Mucho greetings, fellow bloggers. It’s back to the grindstone after a quality weekend. Let’s all sigh together, *sigh*
I was over in Amsterdam for the Scotland game with a couple of mates, for the weekend. I never expected Scotland to actually win the game, I never do, what I expected was a good laugh, and to enjoy another glorious defeat. I wasn’t disappointed. Scotland, yet again, lost against the Dutch. At least it wasn’t as bad as our last 6-0 defeat, yeah, we halved that goal difference. 3-0. Take that Holland! Give us a few years, and it might go down to 2-0. You just wait!
Anyway, let’s steer away from the football chat; I wouldn’t want you to start drooling on your keyboards. At some point, I want to do a post about my first true love, Celtic football Club. Oooo, I shudder at the pages of guff I could write about Celtic. I’m a bit of a football geek. Ok, ok, maybe that’s like calling the Pope, a bit of a Catholic, but it’s not like a twenty-four hour obsession, I usually sleep as well.
Where was I, yes, the Dam. If you’ve ever been to Amsterdam before, you’ll know that the best way to get about everywhere is by bike. On this occasion, I never hired a bike. I was wearing my kilt, and biking isn’t very comfortable when you have a kilt on. If you’re doing any great speed, you end up with the genitalia of a two year old. Not the best look to have when a lady person whips your kilt round your head.
And while I’m touching o that subject, what’s that about? What’s with woman, who’ve had a bit of a drink, thinking it’s ok to run by you and flick up your kilt? If I did that, I’d be looking at ten years in jail, and my name to be on some sort of list!
I don’t wear my kilt all the time, only Scotland games and weddings. This is the reason why. Constant drive by sex attacks could be the death of the kilt.
So, Amsterdam. When I go, I always like to stay in the same hotel. I’m weird like that. Everywhere I go, if I’ve been there before, I’ll stay in either the same hotel, or the same area. My favourite hotel in Amsterdam, is the Amsterdam Art. It’s about five minutes to the city centre by car or bike, and about half an hour if you walk down by the canals. If you’re ever in Amsterdam, and you go by a hotel with a painted cow out front, that’s the very hotel. Very clean, nice art inside, and very good rates, 45 euros a night. And, with mostly all the tourists going to the city centre hotels, there are usually rooms available. Their clientele are in the bigger part, business types.
We landed at half twelve, booked into the hotel, dumped our bags and headed for the pub. As we didn’t actually have a ticket for the game, we needed to scout out a pub with some quality TV coverage, and a friendly crowd of like-minded supporters. I suggested a pub that I’d been in before, I cannot remember the name of it for the life of me, but it’s opposite the Banana Bar, in the red light district.
Ok, by now you’re starting to wonder if I got myself a hooker sandwich at the weekend. What was I doing in the red light district? Was it fun? How much was it? Did I? How many?
Well I’ll tell ya, it’s the best place to go in Amsterdam. It’s also the safest place. You see, there is next to no trouble at night in the RLD. If there is, it’s dealt with at great speed by the police, or the many bouncers employed by the local businesses.
The bar I was talking about is full of suits of armour and rock memorabilia. Every time I’ve been in it, the same guy has served me behind the bar. He’s the owner/barman/DJ, and I’ve had some cracking chats about Jim Morrison with him. Seriously, have a pint in this place if you’re ever in Amsterdam.
The red light district itself, is a fascinating place. I’d go as far as to say it’s one of the most bizarre places in the world. Firstly, you think it’s funny. You’ll see a huge amount of guys and couples walking up and down, window-shopping. Some are there for obvious reasons; some are there to glare at the woman. Then, you might be approached by one of the multitude of Nigerian blokes who want to sell you a bunch of drugs. My best advice if one of these guys approaches you, is to tell him you’ve got something already and move on, quickly.
The windows are obviously the biggest attraction. If you go up to the top of the main street, you’ll find the Nigerian ladies, and at the bottom, you’ll find all manner of strange shaped women, from small ladies to extremely large ladies. If you have a fetish, Amsterdam is your place.
You can’t help but wonder what happened to these girls to get them into this line of work, and if the laws are only relaxed due to police simply not being able to deal with the problems at hand. It does seem they’ve taken a ‘If you can’t beat em, join em’ view on things. I don’t know about you, but knowing that these girls have potentially been introduced into the sex trade as children, or the fact they’re maybe doing it to feed a habit, kind of ruins the moment for me.
When you get by the initial titillation and fascination of the red light district, you see it’s darker side. Eventually, you’ll notice the fake smiles on the prostitutes faces in the windows, the micro gesture of lust and disgust on the faces of the potential clients, and the paranoia pouring off people who got, just a little too high. I would highly recommend exploring this part of Amsterdam, if you’re ever in the city. As I’ve said, the pubs are quality and you have to experience the rest to believe it. Really. Just remember to leave your camera at home. You could end up in concrete boots for taking a harmless photo.
Maybe later on I’ll get all gushy about the Van Gogh and Ann Frank museums, and the markets, but for now, I want to see what the rest of you have been doing. I already know about Joe, and his magical clock. A truly quality bit of work, and highly deserved for such a brilliant book. But, I hope the rest of you have been misbehaving! I even noticed Matt has posted! That makes me the poor blogging cousin, eh? Damn.
Anyway, while I was in the pub in Amsterdam, I heard this song and it has stuck in my head all weekend. Probably very poignant, I’ll let you be the judge.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Shiny
I’ve not entered the blogosphere for a while, so I thought it’s about time I updated my blog-world. It’s late, and I’m trying to tire my brain out. What to talk about? I think I’ll tell you about today.
Today was freaky. It started well enough, I was quiet in the morning, so I managed to catch up on my e-mails, weird-web browsing, and yes, eventually I did some work too. Just before lunchtime, I was talking to one of the guys in the factory. His name is Scott, and he’s a twenty-five year old who stays round the corner from my work, in a place called Rutherglen. It isn’t the most dangerous place in Glasgow; I have the privilege of staying in one of the most dangerous places in Glasgow, but it’s not an all together harmless little area. Anyway, Scott was telling me about how one of his friends, had stabbed one of his other friends to death. It happened at two o’clock yesterday afternoon. They both had been taking blue valium, and drinking, when they started arguing. One thing led to another, and murder ensued.
The murderer, was twenty years old, and still a virgin. He had never been in trouble a day of those twenty years. Never spent five minutes in jail, or truly loved a woman.
The victim was twenty-two, and your typical angry Glasgow youth. No job, no hope. His only urge was to turn his shite life into one big party using smoke, drink and pills.
As if that wasn’t enough, I was also talking to another Scott in my work. I’ve known ScottII for years. He comes from my hometown, East Kilbride. (EK is famous for housing John Hannah, and Aztec Camera. Please, don’t tell anybody.) He’s a couple of years older than I am, but we have friends in common. In fact, I was the one who broke the news to him, years later, that his ex girlfriend was his ex, because she was a lesbian. I won’t tell you how I know that.
Anyway, ScottII was telling me that his fifteen-year old sister was at a party on Saturday with her friend. After a few hours, her friend’s mother appeared and took her home. ScottII’s sister stayed at the party. An hour later, her friend had come back to the party in tears. Her big sister had, yes, you guessed it, stabbed her mother to death. Drink/Drugs, again.
Scotland has the worst murder record in Western Europe. Why? Is it the drink and drugs? Is it the politicians squeezing my country dry of its resources, while failing to deal with social and financial ills brought on by greedy bankers, and lack of opportunities? Is it the idiot that sticks a pill in his/her mouth, and then picks up a knife? Is it the parents? Is it me?
What it really comes down to is we’re all screwed. How many of you have had an older relative that used to wax on about how they used to be able to leave their door open? And how neighbours, would look out for one another? I wager a few of you have. Now look at what’s happening all around you today. Society is going to Hell, while we concentrate on getting our slice of the pie. You’ve probably met quite a few people who dine on commercial pie. They’re easy to spot, they’re the gits who never hold the door or lift for you.
People need to provide for their families, and put food in their bellies, it’s always been that way, but we’re turning into a society of merchandise loving drones. Good people are dying out there from hunger, violence and many more messed up ways, and most of us are wondering how to get our newest phone working, or what time Lost is on. We see death and destruction all around us and it’s making us numb. If we dwelled on it too long, it could turn us into that angry kid who wants to get high.
I’ll tell you what though, I’m not going to stick a spike into my vain, and wish it all away. Instead of getting all Jim Morrison about it and ‘Getting my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames’, I’m re-affirming my commitment to the millions of people like myself. I’m talking about the people who shine. From the person who puts their last couple of pounds into the charity tin, with a smile, to the saint that dedicates their life to helping other people for nothing in return.
As long as there is fire in this Scotsman’s heart, I will shine. I will give up that last fiver for a mosquito net, to save a kid from malaria. I’ll reach out to people through kind word and gesture, and try to reason with hate. I’ll recycle, and buy fair trade goods. I’ll conserve energy, and talk my girlfriend into a moon cup. Whatever this life throws at me, it will only serve to strengthen my resolve. I will never give up on love.
I hope that in the end, us few millions, us beautiful few, will shine so bright, we will become the guiding light for billions to follow.
RIP Glaswegian statistics.
Shiny
Today was freaky. It started well enough, I was quiet in the morning, so I managed to catch up on my e-mails, weird-web browsing, and yes, eventually I did some work too. Just before lunchtime, I was talking to one of the guys in the factory. His name is Scott, and he’s a twenty-five year old who stays round the corner from my work, in a place called Rutherglen. It isn’t the most dangerous place in Glasgow; I have the privilege of staying in one of the most dangerous places in Glasgow, but it’s not an all together harmless little area. Anyway, Scott was telling me about how one of his friends, had stabbed one of his other friends to death. It happened at two o’clock yesterday afternoon. They both had been taking blue valium, and drinking, when they started arguing. One thing led to another, and murder ensued.
The murderer, was twenty years old, and still a virgin. He had never been in trouble a day of those twenty years. Never spent five minutes in jail, or truly loved a woman.
The victim was twenty-two, and your typical angry Glasgow youth. No job, no hope. His only urge was to turn his shite life into one big party using smoke, drink and pills.
As if that wasn’t enough, I was also talking to another Scott in my work. I’ve known ScottII for years. He comes from my hometown, East Kilbride. (EK is famous for housing John Hannah, and Aztec Camera. Please, don’t tell anybody.) He’s a couple of years older than I am, but we have friends in common. In fact, I was the one who broke the news to him, years later, that his ex girlfriend was his ex, because she was a lesbian. I won’t tell you how I know that.
Anyway, ScottII was telling me that his fifteen-year old sister was at a party on Saturday with her friend. After a few hours, her friend’s mother appeared and took her home. ScottII’s sister stayed at the party. An hour later, her friend had come back to the party in tears. Her big sister had, yes, you guessed it, stabbed her mother to death. Drink/Drugs, again.
Scotland has the worst murder record in Western Europe. Why? Is it the drink and drugs? Is it the politicians squeezing my country dry of its resources, while failing to deal with social and financial ills brought on by greedy bankers, and lack of opportunities? Is it the idiot that sticks a pill in his/her mouth, and then picks up a knife? Is it the parents? Is it me?
What it really comes down to is we’re all screwed. How many of you have had an older relative that used to wax on about how they used to be able to leave their door open? And how neighbours, would look out for one another? I wager a few of you have. Now look at what’s happening all around you today. Society is going to Hell, while we concentrate on getting our slice of the pie. You’ve probably met quite a few people who dine on commercial pie. They’re easy to spot, they’re the gits who never hold the door or lift for you.
People need to provide for their families, and put food in their bellies, it’s always been that way, but we’re turning into a society of merchandise loving drones. Good people are dying out there from hunger, violence and many more messed up ways, and most of us are wondering how to get our newest phone working, or what time Lost is on. We see death and destruction all around us and it’s making us numb. If we dwelled on it too long, it could turn us into that angry kid who wants to get high.
I’ll tell you what though, I’m not going to stick a spike into my vain, and wish it all away. Instead of getting all Jim Morrison about it and ‘Getting my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames’, I’m re-affirming my commitment to the millions of people like myself. I’m talking about the people who shine. From the person who puts their last couple of pounds into the charity tin, with a smile, to the saint that dedicates their life to helping other people for nothing in return.
As long as there is fire in this Scotsman’s heart, I will shine. I will give up that last fiver for a mosquito net, to save a kid from malaria. I’ll reach out to people through kind word and gesture, and try to reason with hate. I’ll recycle, and buy fair trade goods. I’ll conserve energy, and talk my girlfriend into a moon cup. Whatever this life throws at me, it will only serve to strengthen my resolve. I will never give up on love.
I hope that in the end, us few millions, us beautiful few, will shine so bright, we will become the guiding light for billions to follow.
RIP Glaswegian statistics.
Shiny
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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.
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