Scott
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Home page: http://delishus.freehostia.com
Jabber/GTalk: Delishus
Posts by Scott
One Of Us
2Another winner from the government.
Once I can get the images of Nuremberg rallies out of my head, I think this will be a branch of logic I’ll LOVE. By proclaiming publicly that one is a loyal British citizen, one is filled to the brim with so much citizenship one BECOMES a loyal British citizen.
By which reasoning, I can stand in a barn whinnying, declare “I AM A HORSE!!” and win the Grand National.
Better yet, next time I’m at Manchester Academy, I shall leap on stage, declare myself a rawwwwkkkk god and boogie on down.
And therein lies the flaw. Others will follow my lead. The stage will be awash with expert musicians and suddenly what do we have??
A Supergroup.
Or worse, Lynyrd Skynyrd
(aw nuts – I forgot the unwritten rule – one mention of Skynyrd and you have Freebird in your head all day.
“eeeff ahh leee-ave here tooo-mawww-haww-rooowww…..” )
Ye’ll Huv Hud Yer Tea?
4Sadly, they hadn’t and even expected a full Burns Supper. This wasn’t entirely unreasonable as I had invited everyone round FOR a Burns supper*, only later starting to wonder what the hell that entailed.
Rather than go for the full Maclarkey, we did the Neeps and Tatties and Haggis thing. Piping in the haggis was problematic – I don’t play bagpipes, I don’t have bagpipes and I do have neighbours. Luckily, I have a tartan bow tie that plays “Scotland the brave” when you press it (thanks mum).
I battled back tears of Nationalistic pride to perform the “Address To The Haggis” which went over the heads of the assembled Soft Southern Jessies. An hour of noshing to the plaintive strains of the Proclaimers and Karine Polwart ( I couldn’t find anything by Sydney Devine or Fran and Anna) and we were ready for the one piece of Scottish Culture my mates understand – ten year old Laphroaig and a Jura Malt.
After that point, there was a lot of singing, some strumming (of the guitar and the pink ukulele) until we all collapsed.
I think Burns would have approved.
*if you’re wondering, it WAS at the right weekend, I just never got round to posting this entry.
So, How’ve You Been?
2Getting over that unpleasantness? The cream helped then?
Pleased to hear it.
Me? well, I’ve been so busy and so rarely at home that I’ve had no time for any blogging at all.
I know, I know
I’ve even got a load of things started and not finished, so I’ll end up posting them in a stupid order
mad, innit?
Bit Harsh…
1As I was getting off the train this morning, I heard the following recorded message:-
“The next station stop is Stockport. Would passengers please take the time to read the safety procedures and take all their personal belongings with them”
I realise Stockport isn’t everyone’s idea of Shangri-La but providing safety procedures is a bit much, isn’t it?
Up, Up And A Wee
4Ever give yourself little treats that aren’t really treats but just a change from what you did yesterday?
In our office building, there’s no gents (toilets, that is, not refined male-folk although there’s a lack of those, too) on the ground floor where I am. We’re officially supposed to used the wheelchair-access one but I always feel guilty about that. I’m sure there was something in the bible about verily not using the water closets of the infirm lest the good lord meets you at the pearly gates and boots you down the hell hatch to the bad fire.
Even though I’ve yet to see anyone in a wheelchair within 100 yards of the building, I’d hate to come out to be confronted by a queue of people literally spinning their wheels and glaring. We work at the top of a hill, too, so if I ran off and they gave chase, they’d have the upper hand.
Just in case, I use the one on the first floor. There IS a staircase but the financial institution company representatives employed on the upper floors clearly want to keep the cloven-hooved scum of the lower circles away from them so they have a lock on the stair-well door and won’t tell us the secret password. We oiks have no fear of technology and rapidly worked out we could use the lift instead, pointedly farting as we leave to show those toffee nosed twerps what’s what.
So, the other day, feeling like the sort of treat I mentioned above, I got in the lift and just DECIDED to go to the ninth floor. Just to see! I didn’t even have any reason to go there! Yeah, I know! I’m a wild man – like Keith Moon if he knew about C++ compilers.
And there’s ANOTHER gents up there!
And more on floors 7 and 5!
I’m saving exploration of floor 3 for a special day before I venture into the untold mysteries of the even numbers. I don’t want to burn out before I’m 40.