"For years I thought the club's name was Partick Thistle Nil."

Bonnie Prince Billy
Deep fried Mars bars
Princes Square
The Ubiquitous Chip
Rab C Nesbitt
Loch Lomond

Who lives in a city like this?

.......Whatshername, Amy, I will grudgingly admit the gal is talented. And there is no doubt she has a few problems. Whatever! Personally I'm getting a bit bored by them now though!

But I was struck by an article published about her in a fashion magazine.

In the Editor's comments at the bottom of the page are two pictures.

The first shows neglected toddlers sitting on potties in a care home, clearly malnourished. The caption reads: "please help us to raise funds for the children in Bulgaria's care homes".

Right nextdoor a picture of Amy Whinesouse arms linked through her Father's - Mitch.
Mitch had gallantly offered to "put the record straight" on the endless speculation over his daughter. In what the Editor describes as "one of the saddest world exclusives you'll ever read"!!!!!

SAD!

SAD?

That they could publish a picture of those children, and, as an afterthought, the information about raising awareness, then consider the Whinesouses family problems some of the saddest you'll ever read, reflects our loss of perception in this clown-celebrity obsessed culture.

And undoubtedly undermines the gravitas of the situation in these Eastern European care homes!!!!!

Apparently.............

"Twinkling Christmas lights are contributing to the deaths of people in places we have probably never heard of..."

I wonder how many people I have slaughtered admittedly unwittingly thus far.....

.......And I've just realised that I've left the outdoor fairy lights on "continuous twinkle" for the past 6 days.

Now normally no need for concern but I'm worried about the hole in the Boyzone layer.....

Please God, no comeback if I switch them off NOW

I also think it was too much diet dandelion and birdsock. That's what caused unrest....

The bitter disappointment dogging my every deed this week has been dispelled. I refused to believe that girlies such as Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell were true Led Zeppelin fans. They wouldn't know the difference between Kashmir and Cashmere surely. Custard Pie from Humble Pie. Black dog from the darkest depths of Mordor. And how come they had tickets for the concert of the year?

Well...............

I have just got tickets for Robert Plant at the Wembley Arena........

Next year.

May 08.....

Will I spontaneously combust with excitement before then?

I don't know but I'm prepared to take my chances.

On this fine and frosty morning - Jackfrost you'll be wanting a Xmas bonus at this rate. Done a lovely job when I looked at my window!

And so on to the "rotation" of the day. We can all feel happy, relaxed and cosy in the knowledge that our illustrious leader and his equally illustrious opposition are doing their environmental best to show us all just how-much-they-care-for our planet.

Mr Brown (but some may call him Broon) has solar panels on his roof. Tis in the news so it much be true. Judging by all the hot air he produces this should keep him in energy efficient heating until the London Olympics. But hopefully he won't stick around that looooooooong

AND

Mr Cameron (but some may call him Dave - that digital channel that just keeps spewing up repeats) has a wind turbin(ator) at his home. I'm perplexed about this one. A wind turbine!

What if:

Wind power and hot air!!

Better than Laurel and Hardy

I must confess I'm not really getting into the spirit of Christmas at all. It just seems so much build up for one day right at the arse end of the year. I even tried to get out of wrapping presents. Well I could use the excuse that it was environmentally unsound. Buying paper to wrap gifts to rip off and throw in the bin. But then I was bullied into doing some of it today.

One point worth remembering on the wrapping paper front. It's a false economy to buy those mega-bastard rolls of cheap paper. All those awkward shapes to wrap. With lavatory-thin skeins, as soon as the gift is bound with enough sellotape to resemble a wet mac, you invariably end up sticking your finger through the paper and that's it.

Start again.

Sitting watching the news last night I was astonished to hear that two heavily armed policeman where there to escort a middle-aged Mrs Ann Darwin off the plane!!!!!!!

How, I mused, does Ann Darwin warrant this treatment? Is she likely to jump a policeman with a plastic spoon? Is she likely to make a run for it on the runway?

Hello? I don't really care. Far too much is being made of a little bit of insurance money.

We have a youth culture that goes around murdering other youths and adults and I still haven't heard whether the police are nearer arresting anyone for shooting an eleven year old boy in pub car park.

Oh well human life has always taken second place to monetary crimes.

Just consider the sentences doled out to the Great Train Robbers.

In other news Lord Sir Conrad of BootBlacking has been given approximately 6 years in clink but 12 weeks to prepare for this little vacation!

Ridicule Alert!

The hoodie is dead. Viva the goggle jacket. This will be the must have item of menace coming soon to a bus stop, shopping centre, street corner, chippe and pub car park.

Like a 21st Century executioner's hood the goggle jacket covers the entire head and face just leaving two bug-eyed windows for eyes.

Menacing or just plain mockery? I feel a howl of derisive laughter coming on.

Flack jacket or just plain flatulence jacket. Fart in this number and no one will hear your screams!

God bless you!

BUT

Not those who assail you tonight!

GOOD LUCK RICKIE HATTON

APROPOS of nothing at all: An orator and a pugilist. Would facilitate an effective warmongering factor indeed.

It's a bleak day and a great day for introspection or, failing that, picking the fluff out of one's belly button

"There was a very cautious man,
who never laughed nor cried.
He never risked, he never lost,
he never won nor tried.
And when he one day he passed away,
his insurance was denied,
For since he never really lived,
they claimed he never really died."

No..........this is not about Mr Darwin

Today I took my son to hospital. Nothing serious at all. Just doing him a favour as he couldn't afford the petrol money it would take to drive to the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead.......and let's face it, who can afford petrol these days? Not only is the the price iniquitous, all the petrol stations appear to be condemned. Monday - wild bean and Ginster's watering hole. Friday - pumps clamped shut and forecourt fucked!!

So leaving ourselves a good one hour to travel maybe 6/7 miles - off we went. All roads to domestos jammed! Jammed and dammed. Don't own a car, don't for one minute consider driving one for your own convenience but if you do choose to ignore this sage advice, DON'T EVER EXPECT TO PARK A CAR - EVER!

PARKING - a futile activity involving naive optimissim over brutal reality.

There it is.

And therein hangs the thread. In a vain attempt to manouevre my car through the narrow barriers (the car infront was having difficulty with its traction control and was slipping ominously towards mine) I drove over some indolent, sleeping concrete lumps. Neither my son nor myself actually realised until I heard this sharp crackling and crunching rather like rolling over plastic egg cartons. Indeed I was hoping I had just rolled over an empty plastic milk bottle but sadly not. It's a well known scenario really. Do anyone a favour and you end up getting shafted. My new car. Only 6 months old. And now the undercarriage (I'm not a fucking mechanic I don't know the correct jargon) was warped, scored, scratched, and fucked.

It's only cosmetic.

It will ONLY cost £140 to fix.

Plus the pay and display parking. £3 per intake of breath but free if terminally ill perhaps!

And finally the £30 prescription charges.

Deck the halls with bows and arrows!

SPACIOUS!

It's here. You know what I mean. The "C" word. Admittedly it has been hanging around like a malingering fart since the tail end of August but now it's here in all its Turkey and Tinsel-dinnered glory. I used to think Turkey and Tinsel dinners only belonged in Sheltered Housing projects. Turkey and Tinsel dinners were the consolation prize for people who need glasses, false teeth and a hearing aid. Like the man said...."I'm not deaf, but it's nice to have the full set." Well I got invited to a Turkey and Tinsel dinner today. Dear Lord on a vespa! How can that be? I was cool once. I still wear denim better than Jeremy Clarkson does and I don't remember "Take That" first time round. That's because I never listened to them first time round. But when "Shameless" think they are street cred, then I'm on the bandwagon matey!

But sadder than Turkey and Tinsel dinner invites, ARE (and I'm honestly not making this up) MRSA protected pyjamas. On sale in my favourite store - Marks and Spencer. Tis true. Good old M&S. Not only can they sell food that pouts and drools like a lush lap dancer in your living room, but now they can sell you pjs that protect you from flesh eating microscopic warfare.

These are not just any old pjs - they are M&S pjs. I hope I don't get a pair anytime soon.