Hello people of blog land. How are we all? Long time no blog, eh? I suppose you want reasons? Have I been in jail? Have I been busy releasing terrorists into the wild? Have I become one of those annoying people that ask too many questions?
Well, you will just have to wait until my next blog to find out what I’ve been up to. Not because I’m being an international man of mystery. No, it’s because I have pictures to share. Shiny pictures of exotic holidays, and I’m writing this in work. Yes, in work. I love a bit of social notworking.
So, I’ve managed to try and sporadically take a shufty at all your blogs. But, I’ve sometimes not had time to comment. For that, I will flog myself.
Now there’s a pastime that never really took off. They should have made it more appealing. You know what I mean? For every shot at another mans wife, take four smacks to the feet, and two whips to the back. Then, all is forgiven. Sweet, sweet, sin.
I remember when I started this blog. I had it in my head that I’d update frequently, and share my wee life with the world. But, the life that I was going to discuss, kind of got in the way of me discussing it. Does that even make sense? Well, it did in my head. I guess the road to somewhere is paved with good intentions. If you ever find out where that road leads, let me know.
When I’ve not been getting up to mysterious mischief, I’ve mostly been on the road. Selling, buying, and hotels have been my life for the last month or so. And it sucks, big time. So much so, I’ve actually made a real effort to apply for other jobs. Here are some of the jobs I’ve wanted to do, but they wouldn’t have me.
No1. Games tester – Very low paid, but extremely rewarding. I applied to Rock star in Edinburgh. They never answered me back. Top tip if you’re applying to them. Don’t mention you thought Grand theft auto helped you with your killing skills.
No2. Community warden – I got it into my head that I could get paid for being a vigilante. You’re not welcome in the job if you want to carry out systematic beatings of young hooligans, or so they claim.
No3. Wedding singer – Apparently cradle of filth does not make for a happy wedding day. Go figure.
No4. Porn star – Lost out on this cushy number because I turned up for the interview too early….If you know what I mean.
No5. Prime minister of the United Kingdom – I was knocked back for the job because I’m catholic. The Act of Settlement won’t allow it apparently. And there was me thinking I lived in a religious tolerant society. Ha!
So, after all my efforts, I’m still stuck in the same cruddy job. I have to take it on the chin when my boss pays everybody a bonus, apart from me. I have to use my own car/petrol when I’m going to a meeting. And, I’m paid less than everybody else.
To combat this serious injustice, I’ve joined a union, and I’m selling my car, and buying a Vespa. I shall not be allowed on the motorway with a moped, so that kind of sticks it to the man, eh? No more being sent to England for me. Although, looking like a prized tool is a side effect of my rebellion. But, I can take it. I’ve looked the fool on many occasions, so why should work be any different.
Well, that’s all for now folks. It’s great to be back, and hopefully I’ll be a regular blogger again if I can dodge work successfully.
So, I’ll leave you with the same question that I asked in the title:
“Who was that sheep I saw you with last night?”
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Boss Time
Today I have a hangover, sore legs, neck and back. I have a headache that won’t go away, and I’m downright drained. I feel like I’ve went five seconds with Mike Tyson’s pinkie toe.
I woke up this morning looking like a contender for bum fights. I was wrapped in the Scottish flag, pakora sauce in my beard, and my hair was stuck to my face. The only sound emanating from my lips was a low guttural moan usually found on the lips of the lamest zombie.
Although I am hanging like a wet washing, I am also very, very happy. I’m the cat that got the cream, I am the morning after the awe inspiring, world shaking, Viagra taking, E-Street Band finally came to Scotland.
Mr Springsteen’s last appearance in Scotland was back in the 80’s, when he played Edinburgh on The Ghost of Tom Joad tour. This obviously bothered me, and my wallet. Any time he would tour, he’d miss out Scotland in favour of Cardiff, Manchester and London.
I’ve always known that he would get a great reception here, and I was not wrong.
I made it to Hampden Park for 11am yesterday. The doors opened at 5.30pm, so I had a few hours of waiting, drinking, singing, waiting and being rained on. I seemed to have had acquired a flag, a cowboy hat and some new friends in those fun hours. By the time the turnstiles opened, I was soaking, and in very good humour.
When we got through the turnstiles, we had to climb a set of stairs, and run down more stairs to get to the standing area on the pitch.
People were running down the stairs, and across the pitch to get to the cordoned off area in front of the stage. Luckily, Shona and I were one of the first there, so we managed to get a spot right down the front. If you’ve ever been down the front at a gig, you’ll know it’s the best and worse seat in the house. It’s amazing from the music point of view. You can’t get closer to the action unless you were on stage yourself, and the chances of interacting with the Boss are very high. All good things, but try and get a beer, or go for a pee! Then try to get back down the front again!
I’ve always been a believer in polite, truthful, and charming methods to get you back down the front at a gig. However, there’s always some tosser that likes to elbow you, because he thinks you’re just trying to push your way to the front. Some people don’t handle crowds well. To them I cast a look that is reminiscent of howling mad Murdoch mixed with grizzly Adams.
Anywhoo, to the gig.
Tens of thousands of Scots cheered as Nils Lofgren, walked out on stage and started playing Flower of Scotland on his harpsichord. The same tens of thousands rose in one voice and sung our national anthem. An uplifting start to a rock gig, that was all down to one man and a harpsichord! Honestly, it was like the first time I saw the E –Street Band in Dublin. Thousands of people all waiting on a big kick off to the show, and Bruce comes out with his 12 string and does an acoustic version of Born in the USA. I was knee deep in joy that day, and it was the same last night.
After Nils milked the crowd of the anthem one more time, Bruce and the band came on and jumped straight into Badlands, and the night’s greatness was set in stone.
Classic followed classic, and Outlaw Pete, among others, was given an outing from his new album. Half way through the gig, Bruce began grabbing signs people made with songs on them. He piled them on stage and chose some at random. First up was Incident on 57th street, then Pink Cadillac. He insisted on playing the first 30 seconds of it himself, which on his first go he messed up. He laughed at himself and said, “What the fuck is that cord again?” He went on to smoke the song, while prancing about the stage with Steve Van Zandt like a couple of teenagers.
His encore was tremendous. Born to run, Thunder road and This land, all were played, and all were adored. However, the biggest surprise of the night had to be his son joining him on stage. He looked proud as punch, and his kid loved every second of it. I predict huge things for Springsteen Jnr. He’s a handsome young guy, and he plays a mean guitar. Add that to the fact that his dad is the best live act in the world, and he can’t fail to be a success.
So today I don’t care that I’m lying around on the sofa writing this blog entry because I’m to weak to play Final fantasy. I don’t care if my brain still feels like mush, and my ears are still buzzing. I’m even happy that it took me two hours to get home last night, when I live ten minutes away by train. It was all worth it for that few hours I got to share the same stadium with the Boss. A true legend of a man.
I woke up this morning looking like a contender for bum fights. I was wrapped in the Scottish flag, pakora sauce in my beard, and my hair was stuck to my face. The only sound emanating from my lips was a low guttural moan usually found on the lips of the lamest zombie.
Although I am hanging like a wet washing, I am also very, very happy. I’m the cat that got the cream, I am the morning after the awe inspiring, world shaking, Viagra taking, E-Street Band finally came to Scotland.
Mr Springsteen’s last appearance in Scotland was back in the 80’s, when he played Edinburgh on The Ghost of Tom Joad tour. This obviously bothered me, and my wallet. Any time he would tour, he’d miss out Scotland in favour of Cardiff, Manchester and London.
I’ve always known that he would get a great reception here, and I was not wrong.
I made it to Hampden Park for 11am yesterday. The doors opened at 5.30pm, so I had a few hours of waiting, drinking, singing, waiting and being rained on. I seemed to have had acquired a flag, a cowboy hat and some new friends in those fun hours. By the time the turnstiles opened, I was soaking, and in very good humour.
When we got through the turnstiles, we had to climb a set of stairs, and run down more stairs to get to the standing area on the pitch.
People were running down the stairs, and across the pitch to get to the cordoned off area in front of the stage. Luckily, Shona and I were one of the first there, so we managed to get a spot right down the front. If you’ve ever been down the front at a gig, you’ll know it’s the best and worse seat in the house. It’s amazing from the music point of view. You can’t get closer to the action unless you were on stage yourself, and the chances of interacting with the Boss are very high. All good things, but try and get a beer, or go for a pee! Then try to get back down the front again!
I’ve always been a believer in polite, truthful, and charming methods to get you back down the front at a gig. However, there’s always some tosser that likes to elbow you, because he thinks you’re just trying to push your way to the front. Some people don’t handle crowds well. To them I cast a look that is reminiscent of howling mad Murdoch mixed with grizzly Adams.
Anywhoo, to the gig.
Tens of thousands of Scots cheered as Nils Lofgren, walked out on stage and started playing Flower of Scotland on his harpsichord. The same tens of thousands rose in one voice and sung our national anthem. An uplifting start to a rock gig, that was all down to one man and a harpsichord! Honestly, it was like the first time I saw the E –Street Band in Dublin. Thousands of people all waiting on a big kick off to the show, and Bruce comes out with his 12 string and does an acoustic version of Born in the USA. I was knee deep in joy that day, and it was the same last night.
After Nils milked the crowd of the anthem one more time, Bruce and the band came on and jumped straight into Badlands, and the night’s greatness was set in stone.
Classic followed classic, and Outlaw Pete, among others, was given an outing from his new album. Half way through the gig, Bruce began grabbing signs people made with songs on them. He piled them on stage and chose some at random. First up was Incident on 57th street, then Pink Cadillac. He insisted on playing the first 30 seconds of it himself, which on his first go he messed up. He laughed at himself and said, “What the fuck is that cord again?” He went on to smoke the song, while prancing about the stage with Steve Van Zandt like a couple of teenagers.
His encore was tremendous. Born to run, Thunder road and This land, all were played, and all were adored. However, the biggest surprise of the night had to be his son joining him on stage. He looked proud as punch, and his kid loved every second of it. I predict huge things for Springsteen Jnr. He’s a handsome young guy, and he plays a mean guitar. Add that to the fact that his dad is the best live act in the world, and he can’t fail to be a success.
So today I don’t care that I’m lying around on the sofa writing this blog entry because I’m to weak to play Final fantasy. I don’t care if my brain still feels like mush, and my ears are still buzzing. I’m even happy that it took me two hours to get home last night, when I live ten minutes away by train. It was all worth it for that few hours I got to share the same stadium with the Boss. A true legend of a man.
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Best Served Cold
Today folks, I shall be reviewing Best Served Cold, By Joe Abercrombie. As the title suggests, it is a story of cold hard vengeance. Or as the French would put it: La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid.
I can honestly say that this is Mr Abercrombie’s best work to date, and a book I thoroughly enjoyed from start to finish. In fact, I’m saying, without a doubt in my shrivelled, evil little mind, that this is my book of the year so far.
I will not be offering up spoilers in this review, I don’t like them, and let’s face it, if you live in that backwater of literature the world likes to call America, you’ll no doubt be upset if I did resort to such heinous atrocities before you got a chance to lay your hands on it. In fact, you might even deem it a scudable offence! Please, don’t scud me!
If you’ve read Joe Abercrombie’s First Law series, then you’ll know what to expect in terms of writing style and language used. And yet again, Joe doesn’t pull any punches in terms of colourful language, and I’m very glad he hasn’t. His dialog has to be some of the best I’ve read, and one would suppose that it wouldn’t change much if made into a film script. It’s witty, harsh, and colourful in a way that keeps you gripped page after page.
BSC is a brave book. It would have been so easy to do a, what happened next, or a look into the life of one of the main characters, style of book. But instead Joe opted for a completely new character, with all new issues. And it works a treat. Don’t get me wrong, there are still a lot of characters in the book you’ll remember from the First Law series, and it will have you going off in tangents remembering them. Two of the side characters in The First Law books have much larger parts in BSC, and I for one was delighted to see one of my favourites have a much more prominent part to play.
I honestly thought this would just be a book to quell the fans thirst for more Nine Fingers and company, but as it turns out, it’s a fantastic book that leaves you wanting more of the new characters you’ve became acquainted with. I give Best Served Cold, a Marky score of 10 out of 10, and look forward to discussing it with you all when you read it.
And today’s music comes from Mando Diao, a band from Sweden. This one’s called Ochrasy, and I think it’s the cat’s pyjamas! Enjoy.
ED: Scudding is a Scottish saying for the extreme ouch-ness felt on the face when a hand is delivered to said area at high speed, and in no way is it representative of a SCUD missile. I would really hate a scud to the face, but I think a SCUD missile would be slightly worse for my complexion. Furthermore, the remark was a sarcastic dig at you lucky Americans who breed a great deal of my favourite authors, who make me wait for their works far longer than your good self’s.
I can honestly say that this is Mr Abercrombie’s best work to date, and a book I thoroughly enjoyed from start to finish. In fact, I’m saying, without a doubt in my shrivelled, evil little mind, that this is my book of the year so far.
I will not be offering up spoilers in this review, I don’t like them, and let’s face it, if you live in that backwater of literature the world likes to call America, you’ll no doubt be upset if I did resort to such heinous atrocities before you got a chance to lay your hands on it. In fact, you might even deem it a scudable offence! Please, don’t scud me!
If you’ve read Joe Abercrombie’s First Law series, then you’ll know what to expect in terms of writing style and language used. And yet again, Joe doesn’t pull any punches in terms of colourful language, and I’m very glad he hasn’t. His dialog has to be some of the best I’ve read, and one would suppose that it wouldn’t change much if made into a film script. It’s witty, harsh, and colourful in a way that keeps you gripped page after page.
BSC is a brave book. It would have been so easy to do a, what happened next, or a look into the life of one of the main characters, style of book. But instead Joe opted for a completely new character, with all new issues. And it works a treat. Don’t get me wrong, there are still a lot of characters in the book you’ll remember from the First Law series, and it will have you going off in tangents remembering them. Two of the side characters in The First Law books have much larger parts in BSC, and I for one was delighted to see one of my favourites have a much more prominent part to play.
I honestly thought this would just be a book to quell the fans thirst for more Nine Fingers and company, but as it turns out, it’s a fantastic book that leaves you wanting more of the new characters you’ve became acquainted with. I give Best Served Cold, a Marky score of 10 out of 10, and look forward to discussing it with you all when you read it.
And today’s music comes from Mando Diao, a band from Sweden. This one’s called Ochrasy, and I think it’s the cat’s pyjamas! Enjoy.
ED: Scudding is a Scottish saying for the extreme ouch-ness felt on the face when a hand is delivered to said area at high speed, and in no way is it representative of a SCUD missile. I would really hate a scud to the face, but I think a SCUD missile would be slightly worse for my complexion. Furthermore, the remark was a sarcastic dig at you lucky Americans who breed a great deal of my favourite authors, who make me wait for their works far longer than your good self’s.
Friday, 5 June 2009
New post, new post, get your new post here!!
Hawd it Yoda! Hands aff!
I mean it! I'll cut those pointy ears off!
Would you credit it? You lose an advanced, signed copy of Joe Abercrombie’s Best Served Cold, you purchase your own, and a bloody Jedi master thinks he can read it before you! Honestly, the cheek!
I’ll tell you this for free, the good side of the force isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
So blogamites, it’s been exactly one month to the day since my last post. I really milked that birthday post, eh? Would it not be groovy if we could have a birthmonth instead of a birthday?
I think some people might be nodding their heads at that one, and some might be grabbing their hearts and wallets.
What have I been up to this past month? Well, I’ve been doing a stock take in work, and that involves counting millions of different kinds of cladding screws. Mind numbing work you might think, but the thing is, shove your ipod on and there is something to be said for monotonous work. You see, my job usually involves constant selling. I chat to customers all day, and sometimes that can be hard on the brain. Not because there’s any energy used by being a natural chat monster, but because most people I talk to have the same line of conversation. Lately it’s been the credit crunch, or swine flu. There’s only so much a man can take of that kind of chat, before he starts staring at ceiling tiles whilst picking his nose.
But enough about work, I came here to play, and play I will damn you!
After the footy season is over, I often like to take off round Scotland for the weekend. So last Saturday, I headed off to Culzean castle. It’s about fifty miles from Glasgow in a straight line, so I drove with my eyes closed. It has an American connection because the Earl that owned it, Earl Kennedy, got a bit strapped for cash and his American cousin helped him pay his builders.
Eisenhower even had his oval office in the castle, which you can look at through a glass window. There’s a picture of his Mrs, two big black phones, a paper from WW2 on his desk, and his uniform jacket, hanging on his not so comfy looking chair. I really wanted to lick that jacket. What?
Anyway, I didn’t get any pictures of inside the castle, but here’s some I did get!
WARNING: Pictures may keep going, and are in no way a good representative of my true hairy manliness.
When I parked the Marky wagon, I came across these white stags. Do you think they go white in the sun? Just like dog crap?
Being the big kid that I am, I climbed down to the beach only to discover somebody had stolen all the sand!(Must have been the English)
Of course, climbing back up that bloody great big cliff, wasn't as easy as going down it.
After sicking up my meatball subway, I took to walking the wrong way in tunnels. Fresh air does strange things to a man.
I did however, find a tree to hide in until my senses came back!
And then I remembered there was a castle about somewhere, so I took some dodgy pictures of it because I was jealous.
And lastly, I'd like to vent my disgust at the fact that it doesn't matter if you stand in front of a lake for three hours, you're still not going to see a hand come out of it with a sword that will make you the rightful King of Britain. How sucky is that!?!
That's all for now folks. Just remember, if you have to pee the bed, do it on her side.
Marky
I mean it! I'll cut those pointy ears off!
Would you credit it? You lose an advanced, signed copy of Joe Abercrombie’s Best Served Cold, you purchase your own, and a bloody Jedi master thinks he can read it before you! Honestly, the cheek!
I’ll tell you this for free, the good side of the force isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
So blogamites, it’s been exactly one month to the day since my last post. I really milked that birthday post, eh? Would it not be groovy if we could have a birthmonth instead of a birthday?
I think some people might be nodding their heads at that one, and some might be grabbing their hearts and wallets.
What have I been up to this past month? Well, I’ve been doing a stock take in work, and that involves counting millions of different kinds of cladding screws. Mind numbing work you might think, but the thing is, shove your ipod on and there is something to be said for monotonous work. You see, my job usually involves constant selling. I chat to customers all day, and sometimes that can be hard on the brain. Not because there’s any energy used by being a natural chat monster, but because most people I talk to have the same line of conversation. Lately it’s been the credit crunch, or swine flu. There’s only so much a man can take of that kind of chat, before he starts staring at ceiling tiles whilst picking his nose.
But enough about work, I came here to play, and play I will damn you!
After the footy season is over, I often like to take off round Scotland for the weekend. So last Saturday, I headed off to Culzean castle. It’s about fifty miles from Glasgow in a straight line, so I drove with my eyes closed. It has an American connection because the Earl that owned it, Earl Kennedy, got a bit strapped for cash and his American cousin helped him pay his builders.
Eisenhower even had his oval office in the castle, which you can look at through a glass window. There’s a picture of his Mrs, two big black phones, a paper from WW2 on his desk, and his uniform jacket, hanging on his not so comfy looking chair. I really wanted to lick that jacket. What?
Anyway, I didn’t get any pictures of inside the castle, but here’s some I did get!
WARNING: Pictures may keep going, and are in no way a good representative of my true hairy manliness.
When I parked the Marky wagon, I came across these white stags. Do you think they go white in the sun? Just like dog crap?
Being the big kid that I am, I climbed down to the beach only to discover somebody had stolen all the sand!(Must have been the English)
Of course, climbing back up that bloody great big cliff, wasn't as easy as going down it.
After sicking up my meatball subway, I took to walking the wrong way in tunnels. Fresh air does strange things to a man.
I did however, find a tree to hide in until my senses came back!
And then I remembered there was a castle about somewhere, so I took some dodgy pictures of it because I was jealous.
And lastly, I'd like to vent my disgust at the fact that it doesn't matter if you stand in front of a lake for three hours, you're still not going to see a hand come out of it with a sword that will make you the rightful King of Britain. How sucky is that!?!
That's all for now folks. Just remember, if you have to pee the bed, do it on her side.
Marky
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Birthday Boy
Go, go, go, go
Go, go, go shawty
It's my birthday
We gon' party like it's my birthday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's my birthday!
And the rest of it, is too sweary to post. It’s not like I mind a good swear, but swearing just for the sake of it, wastes a good swear word. You need the exact proper moment to introduce your swear word into the proceedings to get the right effect. Do you hear that 50 cent? Let that be a warning to yo!
Anyway, it’s ma birthday. I’m facing the bad end of thirty, and I don’t care. I know a lot of folk get pretty depressed when it’s their birthday, it’s understandable. Nobody really wants to get to the age were you have to wear nappies again.
Actually, if you think about it, that’s got to be one of life’s irony’s. You start off as a kid, pooping in your nappy, and end up as an old person, pooping in your nappy. It’s a smelly vicious circle.
I don’t get depressed about old age, I look forward to it. A time when I don’t have to go to work, and I get to go on all the buses for a penny. I’d even get a heating allowance, and when I’m 75, I get a free TV licence. Woo-hoo! (Let’s hope the glaucoma doesn’t kick in before then)
Growing old is part of life, there’s no dodging it. You might plaster on the beauty creams to keep your skin looking good, but at some point, you’re going to look your age. Our obsession for keeping our youthful looks is silly. My girlfriend is a great believer in moisturising. When she’s finished moisturising, she starts again. It’s a bit like painting the golden gate bridge.
She’s tried getting me into the moisturising thing, with promises of better, tighter skin. She’s tried buying me men’s hair dye, to hide the grey; even my clothes have been subjected to youth assimilation. And to all this, I say no. No, I will not be wearing bright white trainers and jeans that hang below my bum, I will not dye my hair the same unusual colour that Gene Simmons has. And most importantly, I will not be moisturising any part of my body. I’m moist enough, thank you.
I’m actually looking forward to being an old white haired bloke. I so want to look like Sean Connery in Highlander. A beard, and a white ponytail, with a pearl drop earring. What a look!
So, that’s me for today. It’s time to go home and get ready for the influx of presents I might get. So far, I’ve got a Celtic birthday cake, and three cards! Hopefully, there are loads more to come!
Until the next post, take care of each other.
Here’s a local boy called Paolo Nutini, enjoy!
Go, go, go shawty
It's my birthday
We gon' party like it's my birthday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's my birthday!
And the rest of it, is too sweary to post. It’s not like I mind a good swear, but swearing just for the sake of it, wastes a good swear word. You need the exact proper moment to introduce your swear word into the proceedings to get the right effect. Do you hear that 50 cent? Let that be a warning to yo!
Anyway, it’s ma birthday. I’m facing the bad end of thirty, and I don’t care. I know a lot of folk get pretty depressed when it’s their birthday, it’s understandable. Nobody really wants to get to the age were you have to wear nappies again.
Actually, if you think about it, that’s got to be one of life’s irony’s. You start off as a kid, pooping in your nappy, and end up as an old person, pooping in your nappy. It’s a smelly vicious circle.
I don’t get depressed about old age, I look forward to it. A time when I don’t have to go to work, and I get to go on all the buses for a penny. I’d even get a heating allowance, and when I’m 75, I get a free TV licence. Woo-hoo! (Let’s hope the glaucoma doesn’t kick in before then)
Growing old is part of life, there’s no dodging it. You might plaster on the beauty creams to keep your skin looking good, but at some point, you’re going to look your age. Our obsession for keeping our youthful looks is silly. My girlfriend is a great believer in moisturising. When she’s finished moisturising, she starts again. It’s a bit like painting the golden gate bridge.
She’s tried getting me into the moisturising thing, with promises of better, tighter skin. She’s tried buying me men’s hair dye, to hide the grey; even my clothes have been subjected to youth assimilation. And to all this, I say no. No, I will not be wearing bright white trainers and jeans that hang below my bum, I will not dye my hair the same unusual colour that Gene Simmons has. And most importantly, I will not be moisturising any part of my body. I’m moist enough, thank you.
I’m actually looking forward to being an old white haired bloke. I so want to look like Sean Connery in Highlander. A beard, and a white ponytail, with a pearl drop earring. What a look!
So, that’s me for today. It’s time to go home and get ready for the influx of presents I might get. So far, I’ve got a Celtic birthday cake, and three cards! Hopefully, there are loads more to come!
Until the next post, take care of each other.
Here’s a local boy called Paolo Nutini, enjoy!
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
An Ode To Almost
I’d like to dedicate a post to almost. A post to the word, that haunts us all from time to time. It’s all the things we meant to do, it’s all the things we’re glad we didn’t do. Let’s put almost into Google and see what we come up with:
Almost is a term in mathematics (especially in set theory) used to mean all the elements except for finitely many.
Eh? Erm thanks, Wikipedia.
Let’s try again
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English ealmoest, from eall + moest
Date: before 12th century
That’s better! Ye old Middle English. You can’t beat it. In fact, can you imagine how the word came about back then? Two guys having a duel, maybe? One says to the other ‘Ye gads man, ye ealmoest had my eye out with that!’ or maybe it was a pig farmers wife, chastising him? ‘When it rainith last night, ye ealmoest got a wash, smellyith!’
However the word came about, it has been used many times to express the near misses that we lament, or the lucky escapes from which we’re thankful for. So, today as a mark of respect to ‘ealmoest’, I’m doing a list. That’s right, a list. Who doesn’t like lists? I think they’re a bit like ice-cream. There’s always room for a good list, and there’s always room for ice-cream……especially Ben & Jerry’s.
So here’s my list of ealmoests:
1. I almost got married a couple of times.
2. I almost died a couple of times.
3. I can almost play the guitar.
4. I can almost play the harmonica.
5. I almost met Springsteen.
6. I almost know everything there is to know about metal cladding screws.
7. I almost hung myself when I found out I know too much about metal cladding screws.
8. I almost became a professional boxer.
9. I almost never went out on the night I met my Shoney.
10. I almost kept hanging out with rich shallow people, because I liked the lifestyle.
11. I almost burned down my flat.
12. I almost never started a blog.
13. I almost…..Ah, sod it. Let’s stop with the list making. Lists truly suck. I mean, I could go on like this all day, and it’s starting to smell like regret. And regret is for those that deserve it. Yeah, I retract my previous statement about lists. Lists are the devils work, and not at all like ice-cream. Meh!
Anyway, to almost, my word of the day. Six letters that carry a lifetime of missed opportunity and lucky escapes.
And please, feel free to grab your hairbrush, jump in front of a mirror and mime to the tune that inspired this post. As you-tube have cancelled all the proper music videos, I give to you the music styling’s of a stick man who 'almost had you'.
Almost is a term in mathematics (especially in set theory) used to mean all the elements except for finitely many.
Eh? Erm thanks, Wikipedia.
Let’s try again
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English ealmoest, from eall + moest
Date: before 12th century
That’s better! Ye old Middle English. You can’t beat it. In fact, can you imagine how the word came about back then? Two guys having a duel, maybe? One says to the other ‘Ye gads man, ye ealmoest had my eye out with that!’ or maybe it was a pig farmers wife, chastising him? ‘When it rainith last night, ye ealmoest got a wash, smellyith!’
However the word came about, it has been used many times to express the near misses that we lament, or the lucky escapes from which we’re thankful for. So, today as a mark of respect to ‘ealmoest’, I’m doing a list. That’s right, a list. Who doesn’t like lists? I think they’re a bit like ice-cream. There’s always room for a good list, and there’s always room for ice-cream……especially Ben & Jerry’s.
So here’s my list of ealmoests:
1. I almost got married a couple of times.
2. I almost died a couple of times.
3. I can almost play the guitar.
4. I can almost play the harmonica.
5. I almost met Springsteen.
6. I almost know everything there is to know about metal cladding screws.
7. I almost hung myself when I found out I know too much about metal cladding screws.
8. I almost became a professional boxer.
9. I almost never went out on the night I met my Shoney.
10. I almost kept hanging out with rich shallow people, because I liked the lifestyle.
11. I almost burned down my flat.
12. I almost never started a blog.
13. I almost…..Ah, sod it. Let’s stop with the list making. Lists truly suck. I mean, I could go on like this all day, and it’s starting to smell like regret. And regret is for those that deserve it. Yeah, I retract my previous statement about lists. Lists are the devils work, and not at all like ice-cream. Meh!
Anyway, to almost, my word of the day. Six letters that carry a lifetime of missed opportunity and lucky escapes.
And please, feel free to grab your hairbrush, jump in front of a mirror and mime to the tune that inspired this post. As you-tube have cancelled all the proper music videos, I give to you the music styling’s of a stick man who 'almost had you'.
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Earth Day
Well, it would appear that Earth day is upon us once more, and I’d like to take this opportunity to give a big shout out to the daddy of all fish, the original bloodsucker and the oldest living fish, the lamprey. (I watched a TV programme about them last night!)
The lamprey was a gastronomic treat for the upper classes in the middle ages, and some countries still eat them. Countries like Sweden and South Korea. I’ve never tried them myself, but I have used them for bait, when I go fishing. Mostly I use them for fishing pike. And it’s not just any old pike I fish for; I fish for the monsters only found in the deepest lochs in Scotland. Places like Loch Awe, and Loch Ness. The biggest pike in Scotland was caught in Loch Lomond, and it weighed in at a hefty 47lbs 11oz. I’ve fished Loch Lomond a lot, but I’ve only ever caught eels and jack pike. But one day…..
Let’s not get sidetracked by tales of monster pike, I want to wax lyrical about the oldest living fish. And when I say this fish is old, I’m not talking dinosaur old, oh no. I’m talking even older! In fact, it’s estimated that the lamprey, first reared its not so attractive head, about half a billion years ago. That’s freaking old! Being the Methuselah of fish might make us their descendant, who knows. What I do know is the lamprey has survived four global extinctions, and that makes it one hard fish.
Also on the programme, was a Vampire fish! They found it in March this year. It’s called, Danionella Dracula. Here it is.
Freaky, eh? We’re actually, still finding new species in 2009. Amazing!
I mention all this on Earth day because above all else, I would love to see our oceans protected. In Scotland, our government are paying for the decommissioning of fishing boats. A good step, but we need to stop pollution in all its forms. We need to address what we take from the oceans and earth, and how much we really need it. Even gardeners are at fault when it comes to pollution. You would think the greenest of all humans respect the earth above all else, but a huge amount are still using peat-based compost. We need our peat bogs! Stop it, you tweed-wearing nutters!
Do you know those little plants in a pot you can buy in places like IKEA? Well they use suppliers that go through a hell of a lot of peat. See, you thought buying these plants was a nice green thing to do. It’s not! If you want plants in your house, use a small business that grows their plants using a peat free alternative.
When I go fishing, I usually camp out. I enjoy getting back to nature, and feel more at home in a tent than my bed at home. There is something strengthening about a good week out in the open. It’s soulful, meditative and character building….and smelly….very, very smelly.
Recently, when I’ve gone fishing, I’ve turned up at one of my spots to find that the previous campers had left the place in a mess. I have to spend an hour tidying up cans, empty bags, dead fish, food wrappers, and other people-crap. I find it crazy that some people can enjoy nature and treat it with such contempt at the same time. It’s like giving someone a cuddle, and then kicking them in the balls! Truly insane behaviour. Is it going to get to the point that we’ll have to pay an entry fee to go to the countryside or seaside? I really hope not. I really hope we spend more on finding new sources of fuel, and educate people on how to take care of this beautiful blue jewel we share.
Anywaaa, I think that is I for today folks. Have a good earth day. Don’t leave the telly on standby, try to understand I love my self-righteous rants, give a hearty arrr for the lamprey, and most importantly, hug a hippy.
Peace.
Marky
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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.