Skelly Eyed Boot v I Love You

There was the most walloping lovers tiff outside earlier. It started off as a lot of confusing squawking, like childbirth. Then it took shape. The chap kept shouting 'I love you' as the bird made her escape. I don't blame her. He seemed a sentimental brute. One minute stamping on one's neck, the next offering roses. Quite apart from anything else he was wearing shorts. A Raoul Moat type in other words.

 When it became apparent the lady wasn't for turning back he bellowed 'fuck off ya skelly eyed boot'. At this she quite suddenly came speeding back down the road screaming blue murder. I was agog. Eyes like saucers. A man once threatened to kick my 'cunt' and I leapt over a church wall in fright. It may have been the cowards way, but it was the safe way. I would advise all women in a similar position to follow my example unless you're fast enough to do him a swift mischief. That said I admire 'Skelly Eyes for her physical courage in facing down this monster. 

As if I hadn't been stunned enough, another couple wandered out the pub only to be confronted with 'Skelly Eyed Bird' squaring up to the chap bit of the couple screeching 'if she's your woman why the fuck are you coming onto me'. I nearly fell out the window laughing at this twist but the funny side appeared wasted on the participants. If I were to judge the mood on the ground I'd say somewhere between hopping mad and the Arab street. I have seen the news and this Arab St is not a benign place like Sesame St. Oh no. It's the merest baw hair off fizzing mad at all times.

Anyway returning to the action, the 'I love you' chap seemed to me as stunned as I was but in a less amused way and started staggering around with his head in his hands. The 'Skelly Eyed Boot' offered to produce texts proving that the other lady's chap had been coming on to her but that just made everyone fly into a bigger rage. The ladies started fighting but some other big ladies appeared shouting 'fucks sake' so they downed fists and took up staggering and roaring instead. There was a bit more squawking and the couple hopped in a taxi.

That left 'I Love You' and 'Skelly Eyed Boot' together. They screeched a bit more at each other until 'Skelly Eyes' got fed up and stomped off with the sound of 'I Love You' man roaring 'stick yer fuckin weans up yer arse' ringing in her ears.

Is it any wonder my nerves are in ribbons?

 Cheers Clairwil

Hello All.

Having started blogging on Tripod before I knew what a blog was, I have retained the habit of starting posts as if they are letters to the internet. I could own up to my my mistake and start acting like a proper citizen journalist but I cannot be bothered. So the letters to the internet format stays. Besides I like the thought of ranting into a void. It pleases me. In any case I don't really do news, I merely get irate over tit bits and retire to the sofa to take stock.

This evening I am mainly disliking having  having soap under my fingernails. Tomorrow I may take a dislike to public transport and commit a street crime. One can never tell.




Rumours of my death are just wishful thinking.

I'd like to report I've spent my absence doling out sexual favours to the IDF but the truth is sadly more mundane and not at likely to cause my fellow lefties to blow up and burst.

Instead I have with a heavy heart and after 12 years split up with Mr Clairwil. It's very sad but I always thought a lot more of him than he did of me and the chase just got too exhausting in the end. In other words the whole thing had limped on too long and I wasn't getting enough attention. I have to hand it to the former Mr Clairwil he's one of only two ex sparring partners I don't sincerely wish were dead. In truth I think he was glad to be rid of me and I can't help thinking he's better off without me. As girlfriends go I am a wonderful hockey player.

It's a bewildering business being single after twelve years. I am informed that blow jobs are the new 'getting off with' and that people send each other racy rexts for kicks. How typical of the world of romance to go to hell in a handcart whilst I was busy.

I also have to deal with the awful problem of being keen on new and unfamiliar folk. I do not enjoy being keen on a chap. It is awful. There is more pleasure to be had with hives. Oh yes it's all sunshine and beer when you first clap eyes on them and you think you're in with a chance but then one looks at the grim facts and suddenly the world seems a very harsh place. A passionate celibacy is all I have to look forward to. I don't like it. This is not how I see myself.

Feelings are the pits!



Spring is Springing!

A few of the fine visitors to this blog slipped me a few quid back in 2009 to help my guerrilla gardening troop buy spring bulbs. Once again heartfelt thanks to those generous souls. If anyone who donated would like to see the early results of their generosity, they can see the first flowers of 2010 to bloom on our site here and there is much, much more to come. Still there's nothing like a few early bloomers to banish winter angst.

Most of what you see in these snaps wouldn't be there if people hadn't helped out with planting, donated cash or in a few cases both. There is a before snap tucked away somewhere in gallery linked to above.

I've been haunted by terrible visions of nothing blooming despite our efforts so the sense of relief in seeing those early blooms has lifted my spirits enormously. The whole fundraising period was very hard and most painfully of all we were very badly let down by someone who promised us a great deal of help with our efforts. Still I'd rather be looking at our developing garden , knowing I'd done all I said I'd do, than be a selfish, passive/aggressive bullsugar addled parasite.

That's enough of the fall out from my bad friendship choices. Let's dwell on happier things and goggle at the flowers.



Steven Purcell v The Unco Guid

I know it goes against the grain a bit for me to be defending a Glasgow Labour councillor but whatever political differences I may have with 'The Purcell' I'm not happy to see him go and am fairly sickened by some of the web/media coverage of his resignation. Whatever my political beefs with the council, not least some of the school closures, the disputes with the trade unions and their rather shabby treatment of the fine folk from the cleansing department, gloating over this is an ugly sight. Say what you like about Purcell but he was the first Glasgow City Council leader in a very long time to be able to appear on the telly without you wanting to throw rocks at the thing to make the sheer toe curling shame stop.

I have no idea what the truth surrounding his resignation is, though I have heard a few rumours some credible and some of such a pathetic 'nudge nudge wink wink you do know he's a poof' nature that it's a miracle I am not doing time for assault or worse. I really have no earthly idea why your anti-gay type, in common with racists and misogynists need to be so evangelical with their views. Time and time again I've tried to terminate cliche ridden hate rants by informing the preacher that I'm not overly fussed by homosexuality, cannot help but think their ex-wife must have had a certain amount of right on her side and harbour no hatred towards Pakistanis.

Nothing works. Not even informing them that I am a leading member of the pc brigade and can have them thrown in prison for expressing un -pc views. I can't do any such thing and I've never met this pc brigade that persecutes Daily Mail readers so. It's desperation that makes me say these things. And so I stand flecked with someone else's spittle wishing the longest hard luck story in living memory would just end.

Incidentally my mother quite out of the blue has stopped buying the Daily Mail and informs me that it it an 'evil lying rag that ruins peoples lives'. As she and it are at one politically and I cannot get her to disclose what has offended her so much, I'd be delighted if anyone could supply me with any information that would help me get to the bottom of this strange but welcome conversion. Has Tanya Gold been writing for them again?

To return to Mr Purcell, I'm fairly irritated by the faux piety on display re the 'chemical dependency' rumours. Virtually everyone in politics is a rotten hypocrite on the subject of drugs not always by inclination but because if they were remotely honest about it the tabloids would rip them to bits, cheered on by a drink/drunk addled public who would do well to pay close attention to this poem by Burns before casting stones around their conservatories. I should also point out to my fellow Labour haters of all stripes that when the shoe is on the other foot and it will be, you'll all be squealing like Violet Elizabeth Bott about the unfairness of it all. Will you be happy to have your sneering and grinning cast up when it's your guy or girl in the firing line?

So before I'm compelled to record a 'leave Steven alone' You Tube clip can we skip all the 'much as it pains me to ask but I think only of the public interest' guff? Like I say I've no idea what truth there is in the 'chemical dependency' rumours but as he's resigned all his council positions it's no longer any of our business. The question as to whether any 'chemical dependency' affected his council duties answers itself -if you have to ask, then no it didn't. In any case even if it did what do you want to happen? Should the council re-employ him so that they can sack him for alleged 'chemical dependency'? Would you be happy to see one of the recreational drug or alcohol users you know treated that way? Really? Then you're a cunt.

Unless he's been accused of serious corruption or doing something unsavoury with my council taxes, I have no interest in knowing why he resigned. He had an office full of very capable staff who could pick up the slack if he wasn't up to the job. The hysterical notion that Glasgow was in the hands of a drug crazed Nero is as misguided as it is dishonest.

I love good gossip as much as the next man but tarting it up as concern for Glasgow is hypocrisy of the highest order.



Congrats to Benefit Scrounging Scum!

I'm delighted to see one of my favourite bloggers get a wee mention at The Guardian who obviously bear no ill will towards her for her earlier expose of their disgusting toilets.
Well done and if you haven't read her blog do pop over and give yourselves a treat.



Twitter Tampering

Do this press just sit about looking for trivial incidents to massively overreact about? I refer of course the scum sucking pigs Twitter scandal. Good Lord -these folk should have heard the things half the West of Scotland used to say about Thatcher.

There is of course a difference between the Clairwil family sat around at home making rude remarks at the telly and an MP making a public statement via his Twitter feed but it's something of a minor storm in a teacup. Labour are getting humped come the election, I can't see any major benefit coming to the tories from squealing about it. Though, as he only has a 5500 majority perhaps they're hoping to unseat him so they can swagger by him on election night flicking v signs at him and gloating 'that's elected scum-sucking pigs to you, dole boy' before heading up the road for swan and chips or whatever it is they eat.

Mind you, it would perhaps have been more sensible for the tweeting Mr Wright to simply have issued an apology and deleted the comment, rather than come up with such an incredible explanation. It would appear that it's technically impossible to edit a published tweet. So now instead of us all rolling our eyes and moving on, we are now waiting with bated breath to discover just how and indeed why this master hacker tampered with a tweet, gloated that it had hit a nerve then vanished as quickly as he arrived.

You would think that having developed his skills to such a degree that tweet re-editing was within his amazing powers he'd have had some fun with some higher profile tweeters - think of the havoc he could have wrought with Sarah Brown's account or Stephen Fry's much followed feed. Yet all he did with this truly impressive skill was make a minor alteration to one tweet on an obscure MPs Twitter feed. Truly brains are wasted on this genius.

I'm in no position to cast stones, if I'd been the mysterious tweet tamperer I'd have just changed all their comments to animal noises, most likely cows mooing - certainly a common farmyard animal. More exotic cries are hard to convey in print and would only undermine to charming rural atmosphere I would be aiming to create.



Rubbish Headlines!

The disease of writing intriguing headlines and then popping a really dull story underneath it seems to have spread from Take A Break magazine to the broadsheets. Quite why this might be I cannot say but there it is -The Guardian is turning into Chat with politics which surely means the end is nigh.

With that in mind, if you hear hooves, assume it's the four horsemen of the apocalypse and say something nice to God. I have no idea whether the blighter exists or not but with stuff like this on the loose I intend to play it safe. Believe me when that fifth trumpet sounds in 2012 I do not intend to one of the billions who will die.

Anyway there I was perusing The Guardian when I chanced upon a jolly headline: 'Shanghai's older residents turn to drugs'. Immediately visions of Chinese grannies blowing their children's inheritance on coke and toyboys leapt into my minds eye. Reading the article was like being shoved under a cold shower in a mouldy bathroom by a teacher with halitosis.

Sadly the pensioners aren't having a very good time. It's all rather depressing, the poor old timers are at a bit of a loose end and feeling lonely post retirement. Instead of taking up disco dancing and inappropriate public sex tricks to perk themselves up they're taking drugs to keep them awake during marathon mahjong sessions and developing all sorts of health problems. All I wanted was a chucklesome tale of geriatric anarchy and decadence and instead had this thin gruel ladled on to my plate. A swindle. A bum deal! Can anyone direct me to something uplifting and amusing? Restore my faith in human naughtiness.