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The desperation ye feel sometimes when yer dyin’ for a fag can lead ye tae awfy desperate and sad behaviour. Ah’ve been there, in aboot the bins in the hoose, gettin’ past a bean or a hanky ye’ve just blawn yer nose wi’, tae get tae a fag end that’s got a few Millimetres  of White faggy bit left. That’s how desperate ah can get for a draw of something that’s shite for ye, withoot addin’ E Coli and Botulism intae the mix. Only rarely do ah get that low on Baccy- the Admiral gives me a bit of an ear wiggin’ aboot that, and has always got some on the go. Anyway, there was a knock on the door earlier today and luckily Callum was in, because he was witness to the way ah handled the followin’ events. Ah’d vowed that it was a case of ‘Fuck off, enough’s enough’ if they wee C–ts came to the door ever again. So, ah answered the door, and lo and effin behold, it was the Daughter of Atticus, holdin’ up a bag which ah recognised as the bag that was put outside next doors = the bag that, ah was gaunny steal off them as a reprisal for the food box stolen from mine. Then, ah thought,’Fuck it’, reprisal OFF’. That wid make me just like them, so ah didny lift it. Ah’ve never been light fingered and always thought that stealin’ wisny nice and nice people dinny steal. That isny the case, though. So, there’s the Daughter of Atticus lookin’ aw that way that ah dinny ken the word for it, or it’s eludin’ me at the moment – when a Dugs done somethin’ it shouldny have and it’s aw Bambi eyed and lookin as guilty as Billy o. She was holdin’ this bag up sayin’ ah’ve got some steak pies for ye, ah didny steal yer food and ma Dug does get walked, here’s the pies. Then she came oot wi’the mini sob story/Shakespearean Tragedy that her life’s been like for the last couple of weeks -[ Malcolm Arnolds Third of his Four Scottish Dances has just come on the Spotify, what a beautiful piece of music].- aye, next door. She’s insistin’  that ah take the pies, ah’m insistin’ that ah dinny need or want them and ah won because she lowered the pies in some kind of, ‘You win’ gesture that’s probably got a name in the pie/confrontation world. Then, it was ‘Could ye spare a fag or Two, and a voice from behind her whisperin’ ‘and some skins” Ah never say ‘Skins’, no’ that that’s got any relevance tae this story, but ah’ve never used that name for fag papers. It’s like ‘Jambo’s’ – ah Fuckin’ hate that, it’s a ‘Sun ism’. It’s the Jam Tarts and that’s that. That Shitey paper did what they did wi’ every name and stuck an O or an A at the end of it, and noo it’s inveigled it’s way intae the psyche and the language. Bastardo’s. So, after hearin’ the no’ very whispery whisper of  ‘and some skins’, ah was expectin a roar fae inside their flat sayin’ ‘Oh and see if the saft C–ts  got a lighter tae’. Sadly ah gave in and handed her some Baccy. When it comes tae the crunch, ah canny be a C–t, when it comes to a sob story. The Lawyers Daughter came back later, half cut offerin’ me Two Quid for some Baccy, gettin’ aw that guilty Puppy way sayin’ she’d had a bad couple of weeks and had wanted tae kill herself [ ah didny want tae say that over the last week or Two that’s exactly what ah was hopin’ she’d dae], so ah gave in again and gave her some more Baccy.Women greetin’s an awfy thing tae be involved in or near to.

Jesus Christ, what a Shite day that’s just ended. Ah had a Shite sleep tae begin wi’ and it was about Eight in the mornin’  when ah dozed off. Didny wake up till half one in the afternoon and when ah checked for the Covid shoppin’, the note had been put through the letterbox to say it had been delivered, but when ah opened the door, nothing. It had been stolen, and ah know it was those pond life Bastards next door. There was a knock at the door earlier that mornin’ and it was someone from next door. Ah didny answer because it was half Two in the mornin’ and ah heard the next door openin’ and closin’ as someone went back into the flat. That’s the First time ah’ve deefy’d the wee Bastards, after givin’ them fags, Tobacco, fag papers, toilet rolls and £45 over the course of the last few weeks. So, ah thought ‘FUCK IT’, enough’s enough, it’s got beyond a joke, yer gettin’ nae mare, ah don’t care how desperately ye need a fag or a Shite, yer gettin’ FUCK ALL. Because they’ve been shagged or abused in some way when they were young, they’ve become the ‘We can’t be blamed for anything because we had a Shite childhood’ brigade. It’s a nightmare, ah’d just shoot the Cunts – take them intae the Wids, knock Fuck oot them and shoot them. That’s me after Two Prozac and Three Amatriptyline’s and a Rastafarian roll up or Two. They’re just showin’ a blatant and flagrant disregard for the others in the block, and the next block. The Polis did say that they’re tryin’ to arrange an ASBO for the wee Bastards. Hopefully they’ll be evicted or deid soon. If anything did happen tae them ah’d be the main suspect if it was a Poirot or Miss Marple, thing, but in the last Five minutes, the culprit, who hasny been referenced at aw up until then, will be revealed. So that was the beginnin’ of the day, the middle wasn’t much better and by the end of the day ah just wanted tae kill somebody, or somebody tae kill me.. So that was ma Shite day. Tae make matters worse, the Greek guy ah get ma Weed fae, Costas Woppincropodopeolous, got busted. Mare on that one in the Pumphy News.

We had oor Monday Cancer Bus meetin’ earlier today and it ended wi’ me getting a row off a certain party who shall remain Dunc. Ah was a bit out of order in that ah nipped roond tae the Admirals for some Baccy and ended up gettin’ a crew cut and some  ships biscuits. Dunc made me feel so guilty aboot the episode that ah got doon the road, after bein’ put on shore by the Admiral, feelin’ like it was me who murdered that wee Shetland Pony at the back end of Pumphy. Ah sincerely hope that the wee Bastard who did that gets Rodgered and Buggered tae within an Inch of his life wherever it is they sent him. Just as well ah got the Biscuits, ah’ll be able tae sleep. Anyway, Zack the Dug. One of these days Duncs livin’ room walls are gaunny resemble the scene at the Charles Manson murders. Whenever ah walk intae Duncs livin’ room Zack almost attacks me wi’ happiness and exuberance. Ah don’t know if Duncs been Buggerin’ him tae within an Inch of his  life, and he’s  delighted and overjoyed tae see me because ah’m no’ intae that, but if the hardon it had the day had burst there wid’ve been a Fuckin’ blood bath. He was gaun mental,lickin’ ma face and gettin’ that whimpery, greety way that they get [ that’s Zack, by the way, and no’ Dunc – he got like that later- and ah was gettin’ scared that it actually was gaunny burst. He could get a job in Dug Porn[ that’s Zack and no’ Dunc] wi a beast like that. That’s half Ten nearly and they wee Cunts next door are at it wi that shit music that isny music, just thump thump, Fuckin thump. Rolly time.

PUMPHY POND – Fair to middlin’ .  The perimeter path offers no real camouflage, ideal for the more adventurous Jobbier who couldny give a F–k if he, or she is spotted but not so good for the people who like tae hide their Shite under a Bushell. THE OOBY BAHOOGAN BURN . The Burn, named after an unfortunate villager who fell off a Tarzan rope into the Burn and swallowed some water, whereupon, over the next day or Two, his Baws ballooned to quite scary proportions. The Burn is a run off from the pond, which was a feature of the Pumpherston Works and latterly became a popular spot for unwanted Puppies and Kittens to, unsuccessfully, learn to swim, so drinkin’ it isny a great idea. As you head South along the Burn, the gradual slope offers the Jobbier some cover- and the view is delightful, but there is the chance that some tight erse will venture near your Shite site lookin’ for a Ball he’s just sclaffed in your direction. THE TARRY POND- far and away the best part of the Golf course for an outdoor Shite. It’s deemed a hazard and is fenced off on the grounds that the area is unstable and above old mine workings that could give way. It has luxuriant undergrowth and is  covered in Small trees and bushes. Ye’d actually have tae go lookin’ for somebody who was daein’ a Shite, tae see somebody daein’ a Shite. PADDY’S ACRE- The wee field which has a glorious view of the Coursing and Pentland Hills has been nominated Three times in the ‘Ootdoor Shit’ magazine for Best outdoor Shite Site in Scotland. Walkers and Tourists have harangued the local council into supplyin’ Bog roll for the site they were poo poo’d. THE HAIRY TIP -Ideal for the outdoor Jobbier with lots of gulleys and undulations and good tree covering. so good a place ye might find yersel daein’ a Shite next tae a Deer or Fox, who might be daein’ a Shite tae. THE AULD MINE SHAFT- was a great place until the new Pumphy village was built. This, too, has a fence around it and thick greenery all over. the Mine is totally hidden so it still is classed as a category 1 risky Shite.

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Got ma letter from the Hospital today regardin’ ma MRI scan ah got a couple of Weeks ago. Ah was a bit apprehensive when ah was openin’ the thing, thinkin’ this could be’ THE letter, the one wi’ the Shite news.Ah’ve been lucky- so far, ma First Diagnosis of the Cancer gave me a Fifty/Fifty chance of living, ah had, by all accounts, a massive Heart attack after ma Second dose of Chemo, that should’ve killed me [ Mr Miracle ah was called by the First Three Doctors who saw me afterwards], the stroke ah never even knew ah’d had. These things point to me bein’ a lucky Bastard. Paty hardly had time tae say ‘That’ll be that, then’, before he was gone. Ah have quite a lot of painful moments, a horrible jaggin’ feelin, as if somebody’s just stuck a pin in yer leg or foot, leg Muscles constantly hurtin’, sudden,short, sharp pains just under ma oakster, mad dizzy spells when whatever ah’m lookin’ at, whether it’s a book or the Telly, takes on a Blue or Reddish tint. That’s obviously the circulation problems in ma heid that are causin’ that. Ah’ve got narrowings and blockages of the arteries that carry the blood from my stomach to my leg and it looks like the wee bubble in the artery for me, Angioplasty. The letter said that by pass surgery is a possibility but only if this Angio thing doesny work. What a golden opporchancity tae gie up the Fags, one of many that ah keep makin’ a C–t of.. Tomorrow ah’m gaun for it.

The big news out of Pumphy this Week was the scandal at the Womens Orange Lodge [ The Daughters of Billy] when it came oot in the wash[ or maybe it came oot in the Sash,?, ah don’t know] that Five of the ‘Daughters’ are pregnant. Where’s the scandal in that ye might ask,- well, it turns oot that that they’re aw pregnant tae the same felly. The mystery shagger, or Sashanova as local wags have been callin’ him, was takin’ a chance gettin’ big Billy McBigots wife, big  Billymina, up the duff because A- she’s scary as F–k and B – big Billy’s even scarier. His favourite meal is a Cheese and Catholic Omelette. Ah’m sure we’ve no’ heard the last of that, in fact, as ah write a source has informed me that Pumphy’s very own Porn star couple, Monty Fuck and Fanny Sayer [ no relation to porn Historian Simon Tea bag Montefanny, have offered Big Billy and big Billymina an undisclosed fee for the rights to film the story, which will be filmed  on Sunday and shown at the Pumphyplex Cinema House from Tuesday. The Film, called ‘The Sash, the gash and the ugly’, will no doubt be the couples usual mixture of lust, Pizza’s and Electricians wi’ huge appliances.

The Telly hasny been workin  for a week or Two so ah’ve been listening tae a lot of Music and ah’ve been enjoyin’ makin’ ‘Spotify’ playlists. Ah’ve got one playlist called ‘Classical and Film Music and there’s aboot Six ‘oors of stuff on it. Ah think ah might have tae put them in separate playlists. Ah remember the auld Nescafe advert wi ‘Morning Mood’ for it’s Music. Ah didny know that, at the time,  but Auld Scud knew, though, and he went one better by showin’ me and playin me an LP it was on. Edvard Grieg was the Composers name and he was ma introduction intae the world of Classical music. Auld Scud had a box set of Classical stuff and there was a booklet in it that gave ye a wee History of the featured Composers, when they were born, when they died, and stuff in between. At that age [ aboot Nine or Ten ] ah was an avid reader and ah read  the booklet and discovered names like, Tchaikovsky, Rachmananov, Borodin, Berlioz , Bizet. Ah had the good fortune to be aware of some fantastic Classical music when ah was younger. The 1812 Overture, William Tell Overture, Carmen, Danse Macabre, Donald where’s yer Troosers?, played at 78rpm, or 16rpm. Even back then ah was obsessed by how old folk were when they died and ah had the composers in order of longevity. Even now when ah read aboot somebody, ah’ll see maybe 17 89- 1820 and think ‘Fuck sake, was it worth it’. Then ah might see 1820- 1910 [ as was the case wi’ Florence Nightingale and think ‘ Good on ye, well done’. Anyway,  that’s the Classical and Film music – ah lumped them the gither [‘together’, for posh talkers ] because ah think yer Filmy boys are like the auld Composers. Georges Delerue,[ Steel Magnolias, Her Alibi ], John Williams [ Dances with Wolves ], Ennio Morricone[ Once upon a time in the West, Once upon a time in America ] -that, tae me, is modern classical music. Despite aw that guid music ah miss the Telly a wee bit, especially the Weather. BBC Scotland have got big Judith and Kawser, who wid get a free pie at a Pumphy Juniors game, easy. BBC 1 have got Louise Lear, though, she’d get a free pie at the Theatre of Bings, or Recreation Park – or ‘The Track’ tae give it it’s proper name. Rastafarian roll up time. The Photy was taken just a few Hours after ma Heart attack in 2015.

It’s never endin’ wi these wee C–ts  next door. Aw day Saturday, Three times on Sunday and every day this week, the Polis have been here tryin’ to sort some disturbance. One of the Three lassies who lives there was being escorted by a couple of Polis, laughin’ up at her pals in the flat sayin’ ‘Ah’m gettin’ lifted’. Ah thought tae masel  she’ll no’ be laughin’ if she ends up  sharin’ a holdin’ cell wi Two Women Rugby players who’ve no’ had a fight or a shag for a Fortnight. The Tranquilisers help, of that ah’ve no doubt, but they canny half zonk ye oot [ ah could say they can’t half zonk one out, but, Fuck that], and it takes a good Hour to fully wake up. The thing is that ah take Two of the Woodstocks [ Fluoxetine] when ah get up and they mellow me oot, tae the point where ah canny be ersed daein’ anything except get stoned. Ah get a bit stressed wi’ the C–ts next door and wish the problem would go away. That’s where a couple of big butch Women Rugby players  who’ve no’ had a fight or a shag for a Fortnight wid come in handy. Ah know that’s no’ very PC, but ah think the PC world has created C–ts like the C–ts next door. They get a Fuckin’ sweetie and a hug at School if they’re bein’ wee C–ts these days and aw the blame gets shifted on tae the parents- or their uncle Jimmy or Gary for shaggin’ them when they were wee. Ah wid hate tae be involved in somebody gettin’ evicted but ah’m on the verge of writin’ a letter tae the Cooncil or ma Two MP’s Hannah and Bardella to see if they can dae anything aboot it. Just got a text there tellin’ me that Man City have beaten Liverpool. Time for a break.

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.