Monthly Archives: June 2020

They wee Bastards next door are just takin’ the Piss oot the Polis and everyone else in the block. Yesterday [Saturday] was probably the highlight of the Five Months that they’ve been here in regard to it’s entertainment and disruption value. It aw kicked off just after Midday when the wee Gadgie who is findin’ it hard to adjust tae the fact that his ex want’s eff all tae dae wi’ him, turned up ootside and started shoutin’ and swearin’. He was tryin’ to persuade, who ah’m guessin’ is his ex’s new felly, tae come doon and get stabbed. Obviously the ‘New’ felly didny seem keen on the idea and stayed put. So, ah’m thinkin’ -‘Fuck sake, the Polis’ll be here right at ma doorstep, practically, and the Marrakesh Express has just arrived at Scud Central’. It was worse a few Weeks ago when ah had the Seven Grass plants growin’ at the Windie. The C–ts aw died on me, though, – it’s been a Shite year for ma indoor Gardenin’.Anyway, A Woman from the next Stairwell along came out and politely asked the Gadgie tae eff off and when she mentioned tae him that the Polis were comin’, he did. A minute later the Polis turned up which, for me kick started the Air Freshener routine. It’s the only thing that ah always know exactly where it is in the Flat. Ah’m thinkin’ wi’ ma luck, the Polis’ll knock on the door and it’ll no be Fuckin Coffee that they’ll be smellin. The Polis came and went after a few minutes – bein’ a nosey Bastard and worryin’ aboot next door  clypin’ tae the Polis aboot me and the Bob Hope, ah found oot that Gadgie guy has a restraining order against him, keepin’ him away from his ex next door. What Pissed me off a bit was that the Polis [ Four of them] came away laughin’ and jokin wi’ the neighbours, as if they’d just nipped in for a sit doon and a Fuckin’ Biscuit. Five Months of them comin’ tae that door at least Four or Five times a Week rangin’ fae Four in the Mornin’ to Midnight,  and they leave laughin’ as if nothin happened. Ye could have an argument for effective Police work there, or ye could’ve, like me, thought ‘Fuck sake, is that it ? About an Hour later and Gadgie guy showed up again. His new approach tae gettin’ back wi his Girl, stabbin’ her new felly, or both was to whistle and no’ say a word. For the First Two minutes it was quite good and then it got darker- ah never in ma life expected tae hear an angry whistle. ye always associate whistlin’ wi’ good moods and happy feelin’s, like the ‘Paintin yer fence on a sunny day’ whistle and yer ‘Ah got ma Nat King Cole last night’ whistle, ye dinny think of a menacin’ whistle. Anyway, Percy Edwards, got tired of whistling and started swearin’ again and threatened, again, tae stab the ex felly. He ran off just before the Polis arrived – Two vans and Six Polis, to no’ catch a Gadgie. There was an audience by this time which consisted of me leanin’ oot ma Bedroom windie and the young couple to my left leanin’ oot their windie and we were in a debate wi a couple of Women from the next stairwell. One of the Woman had been threatened by whistly Knife boy and the other Woman had earlier politely told him tae eff off.  Ah mentioned in passin’ that ah had some Zyclon B and just needed Twelve Feet of rubber tubing leadin’ from ma door tae the troublemakers letterbox, and ah’d  gas the C–ts..  The majority decision was to phone the Cooncil and get the C–ts thrown oot. That was in the mid to late Afternoon and it was all quiet on the festerin front till aboot Eleven at night. There was a lot of shoutin’ and swearin’ from just outside the front of the Hoose. This persons rage was centred on ma next door neighbours front windie. Ah’ve never seen anyone so animated, if that’s the word, with rage. The individual wanted his Dug from the flat and threatened tae stab people and smash windies if he didny get it. This had gone on for aboot Twenty minutes wi’ various neighbours askin’/tellin’ this C–t tae shut up, until a Bear of a guy over the road fae me came oot tae sort the C–t oot. Ah thought, the size and weight difference alone is gaunny make this a quickie. If ye can imagine Ernie Shavers gettin’ intae the same ring as a Five year aulds wee brother. As it turned oot, it was a no contest. The C–t, turned oot tae be a lassie and big Ernie couldny do anything. It changed the tone of the proceedings, though and Bunny Boiler effed off intae the night. True to form, the Polis turned up when everything had calmed doon. Things had calmed doon tae the point where ah thought it was safe enough to have a Rastafarian roll up. half way doon the joint ah heard a ‘Polis’ knock from next door and thought ‘Fuck sake min’, where’s the Air Freshener’ ?. It turned oot, after ah’d turned in tae nosey Bastard and put ma lug tae the door and looked through the wee spyhole, that Four Polis were at the door sayin’  ‘we’re no’ bothered what ye’ve got in there just open the door’. Ah thought, Fuck it, they’re no’ gaunny bother what’s in here, then. Anyway,  Twenty minutes later the Four fae the Laughin’ squad came outside, laughin’ and by this time it was the Sabbath. Cheeky Bastards. Ah thought Fuck this and opened ma door and ah let rip. Ah said that whatever they’d been told it was Shite, because for the last Five Months these C–ts have been the scourge of the stairwell wi’ the Polis visitin’ wi’ a monotonous regularity. Ah was on the verge of sayin’ to the Polis ‘ Ah dinny care if they aw got molested by their uncles when they were wee, just shoot the C–ts’, but some PC C–t wid’ve objected.. It aw ended quietly and there has been a Golden silence since then. Ah maybe shouldny have got involved, though, probably end up gettin’ stabbed.

Ah love the WWW, Pusbook, Spotify, free Sudoku , Youtube -you name it it’s aw there, auld Fitba matches, Platini, Maradonna and pele et al, at the touch of a button.  At this point ah’d like to give a mention to Et al, who doesny get enough recognition.He, she [ ‘it’, these Days], seems to pop up everywhere, sport – Best, Law,Charlton et al – Politics, Hitler, Stalin Thatcher et al – Gangsters, Dion o Bannion, Santos Trafficante, et Al Capone. Ye wid have to achieve something in life wi a name like ‘Santos Trafficante’- that is a name and a Half. Ah always said tae masel that if ah ever got a Brazilian Jock Russell Dug, or a Jock Russell fae a Gangster, ah wid call it Santos. Ah was driftin’ away fae ma original topic which was the Internet. Ah go on the Pusbook quite a lot and it’s full of ads aboot this, that and the next thing and most of them are beyond a Joke. It’s suddenly become eerily dark[6.45pm-Saturday evening] and it’s just reminded me aboot last night. Ah’m sure ah was woken up by heavy Thunder last night, 10pm-ish. Anyway, the Pusbook ads are, like ah said, beyond a joke. Ah don’t know who the Dating sites are aimed at but the Female models they have in them certainly dinny look like they wid have any trouble getting’ a date wi’ a Man, Woman, Bi, Gay, Lesbian, Trans Gender or anyone of the Three Hundred and Seventy Four other variations that ah canny even remember, noo. Unless they’ve got a Lion doon their Knickers tae specifically scare suitors off, these Women wid have nae bother gettin’ a date. Ah’ve never reached that stage where ah felt lonely enough to go on One of these sights and ah’d probably be a prime example of the people who do  frequent the things. Sometimes on the auld Pusbook, ye’ll see the wee Blue Thumb appear beside somebody’s name, meanin’ that they ‘Like’ the site and when ah see the name beside the ‘Like’, ah’m thinkin’, aye, makes sense. They never look anything like the models in the ads. It’s been, for me, a disturbingly long time since ah got ma Nat King Cole, but ah’ve never thought, Oh aye, ah’ll try that. They wid be better calling them names like, for Him, ‘Turn up at ma Door wi yer Tits oot’ or , for Her, ‘Turn up at ma Door wi’ a hardon’. Ah was always a Norman Wisdomy, shy, bashful type when it came to the opposite Sex[ sounds like  who the ‘Famous Five wid’ve been up against at the Fitba’]  until such times as ah got tae the ‘ Here we go, ah’m gettin’ a shag’ moment and ah instantly became ‘Buddy’, as opposed tae the Nutty Professor. If ah was standin’ at a Bus stop beside Joanna Lumley or Madonna ah widny say a word if ah was sober. If, on the other Hand, ah had the right amount of Alcohol, ah’d be thinkin’ ah wis in there wi’ a chance. If ah was sober and an attractive lookin’ Woman started talkin tae me ah’d automatically think she was either doin’ it for a bet or she was a Bunny Boilin’ Psycho who wanted tae take her revenge oot on the poor C–t who just happened tae look a bit like her cheatin’ Husband. What ah’m gettin’ at is that it’s quite sad that people feel the need tae try one of these sights in the First place. That’s the Polis at they noisy wee Bastards next door. Time for a Ratafarian Old Holborn.

Ah’m noo the heaviest ah’ve ever been, over Eleven Sone, and it’s Crisps and Biscuits that are to blame. Over the course of the last Month ah’ve had aboot Half a Dozen proper cooked meals. Ah canny be bothered wi’ preparin’ meals. Ah always end up wi’ a Hundred dishes that ah canny be bothered wi washin’. Ah have a bowl of Alpen every Day wi’ a chopped up Apple or pear, or both in it- Ah Half the Fruit and chop up some and throw it in. Ah eat the Two Halves that are left. Ah find  that’s enough for the days food preparation, Ah’ll get a few Biscuits durin’ the Day – Linda Broon got me a Hawick goody bag and there were Ginger Nuts among the goodies. Ah’ve no had Ginger Nuts for ages [ ah get Tablets] and ah’d forgotten how guid they were. Ah consider Four slices of Breed and a Packet of Crisps a meal. Ah waste a lot of food and ah’m Shite at judgin’ amounts and that’s where the waste comes fae. Ah’m no’ very keen on re heatin’ stuff from earlier or freezin’ stuff, so, what’s left goes in the Bin. And ah do feel bad aboot the waste – there are loads of starvin’ folk in the World and ah wish ah could help – Alpen and an Apple and pear save on the waste………. Ah was thinkin’ earlier on about Pumpherstons place in History and culture. Films like, ‘Raiders of the Top Park’ ‘Bridge on the Hairy Tip’ Mutimy at the Bowly’, books like The Goon and Sixpence,  based on the true story of the local Mechanic who died in mysterious circumstances after lowering his price for sortin’ a Bike engine.  Famous musicals like Bingin’ in the rain. More of these and other Pumphy might appear after a Rastafarian Old Holborn.

A good pal paid me an unexpected visit earlier on and it was a great wee deviation from the mundane. Ah widny say  ah’ve got the ‘Black Dug’  at the moment – more like it’s wee Puppy that ah can give a quiet tellin’ off to make it go away. Anyway, ma pal was tellin’ me aboot a Telly programme wi that Simon Sebag Monty Python, or Montefiore, maybe, aboot the History of Spain. Ah learned where and how Tapas originated and it was fascinatin’. Aw ah know aboot Tapas is that it’s tiny wee amounts of lots of different Shitey tastin’ stuff. It’s just as well they’ve had some guid Fitba’- players over the last Twenty years or so in Spain – they’ve  needed  something special to take their mind off the food. Ah think ah’ve had it Twice, once should definitely be enough, but ah have a recollection of having it Twice.  We were also talkin ‘aboot Mossend Swifts and Mcrae’s Battallion. Ah think ah’ve got the spellin’ of his name wrong, but any Jam Tarts will tell ye that he, alone, won the First World War.  Ah’ve been tryin’ tae think of all the famous singers and groups from Pumphy over the years – and there are a few. Pumpherston Airplane,  Pumpherston Lake and Byprox, Bing Crosby[goes withoot sayin’ obviously]. ‘Goes withoot sayin’ could get ye intae trouble,though. If ye were in a discussion and somebody said ‘Einstein, that goes withoot sayin’, they’ve still said Einstein- and ye might get somebody who says ‘there’s an obvious name ye’ve no’ mentioned, to which , you or somebody else in the company wid say, ‘tell us who, then’. The other person might say, ‘naw’ ah’m no’ tellin’ ye’. Somebody else could chip in wi’ ‘Why the F–k no’, to which, the other wid say ‘Cos it’s obvious, ya daft Cunt. He might then say ‘ Who are you callin’ a daft C–t, ya C–t’ ?, to which, the others reply could be ‘that goes withoot sayin’, ya Cunt’. Then ye’ve got an argument because somebody didny state the obvious. Anyway, Byproxy Music is another auld Pumphy Band, ‘The Top park Mountain Dare Devils. Those are the famous names – others have almost been forgotten. the once famous Ella Fitzfella, the Drag Queen, who was huge in the Forties. There will be more on Ella and others at a later date.

Well, the longest day of the year came and went wi a whimper. Ah think that Mother Nature should make it compulsory for the longest day to be bathed in Sunshine and no’pissin doon wi rain. It should be the kind of day where ye wish that ye could hang glide over Glencoe listening to Malcolm Arnolds Four Scottish Dances [ no.3 ] or the opening Music to the film Steel Magnolias. The latter, especially, for me, is  one of the most soaringly beautiful, joyous and uplifting pieces of music ah’ve ever heard. Ah dinny think ‘soaringly’ is a  word – a wee red line has appeared under it Twice, but, so what. As ah mentioned before,  Auld Scud loved his Classical music and a Sunday was his music day, whether anybody else liked it or no’. Sometimes it wid be the big Band stuff, songs like Perfidia, Frenesi,  Chatanooga Choo Choo, Don’t sit under the Apple Tree, In the mood etc. Some days it wid be the Classical music and the 1812 overture, the William Tell overture, Scheherazade and the Polovtsian Dances. They were the good days, listening tae music that ah still listen tae noo. On a bad day, ye got Al Jolson –  who wisny a favourite of mine. He liked Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Dean Martin – ah have tae meander off here. When ah worked at B and Q in Livvy ah had a colleague and pal fae Ghana, called Ibrahim – like the Fitba’ player, but withoot the ‘ avich. Anyway, one day we were talkin’ aboot music, what we liked, what we didny like and Ibs said a few names and when he said ‘ Nat King Cole’ ah  lost it and started laughin’ and Ibs looked hurt and shocked at ma reaction. He lost it when ah told him that, far from mockin’ his choice, Nat King Cole was a much loved and revered singer in Scotland as much as any where on the Planet, his name was rhymin’ slang in Scotland for something that ye hope tae get on a Saturday night on the Piss – no’ wi Peanut Butter Fanny, obviously. So, fae that day onward Ibrahim would say to me every Monday ‘Hallo Chief Colin, did you get your Nat King Cole’ ?. So, meanderin’ back to where ah was, Auld Scud and his music -he listened tae aw that Tartan and Shortbreed blaw it up yer Kilt Shite, which, on a Friday when ye were stuck in the hoose and had tae listen tae it,  was a Muhammad Ali Thrilla in Mannila’ experience. Well, ah can assure ye that after Three Hours of Accordion and Fiddle music, ye feel as if ye’ve come as close to death as ye can withhoot actually dyin’. Mind you, in aw seriousness, ah’ve been as close to death as ye can be withoot dyin’, when ah had the Heart Attack at the same time as ah was gettin’ the Chemotherapy. Ah ‘died’ Twice on the hospital bed, and never a day goes by withoot me thinkin’ tae masel ‘You are one very very, lucky lucky Bastard, but aw that Accordion music was the nearest thing to that and it has left a scar – ah still, to this day, collapse and start foamin’ at the Mooth whenever ah hear Jimmy Shand.

Ah watched the First fight between Roberto Duran and Sugar Ray Leonard the other night on the You tube. What a fight that was. No doubt in a couple of Hundred Years when Boxing’s been banned for being cruel and the powers that be can wipe oot Ten Million people at the flick of a switch, they’ll be thinkin’, that looks awfy. But it’s here and noo and ah want tae say that that fight wisny cruel, the loser might say the result was, but the fight itself was a Fifteen round education in the Art of Boxing. If the rules of the time stated that both fighters had to keep going until the other one couldn’t, they’d still be fighting now. Their Grand kids wid be pleading wi’ them to call it a draw. It certainly wisny cruel. There was nae blood, nae sickening punch, nae knock oots, nae worrying about somebody’s well bein’. It was Two men steppin’ into a ring, wanting tae knock Fuck oot each other, and however bizarre and strange that is, they did it in such a way that made it look like a Masterpiece that Da Vinci wid’ve been proud of. That fight, and the brutal, brief and spectacular Hagler v Hearns fight should be used in Boxing Schools as coaching manuals. The greatest fight that never was, for me, the Hagler and Leonard that should’ve happened Three or Four years before they finally met. What a much anticipated fight that wid’ve been at the time.

Andrew, young Malty, is coming up from the Big H [ Hawick] to put my new door up,  tomorrow. Canny wait, it’s Six Months since the Polis/Fire Brigade broke ma auld door doon and livin’ next door tae those F–in’ Baw Bags next door these last Four Months has been a nightmare. Ah say Baw Bags but ah think the Flat is occupied by Four young lassies, with a couple of laddies who just appear oot the Blue, noo and again tae shout through the letterbox for Twenty minutes then start fightin’ each other ootside. Honestly, they make Sugar Ray Robinson and Jake Lamotta look as if they avoided each other like the Plague.  The Polis thought ah was deid.  Ah’d had the ‘Black Dug’ keepin’ me company for a few Days and ah wisny answerin’ the phone or the Door and the family thought ah might be deid and phoned the Polis. Ah’d just got ma new medication fae Boots and thought, ah’ll take a Double dose the First time and see how the wind blows.’ Well, it was quite breezy, ah can tell ye that much. Ah’ve been takin’ pills and pain killers for so long noo that ah think ah might’ve got some tolerance toward them. The night before the Polis came ah took Three Amitriptylines and Three prozacs –  no’ aw at once, mind you – no’ far off though. So,  unsurprisingly, ah slept like Rip van Fuckin Winkle’. Ah wakened tae the sound of the Door bein’ battered and thought ‘What the F–k’s happening ?. Then ah did what ah always do during times of great stress and worry, ah hid ma heid under the covers and hoped that it would go away. Did it F–k. They could, at least, have let me know they were the Polis, but they kept on battering the door and finally forced it open and ah thought this is it, ah’m deid. Instinctively, ah picked something up to face the enemy with, what ah was hoping to achieve wi’ a T shirt, ah’m no’ quite sure, and when ah opened the livin’ room door, a Polis man shouted oot ‘yer alive’. Ah didny even ken that ah was meant tae be deid. So that’s why ah needed a new door. Elton John like, ‘it’s a little bit funny’, but in the Five years ah’ve been in the flat the Polis have been here Twice for more or less the same thing. In 2015, the March, ah think, ah was awfy violently sick after finishin’ a night shift at B and Q and talk aboot projectile vomit, this was Supersonic. It was actually gettin’ worryin’, the volume of aw that sick. From around Eight in the morning till about Half one ah was either bein’ sick or wretchin, or waitin Five or Ten minutes to be sick or wretch. Anyway, ah didny go to work and didny phone and B and Q got worried and phoned the Polis. Ah still think that it was that day that triggered aw that Illness that followed over the course of the next Two or Three years.

Ah’m just listening tae ‘Vincent’ [ or Barry Barry White] and it’s one of ma big favourites. Ah always thought it was an awfy haunting song. No’ like F–k sake, haunting, but it’s got a melancholy aboot it, like, ‘Where do you go to my lovely’ or ‘Leavin’ on a Jet plane’. Auld Bunty used to tell me that ah liked an awfy lot of melancholy stuff – which was rich comin’ from her, considerin’ every body else at no.6 suffered like F–k if she had Four Carlsburgs and a Dusty Springfield LP at her disposal. Ah think back on some of those weird and wonderful, mad, bad and sad times at no.6 and there’s a book there. The Two aforementioned songs ah remember from early childhood,  Peter Sarstedt,  sittin’ on the chair on TOTP’s and Peter, Paul and Mary, ah’d be aboot Five or Six when they were on the go. Music was a big thing at no.6. Ah was lucky to be born in a Decade that had probably the most diversity and quality of any Decade, when it comes to Music. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Motown, Hippy stuff, etc. Along wi’ aw that,  auld Scud hardly let anybody else near the Radio or auld Grundig open reel tape recorder when he was listenin’ tae his stuff -that wid’ve been the Big Band stuff, Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitgerald etc. Ah’m sorry, Ella,  for puttin’ etc after yer name it was uncalled for and wont happen again. As well as aw that, auld Scud liked his classical Music and ah remember a Box set,  as it wid be called noo,  with a Dozen LP’s in it. it had mad names on it like Tchaicovsky,  Glinka, Mussorsky and Arthur Askey. Ah might be gettin’ something mixed up there. Linda and Chris were young lassies at the end of the Sixties, Fifteen and Twelve, respectively so, obviously, they were into the chart Music of the day and ah imagine what they were playing and singing, Davy and I wid’ve been aware of. Ah think that’s why a  scary percentage of people round about their mid Thirties are effed because between 1980 and 1990, they wid’ve been exposed tae some amount of Pish.  So,  ah grew up listening to loads of Music,  ah’ve never stopped listening. What ah love most aboot Music is that, Today or Tomorrow, next week, next year ,ye might hear a great song or beautiful piece of Music that ye’ve never heard before and it could lead ye on a wee Musical journey.

Pumphy Refinery

The visit to the infirmary was OK. Ah had to wear a mask which, under the present circumstances, is fine but ah find them awfy claustrophobic. They remind me of ma Heart attack when ah was gaspin’ for air that wasny there [ ah should be writing poems]. Ah remember a mask bein’ put over ma face and this wonderful feelin’ of cold fresh air rushin’ up ma nose that ah could hardly keep up with. A wee while before ah was gaspin’ and fightin’ for scraps that ah was runnin’oot of time findin, and here, noo, ah was like a Fuckin’ Dolphin on a feedin’ frenzy’. Anyway, apart fae the mask, it was all quite painless, though. Ah’ll get a letter within a Fortnight, tellin’ me what’s what. The big shock of the day was my weight. Aw the Shite started in 2015 and at one point ah was down to just under Eight and a Half Stone. That wid’ve been during the Chemo or the stem cell thing. Ah’m now looking out to play the Sydney Greenstreet character’s stunt Double in the next remake of the ‘Maltese Falcon’. If ye’ve got a spare couple of Hours dinny waste them on the remake of the Maltese Falcon. Complete and utter Pish. Eleven Stone – couldny believe it. Years ago ah remember weighin’ Eleven Sone, Three pounds. Playin’ for the Office Bar in Hawick soon got my weight down. That was in 1985 and from then on until ma mid Forties ah dodged between Ten and Ten and a half stone. Ma belly’s become like an unwanted visitor, who isny makin’ any effort tae leave soon. Ah’ve always been a wee skinny runt of a C–t, and, noo ah’ve got this big Belly. Ah dinny help masel wi’ ma diet, though. Callum got me a cup of Coffee and a Bacon Roll this Mornin’ at the Hospital and ah’ve no’ eaten since. Ah had crisps when ah woke up earlier. Ah was shattered when ah got back fae Hospital at aboot Eleven. Had a cup of Tea and went off tae ma bed at Midday and woke up at Nine. There was a bit of a commotion outside and a lot of shouting. Probably wid’ve been those noisy wee Bastards next door. The Polis are at them Two or Three times a week and it’s a fuckin nightmair, if ye’ll forgive the spellin’,.For any Hypothetical paranoid Dope smokers livin’ in that block, it must be a nightmare. Ah ken a guy who runs oot his door every time something kicks off next door and sprays the stairwell wi’ Air freshener. The wee Bastards are always at ma door askin’ for fag papers and Baccy or Fags. Ah hate no’ havin a fag or a joint and ah hate the thought of someone goin’ withoot but ah’m hopin the wee C–ts die of the Cancer before me. Ah was on aboot food and the little of it that ah seem to eat – if ah’ve got Bob Hope ah’ll no’ eat much, if ah’ve no’ got Bob Hope ah chain smoke.

It was a guid wee Day, we had the Weekly Cancer Bus team brief. It was just the kind of Day ah needed before Tomorrows trip into the unknown. We covered a wide range of subjects and Dunc covered a wide range of Bass Guitars. If ye want tae ken aboot Bass Guitars, Duncs yer man. If ye dinny want tae ken aboot Bass Guitars, ye’ve got tae pin him doon [ like the American Polis did wi’ Pink Floyd and let him go before he passes oot,   obviously, it’s Pumphy and no’ that  USA]. Ah asked the Fitba’ question -‘which World cup match produced Eleven goals, Eight of which were scored by Two players ?. That, in turn, got us onto the 300 Spartans – respect for the less fortunate among us will not allow me to continue with this story. It was a good laugh, though and the Film has probably taken on an entirely new slant, for the Bus crew.Like ah said,in an earlier post,  ‘what’s said at Shite club, stays at Shite club’.  As usual, ah’ve got the Spotify on and ah’ve got the Cher song, Believe playing at this moment. Ye canny deny, it’s catchy. …………  . Aye, the Morn, ah’m off for the scan thing and ah canny help feelin’ a wee sense of foreboding. Don’t know why. As soon as ah opened the letter and saw Royal Infirmary, ah thought, ‘oh aye’ and, honestly, got a wee chill or shiver, or whatever it was, that ran through me. Maybe ah was thinkin aboot Paty, and how quickly he became Ill and how suddenly he died. To be honest, it’ll take a long time for it tae sink in aboot Paty. A h’m happy tae think, for now, ‘OK, he’s busy and we’ll meet up soon’. Ah know that’s no’ the case, but thinkin’ like that helps me deal wi a thing that ah still find really difficult tae get over. No’ in a greety big Jessie way, ye understand,  more like a FFS, Paty’s deid, Hroom, Hroom, let’s talk aboot the Fitba’ type way. We always got a laugh wi’ that one. Ah borrowed the Hroom,Hroom, fae a well known character in a Fantasy type novel, who looked like a Tree. Anyway, the let’s talk aboot the Fitba’ thing started wi a woman fae ma past. We were watching ‘Shadowlands’ and ah said before the film started that she’d probably need Two or Three hankies at certain scenes in the film, and ye canny deny it’s a tear jerker. It’s like ET, no’ the plot, obviously [ for the benefit of Mr Asberger ], but, in the fact that if ye’ve no’ got a tear or Four in yer Eye or a Fuck off lump in yer throat like a Tumour at the point where the wee felly jumps up sayin’ ET phone home’, well, yer no’ Human and probably an awfy C–t. Shadowlands has got it’s moments, like ET, where,  if ye were watchin’ it wi’ yer pals, somebody wid dae the ‘Hroom, Hroom, let’s talk aboot the Fitba’, tae stop everybody else blubbin’ at a certain bit. …… Time for a Herbal.