Scott
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Posts by Scott
Trouble With The Boiler
For a start, Sophie didn’t like getting woken up at 8:30 a.m. to let the repair man in.
She was even less impressed when he asked if anyone could have “accidentally” switched off the boiler. “Ha,” she cried, “He’d have checked that first, how daft do you think we are?”
Her response to the engineer discovering that “someone” had shoved the toolbox into the cupboard just hard enough to … um … accidentally switch off the boiler was not recorded.
If anyone wants me, I’ll be hiding in the garage until she calms down.
Oh it’s a jolly holiday with Sophie …
3A week in Sunny Scotland with a first experience of sailing and a recap on our drinking skills, with my beloved by my side. What more can a man ask for, short of singing rude songs and a side platter of nostalgia?
Drove up to Dumfries on the Friday afternoon with the traditional stop at Tebay services, now featuring a snazzy and posh Deli/Organic/GorgeousStuff counter. Drove on with the traditional “wooohooooo we’re in Scotland!” when passing the Iron Bridge.
Maw and Paw chuffed to see us, of course. Spent a cheery Friday night nattering to them and being fed to within an inch of our lives.
Shona arrived on Saturday so more nattering before Sophie and I went for a mooch round Dumfries. There was some sort of street theatre going on which was probably very entertaining but I got distracted by the woman in a ringmaster’s outfit and stripy tights “training” another woman in a Lion suit which appeared to be slightly too big for the pert bottom she ended up virtually baring in the High Street. Hence my distraction …
The centre of Dumfries is a bit of a sorry sight. So many boarded up shop fronts and what’s left is mostly charities and cheap tat. I remember it being a lot busier and the shops being more varied. Whether this is a trick of my memory or a sad symptom of the growth in out-of-town shops, I don’t know. There was a market behind the steeple which was quite cool but I did leave town feeling a bit sad.
Saturday night and it’s off to the pub with Tracy and her new man, Jack who turned out to be a semi-pro musician and a top bloke all round. We spent the night discussing guitars, music, songs and generally boring the arse off of the womenfolk. Smoking is banned in Scottish pubs now so as I was with 3 chain smokers, I spent more time than I care to outside in the freezing cold – and I don’t even smoke.
Once we’d out-stayed our welcome in every pub we could find, we headed back to Tracy’s flat where I strategically passed out on the floor. We somehow managed to get lost between her flat and the main road which is quite an impressive feat, but eventually found the taxi and made it back to my parents’ house.
Sunday, as you may imagine, was quiet.
Monday morning, and we said all our goodbyes before heading north. We decided to take the coast road which, to Sophie’s relief, only referred to the part around Largs and not going via Stranraer. On reaching the road approaching Ardrossan, my excitable driver spotted something:-
“OOOOO, LOOOK SEA!!! SEE??? SEA!!!”
“ROAD!!! CARS!!! RRROOOOAADDDDDD, WOMAN!!!”
“what? oh yes, those…SEAGULLS!! I CAN HEAR SEAGULLS!!”
“WILL YOU CONCENTRATE ON YOUR DRIVING?? WATCH!!! CARAVAN!!”
“WOOOWWW!!! Proper ROCKS!!! I’ve never SEEN a ROCK POOL, d’you think there’ll be a rock pool? maybe i can get a bit closer … “
“hailmarymotherofgodprayforussinnersnowandatthehour…”
“you’re not even Catholic, smart arse”
“…ofourdeath – i don’t care, it’s worth a try – LORRY! LORRYYYYYYYY!”
” I saw it, I saw it. Calm down. Honestly, what a wendy”
“you mean Jessie. No, wait …”
200 miles and Four of my Nine Lives later, we approached Greenock. Or Gourock. One of the two. I get them confused. Just as we were coming in, my phone goes.
It’s the police.
in Holyhead.
in Wales.
… to be continued
Checking In
0As Sophie put it, we had an excellent time in Scotland which deserves a bigger blog post than I currently have time for. Suffice to say, I feel like I’ve come back a changed man. Had my eyes opened to how much I’ve let my life slide into monotony, and how much I have the power to change. First steps have been to cancel Sky (25 quid a month to watch 20 year old programmes I didn’t like that much in the first place?? was I NUTS??) and started a proper ToDo List. The difference between this ToDo List and the 40 million I’ve made in the past is that I’m actually ticking things OFF of this one.
Like I said, more later. Until then, photos here.
I know I shouldn’t …
1… but i like myself better when I’m drunk. To quote Whisky Galore -“”it’s a well known fact that some men were born two drinks below par.” – you tell ’em, Compton.
A bottle of red wine and I’m the man I want to be. I’m angry and bitter about all the things I should be and I don’t really care what the world thinks. Isn’t that what blogs are supposed to be?? Bile from the heart of your gut about absolute shite?
I’m coming to the conclusion that I have nothing to say, but that’s hardly a disadvantage in the blog-o-sphere, is it? Is there anything on this site that hasn’t been said a million times before with a million times more panache and clarity?
pah, are you starting?? are ye?? eh?? I’ll take yer all on. Come ahead – square go in the waste ground behind the Asda. now. ya bam. hic.
Sitting on the sofa with the laptop on top of my lap (which is apparently a Bad Idea) and thinking why the fuck is MTV full of bastard adverts?? there’s a shit load of music out there, which needs to be heard, by bands whose management companies would surely pay to have it played so why the hell am I seeing yet another commercial for beauty products?
Then again, flicking channels, I’ve just got to that god awful cover of “Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before” and suddenly another advert for fucking shampoo seems less offensive.
John Peel once said (he fucking did, I have it on tape) “people often ask me if they should cover songs by the Velvet Underground and I tell them ‘I shouldn’t bother if I were you’ “. That goes times a million for ANYTHING by The Smiths. Did you really think you could improve it? Really?? I admit that the Trash Can Sinatras version of ‘I Know It’s Over’ brings a lump to my throat at least as well as the original but that’s the exception not the rule.
ahhhhhh, I may well delete this post tomorrow when i’m sober, ignoring my (stolen) maxim of “never apologise, never explain” but we shall see. Tell me if I should zap it or if this is the way forward. go on. go interactive. DO SOMETHING.
Come, repeat after me:-
“i’m as mad as hell and i’m not going to take this anymore”
May You Never Lose Your Temper
4On the sofa :-
She: “that needs to be in DADGAD”
I: “what?”
She: “DADGAD. It doesn’t sound anything like it otherwise”
I: “like what?”
She: “like ‘May You Never’. Almost unrecognisable.”
I: “YOU recognised it.”
She: “well, yeah but..it’s kinda…the spaces…isn’t it? the rhythm in the gaps. You know like when Les Dawson played things wrong but you still knew what it was?”
I (frostily): “so it sounds like it would if Les Dawson were playing it?”
She: “yeah…er…no…um..not quite..ah..I love you?”
I: puts guitar down and sulks.
I’ve been playing guitar for about 20 years but recently realised what I was playing wasn’t what you’d call “songs” so much as “exercises” or “a bloody annoying racket”. In an attempt to justify the stupid amount of time and money I’ve spent on guitars over the years, I’ve been trying to learn some songs the folks can merrily sing-a-long to.
So far, I can just about barge my way through “Don’t think twice, it’s alright”, hack lumps out of “Caledonia” and win by two falls and a submission against “Folsom Prison Blues”
It appears that “May You Never” needs some work.