So, here I am again writing about my little life. I was going to kick off with the birth of Marky, right up until my teenage years, but that will take some time in the writing. There are lots of things I want to touch on about my childhood. I really need to sit down and sort it out into some kind of sensible, coherent format. Until then I’m going to tell ye all what I’ve been doing this week.
It was Shona’s birthday last week, so I decided to take to the kitchen and cook a pheasant. Not my brightest idea to date. Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite a good cook, it’s actually something I enjoy doing. Usually I will wing it, but this time, as I’ve not cooked a pheasant before, I referred to the instructions. Firstly I washed the pheasant; a process that took half an hour. 5 minutes washing the darn thing, 25 minutes heaving at having to look inside the thing, as well as scoop out some disconcerting brown stuff. Then I patted it dry, added salt and pepper to season, placed four rashers of bacon to the top of it, tied it together, and put it in the oven for sixty minutes. Always remember to check it whilst it cooks. Pour some of its juices back over it periodically while cooking, to insure tenderness. And lastly, but most importantly, leave the pheasant to sit for the same time as you’ve spent cooking it. It’s just the same as any other meat. It tastes better when left to cool naturally. Add some roast veg, cooked in goose fat and you have a meal fit for a king. Shona enjoyed it, but I couldn’t eat a lot. The memory of the cooking of it, kind of put me off the eating of it. I picked at it until Shoney was ready for pudding.
So my top tip for cooking a pheasant, get someone else to cook the bloody thing.
After dinner, I gave Shona her birthday present, which leads me to my next top tip. Find a girlfriend who doesn’t like expensive jewellery and have a birthday at the start of January. Yeah that’s right; you’re looking for an alien woman born in July. Happy hunting. There was more that happened last week, but I’m running out of lunch hour, so here’s a quick rundown of some of the things I was up to.
1.Watched Glasgow Celtic beat Dundee 2-1
2.Received Last Argument of Kings through the post and started reading it.
3.Played and won at Poker. (£20)
4.Watched Rose Red. (pretty good, Steven King even turned up in it)
5.Read Sly Mongoose ( Really good in a Zombies and Rasta Kind of way)
6.Played Fable2 until my fingers bled. (great game were you can get sexual diseases)
7.Played five aside with a bunch of aging 30 something’s.(Me included)
8.Spent too long online looking at art, which lead me to an extraordinary idea about how to make serious money.(more on that when I’ve ironed out the details)
9.Had dinner with Shona's Ma in a fancy Restaurant.
10. Spilled soup down my favorite shirt in a fancy restaurant.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
The all new life and times of me.
Happy New Year folks. It’s time for those pesky New Years resolutions. A time to reflect on the stuff we need to do to improve our lives. What will it be this year? Shed some weight? Exercise more? Be a better person? Get a new job? I’ve thought about all these options as perfect ways to improve my life. If I lose some weight, I’ll miss not being able to have my gut hold open a book when I reach for my peanut M&M’s. Exercising more would be good, but I’m pretty fit. I do a 40-minute walk to work every day and try to be as physical as possible whilst doing my job. Throw a bit of wii fit and the occasional five-aside football game into the mix, and you have a Marky that’s still hard as nails at 35.
So, to one of the most poignant ones, find a new job. How I would love a new career, a new adventure in my life that didn’t involve selling metal cladding for the Devil. I’ve been looking for a new job for the last two years, and as you can imagine, it has suddenly got harder to find work because of the credit crunch. This time last year, I was offered a job in the bank, but I didn’t take it because again, it’s not what I wanted to do. A bit of an asshole thing to say as there are loads of people who would love to have work, but can’t get it. Nevertheless, I have to be true to myself. I never wanted to end up selling metal cladding to half the gangsters in Glasgow for a guy that enjoys sectarianism, nepotism, tax fraud and lying about mostly everything. I wanted to be an artist. Not just an artist, the biggest artist to come out of Glasgow. I had some small success during Glasgow’s year of architecture (looking up to Glasgow). I got myself an exhibition and some recognition for one of my pieces, an ink sketch of George Square unbelievably. I’d spent a day with a fountain pen drawing it, using a cross-hatching technique. It was really a filler piece because my work was a bit light, but a couple of upper class types loved it, and it was then transferred to a display for looking up to Glasgow, in The Modern Art Gallery. I then sold it for £500 later that year. Cha-Ching!
It all went down hill from there, artistically speaking. My art wasn’t selling; I put it on hold so that I could concentrate on feeding myself and putting a roof over my head. My new art was finding a job and quick. Eight years later, I find myself completely without inspiration when it comes to picking up a brush. I still sketch things, the cat, Shona, anything that stays still for longer than five minutes, but it’s getting less and less every year. I’m thinking now, after the death of my old neighbour, that it would be nice to keep the painting until I’m retired. Something to throw myself into and keep me active, you know the kind of thing, bit of travel, bit of painting, nice. So, where does that leave me you ask? Right back where I started I guess, looking for a new job that’s worthwhile and enjoyable. I will get there. I know that. I’ve always been strong whatever life throws at me, and I will continue to be so. Celtic blood flows through these veins.
That leaves me with being a better person this year, which I suppose what this post is really about. From now on the life and times of me will be about my life, and less about Blessed and the Daily Mash ect, ect. I intend to be honest about every aspect of my life from birth. Not to the point you can empty my bank account, but true to myself and to you the reader. However, don’t fret you-tube lovers, I’ll still be throwing up the odd visual/audio tit-bit to emphasise some point or another. This neatly brings me to this little gem. I dedicate it to my art, I know yer there pal, I’ll come out to play soon, I promise.
So, to one of the most poignant ones, find a new job. How I would love a new career, a new adventure in my life that didn’t involve selling metal cladding for the Devil. I’ve been looking for a new job for the last two years, and as you can imagine, it has suddenly got harder to find work because of the credit crunch. This time last year, I was offered a job in the bank, but I didn’t take it because again, it’s not what I wanted to do. A bit of an asshole thing to say as there are loads of people who would love to have work, but can’t get it. Nevertheless, I have to be true to myself. I never wanted to end up selling metal cladding to half the gangsters in Glasgow for a guy that enjoys sectarianism, nepotism, tax fraud and lying about mostly everything. I wanted to be an artist. Not just an artist, the biggest artist to come out of Glasgow. I had some small success during Glasgow’s year of architecture (looking up to Glasgow). I got myself an exhibition and some recognition for one of my pieces, an ink sketch of George Square unbelievably. I’d spent a day with a fountain pen drawing it, using a cross-hatching technique. It was really a filler piece because my work was a bit light, but a couple of upper class types loved it, and it was then transferred to a display for looking up to Glasgow, in The Modern Art Gallery. I then sold it for £500 later that year. Cha-Ching!
It all went down hill from there, artistically speaking. My art wasn’t selling; I put it on hold so that I could concentrate on feeding myself and putting a roof over my head. My new art was finding a job and quick. Eight years later, I find myself completely without inspiration when it comes to picking up a brush. I still sketch things, the cat, Shona, anything that stays still for longer than five minutes, but it’s getting less and less every year. I’m thinking now, after the death of my old neighbour, that it would be nice to keep the painting until I’m retired. Something to throw myself into and keep me active, you know the kind of thing, bit of travel, bit of painting, nice. So, where does that leave me you ask? Right back where I started I guess, looking for a new job that’s worthwhile and enjoyable. I will get there. I know that. I’ve always been strong whatever life throws at me, and I will continue to be so. Celtic blood flows through these veins.
That leaves me with being a better person this year, which I suppose what this post is really about. From now on the life and times of me will be about my life, and less about Blessed and the Daily Mash ect, ect. I intend to be honest about every aspect of my life from birth. Not to the point you can empty my bank account, but true to myself and to you the reader. However, don’t fret you-tube lovers, I’ll still be throwing up the odd visual/audio tit-bit to emphasise some point or another. This neatly brings me to this little gem. I dedicate it to my art, I know yer there pal, I’ll come out to play soon, I promise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- marky
- I live in a Pigeon loft in Glasgow. I fight dogs for food and mug cows for drink. Monkeys live in my beard. I have lived for centuries under my bed and only came out when they invented peanut m&m's. I understand everything.
Tunes
