Monthly Archives: June 2020

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Ye hear aw these daft Music things aboot songs that, when ye play them backwards there’s a hidden message in them, well ,here’s a thing . Ah used tae think aw that kind of stuff was a lot of Shite, but the more ah listen tae the Beatles, ah’m thinkin’ Pigeons.  Love me Doo, A Doo in the life, Yesterdoo, Back in the Doo SSR, the one aboot Pigeon Shite, ‘Here, there and everywhere’ – there must be others but. after Two Prozacs, Two Amitriptylines, and quite a strong blend of Rastafarian Old Holburn  – It’s been that long since ah’ve seen a pouch of the stuff, ah canny even remember the correct spellin’. Was it Holborn ? – anyway, that’s that, ah’m feeling comfortably numb at this moment in time.  Mare the Morn. This is Captain Scud, on board the Boabby Thomson, just off Covid Island, saying good Night.

The Covid’s F–ked everything. Pumpherstons very own Porn star couple, Monty Fuck and Fanny Sayer have been side lined since the beginning of Lockdown and are itching to get back to work. Fanny is still itching after her last ‘Road Trip’ to Fawhoo and Blackburn, but she’s getting Tablets for it. The couple, Famous for Blockbusters like ‘Fannyator and ‘Lord of the Minge’ First met while filming ‘The man who couldny act but had a cock like a Horse and his Wife, behind the Chippy bein’ watched by Half a Dozen strangers’. Their careers blossomed and they were soon rubbing shoulders [ and other bits as well, probably] with all the Titeratti of the business. Their next Trio of films are to based on Billy Wilder classics. Stalag 69, Bumset Boulevard and Double something or other, it wasny Indemnity, anyway,. these and more of the couples films can be seen at the Pumphy Multiplex thing. Obviously it’s closed for the Covid, but an announcement will be made soon about a possible re opening date………………………….. The continuing feud between the PLO[ Pumpherston Liberation Organisation] and the PLA [ Pumpherston Liberation Army] hit an all time low last week when, like something out of an Eastenders storyline, it was revealed that PLO leader, Boabby Thomson, is, in fact, the twin Brother of PLA leader, Boabby Thomson. Apparently when they were wee, their Father, Boabby, had a falling out over the Twins. There had been away back on Boabby’s  wife, Boabina’s side,  an English Thompson. Thomsons in Scotland are a bit like Edith’s in France-  they take a piaf.  On the same day as the shock news was announced, PLO Boabby’s Twin lassies, Boabina and Bobette got  into an altercation with PLA  Boabby’s Twin lassies, Boabarella and Boabushka. Seventeen passers by, who probably wished, later, that they’d stayed home, ended up in St Johns..

Last week was a bad yin. Five Days withoot a joint ended up wi me smashin up ma Telly. Ah’ve no’ missed it though, apart from the weather. Judith hasny been on for a while. Ah like Kawser as well. What a Beautiful lookin’ woman. Louise, on the BBC, seems to be the kind of Woman who, if she was playin’ Hockey, would still be enthusiastic and bubbly if she’d lost Three team mates in a lightning storm and was losin’ 8-0. Anyway, ah’m hoping this week will be a lot better, mental Health wise. To be honest, ah think that ma mental health is OK, which is probably a sign that it’s no’. Ah canny handle no’ havin’ a joint. Ye widny believe the misery and despair ah lived wi’ last Week. Ah never knew that kind of grief when Auld Scud and Bunty died. That, in itself, is probably quite telling. Ah’m smokin’ a wee Herbal at the moment and ye widny believe the amount of times ah’ve had tae light the C–t. They’re putting something in the weed or the Fags so that ye have tae keep lightin up. it’s the same Wi Cadbury’s Chocolate, it’s Shite, noo. Since that American company bought it. the Chocolates just awfy. The C–ts deserve Trump if they’re happy wi’ that Chocolate. So, gettin’ back to where ah was, it’s like life’s great when there’s Bob Hope in it and it’s just F–kin awfy when Bobs on Holiday.Ah think to masel, sometimes ‘Fuck sake, min, ye’ve been at Deaths door wi the Cancer and the Heart attack and yer continuin’ in yer quest tae self destruct by gettin’ aw wound up because ye canny get something to smoke, which is the thing that put me in ma unhealthy state in the First place.

This story originates from the Boabby Thomson Cancer Bus, or Shite Club, if yer lookin fae Callums point of view, on account of the Shite Dunc and I came oot wi.  Normally what was said at Shite Club stayed at Shite club, but exceptions can be made. We were talking about strange encounters of the, how can ah put this withoot upsetting some politically correct C–t, womany stuff. Fuck it, we were talkin aboot sex, we’re grown men,fur F— sake. Ah think the specific conversation involved strange encounters of the sex kind. Ma story involved an encounter wi a woman who’s Toilet area smelled  like Peanut Butter. At this point,  Dunc informed me that he loved Peanut Butter and ah abruptly stopped ma story. in mid spread, ye could say. Dunc never touched Peanut Butter for aboot Two years after that and the story has ended up in Cancer Bus lore. It cropped up again last Friday at a Cancer Bus meetin’ when Callum and Dunc tried to get a name from me. Ah was adamant it would remain a secret between Peanut Butter Fanny and I. Honestly, the pair were pumpin me thoroughly in the de briefin’ room, but ah was keepin tight lipped, which for me, is a F–kin challenge. Then they wanted clues, but ah was smart, and didny give them any. Then they were asking if they knew who she was ,but ah was smart and didny tell them. Then they came oot wi names, mostly wi ‘Big’ before the name [ that’s another story, if ah’m bein’ honest it’s quite a few stories] and oot of sheer frustration, ah think, Callum,roared oot ‘Wis it yer Mother’ ? and ah immediately said ,yer close, it was ma Granny, but the worst of it was ma Grandads cock tasted like Treacle Toffee. So, that produced a bit of Hilarity. Next time on ‘Tales from Amatriptyland’, the Four Tape solution, and The Lark Ascending.

Fuck sake man- what a last Five Nights ah’ve just endured. Ah lost the plot, a bit, last Night – ah smashed the Telly up. What a fuckin’ Fanny. Hand in hand by Phil Collins has just come on ma Spotify list. it’s one of my favourites. He does a version on the Youtube from Paris and ah think it’s an awfy joyous thing. Anyway, ah smashed up the Telly like a right Fanny because, basically, ah’d gone Five Days withoot a joint and it came to a heid when the Telly started to go that funny Digital way. Ah was losin the heid big time ,movin’ the Ariel a Mllimetre here, a Fit there. tryin’ tae get a decent picture, hopin tae see the end of One of the Twenty Seven, it seems like, Lake Placid Films. If ah’m bein’ perfectly honest. ah was hopin’ tae get a glimpse of Yancy Butler, who, ah think, has amazing lookin’ Eyes. The kind of Eyes, if Ye were in a Raymond Chandler thing, ye widny ken if she wanted tae shoot ye or shag ye. Turned oot she wisny in it, or ah missed the final credits to see if she had been in it. So, ah moved the Ariel aboot for what seemed an effin eternity and aboot Three Hundred and Forty Seven ‘ Fur F— sakes’ later, ah punched the Telly oot of Sheer frustration. Ah was the wee Hobbit on Mount Doom, as the molten Lava and rocks began to close in and the Eagles were’ny coming. However, they did turn up on Friday afternoon, in the form of a nice lookin’ and nice smellin’ Pipe weed as auld Glandalf wid call it. It’s a great regret in ma life that ah never knew or worked beside a Man, or Woman, called Alf, who had a Glandular problem, anyway, when the Eagles did arrive, it felt like a mixture of bein’ in Lothlorien wi Cat Ballou. The point of all this- is acceptance of the fact that ah’m a totally beyond saving Grass Heid. Ah was quite bright as a wee boy, inquisitive, loved reading and finding out aboot things, History and Capitals, Native Americans and Dinosaurs, Vikings and Romans, Countries, Planets, you name it, ah’d read aboot it. Explorers, discoveries, Battles ,Fitba ‘ obviously. Things started tae go Tits up when ah discovered Bob Hope, and ma Days of exploration and discovery ended up abruptly on Marijuana Island  – somewhere in the ‘Rocky’ Mountains.  Ye’ll notice ah said Native Americans – when ah was at Primary School they were called North American Indians or Red Indians. Is that ,in light of the Shite that’s kickin off at the moment, a crime ?. If Mrs Gillespie were or was alive, no’ quite sure what’s the proper One, should she be given a hard time for the  ‘Red Indian’ project we got in Primary Two or Three. Canny remember which one. Nae point in askin’ Jim W – he canny remember Fourth Year at High School, let alone Primary Two or P2 as it’s probably known noo. Shona [ McKerracher] wid know, ah reckon. At a ‘Bingstock’ [ Sing at the Bing] – they effed up there, Bingstock wid’ve been better – a year or Two ago ah was remin, reminis, talkin aboot Primary School wi shona and her big sister, Margaret, and we were talkin’ aboot the Primary Five, ah think, Poetry competition. Shona won it wi ‘ Leerie the Lamp lighter’ and ah got Second place or prize, ah canny remember, wi another RLS poem – ‘TheMoon’. ‘The moon has a face like the Clock in the hall/it shines on thieves on the garden wall/ on streets and fields and Harbour quays/ and the birdies asleep on the forks of the Trees. There was a Second verse but ah’m effed and ah’m calling it a Night/Morning. Ah started typing at Three minutes past Twelve- it’s Quarter tae F–k–g Four in the morning. That’s aboot Six words a minute. Miss Scuddyfanny or what ?.Anyway it’s awfy good pipe weed – fae the Shire, ah think – and life is great again. Although, tae finish for now, Ah got a letter on Friday from the Royal Infirmary. Ah’ve got a lower Limb MRA scan coming up on Tuesday at 9.15am.Ah must admit, ah did get a wee sense of Foreboding when ah saw ‘scan’ on the letter. Don’t know why. Ah’ve had a wee nigglin’ pain in ma Shoulder for Two or Three Weeks now, at the same time as ah’ve had a wee niggly pain under ma arm pit and on the left side of ma Chest. Ah’ll get in touch wi the Doctor on Monday and try to get something sorted. Ah canny keep bein’ lucky. That’s that for noo.  Later on, when ah get up, watch out for ‘ The curious case of Peanut Butter Fanny and Treacle Toffee Wullie’ and ‘The Four Tape solution’.

Ah wish ah’d died of Cancer or the Heart attack. Ah’m cursed wi bein’ a lucky Bastard and ah wish it wid run oot. Ah wid never commit Suicide because ye have to be brave to do that but Fifty Seven Years of mostly unhappiness and misery are beginning to take their toll.. Ah envy shiny happy people and like the Moody Blues ,I’m looking for a miracle in my life’. which, unfortunately isny coming anytime soon. Maybe things will be different Tomorrow.

It’s 10.30 am on the Good Ship Scud and its been a quiet Day. Apart from the news fae Pumphy about the Shetland Pony being stabbed to death. Who wid dae a thing like that. Stabbin a Tory tae death, maybe, but a Shetland Pony.. A had an awfy pleasant dream last Night involving an ex Girlfriend. As ah mentioned in a previous post, ma dreams always seem tae involve blocked up shitey Lavvies. It was really nice, though. In the dream, ah told Auld Bunty, Chrissie B and Mrs Mabon, that ah’d been re united with her and ah woke up this Morning with a spring in ma step ,as opposed tae Shite on ma Fit. Whenever ah hear a certain James Taylor song it reminds me of her. The line, ‘but I always thought that I’d see you, baby, one more time again. LINDA BRROON ,ah’ll know ye’ve been readin’ ma Shite if ye mention this to me. For anyone else readin’ this ah canny give ye a coconut or a Goldfish if ye guess the song. The weird thing is ah can still remember the lassies phone number. Ah’ve smoked and swallowed mare drugs than a Horse could Shite, ah’ve had a stroke that killed off a bit of ma Brain and ah’ve heidered a Fitba’ Thoosands of times, yet, ah still remember that. Like Adso, in the ‘Name of the Rose’ when ah’m an old man, ma hair White, of all the faces from my past it will be hers that shines most brightly. Unlike Adso, ah knew the girls name. At this point ah’d like to give an Honourable mention to the wonderful Mr Chritopher McGinlay. One of the nicest, cleverest, most entertaining Human beings that you could ever wish tae meet . It was he who First put me onto Umberto Eco and the Name of the Rose Film. After ‘The Thirty Nine steps’ and the 1977 Escorts readers wives Christmas special,it’s ma favourite Book.

Ah’m using that title in Homage to my favourite Film, The private life of Sherlock Holmes. Ah discovered on the Auld you Tube the other Night, deleted scenes from the Film,and ah also watched a great Documentary about the Films Editor. If ah had my last perfect Day of Films before ah dropped, that one, and The Sting, would be up there, Jaws wid be in there. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid – that just counts as one Film, though. The Life of Brian, obviously, goes withoot saying ,like the Aqueduct and the Roads. To kill a Mocking Bird. At this point  ah wid say that the Films couldny go over Twenty Four Hours in duration, otherwise if ye were choosin’ The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit and Exodus, ye’d get scunnered after Three Days. Dances with Wolves and Bridge on the River kwai. After the Great Escape and A Night at the Opera that would that would be it. Ah forgot Oliver, Scott of the Antarctic, Double Indemnity, It’s a wonderful Life, Young Frankenstein. F–k  it –  ah’d need aboot Three Days efter aw. Ah’ll come back to this later.

The Boabby Thomson Cancer Bus were discussing vivid dreams last week and whether or not we have any recurring dreams. I mentioned the fact that every dream I had always had a Lavvy pan chock a block wi shite. It happens all the time- ah’m needin a pee but every toilet ah go to is crammed full of Shite and it’s no’ very nice. Also, ma dreams seem to involve a lot of stair and doors. A recurring dream that involves Barbarella wid be nice.