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.


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.


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.



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.