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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.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

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.