Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Silence is Boring.

Sorry - can't talk - doing the final, absolutely the final, the very last - no more, it ends now - checks of the  manuscript for my book.  Deadline for getting it on kindle is before I go to my daughter's in Edinburgh on the 11th June, when I intend to spend the week pretending I'm a student, and no, I don't mean I'm going to hit the books and sit some exams :) 

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Pissed as a Handbagless Newt - with a moral.........

Bladdered, rat-arsed, shit-faced, wrecked, hammered, mortaled, pissed, tired and emotional, off ones face, legless, giroscoped, etc etc..........I was NONE of these things when I managed to leave my handbag in the pub last night after the charity event I attended.  I was, in fact, merely slightly inebriated.  The problem was, I had won a bag in the raffle. You see - it's all making sense now, to any lady readers out there, that is. 

I got up to leave and grabbed ONE coat and ONE bag.  Had I but looked at either the bag or it's contents, I'd have smelled a fish, or rather, in this case, meat because my prize had been donated by that most excellent of butchers (known here as Charlie Barley) - not to be confused with who are equally wonderful at providing dead animal related products (I'm a butcher's daughter - love my - oh, you see, I would have said "meat " there but I just know someone out there would have sniggered - ffs). What the afore mentioned bag contained was: a whole black pudding, a mug and a bottle of gin - not sure what part of an animal the last two come off but, fuck it, biology was never my strong suit.  If it had been my handbag it would have contained: many tissues, a purse, at least three pens (you don't want to be halfway through a good idea when the ink runs out), a notebook, various sanitary items  - in case (in case what?! There's a biblical style flood! How many do I need in there!!) and a mini calculator from the British Museum (or "The House of Nicking Stuff When  Natives Aren't Looking", as I found it to be - however much I enjoyed it - until my brain went: "No more information, please, for pity sakes - NO MORE INFORMATION..........).

When my alarm went off at 7am, my first thought was:" Get stuffed you annoying, beeping wanker", my second was "man, I'm bursting", my third was, "KITTENS - GET UP, SHOWER, Andrea and Evelyn's kitty cats need grub .  So, I got up, and before leaving the chambre de kip, did a quick inventory of stuff that should be present: bra - check; jeans - check; socks and shoes - check and check, rather nice blouse I bought for my daughter in Nice - check, other items of clothing - oh, hell I'm still wearing them; jacket - check (thankfully, not still wearing); handbag.....handbag...HANDBAG  AWOL!!!!!!!! 

My initial thought was I'd pranked myself.  I do that, sometimes, on the rare occasion I go out. Drunk Dorothy thinks it's really funny to do crap to "amuse" sober Dorothy the next morning. Sober, hungover Dorothy has yet to laugh at any of the amusing antics pulled off by drunk Dorothy - hence the reason that before I went out I got my lovely son, Angus, to hide my laptop.

Anyway, back to my handbag - a charming piece, made by my friend and handbag designer, Anna Mairi - in Harris Tweed. It's home now and every pound note, shilling, pence and sanitary item is accounted for, thanks Donald Smith, a Tolsta dude, who happened to be venturing beyond the cattle grid today.

The moral is: if you are going to drink enough booze to sink a battleship, Velcro everything you are taking with you and slap them on to yourself when you start to talk gibberish. Sound advice.  I thank you.

TUNE: has to be - "The Sharpest Lives" - from The Black Parade, My Chemical Romance.

Thursday, 23 May 2013

Aching Brains and Colons (semi or otherwise)

Oh man, I've spent the evening going through my manuscript using "Grammarly" to review the bits my proofreader didn't proofread because she thought I should delete them, or because they are new.

My brain hurts, my eyes hurt and my commas are aching - but all in all, a fairly positive experience.  My punctuation seems to be nowhere near as bad as it was, say, this time last year when I discovered that the 70s system of leaving us little darlings to get on and be creative, and never mind whether any of us would ever be able to make ourselves understood on the page, sucked eggs.

I had no idea I couldn't punctuate for toffee.  I knew my spelling was a mess but that's easily dealt with, but punctuation?? So, I hit the books.  I did the whole "Eats shoots and leaves" thing (getting really het up at the writer, frequently), bought various tomes, studied various web sites and came to the conclusion that it was all extremely confusing.  Commas are a particular pain the bum, I've found.

  "Always put a comma in this kind of sentence, except when it's raining or there's a good chance of rain and there's a "p" in the month.  And never, ever use one in that context - the one you always use one in - if you haven't phoned your Mother for a week (regardless of her mortal state)". Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

So, I might not have got it spot on yet but I've improved a great deal. A warning, however, my blog is not my manuscript, it is my escape - so if any smart alec, pedant wanker out there feels the need to correct me on anything in this blog - don't.

Tune: The Used - Hospital

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Tourists, Sports Day and an Unholy Stink.

As anyone who has read my previous posts knows, I'm a reasonable, level headed sort, ahem. But here's a thing that annoys me that I had forgotten all about.  The reason it had slipped my mind is it never happens in the winter, as far as I've noticed, at least.  No, I don't mean sunshine, hail stones, high winds and bursts of horizontal rain all at the same time - such us we had this fine spring day - because that most definitely does happen in the winter. No, the thing that happened, nay, the heinous crime that was committed was a tourist (not a holiday-maker or a visitor but most definitely a tourist), stopping outside the dear Buth (place of my employment), taking about a million photographs (for it is a picturesque little building, complete with red phone box and letter box) and then - BUGGERING OFF!  Didn't so much as pop in and purchase a bleeding postcard.  Grrrr -  toss pot.

So, that's the second kind of tourist on my hit list.  From now on, if I see anyone taking photos of the place,  I am going to thrust my face really hard against the window and refuse to move until they come in and buy something,(except Andrea - really don't want to encourage her into the shop - she lowers the tone).

Oh, and for the record the no.1 spot on my hit list goes to really sweet old ladies who ask if it's possible to use the (private) loo in the shop and then leave it stinking like a rhinoceros just evacuated its bowels after a night of beer and many curries.  This crime does get worse if said sweet old lady also buggers off without buying anything, AND is long gone before one of my colleagues turns up and I then get the blame!!!

On a final, more wholesome though possibly blasphemous note: the reason the weather was incredibly bad today was because it was the School Sports and Funday, so extremely crap weather was inevitable - luckily the forecast thunder and lightening didn't put in an appearance.  My theory: God hates the egg and spoon race.

Tune: Rise Against - Audience of One.

Friday, 17 May 2013

NOTE Re Last Post........

Have since been told the people harassing Nigel Farage were, in fact, just the kind of  mindless Scottish wankers I detest.

Missed opportunity there: a pile of Scottish wankers and an big English wanker and no heavy weaponry - tsk............

Wankers, Stereo-types and Independence.

Nigel Ferengi - oh wait no - that's the cousin of a sneaky baddy in Star Trek NG , I think, - Nigel Farage, that's the fellow I mean. The man isn't just a tool - he's an entire ironmongers.

The writer Christopher Brookmyre's tweet last night, along the lines of: "so was Nigel Farage 'seeking asylum' in that pub in Edinburgh" made me guffaw loudly.

Here's the thing: it is said to have been students who were menacing him; ganging up on him; putting the willies up him, but then Nigel tells us (in aloud hectoring manner) they're motivation was purely anti-English hatred.  Ha! *snort* - here's my problem with that:
Students = intelligent, educated people.
People who profess to hate and entire race on the basis of the bit of land they live on = IDIOTS.
Ergo: Nigel Farage is trying to make political capital out of peeing his pants and hiding behind the Police (who he probably also has issues with as they no longer cycle along country lanes, wearing strangely shaped hats, whilst summarily cuffing young hooligans around the ear.)

In a word - N. Farage esq. is a WANKER (this could be controversial - but I think many people already suspected as much.)

By the way, it is very similar to the word I would use to describe people who profess to hate the English - en masse - in this case the word I would use is WANKERS. 

As a Scot, nothing makes my toes curl more than some arse shouting about how they'll support "any one but England" in whichever tedious sporting event they've hauled their lardy arses along to/over to the couch to watch. And "Flower of Scotland" for our anthem - really? Have we done nothing of note since 1314? (in case I've lost you there, 1314, 24th June - Battle of Bannockburn - we kicked butt). Well, actually, yes we have and no blood shed was required for a lot of it.

So, Independence - Yes or No - heart says yes - head says no, and my other internal organs couldn't give a toss.  Will probably go with the heart - but that does not mean I hate the English - how could I?  They're all so cute with their wee bowler hats, cheeky chappy banter, bulldogs and suits covered in pearly buttons  :)

Tune: Neil Gow's "Farewell to Whisky" - a beautiful Scottish fiddle tune.

Thursday, 16 May 2013

Frustration - Thy Name is...............................

Okay, okay, I'm down - quit jumping on my corpse already.  Bureaucratic behemoth number 3 (see "Battling Bureaucratic Behemoths" back in April) - the one (like my disloyal body part) which cannot be named (although for very different reasons) has me on the mat, begging to submit.

So, instead of spending my day off tomorrow doing the garden, which I wasn't going to do anyway, or having a final read through of my book, which I was.  I will - once more - be trying to explain why none of the enormous organisations questions are applicable to me.

Well, I can't wait - it'll be such a hoot, listening to myself getting rattier and rattier with the really nice people on the end of the phone who are only trying help but aren't, because, although they are really nice and friendly, their forms are not, and although they understand, their forms do not, and although I have explained stuff and sent cover letters to explain more stuff, I may as well have jammed them up my nose - the cover letters, not the nice people. I just want to go: "Have a wee peak at us on google earth - it might help put my answers in perspective."

Cheerio - I'm off to bite a wall. xx

Friday, 10 May 2013

De bhios Ur: Wind Turbines and Shitting in Sand pits

Next to "Hi, Murdo" - the words "De bhios ur?" must be the most used in the dear Buth (the community shop I attempt not to run into the ground on a daily basis) - the answer is usually "Chan eil caill" - or to translate "nothing". 

Well, this week we do have something new to blether about - OUR TURBINE!! We, the residents of Tolastadh have our very own wind turbine. It's great! It's huge!! And it will financially benefit the community (ie: the people who live here). Plus, it really annoys people who don't live here but who like to use it as their playground. WE have effectively shat in their sand pit!!  Oh joy!

People - you are more than welcome to come and look at the birds; try to imagine you are newly stranded humans on an alien landscape; meditate on the lives of ancestors or whatever the hell rocks your world, but do not expect those of us living here, 12 months out of the 12, to hang in amber until your next visit.  Just drive up in your gas guzzling vehicles (if you insist public transport won't do for you - not enough room for your sense of outrage); polish off your binos and check out how eagles -who can see a mouse in the long grass from the top of thermals - aren't stupid enough to fly into the enormous fucking blades .


PS: I hate "in jokes" - it's like whispering in public - so, in case your not from here (HELLO READERS IN RUSSIA, CANADA, JAPAN, CHINA, AUSTRALIA, USA, GERMANY, FRANCE etc - feck, if I lived in any of those places I wouldn't be on my blog!!) - we have quite a lot (A LOT) of chaps called "Murdo" in the village. Thankfully, they haven't all got the same surname - oh wait.........

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

Inconsiderate, Disloyal Body Parts.

I have fallen out with part of my body. Part of my body is a no good heap of crap. Part of my body has let me and the rest of my body parts down and is, I hope, feeling very ashamed of itself.  So offended am I by this body part that it shall heretofore be known only as - the part-that-has-no-name (or PTHNN). 

No, it's not my brain - aka: the usual suspect - or even my mouth, it's gobby assistant, which has not infrequently been known to by pass brain and come out with things which result in the rest of me sending it to Coventry for the outrage and embarrassment it has inflicted on me - as a whole.

(I don't know about you, but I find it difficult to fall out with my brain, mainly because it doesn't seem to notice - especially at night when it can chatter on for HOURS about complete rubbish).

 The PTHNN in disgrace is on the right hand side, located just north of my toes, south of my knee and is SUPPOSED to hold things together in there at the back. But, once again, it has decided that it can't be bothered doing the job for which it was designed, and went "ping" when I was out for a run yesterday morning; thereby snookering all plans to do the Cancer Challenge 5k and most definitely the 10k I was banging on about. And after I'd talked myself into it, too, and was now rather looking forward to the challenge of ensuring I didn't come last. But worse: I had to do "The Walk of Shame" all the way home. "Morning Shock" huh! - lazy ass, work shy, so-called muscle with no sense of decency, more like.

However, revenge will be sweet - just as soon as it stops hurting, it's getting the foam roller treatment - then we'll see who's laughing. 

Sunday, 5 May 2013

Animals have no Manners

I'm sorry to say, I have come to the above sad conclusion.  A dog just came into our garden, without a by your leave, and when I went to chase it - it growled at me!  Now, that's just rude!  It got me thinking, though, about other unseemly behaviour I have witnessed from pets etc.  Sydney, our black cat, thinks nothing of washing his bum in public and Kirby, little lady-like Kirby (our black and white cat), seems to prefer an audience when she sits on the fireside rug, back legs splayed out, and pulls at her toe nails. And as for the hens and their public displays of...well....just about everything.  I despair.

On the other hand - none of the above burp or pick their noses, although unabashed sneezing isn't unknown without a handkerchief in sight.

Friday, 3 May 2013

The Wee Bit That Hangs off Alaska

What is the wee bit that hangs off Alaska? That bit about half the size of the UK?

Thursday, 2 May 2013

Perverts, Gongs and Nunchucks v Flame-throwers.

I have this terrible idea in my head, and it won't get out.  No, it's got nothing to do with which of the other TV personalities from my childhood was a pervert and/or rapist; nor even, what is the poor Queen going to do with all the gongs she is surely going to be asking for back. Gosh, I hope they aren't inscribed - bet they are!   Hey, if I was one of the gruesome gropers' wives right now, I'd have his OBE/MBE, whatever, on to ebay pronto!!!

"Emm, sorry Liz, your majesty-ness, but a nice man from Japan has just bought it on the "Buy it Now" option. So, basically - YOU CAN TAKE MY FREEDOM, BUT YOU WILL NEVER TAKE MY 99.9% FEEDBACK RATING!!"

Nope, the terrible idea is that I'm going to go in for the 10k race in the Lews Castle Grounds on 25th May - the idea is taking hold and it's such a bad idea - if I come last there will be hell to pay. 

Running Is Like Writing: you can't blame anyone else if you do it badly - which sucks quite a lot. But I suppose, at least with running, you can always take out those up ahead of you with nunchucks or the like; you can't do that with writing - I don't think. 

I'm pretty sure using nunchucks won't  have been actually listed as against the rules - although, they might have banned flame-throwers after the incident at last years 5k. Och well, the shoulder straps for the fuel reservoir really chaffed my shoulders.

I'm off to try and talk myself out of this.

Tune: "Re-education Through Labour" - Rise Against.