Friday, 28 June 2013

Scottish Independence, sticking with the union or....

                                     or........we all seek asylum in Ecuador!!

 I've done it again! She shoots she scores, I thank you! No, I googled it - it sounds lovely.  So, what I thought was, we all meet up at the London embassy and take it from there - last down gets the bottom bunks and has to eat all the cheap-ass, glued together chocolate.  I gave Julian a bell and he says no bother  - he'll clear out his sock drawer for us.

Nice one.

On another note, I met some very nice people this evening Mick and Bea at Andrea and Evelyn's - I really am crap at this linking thing.........

In other news - I heard the esteemed actor Jim Carey in his best performance this week, saying how he was disassociating himself from the movie he'd just been paid vast amounts to act in namely: "Kick Ass 2", because he has discovered that he realised violence was bad (pardon? - well, it was something like that) and he would NOT under any circumstances, be taking part in publicising it.  I was delighted! It was the first I'd heard there was going to be a Kick Ass 2.  I thoroughly enjoyed the original filmic masterpiece (that sounds like sarcasm but it isn't - who couldn't like a film featuring a missing cat called Mr Bitey).   Thanks for the heads up, Jim.



Tuesday, 25 June 2013

My Lap-Dancing Club (it's not what you think)

After listening to an item on the radio this morning about whether or not lap-dancing clubs should be licensed, I decided I would start my own lap-dancing club... but one with a difference.

First I thought, how about a women only lap-dancing club, where the ladies get to do the sitting down and the gents do all the hard work, but the obvious flaw in that one was a lot of squished customers.  Then it struck me and after it struck me, I had this great idea: a lap dancing club for broody women! Genius! All I  need is a ton of babies for them to dawdle or dangle or dribble or whatever the word is, on their knees, and we're good to go.  

I've given this idea a lot of thought, it's been nearly fifteen minutes now, and I've been considering the rules - you've got to have rules.  For starters, unlike the regular lap-dancing clubs where I believe it is allegedly prohibited, holding would be compulsory at mine, otherwise there's going to be babies tumbling from maternal knees all over the place; and playing "Down at the Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea" will most certainly be banned - the "dead or alive" section - that bit could get nasty if the customer, sorry, client's spatial awareness is to pot or if the baby has just had his or her feed - I take Health and Safety matters very seriously at my club. However, much like a regular establishment of this ilk, I expect, if the baby starts crying we'll swap it for a cheerier one (I'm going to need a lot of back up babies).  Plus, the babies could come in a range of outfits, from frilly and fabulous to my personal favourite, the plain, white all-in-one babygrow.  Oh, and I could do my bit for society by getting teenage girls on work placement from the school to look after the grumpy, teething, gripey ones. 

Okay, off to begin drawing up blue-prints.  I'm going to finance it by starting a normal lap-dancing club in the garden with a hand painted sign at the gate, a selection of chairs from the barn and an honesty box.

Friday, 21 June 2013

Things that happened - Biscuits and Behemoths (the final episode)

Today was a day of things happening - none of them were earth shattering or mind blowing but they were definitely things.

One thing was that I have now sold 9 books ( :)), which is pleasing. (Two all - All for One - click here for the link).  Another was the event of a customer at the community shop where I skive about during the day, coming in and going:
 "I want those biscuits, the round ones that have chocolate on them, there's six in a pack - they were here last week (when I was in Edinburgh) - you should know, you're the manager." 

Now, thankfully, I don't work in an establishment where the customer is always considered right, but then that's because I make up the rules - perhaps it shouldn't be so but it is - and I would consider it demeaning of me to pander to people's stupidity - were they to display any - because, ultimately, they would then feel demeaned - when they thought back on the event - by my having done so - so - (that's a hell of a lot of hyphens!) after I'd bounced his head of the floor twelve times (and once more for luck), I pointed out that I don't get paid enough to be called a manager let alone a mind fucking reader, I allowed him to leave, committed as he now was to the task of finding out the name of the product he required and writing it down, like a civilised human being, and handing it to me on a piece of paper.

 Mr Unbound's guessing Waggon Wheels and I think he may have something there.

Anyway, the other thing/things of note was/were  - remember my behemoths, the bureaucratic ones referred to in earlier blogs, well here's the outcome:
Me (answering the phone recently): Hi HM Revenue and Customs, how's it hanging?
HMRC: Wey hey pet, not bad, thanks for asking - have you coughed up the 7000 quid you owe us?
Me: (snort) Ocht no, you silly sausages, remember, I don't owe you it.  The dear old Coop bank had a senior moment.
HMRC: Oh yeah, that's right, tell you what, let's send you out a canny letter saying you don't owe us anything.
Me: Nice one HMRC, that's why your the best.

(So, that letter came today - what also came today was another phone call)

Me: Yo! It's the D Meister - speak.
Coop Bank: D Meister? Sorry, we were looking for a grown-up called Dorothy Ross MacIver.
Me (unruffled): Also me.
Coop Bank: (FFS!) Okaaaayyy. Thing is, we erroneously grassed you off to HMRC about a thing and we were ,well, in error.
Me: F me, Sherlocks.
Coop Bank: Could you put your mother on?
Me: Doubt it.
Coop Bank: Any ways up...........we were wrong and because we were wrong we are sending you £50 (even although you are clearly an idiot).
Me: Why?
Coop Bank: For the stress and such.
Me  (finally clicking on): Oh yeah, the stress - it was bad - flipsakes, I still have brown envelope flash -backs much like you guys probably have about buying faltering banks that look like a good investment (to nobody else) - yep, fifty smackeroonies will possibly cover the cost of all those brain plasters.  Thanks.

Nice bunch

And as for the other unnamed behemoth - the wee dafties have employed me! (again) :))) Love them lots.

TUNE: "Mutter" - Rammstein (no reason)

Wednesday, 19 June 2013

My Book

I have sold 8 books - I'm chuffed.  I've been told it can be a little difficult to find, so just incase you fancy looking just click here.

Monday, 17 June 2013

Edinburgh, Shouting Tubes and Scaring Young Men


That's me back from my visit to Edinburgh to see my daughter, Ciorstaidh. 

Had a lovely time - went to look around the Georgian house on Charlotte's Square, shopped, had a champagne afternoon tea at The Prestonfield House Hotel (where Ciorstaidh works when she's not studying Anthropology and Geography at Edinburgh Uni), also happened to step into a couple of notable drinking establishments, namely The Banshee Labyrinth, Bannermans, The Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's (I think it was called - it had a hidden toilet behind a bookcase!!) and never forgetting - The Hive

It was my second outing to The Hive - both times I have gone there on purpose, which may surprise anyone who has ever been there themselves.  What a hoot!  Tuesday night is rock night, so Tuesday night it had to be, despite my having got up to catch the ferry from Stornoway at 4:20am that day.  After much shouting, singing and jumping about, we got back to Ciorstaidh's at about 3:30pm - a tad sweatier and more dishevelled than when we'd left. That was a loooooooooong day, but as we had scheduled in zero for Wednesday morning (I'd assumed I'd require my beauty sleep) it was fine.  I didn't in fact alight from my boudoir until quarter to one the next day - just in time to scrub up for afternoon tea at the Prestonfield.

What a place that is!! Fantastic - it's like a museum without the velvet ropes where, rather than be discouraged from touching the exhibits, you are expected to use them, sit on them, balance your tea on them, and if your scone happens to shed a crumb or two you don't feel like they have taken on glacial proportions and staff aren't warning fellow afternoon diners - and perhaps even shipping - about them. Instead, one simply brushes them onto the carpet where a thousand crumbs have been swept before from decades, nay centuries past. Everyone was most hospitable and charming - well, except - apparently - it wasn't okay for me to try and nick a peacock - tsk - it nearly fitted in my handbag, too (note to self: before next visit to Edinburgh get Ann Mairi at Sunnybunny to do me a handbag big enough to get a peacock into, properly - stupid sticking out beak, nearly got away with it, too).

As for the Georgian House it was most enjoyable - best thing in it - a Georgian toastie maker - so much better than modern ones, which in my personal experience, get so ingrained with burned on crud  that you can't get out, even with a toothbrush (someone else's preferably), you have to throw it out because nobody wants to risk contracting botulism.  This was a simple, solid silver rectangular box with a six square grid in it.  All you did was slap in your bread and cheese of choice, snap down the lid and stick it over the fire!

 I also liked the "shouting tubes" - you know, so upstairs can speak to downstairs. I want a shouting tube, in fact,  I want many of them, in secret, all over the house to scare the living daylights out of family members, oh and better still, people at the door:
 Disembodied Voice of Me: "Hello, may I be of assistance? Hmm, the WatchTower - a fascinating read I'm sure. Do leave me a copy."  (sinister laugh).

So that's that, didn't get to see The Static Cult but apart from that it was all good, especially seeing the most lovely Ciorstaidh.

Tonight's tune is for Joe France: a friend of Ciorstaidh's and a reader of this most noble of blogs:
The Bloodhound Gang "Mammals" - your look of pant-wetting terror was priceless, Joe!!!!

Sunday, 9 June 2013

My Book and Swimming with Sharks

FINALLY  my book Two All - All For One is available on  It comes up if you put Dorothy Ross MacIver into the search bar ("there can only be one!" - don't add that bit). Phew! I didn't break amazon.

Today was lovely and sunny so me and my youngest son, James, headed down the beach.  We have a choice on our doorstep - well, on the doorstep if you haven't got a serious aversion to getting off your backside and walking a short distance, that is.  This particular beach, The Cladach, is about a half mile from our house.  It's a great spot, it looks like the beach at the end of the original Planet of the Apes (minus the Statue of Liberty or sense of doom) with cliffs full of nesting seagulls rising up from it and sheep peering over the edge, looking down at the foolish humans on the sand.

I can't resist the water and it looked particulary inviting today; glittering and aquamarine, a flawless blue sky right down to the horizon, all it was missing was a me splashing around in it - not for long. 

Bearing in mind this is the north west of Scotland and the water is always freezing, there are two methods of entry: 1. tip toeing up to it like maybe it won't be so cold if it doesn't see you coming, then tentitively dipping your toe in, removing it quickly, repeating the process and slowly but surely shuffling out until you are maybe deep enough and numb enough to take the plunge. This all takes far to long for me, I'm just not patient enough so I prefer method no 2: Charging in like a mad bastard and chucking myself under (won't dignify the move with the words dive in) and floating back to the surface, looking smuggly back towards the shore at the exponents of method 1.  The only problem is I've usually tired myself out splashing about by the time the method oners have got their moxy together.

Today it was really very chilly but I ceased to notice as soon as I took the plunge, and was bobbing about, trying to assure James (a definite method oner) that nothing NOTHING was going to drop off because of the cold, when I turned around (doo do) to look out (doo do doo do) over the expanse of shimmering blue (doododoododoododooododo) and saw four fecking big, kick-ass, black fins not terribly far away (doodoo DOOOOOO).  Basking sharks!! SO COOL!!! 

I think James was pretty disappointed that it wasn't Great Whites, mind you, and I hadn't gotten eaten because I think he'd have felt it served me right for dragging him out.  I strongly suspect that my days of going to the beach accompanied by a family member are over.  From now on I will be the weirdo loner splashing about in the water.  Do I mind - HELL NO! I loved going to the beach with the kids but they aint kids anymore and there's no point in dragging their unwilling asses along, plus if there's one thing I love  - it's being the weirdo loner!

Saturday, 8 June 2013

Flaming Hell!!!

Yep - my book is available for purchase but at the moment only on - am hoping it will filter through to the European amazons very soon.  Here's a picture of some of my hens making dust baths in the flower bed I had just tidied, instead - think of it like a test card........
and here's another - just because.....

Friday, 7 June 2013

My BOOK BLURB - so you can decide whether it's your cup of tea.

Journalist, Oliver Neery, does something no journalist has done for a long time, in the alternate reality of Two All- All for One: he breaks a story that won’t have anyone’s cup size mentioned in it.

Information has been thrust into his reluctant hands regarding the City Father’s plans for the over-crowded City of Scotland’s less fragrant denizens, and much as he’d like to, he cannot ignore it.

Unfortunately, his attempt to expose them is thwarted, and it looks like his time is up.  Luckily, however, Oliver has friends living beyond the City’s boundaries willing to risk their lives to rescue him; unluckily, they don’t have a clue what they’re doing - but the Guardian does, and she doesn’t do prisoners, but then she doesn’t particularly do humans full stop.  Well… except for maybe the one.

Tuesday, 4 June 2013

Three Days To Go....URGGGGG!!!!!

For anyone with an ounce of computer know how, uploading one's book to kindle is a piece of cake.  I, however, have approx. one gram of computer know how, and was therefore, pooping myself throughout the process in case I inadvertently started a nuclear war; posted our bank account details on face book; donated my living organs to charity or worse - published my book before I got a chance to check the formatting hadn't gone haeywire - sort of like that last word.

URGGG!! THERE WAS SMALL PRINT, PEOPLE, SMALL PRINT! I had to read things and understand them - well, I was supposed to, but what with the blood pounding in my ears and the whole sweaty palm thing going on, I opted for making him indoors read them, too, just in case I accidentally clicked everything with a wee box next to it, and it turned out I'd opted for receiving royalties (as if) in bananas and staples and gave them my address as 34, Cabbage Street, Hamburg (BTW - that's not my address - no, it isn't - so don't bother popping round because I'm not in - at least, I don't think I am....hmm..... I'm not sure anymore.)

So, anyway, it's done.  I'll check it tomorrow - that's all providing I can find it again!  My plan to press the publish button on Friday, while holding a cold stiff one ( tsk, your mind, what's it like - not a corpse - a drink tsk - Thursdays is Hug a Corpse Day).

Night all.

Tune: The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy - because I can't get it out of my head.