclusion for a year and ah could take Twelve CD;s, Twelve books  and Twelve DVD’s[ one for every Month]. One of the DVD’s wid be ‘The Sting wi Paul Newman and Robert Redford. For me, it was just perfection.  One of ma fave parts of the film is the transformation of the once legendary Henry Gondorf  from washed up drunk, tae the coolest con man in the World. Ah love when Johnny Hooker said tae a wasted lookin Henry G at their first meetin’  ‘Luther told me I could learn a few things from you- I already know how to drink’, Henry G replies wi’ ‘okay we’ve got a wise guy’ and a minute or Two later, He says ”I’m makin’ some breakfast kid, do you want some? ‘or do you already know how to eat’?. Love it.  Anyway ma point tae this is that Henry G was at rock bottom and dragged his life back tae the top of his game and ah like films when the character is lower than Lazarus  and  drags themselves out of the Abyss . Right there ah got one of those computerised voice things that interrupted ma music and read out what ah’d just written – Jim W, is there something ah should  be worried aboot? Have also had things pop up on tae the screen when ah click on tae trash comment, which were’ny there before.Could  ye check it oot?, cheers. Anyway, ah like those films where the person manages tae get oot the bit and turn their lives around, ah think because ah’m totally incapable of daein it masel and ah absolutely hate masel for makin’ the wrong choices. Ah had a Heart attack and Cancer and ah still smoke and cough like F–k and ah just think what a Fu–in’ Tool. Ah’ve lived off biscuits and Chocolates and Short breid since Christmas day. Ah had a plate of soup last night but ah couldny finish it. Ah feel as though a drank so much Alcohol in the Christmas week that ah’m strugglin’ tae sleep withoot it. Last night was an ordeal, well it wasny an ordeal at all, ah’m just bein’ a Tit – havin’ a massive Heart attack is an ordeal, gettin’ a Bone Marrow sample fae yer hip, is an ordeal, spendin’ Six weeks in Hospital gettin’ stem Cell replacement treatment is an ordeal- ah was bein’ melodramatic aboot last night bein’ an ordeal Anyway ah couldny sleep. Ah’d gone tae bed at Ten past One, which is early for me, but ah’d run oot of Fag papers and didny have any Bob Hope or ma wee ‘ Woodstocks’, and ah didny want tae open a bottle of Port tae Tan it in a couple of ‘oors, spillin’ maist of it probably and endin’ up face first intae ma Bookcase. Ah’ve got a beard growin’ that’s nippin’ ma face like Billy O, but it’ll take Four Cheap Razors tae shave it off and ah’ve only got Two. Ah’ve been in ma jammies and after ma initial sun burst finish tae ma kitchen when Chris came oot and was well impressed a few weeks ago ah’ve given up on everything. Ah have tae get masel oot the Shite that ah’m in, but , deep doon ah just dinny think ah can dae it. Linda, Davy and Chris, sittin’ me doon and tryin’ tae put some sense in ma heid could help but Forty years of them tryin’ that one has worn them out. Ah’ll maybe watch The Sting.

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Brick Walls

Ah feel as if ah’ve hit some kind of brick wall in ma life and ah canny[ or dinny] seem tae be able tae get through it. Eighty quid on one night of Whisky and Waccy Baccy made me think that ah might have a problem. Ah’ve nearly ersed ma nice Gin ah got fae Davy and Julie for Christmas in a day. Ah think it might be boredom. It’s been a funny week and ah still don’t know what day it is. Ah try tae keep upbeat and positive but ah think ah’m heading for some kind of mental breakdoon. Forty years of makin’ an absolute Cunt of ma life is finally catchin’ up wi’ me. Ah try no’ tae think aboot it too much but ah worry that the realisation that ma life has been a total waste will at some point hit me really hard. Ah’ve no’ had a hot meal in a week- canny be bothered cookin’. Might have some soup. A wee upswing in fortune has changed everything.

Enoughs Enough

These last Seven days have been absolute Shite wi’ a Capital Jobby and, as effin’ usual, it’s aw been self inflicted. Ah have’ny woken up this week on any day knowin’ what day it was- this is Sunday and ah only knew that because Chrissie B told me that today. She came oot today fae the Toon [ Auld Reekie] wi’ Douglas because she’d been worried about the fact that ah wasny answerin’ the phone and hadny been on the auld Pusbook. She’s no’ real and ah can honestly say withoot her, Davy and Linda ah’d be in jile or sittin’ wi’ a wee cup and an even wee’r Dug at some city centre shop windie like a beggar. Anyway it was nice tae see a cheery face after Four days of isolation and she bought me a steak pie and a big Fuck off Broccoli[ or a Buck off Froccoli, if ye’ve had a few- which ah’ve no’ and we wished each other merry Christmas wi’ that daft elbow touchin’ carry on. The love theme fae Cinema Paradiso’s just come on the Spotify- a beautiful song, might be the blind boy]. Anyway that was the beginnin’ of a day ah was just dreadin’. Ah had nae baccy, which wisny too bad because the need for a roll up wid’ve got me oot tae the nearby shop at some point, no matter how vile the weather or how agonisin’ and frustratin’ it is gettin’ up they effin’ stairs. That is ma fault, though, due to over Forty years of abusin’ ma body wi ‘Tobacco, Marijuana, Alcohol and just aboot every pill and powder under the Sun. Ah was low on milk, as well, which wisny too important as ah had plenty of Coffee and broon sugar. The steak pie will be nice- Tuesday ,ah think was ma last proper meal and it was steak pie and Broccoli, too,. Noo that ah remember, it was Wednesday wnen ah had the steak pie. Tuesday was the night the Admiral came down and we got blootered on the Whisky – a full bottle of Old Pulteney, Half a bottle of Tamnavulin and at least Two Callum Halfs were left of the Uigeadail- and Two Callum halfs are aboot Four Scud Halfs.  Ah don’t know whether that makes me a soup drinker or Callum’s just a greedy big Shite when it comes tae the Whisky. Ah opened a bottle of nice Rioja that Chris got me for a birthday present and ah spilled half of it. Ah got through a rake of Grass in a night that wid normally take me Three days tae smoke.  Ah remember the Admiral leavin at Three in the mornin’ in nae fit state tae drive. He lives in Pumphy and it takes Five minutes to step in tae the car at his hoose and be at ma flat, so he managed it easily enough. Ah got tae ma bed at half Seven in the mornin’. Ah got up aboot Two in the afternoon, ah had a bruise on my eye a cut on ma heid a fuck off bruise on ma knee and another wee cut right on ma crown at the top of ma heid- ah hadny a scooby how they got there. Ah’d obviously taken a heider and there were bottles and presents in ma flightpath but ah had nae recollection of it. Ah think takin’ ma Amitryptilenes and Fluoxetines and a couple of Vally’s didny really help. The last time ah was that pished was last New Year when ah hadny long started the Amatrampolines- and ah got mingin’ drunk, couldny remember a thing and ah still canny. Ah think ah’ve inherited auld Jinky’s binge gene. Ma mother used tae tell us stories aboot his binges- sometimes he’d be missin’ for a week at a time gettin’ pissed wi’ his auld Navy pals. At one time the silly auld Cunt was the youngest officer in the Navy- he was roughly  the same age as’ That abdicatin’ Cunt’ as ma mother called Edward the whatever who married O.J Simpsons Granny[ maybe ah dreamt that- or is it ‘Dreamed’?] and they were on the same ship as youngsters. Also he was, at one time, on the same ship as one of the boys who didny make the final Five on the ill fated Scott of the Antarctic expedition. He could’ve done well in the Navy but the drink effed him and he was Horsed oot. He still got his Navy pension, though, which made us aw think whatever the reason was, it couldny have been too bad. Auld Bunty said that he tried desperately tae get back in when the war started in Nineteen Thirty Nine but he never did. He became a Naval clerk and through his job she got to  meet a few Army, navy and Air forcey boys who were top brass at the time and she went along wi’ him[ she was an awfy bonnie lassie and got him extra drink because she said she was a wee charmer- she wasny a big charmer, that’s for sure. Anyway that’s auld Jinks- ah wish ah’d known him alot longer. On one occasion[ which ah canny remember] Ah’d  gone doon wi ma mother for a visit when ah was aboot Five or Six- Linda knows him better because that’s where she went wi’ her pals tae drink when they were’ny quite auld enough tae drink- as ah was sayin’  ah  visited him in Broxburn[ who sadly got knocked oot of the Scottish cup last week] wi’ ma mother and when ah got inside the hoose he said ‘Sit dowwn boy’- will carry on when Tin Tin finishes, ah loved the film. Right, that’s Two Tins just finished- ah love the Captain Haddock character, really funny and ah just thought the film was pure Steven Spielberg genius. Anyway ma Grand dad[ auld Jinks] said ‘sit down boy’ in his posh [tae me] accent and ah, accordin’ tae auld Bunt, replied wi’  ‘Ma names no’ boy, it’s Colin’. She said, that was that and he took tae me immediately. she had a habit of embellishin’ a story, though, did auld Bunt,  so there’s probably a grain of truth in the story and mare embellishment than John Steinbeck or Emile Zola pit the gither. Ah remember Chris tellin’ me aboot the time she berated auld Jinky for not tellin’ her who John Steinbeck was when she was a young girl/woman and discovered him via Chris, her Daughter, Forty years after she felt he should’ve. Jinks was deid by that time, so she didny berate him face tae face, so he wisny givin’ a Fuck what she said. Ah got the same when ah gave her ‘Brave New World’- she started on aboot how damning[ might’ve splet that wrong] it was that it was her youngest girl and her youngest son who had given these books instead of him. Anyway, that’s enough of ma Grand dad Jenkinson [auld Jinks] for the time bein’… Ah’d got as far as Wednesday wi’ ma Shite week. As ah said earlier ah got up aboot Two, no’ hung over, as such, but thinkin ‘What a Fuckin Tool’. If they CIS folk had found me they’d straight away think ‘He’s been thrown around like a rag Doll’ – well, they’d think that if ah was lyin’ in the middle of the  flair, deid, but ah managed tae get tae ma bed and it was only when ah woke that ah saw the carnage and destruction in the livin’ room from the night before. It wisny actually too bad -Wilfrid and Rupert widny’ve got a jolly nice poem oot of it,  but there was good enough evidence tae suggest that ah’d been a greedy Bastard  wi the drink and fell heid first in the Christmas Tree and a couple of bottles that were next tae the Tree. Ah was so ashamed of masel ah had a cuppy Tea, a Rastafarian old Holburn, took ma Two Amatrampolines and ma Two Fluoxetines and a couple of special sweeties which help me sleep and ah went back tae ma bed aboot Four for a wee nap and didny wake till, after Two on Christmas Eve. Again ah did the same as the previous day and ate a wee box of Shortbread. Didny cook anything. Ah went tae bed aboot  Eight pm because ah’d got up at Five pm and had some Crisps before goin’ tae bed. Ah think that takes me into Christmas day. Ah rememberin’ seein’ a bit of Pretty Shitty Gang Bang but  ah canny remember Truly Scrumptious carryin’ on like that, so ah’ must be confusin’ it wi’ another film – Maybe the one wi’ the flyin’ Car and the guy who sounded like a  Dutch porn star. Ah saw a bit of Spartacus, as well, the last hour or so, from the time he was let down by Herbert Lom and the Pirates tae the end bit where Jean Simmons held up their wee free baby. Ah dinny mean wee free as in that loony branch of the Church[ things were Shite enough back then withoot they effin’ dafties] . Ah also watched ‘Have I got Thirty years of News for you’ and enjoyed that. That took me up to Davy comin’ tae ma door at half one on Sunday understandably slightly pissed off at ma no show on Christmas Eve and Christmas day- ah was fucked withooot the phone but wid’ve just hidden out of sight and sound in ma bed if the phone was workin’- runnin’ away fae responsibility and events because, ah take the easy way oot and run away instead of facin’ up tae things  Ah just didny want tae risk gettin’ the woevid. As it is ma state of health is such that if ah was a Sheep Dug the Farmer wid’ve shot me by noo. Anyway what ah thought was goin’ tae be a Shite day ended up awrite= the Admiral came doon fae Pumphy[ Sober], wi’ some Baccy and ships Biscuits and ah’m as comfortably numb at the moment as the Nolan Sisters were wi’ their famous song. maybe gettin’ mixed up there wi’  ‘I’m in the mood for Acid’. Anyway, that’s Half Two in the morning – Two Twenty Seven, to be precise, and there is a lovely, almost full moon ootside high up tae mare West than North West, in the Sky. Ah hope to see it, ah wid think, at exactly the same time next Month, but ah’m nae Carl Sagan, so ah might be wrong. I’ts 3.12 am and ah canny see the Moon oot ma West facin’ Livin’ room windie unless ah turn away fae the Keyboard and strain ma neck that much just tryin’ tae see a wee bit of it, that it isny quite worth the strain or effort. It’s goin’ North, ah think. Anyway, more tomorrow – There will be the Shittin’ forecast, for the Dug walker who canny resist daein an ootside Jobby- dinny get yer hopes up, though, we’re in for a cauld snap. There’s a shit film on the Horror Channel so ah’m off tae bed. Ah’m aimin’ for a Thousand words a day and that’s nearly Two. Humani ta tanka o wachi.

A seasonal Greet

No’ long up oot ma bed. This has been the strangest festive period ah can remember and ah hope that if ah live tae see another it’ll be better than this one. Ah wid, under non Covid circumstances, normally be at Linda’s doon in Hawick or at Davy and Julie’s in Pumphy for the Baby Jesus’ birthday, but the Virus has effed everybody’s life. Ah didny want tae risk goin’ tae D and J’s because they had a few bodies for Christmas. The Polis allowed nearly as many people intae the last Ross County home match as  Davy and Julie had at their hoose and ah just didny want tae take any risks. Thanks tae ma gluttony for the Whisky ah broke ma phone and have spent the last Four days wi’ the ‘Black Dug’ and  nae contact wi’ the ootside world. Ah ran oot of Baccy, which ah can cope wi’ but ah’ve run oot of Bob Hope, which is alot harder tae cope wi’. On the upside, ah did see a bit of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the beautiful Truly Scrumptious – what a Shite film, though. Ah also got the last Hour of Spartacus- what a beautiful woman Jean Simmons was. Ah have enjoyed some of the stuff on TV- stuff that’s on when yer bein’ aw festive and gettin’ pished and ye dinny see. Ah’ll no be watchin’ anything festive tonight because the Telly’s no’ workin’. Ah’ve got the Spotify, though, so that’s a wee positive bobbin’ aboot in ma Ocean of negativity. Ah canny think of anything tae write aboot, so ah’m off tae bed for a few hours of escapism.

Fuckoffscopy

Ah’ve been off the site for a wee while, nothin’ much has changed durin’ the intervenin’ period as far as ‘Me bein’ a Tit’ goes, but there have been a couple of Hospital visits. The double scope was an experience, to say the least. That Camera thing goin’doon yer Gullett is an absolute C–t of a thing. Ah wid put it up there wi’ the bone sample they got fae ma Hip and the last bout of Chemo ah got before the stem cell replacement as bein’ the most uncomfortable things ah’ve ever experienced. The Bumoscopy was a Fuckin’ picnic compared tae it. Ah didny even have the Gas and Air that was offered tae me [ ah am fae Pumphy, let’s no forget] and ah felt strangely calm aw the way through it. Ye feel bloated as billy o and ah got a wee bit tense when a felt a huge Fart comin’ on- they just told me tae let rip. Ah was worried that ah’d follow through and cover the camera in Shite. The stuff they give ye tae clean oot yer Bowels [ and anythin’ between yer Bowels and yer Sheriffs Badge] does what it says on the tin, so ah had nothin’ tae worry aboot.   Ah also visited the Infirmary and was told that they will be able to make ma legs work a bit better. Strugglin tae walk is an awfy C–T of a thing. Ah loved walkin’ up a Hill and lookin’ at the surroundin’ beauty below. Ah loved kickin’ a Ba’ and playin’ Fitba’. Ah’ve become sick and tired and disillusioned wi’ alot of things as ah’ve grown older, the ‘The Beautiful Game’, bein’ one of them, which has become like the Picture of Dorian Grey in that it can still look beautiful on the outside but it’s totally ugly and corrupt on the inside. One things for sure- ah’ll never get tired of kickin’ a Ba’ at any opporchancity ah get.    At this point ah’ll  dae a Braveheart and blaw smoke oot ma ain Erse- a couple of years ago the Boabby Thomson Cancer Bus branch of the Pumphy Juniors supporters Association were at Armadale for a League match. Ah must say at this point that Dunc wisny there- he doesny do away games and Armadale can be a bit edgy, like a Hibs Motherwell game at Fir Park, so there was no way the man who feigned a ‘Funny turn’ at Lochore when Callum and a Lochore fan were exchangin’ pleasantries, was goin’ to Armadale. Anyway, we didny play well but they were the better team.  So, Callum and I were behind the goals that the dale were attackin’ and a wayward shot came flyin’ through the air headin’ towards us [at pace] and ah just stood there, nonchalant like, and casually trapped it dead on the outside left heel of ma Doc Martin. There was a ‘Fuck sake mister, nice one’ and a couple of gasps and cheers at this wonderful exhibition of Ball control. Even after the match on the way out, a couple of people commented. Ah should’ve been struttin’ oot there like Maradonna or Zidane, but, the fact that, in ma attempt tae kick the Ba’ back tae the Goalie after ma breathtakin’ bit of skill, ah nearly decapitated a wee laddie sittin’ on the perimeter fence. Ah didny hit him but just missin’ his heid  produced the loudest ‘Thank Fuck’ gasp of the whole match. Ah think that sums up ma life perfectly- fae the sublime tae the ridiculous in Ten seconds. ………………….. Well, that’s Christmas over and done wi’ for another year. Ah’ve thought for a wee while that this could be ma last one. Ah just think that the auld luck that’s been good tae me in the past canny go on. This week’s been a bit of a nightmare tae be honest. The Whisky ah got for the festive week was gone in a few drunken hours= a bottle of Old Pulteney, half a bottle of Tamnavulin and the last of ma Uigeadail, plus a bottle of Rioja which was spilled, mostly. Ah think that was Tuesday night and ah got tae bed at half Seven in the mornin’. ah’d been on the medication as well- ma prescribed stuff and a wee sleepin’ aid and when ah woke later ah had cuts and bruises on ma heid and legs, a Fuck off bruise on ma Knee and a big scratch on ma right side. Ah’d obviously taken a heider at some point durin’ the previous night. Wee Stewies Santa hat had been knocked off and a bottle of wine and a bottle of Port had been in ma flight path because they wereny in the same spot as they had been. Ah had an Alec Guinness moment at the end of Bridge over the river Kwai and thought ‘What have ah done’. Ah’ve basically been hidin’ fae the world since then, takin’ a couple of val doonicans on top of the Amitryptilenes and the Floxy’s, goin’ tae ma bed, gettin’ up and doin’ exactly the same. Ah chose no’ tae go tae Davy and Julies on Christmas Eve and Chrismas day and spent the days here instead. Praise the Baby Jesus for bringin’ Linda  intae the world [ ma Faither thought we were aw somebody elses] – we were aw his – of that there is no doubt. Anyway, Davy and Julie had a bit of a houseful and ah just didny want tae be in a relatively confined space wi’ Three or Four people. Ah hardly go oot ah know who ah’ve been in contact wi- ah don’t know about other peoples bubbles but if they aw got stuck the gither, the bairns wid love this gigantic bubble but auld and vulnerable folk’ll be effed. Ah’ve no’ opened any of the presents ah got- apart from Linda’s Christmas cake, which has made up most of my dinners for the last Three days. Ah’ve eaten a tub of Pringles and a big bag of Pigs in Blankets flavoured Crisps. anyway that’s me hit the word target for tonight,…….. more soon.

That was the week that was.

Thank F–k that week’s over and done wi’. Friday and Saturday were Shite, Thursday and Wednesday were a bit abject, Tuesday and Monday were worse than that and Sunday must have been so Shitey that ah’ve blocked it fae ma memory. Hibs won, though and Leeds drew wi’ Man City at Elland Road. It’s great to see Leeds back in the top flight- One of ma boyhood dreams was realised when ah went there wi big Stuarty C. They were in the Third Division and Wycombe Wanderers were’ny one of the bigger clubs that’ve played at Elland Road, but it was a great day. Just bein’ close to the Pitch where Billy Bremner, Johnny Giles, Eddie Gray, et al [ it’s amazin’ the amount of times ‘et al’ crops up whenever there’s a crowd ye canny remember]. Ah was at a ‘Full House’ Derby against Huddersfield and the atmosphere was amazin’, probably ma fave Fitba’ ground ah’ve been tae[ a dither aboot wi’ ‘To’ or’ Tae- Tae’s right but To’s got Two letters, so ah canny make ma mind up]……… So, ah was oan aboot how Shite last week was. A really struggled tae sleep aw week wi that awfy feelin’ in ma legs, where ah feel as if bein’ dragged ooer one of those Cattle grid things at a Hundred MPH, for Five miles wid cure it. Ah have made up ma mind, as of tomorrow, nae mare Tobacco, ah’ll eat the Bob Hope, then, if ah stay off the Baccy ah could ween masel off the stuff. Ah’m a hopeless addict when it comes tae the Grass and the Baccy- but , like the man in the Film said ‘You get busy livin’ or ye get busy dyin’. The weather’s been Shite but even if it hadny been, ah canny walk any kind of distance. Sometimes ah feel crushed by the time ah get up those  effin’ stairs. No’ bein’ able tae go a decent walk is a pain in the erse- ah had Zac the Dug for a week and ah could’ny dae it justice walkin’ wise.  The wumman ooer the road fae Dunc had been takin’ Zac the Dug Six or seven miles a day for guid walks but Dunc, in his infinite somethin’ or other told her no’ tae bother for the week ah was there. Then Long John told Dunc that ah’d shouted at Zac the Dug and lost ma temper. Which ah’m ashamed tae admit ah did dae- Once.. Ah love the Dug and the Dug loves me – ye want tae see the rager it gets when ah turn up. If it burst Dunc’s livin’ room wid look like the Pumphy Chainsaw massacre……… When the Black Dug rears it’s heid and ah think aboot how aw the Shite that’s happened health wise over the past Five Years has fucked up ma life- it’s Fitba’ ah miss the maist. Just runnin’ wi’ a Ba’, playin’ keepiy uppy and runnin’ at the same time or just givin’ the Ba’ a guid whack- ah really miss that probably even more than ah miss a shag. If the length of time ye go withoot gettin’ yer Nat King Cole was converted intae a prison sentence, ah’d be on that Robben Island in the Shite cell next tae Nelson Mandela, shoutin’ through the wa’ ‘Ya lucky, lucky Bastard, they must think the Sune shines oot yer arse’.

Health matters.

Ah’ve been a wee bit subdued over the last Two or Three weeks, which explains ma neglect of the site. Ah’ve been a bit effed, to be honest, and walkin’ has been an absolute nightmare, so ah’ve been limitin’ that. Been gettin’ funny wee pains in ma arms and dizzy spells which worry me a wee bit at the time but, thankfully dinny last long. When ah get them ah think ‘Here we go – Heart attack or stroke, imminent’. It’s an absolute pain in the arse no’ bein’ able to go a nice long walk, by the River or through the Woods or up a hill.  Ah was walkin back fae Pumphy the other week to Craigshill and ah had to stop for a break aboot half a dozen times before reachin’ the flat- and that was me just at base camp – ah still had mount Stairwell tae deal wi’, and that was another Four stops before ah got in the flat. Ah was like Eric Liddel efter he fell doon in that race and got up and won it- totally effed.It took me aboot half an oor tae make a cup of Tea and a wee Rolly Birkin, THAT’S how effed ah was.

Wild Soup – The life and times of Scud Broon

The Maternity Ward in Bangour General Hospital is where ma story began after poppin’ oot in tae the world. In the next bed to ma mum, Bunty, was Mrs Wilson[ Trudy] with her new edition to the Family, Jim, who remains to this day, one of ma best pals, even though he slags Hibs off on the Pusbook at every opportunity. In the intervenin’ Fifty Seven years, Jim has gone on to make something of his life, marryin’ his lovely Marion,havin’ kids and Grand kids and,ultimately settin’ this Website up for me because he’s awfy guid at this sort of thing. As for me, ah discovered Marijuana at Fifteen and ah’ve , unfortunately, never really had the time or inclination to discover anything else since then. Anyway, in the beginnin’. Ah think it was tough goin’ when ah was aboot Three or Four- Chris and Linda were Six and Eight and a half years aulder than me, so they knew better. Davy, Two years aulder than me, and I, were too young to comprehend what was goin’ on, but we had a Grand stand seat at the front when the Battle of the Somme began not long after. Ah remember as a wee boy the odd wee thing that belonged to Andrew scattered around the hoose, a shoe or a Schoolbook or a childrens book. Davy and I never saw Andrew, he was killed in a tragic childhood accident in the May of 1959, but he was never far away, be it in conversation or the few mementoes that survived him. Ah played at the same spot where he was killed and probably walked past one of the wagons the accident happened on. Ah wid go walkin’ wi’ ma uncle Allan and sometimes we’d pass the place where it happened and he wid always say ‘That’s where yer brother was killed’ and we’d be silent as we walked past and he wid sometimes get the hanky oot and blaw his nose, knowin full well that ah knew he was just havin’ a wee ‘Andrew moment’. Bunty hated Davy and I playin’ by the Bings and wid always say that she couldn’t have coped wi’ another tragedy. Two in a week for any parent is more than enough for a lifetime and that’s what Bunty and Scud had to cope wi’ in what must’ve been a shatterin and devastatin’ week in late April, early May of that year. Andrew was killed on the Saturday, Five days after Bunty had given birth to a stillborn child. so, as ye can imagine it widny’ve been a bundle of laughs in the hoose that week. So, aw that was just a part of the ingredients that were to end up in the wild soup that was no.6 Harrysmuir North.

The land of lost content.

Into my heart an air that kills, from yon far country blows/what are those blue remembered hills, what spires what farms are those/that is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain/the happy highways where I went and cannot come again. That was from ‘A Shropshire lad’ by A E Houseman and it’s probably ma favourite poem.  It makes me think of days gone by and Childhood memories and sunny days and the branches of the Trees and the Barley swayin’ in the breeze. Ah canny speak for any other wee Shale mining Village but Pumphy had it’s fair share of what wid be called learnin’ disability folk, these days. Ah can remember the ‘Big Yelly van’ comin’ intae Pumphy= it wid be hard no’ tae remember it because it took aboot Two Oors for it tae pick up the folk in Harrysmuir alone. When the Bus came intae the scheme there was the driver and maybe Popeye the Sailor man behind him wavin’ tae everybody- by the time the bus got oot the scheme it looked like one of those Indian trains wi’ folk sittin’ on the roof and hingin’oan for dear life. That’s why they never got oot the bit– by the time the bus left Pumphy the special school was shut and they learned F–k all. In the wee scheme ah lived in there were a lot of families who never married but aw lived in the same Hoose, no’ the same Hoose, obviously. In the block of Four tae oor left there was a brother and Two sisters [ one of the sisters got on the Yelly bus] and next door upstair there was a mother and Four grown up sons [ the mother should’ve been on the Yelly van]. Next door tae us downstair there were Two brothers, the Whaler and Jimmy the Ghost [ who fertilised their Rhubarb wi’ their ain Shite. Ma mother used tae get Rhubarb from him until he told her what was makin’ it grow. Across the road fae us there were an old brother and Three sisters who all lived together, The man had a beautiful garden and one of the sisters wid be on her knees scrubbin’ the front door steps once a week. She reminded me of the auld wumman in Trumpton wi’ aw the Dugs and none of them got on the Yelly van. Next along fae them, Three brothers shared a Hoose, one of them had a Shotgun, one could possibly have been the only Gay in the Village when ah was  growin’ up and the other liked a bevvy tae the extent that he ran the Fitba’ team and the Fitba’ club almost single handedly intae the ground. Opposite them a sister and Two brothers lived in the same Hoose. That wasn’t even a quarter of the way round the scheme.

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