Thank The Lord For The September Weekend.
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: NYC-Interpol
Topic: I'm on Holiday!
Evening,

My faith in life is restored. Today, I saved not one, but two families from eviction and I no longer feel pointless. After such a stressful day I am, of course, exhausted. My boss also threatened to kill my nemesis which made me very, very happy indeed. I will of course be even happier if she does it.

I also have time off tomorrow and Monday, so I intend to spend the weekend lazing about, an activity at which I excel.

Last night, I paid a visit to the newly refurbished Black Bull on the High Street, accompanied by a gentleman whose name cannot be revealed on this blog. I must say I was particularly pleased at getting a slice of cake from a lady called Maggie who was celebrating her birthday. Anyway the Bull is looking very nice and I'm very fond of it. It reminds me a bit of The Grapes in 'Early Doors'. A pub is not a pub, unless it's full of old men who seem to spend their entire pension on lager.

There we are, on Sunday I was ready for killing myself, on Monday I felt like killing everyone else and today I'm tired but happy. That makes me very optimistic for the future.


Cheerio

Leave Kate Moss Alone!
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Honest Mistake- The Bravery
Topic: Trivia

Evening,

Readers I have a confession. I once took cocaine.
The only reason it was once was because I was unemployed at the time and couldn't afford it. Otherwise I'd only have one nostril now, see poverty is not always a bad thing.

Anyway the point I'm making is that if I had Kate Moss's looks and money I'd spend all my time snorting coke and shagging people and so would half the people tut-tutting over her predicament. So would you. I'd never seen the appeal of Miss Moss before, now it all makes sense. She is a slapper and as such my sister.

In any case she's shagging Pete Doherty, how boring would that be if you weren't wasted? Let's face it the poor boy probably sits about talking drug induced nonsense all day, the woman is just trying to get onto his wavelength. Leave her alone!

On to an entirely different topic, I noticed an article in yesterdays Metro about the election in Afghanistan. The candidates each have a small photo and symbol beside their name to help illiterate voters pick the right one. The article advises that each candidate picked the symbol that 'meant most to them'. I can't help feeling, taking into account recent history and resentment towards the USA, that the fellow who picked two planes as his symbol might be at something of an advantage. Rumours that he had to be dissuaded from using the following symbol are as yet unconfirmed.





Cheerio

The Grapple In The Big Apple And Other Horror.
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Nashville Skyline-Bob Dylan
Topic: Aimless Post





Evening,

Let me start by posing a question. You leave work one evening and chance upon one of your female colleagues being pawed and harassed by a ned/chav.

Do you:

(a) Go up and start talking to her in an effort to deter the ned in a non-confrontational way?

(b)Swiftly gather a few colleagues and approach mob handed to scare the ned?

(c) Summon one of the workplace security guards to chase the ned?

Now to me any of the above would be acceptable. I would prefer either (a) or (c) as it is usually better not to rattle any cages. However I am not my irritating work colleague. Neither are you. My irritating work colleague's solution to this problem was to stand a few feet away and smile and giggle at my predicament. When my bus arrived he followed me to the door and said 'I wonder what your boyfriend will think of that?'.

I was so furious I ignored him and got on the bus. Until today, if had I seen him being hassled by neds outside of work I would have summoned security. Not because I like him but because I don't approve of pointless violence or neds.

I would also like to apologise about my depressing post yesterday. I was at a low ebb but should not have bored my readership with it. However I've been very amused by the career suggestions thus far of zoo keeper and inventor, please feel free to make further suggestions.

Now with all that out the road I would like to express my disappointment at the much hyped Galloway v Hitchens debate in New York. It's hard to say who won really, as neither was on top form and I think Hitchens might have taken a wee refreshment beforehand.

They didn't get particularly in depth about the issues surrounding the Iraq war, each preferring to accuse the other of being friends with someone unpleasant. At one point I thought it was going to turn into that old Newman and Baddiel sketch with Hitchens saying 'You know that Saddam Hussein, that's your mum that is'.

I'm not really bothered that Christopher Hitchens is supporting the Iraq war as I've never liked the man. His writing is good but his manner annoys me. He comes across like supply teacher who thinks he's too good for teaching which is hardly inspiring.

That is all from me for this evening.


Cheerio

Sunday Is Evil.
Mood:  down
Now Playing: Delia's Gone-Johnny Cash
Topic: Alone, Alone, Alone

Evening,

I cannot abide Sundays. If ever a day of the week was designed to make you die of a broken heart, it is Sunday. Everything is somehow meaner and shabbier on a Sunday. The week stretches before me filled with the soul destroying routine of work.

I really miss being self employed sometimes but every hare brained scheme I have tried to liberate me from paid employment has failed miserably. I'm all out of ideas and have no idea what to try next. I quite fancied writing for a while but I'm not sufficiently posh or well connected to make up for my lack of talent. I've done retail on a self employed basis and couldn't face it again. Ebay has
somehow ended up costing me a fortune. I'm shite at drawing so could probably make a living drawing portraits of tourists but I can't face working out of doors. Not in Glasgow at any rate. I cannot dance or sing. I don't have the stomach for prostitution. I am terrible at all sports. Politics is out the window as I cannot attend a party meeting without wanting to kill everyone present- including myself.

I have no idea what to do with myself but I cannot face the prospect of another thirty years of this crap. I really can't. I'm starting to hate my work mainly because of my irritating colleague and because it is pointless. I have few friends and no social life due to having a particularly unfortunate personality. Readers I need a change. Any suggestions would be gratefully received.


Cheerio

I Must Confess That I Quite Like Men Really.
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Season of The Witch-Donovan
Topic: Baffled


Good Evening,

I hope you are well. I've spent a large part of the day asleep following a work's night out. Sadly I do not have any hilarious anecdotes for you. It was a very dull evening, the food was edible but astonishingly bland and overpriced and the wine was gutrot. I would also point out the restaurant was chosen my my irritating work colleague who assured me that the food was 'brilliant, really nice'. That man is a liar and an idiot. I like men but I do not like him.

Moving on I remember my late granny telling me about a dance at an afternoon pensioners club she attended. One of the ladies in her set spent the day dancing with a series of men before returning to her female friends who were sitting at a table tut-tutting at her shameless behaviour. What upset them was that any woman would spend time in male company when there were women available to talk to. It puzzled them. My granny turned to the woman and asked 'do you like men?' in a doubtless incredulous tone. To the horror of the assembled company the woman confessed that yes she did like men. 'Well I thank that's disgusting' my granny said and she meant it.

Like the above pensioner I must confess that I like men, not all of them of course, but most of them are good eggs. That may be why my dreams of a TV career lie in tatters. As Charlie Brooker points out in todays Guardian men are continually portrayed as idiots and 'tumbling ninnies' on television. He draws our attention to a programme entitled 'Bring Your Husband To Heel' which involves naughty men being retrained by a dog trainer. Incredibly this is a real programme on an actual television channel, not one of the ones Charlie makes up. I realise that certain men, like politicians, would probably pay a lot of money to be brought to heel by a dog trainer but surely to Christ no one normal would wish to take part. What sort of man would consent to such a thing and what sort of woman would want him to? It would be impossible to have any respect for a man prepared to undergo such demeaning treatment in front of people. If a series were commissioned in which women were brought to heel by dog trainers there would be riots up and down the country.

Apparently programmes of this sort are aimed at women. I expect they are the the sort of women who buy 'bloke joke' books, yet are completely unable to function without a boyfriend. In other words television is, as ever, pandering to idiots instead of telling them to fuck off and get an education. This will not be allowed when I'm in charge.

Anyway I recommend you have a quick look at Charlie's article, which is as always very, very funny.


Cheerio

Why Does She Pretend To Like Me?
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: I Will Follow-U2
Topic: I Know Nothing
Evening,

Let's kick off with a big round of applause for Alan who tracked down my secret blog that none of you know about. I have just had a look at his blog and there is a very good picture of an owl on it today. I like owls very much indeed.

Owls aside, I'm mildly irritated this evening. I bumped into to someone who used to be my friend on the way home from work. Why does this woman persist in pretending to like me? I have absolutely no idea what I said or did to upset her. One day she announced that she was moving house and would forward her new contact details to me, but never did. Then every time I bumped into her she'd ask for my phone number so that we could arrange to go out, but never offered her number in return. Every time I see her I feel like screaming 'I'm not stupid, I know you hate me, just drop the act.' Unfortunately I'm just too well brought up to carry on in such a manner.

Tonight I saw her walking towards me and tried to avoid eye contact so that I could sneak past unnoticed. However she spotted me and fussed round me for at least five minutes, which felt like at least a week. I'm really starting to get annoyed with this ridiculous situation. Would it be bad form to explain to her that I know she has no wish to spend any time in my company and that whilst I cannot pretend to understand such an abnormal feeling, I'm not all that bothered, then ask her if we can just stop this pointless charade of friendship?

I'm not a huge fan of people who always say what they mean, as they are nearly always ill mannered blow hards but I'd prefer that to this series excruciating meetings.

Cheerio

My Nemesis Is The Source Of Unwitting Comedy
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Is That All There Is?- Peggy Lee
Topic: Twat
Evening,

Not much to report today as I've been too busy writing my other blog. Yes that's right! My other blog that none of you know about. There is a small prize on offer to the first person who tracks it down.

Anyway my irritating work colleague had a moment of unwitting comedy genius today. I was recounting a tale to my colleagues, about a problem I had on the 59 bus a few years back with a mentally disabled fellow, who used to sit beside me and chat, which was fine, until I noticed he was also having a quick wank. This happened about four times over the course of a month before I admitted defeat and started getting the train.

Whilst recounting this horrifying saga, I uttered the following words 'it was awful, every time I got on the bus I'd be thinking O'God please don't let him be on the bus'. Unfortunately my nemesis skipped into the office at this point and said 'Oh is she talking about me, every time I see her on the bus she tries to hide behind a book or a newspaper.'

Incredibly he thought the hysterical laughter that followed was at his 'witty' quip about my deeply evil, anti-social and dangerous habit of reading on the bus. Not a man used to people laughing at his jokes he proceeded to do a sort of Kevin the teenager style walk up and down the office, moaning and droning 'I'm reading a book, don't speak to me'. This was apparently an impression of me. He carried this on a good minute after we'd all stopped laughing, gone back to our desks and resumed work. He still doesn't know that he has walked into his place of work and admitted to wanking on buses.

Cheerio.

Domestic Flare Ups
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Beetlebum-Blur
Topic: Aimless Post


Good Evening,

Everywhere I have been today, there has been a rowing couple. My favourite of the day were the whiny pair in the queue in Tesco.

I wasn't really sure at first who to support in the row. I thought they were both loathsome. She was most indignant that he didn't want her to spend a 'bit of money, doing something nice for him on his birthday'. She couldn't 'believe he was behaving like this'. Neither could I.

However no matter how close to tears she got or how much I wished they would both die, he remained firm. He did not want her to 'waste all our money.' I thought he sounded like a bit of a tightwad, especially given that the 'something nice' she wished to spend 'all our money' on appeared to be a carton of Tropicana, a jar of Lloyd Grossman pasta sauce, a packet of Tesco Value spaghetti and a jar of Nutella.

Good God, is there ever a stronger hint that a relationship is dead and buried than a jar of chocolate spread? It is the sure sign of someone whose sexual imagination was formed entirely by More magazine. I bet she's also bought lager flavoured nipple drops and Banana Dick lick from Ann Summers. She looked the type. Can you tell I eventually came down on the chap's side? Not because he said or did anything impressive, but because at the peak of their fascinating dispute she did something I found so deeply offensive I'm angry just typing it. I'm truly appalled. She picked up the whole basket, contents and all and placed it on an empty shelf, then walked out the shop. I hate her, but not half as much as the poor minimum wage earning individual that had to take said basket round the shop and replace everything on the correct shelves, must loathe her.

Naturally her boyfriend simply trotted obediently out the store behind her. If I were him I would have gone to the pub. People with martyr complexes must be treated like tantrum throwing children. You must never give in to them no matter how bad they try to make you feel. If you back down they'll be throwing wobblers at every turn and then you really will be sorry.

Cheerio

Clairwil Fails To Make Poverty History.
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Complete Control-The Clash
Topic: Aimless Post


Good Evening,

I am back at work after my annual leave. God how depressing! The poor are still with us, the bus journey to work is still a terrifying ordeal. Nothing changes. Still I have set myself a deadline of two years to become good at something enjoyable- like football, then I shall skip off to a happier life.

I don't know why I do it to myself. I joined the SNP once and was honestly surprised that independence didn't follow straight after. Then I joined the SSP and fuck me, we're still a capitalist country. It's the same with my job, I got into the welfare rights game and thought 'I'll soon sort this out'. I have come to realise that there is no earthly point to my job. I might as well sit and chant 'tralala, sex on the beach, a queer hairnet' over and over again to my clients for all the notice they take of me. Today I spent ten precious minutes of my life being looked at like I was an idiot for suggesting to a young woman that she do a college course. I was genuinely trying to be helpful, she said she hated her job, I was merely trying to point out that it might just be possible to a acquire a skill and get a better one. I might as well have suggested that she turn into a bluebottle and fly about the room. See- it's all pointless.

People like me shouldn't have to work. We should receive a generous subsidy from the government to float about, go to the pub, have a read, eat cheese and chat to people. I'd be happier, more relaxed and I'd have the time to become really good at football. Right, I'm off now to write to my MP. You could click here for a sneaky blow job.

Cheerio

Clairwil Crawls Under A Rabbit Until Her Beamer Subsides!
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: Smash It Up- The Damned
Topic: Oops!
Hello,

'....this deference to art often saved my skin. As I stood pressed against the railings of some dim London square with a strangers hand and my throat or my crutch or both, another member of the gang would whisper, 'But he's an artist. I seen him in Chelsea.' Immediately the grip on my person would loosen and in a shaken voice, my aggressor would say, 'I didn't know.'

-The Naked Civil Servant- Quentin Crisp

I remember reading that some time ago and feeling rather encouraged that the thugs concerned, whatever their other faults, at least had a bit of respect for artists. It offered the possibility that they may one day be reformed and turned into civilised beings. Y'know nice law abiding people that don't go about casually insulting artists.

It is therefore with my head hanging in shame that I have to inform you that I have casually insulted a respected Scottish artist by the name of Robin Gillanders on this very blog. You can also imagine my horror at receiving a response to my 'Robin Reveal Yourself' post via e-mail from respected Scottish artist Robin Gillanders who regularly reads my blog. If this had happened to someone else I would be laughing like a drain. In my defence I didn't actually look at Robin's work, he is just an innocent victim of my all consuming hatred of Rousseau which began during the first year of my degree. Yes that's right degree- see I'm not a mental, I'm not an idiot. Having re-read the post all I can say is that I'll be in real trouble if Barbara Kruger reads this blog.

Anyway Robin has been very kind about the whole thing and has even offered me an invite to the exhibition I turned my nose up at all those posts ago. Robin's exhibition is entitled 'The Philosophers Garden' and is at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh from the 23rd of September.

Cheerio