The big Yelly Van.

For anybody growin’ up in a wee Village in the 1970’s, the Big Yelly Van wid’ve been a common sight pickin’ up the Loonies and dafties of the day and takin’ them away tae the ‘special’ School for a day oot. Noo, they’re special needs or learnin’ difficulties people- are they bothered what we call them? -ah don’t think.  Anyway, away back in the day we aw’ probably knew people or were related tae people who were on the Bus, or should’ve been on the Bus. Pumphy was Loony Central- when the big Bus came intae the Village there wid be the driver and the dafty who liked tae sit beside the driver and wave at everybody and anything. Behind him wid be the Windie licker who’s tongue was at the top of the windie and who’s chin was at the bottom of the windie- and that was the passenger roll call. Four Hours later, when the Bus was leavin’ for the next Village for a pick up, the Bus resembled One of those Trains in India- there were folk sittin’ on the roof, hingin on tae the exhaust pipe, fightin’ each other other for a bit of Bumper. There was nae point in the Bus gaun anywhere else- the special School wid’ve been shut for the day by the time it left Pumphie. At least the Pumphy Posse and the other Two got a wee Bus journey oot it. Ah’ve no’ seen a big Yelly Van for years, although noo that ah’m back in Pumphy it might become a regular sight again. Ah sometimes envy those special needs people- tae be removed fae the ‘normal’ World and aw it’s woes and tae be removed fae yer own mind and aw it’s woes and worries wid be nice. Ah got up oot ma bed at Midnight( after a Sixteen Hour sleep) and ah felt wide awake, obviously. Ah had the last of ma Whisky( no’ opened the Uigeadail yet- that’ll get opened when Scotland qualify for the World Cup Finals or ah get a shag.

New Year same auld Fuck ups

Well, that’s the 2021 show over and done wi’ and it was a year of jags and Boosters and this fuckin’ COVID wearin’ everybody doon. Ah got ma wee unexpected wind fall and that was the highlight ah suppose. Pissed a Thousand Quid up against the wa’ in Grass and Whisky, which, in hindsight ah could’ve done without daein’- but, hey ho, Fuck it. Ma holiday tae Bordeaux wi’ the sons of Boabby Thomson is paid for and possibly a nice wee return tae Sorrento next year- so ah didny blaw the lot. Ah don’t know what ah’m expectin’ this year. Death, ah suppose, if this Cough persists in bein’ persistent- ah got away wi’ it for the last Six years, so by the law of averages ah’ll be deid soon. Ah get alot of tinglin’ in ma arms and feet which can be a bit unnervin’ at times. On ma hands and toes, just where the skin ends and the nail begins, it gets awfy dry and nippy and ah get a bit breathless, which really unsetles me. The breathlessness reminds me of the Heart Attack and it can bring a bit of panic on. Scotland are in guide shape Fitba’ wise. Ah was at the Israel qualifier at Hampden and that was amazin’- a brilliant atmosphere- a massive highlight of ma year. As was flittin’ fae Fort Apache and that wee androgynous Cunt of a neighbour- it’s so good bein’ away fae aw that Shite. Hope the wee Cunt dies in a freak Yachtin’ accident. Ah drank alot of Whisky over the year, maybe Forty bottles, which is too much by anybody’s standards. As Chrissie B said, ah can maybe afford One addiction but no’ Two- so that’s a thing ah can make a dent in cuttin’ doon. The fags and joints are a different Ba’ game, though. Ah love gettin’ stoned and that’s that.