Now, as you will know, that title is the equivalent for normal women…with loads of clothes, saying I have nothing to wear. But, claes aint ma fing!! To witt I have, literally thousands of book…literally. One day I should count them really…the meenister came to make the arrangements for the weans’ (burper) Naming Day ceremony and his eyes were out on stalks lol, not to mention that he found my collection somewhat bizarre nae..ecclectic as he said.
Anyhoo, I digress, as usual. but you get the picture. I have nothing to read…to wit, mother gives me a lenna one of her tomes..I shall give you the words of the author as he wrote in his forward.

Although I have not knowingly tampered with any essential truths in this book, I have taken reasonable liberty of telescoping some events, reshuffling various bits of chronology, moving some individuals about and giving some of them false moustaches to save them possible embarrassment in a public appearance which they did not seek. A man who is bandying his friends about ought to bandy them gently. My bandy acquaintances with understand this and forgive me.

Thus writes the dear Cliff Hanley, Mr Glasgow as he is fondly remembered. Well known historian, journalist and weegie through and through. Mither has given me, and I have no idea where she got it from, Dancing in the Streets. All I know so far is its 30′s Glasgow..East…I shall dear reader keep you abreast of the contents, I’m sure this one is gonna be worth the effort.

The pic..oh, well seems pics of Mr Hanley and his many literary works are as rare as hens teeth as mither would say…so, have a pic of Our old school, yip we both went to the same hallowed halls of edumication..word has it he might just be in there somewhere, but I cant find my reading glasses…so confirmation would be helpful.

Oh humble and faithful reader…soo dreadfully sorry to have abandoned you into the ether for so long…will try to do better….will probably fail dismally. I’m not going to even give you any excuses…’cept as some of you may know,,nipped me a wee..(more on that big lie later)…Norsk. Met via t’internet..didnae last..sigh…but omg..what a blast while it did.

To catch you up to date, we now have another addition to the family..we Adie, who will be 1yr old next month..sheeese time flies. Pixie is now 6..yeah I know, how did that happen. all the children have left weegieland..to witt I gave  a hearty yeeehaw. No, sorry to disappoint, place aint improved one jot. Close is improved but the rest,, sheese, keep playin the lotto. Big weans are all fine…mither is grand, 85 and still kickin her height and rummagin through second hand shops for lost copies oh Lofty Peak. Dekwan is 7 now, and fine, still a wee bitty neurotic, but don’t see that improving now do you. Me?? Well, still breathing, still here.

So what d’ye want tae talk aboot. I realise my surfacin again might have come as a shock…so I’ll let you guys have a think on that one. If I come up with anything interesting in the meantime well, you will catch it here. Hope to hear from some old pals…and new ones would be welcome too.

If I don’t see you soon I’ll see yu through the windae….name that filum!!!

The saddest event this year was the passing of my great friend from Stpixels, dearest Abbynormal

 Abbs and I never met, but we built a strong bond. We loved to talk about our families, unfortunatly exchange notes on our various medical conditions, but above all Abbs and I loved a good laugh. I was utterly honoured to be asked to take part in her memorial service which was a sad but overwhelmingly uplifting occassion. So Abbs, I’ll lift a wee Dr Pepper tae ye the night, sure that you are upstairs in the bar mixin’ cocktails with your own blend of US/Scots patter.

Bestest bit of the year had to be without a doubt the family return to here

Aye, me the pixie polis and Dekwan had an utter blast on oor hodilays tae the Wee Toon, thats Campbeltown to yous, but specifically Peninver. Mither and me and the dugs Dekwan and his twin Lilly were in one caravan. Pixie Polis, Maw and Paw Pixie, Auntie an some strange git we managed to ditch about Septemeber were in the van next door. Suffice to say pixie polis  took full advantage of the freedom this place gave her. When after  a week, aye just a bleedin week, it was all over, mither dispatched on a plane the day before, we took, wait for it…..ten, yes ten hours to get back to the hovel that is Auchenshuggle, and whit a bleedin comedown that wis. Suffice to say we are all going back next summer, and the pixies are intending on settling down there some time in the near future. Thanks Kintyre..its was bloody emotional.

So, whatever our up to for Hogmanay I hope you have a safe, warm and fun time, to whit may I  offer you my words of wisdom. COUNCILS, grit the bloody paths, your runnin this country inte the ground wi the increase in broken limbs and time off work due to slips and falls, dont gie us any h yur excuses, just move yur arses, or gie the job tae someone who is better organsied, like me, ya numties.

TEENAGERS, see when I wis your age, I didnt think it was beneath me tae clear the path outside my paternts house or for that matter our neighbours. so shift your backsides away from the Xbox or the Wii and prove your generation aint the useless articles so many folks like to think.

THE REST!! If your out and about it goes without sayin, dress for the weather, ie nae skimpy T shirts and mirco minis the night, hmm, now there is a thought, whit would Jimmy look like in that get up?? Sorry, got distracted there. Now dont forget the footwear here folks, nae white heels the night, why not try grannys advice and wear sensible shoes with a pair of old shocks OVER them!! Aye, laugh all ye like, but yur Granny isnnae going to have another week at H.M.P.G.R.I. wi a broken hip thanks very much. Course if you really want to push the boat out you could always order some of Grannys earmitts, I tell you, everyone will be wearig them next week

Fetchin..eh???

So, a Guid New Year Tae Yin an A’, I’ll lift a wee glass tae yous at the bells and dont forget your Irn Bru for the sore heids.

Ill leave you with a song, my alternative to Auld Lang Syne,

HAPPY NEW YEAR

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2Y6xFOPPW0&NR=1

Oh how I loved that pram, as did Tiny Tears. Ah poor Tiny, how she deserved a pram following her trauma, first I cut her hair, giving her a punk look which ten years later in 1978 would have been all the rage. Then there was the amputation, obviously an early nod to my career in nursing. But okay even I can admit that amputating her pinkie maybe was taking things a bit too far, but but, in my defence I did bandage it beautifully and run her up a wee red flanalette nightie to softend the blow. I should point out the loss of her eye was not me, no, on this occassion I believe Libby to be the culprit. Poor wee wan eyed, nine finger’d, spikey napper’d Tiny Tears, oh how I loved thee. Where is she you ask, well, the bastard ex saw fit to dump her and many other sentimental items when I buggard off an left him. Kinda sums the man up really.

Back to the pram, not only was Tiny tears a passanger, oh no. Another household member who enjoyed a wee run in it was Hammy. Aye, Hammy the hamster. Oh how he enjoyed scurryin aboot in the void created when you took the middle slat out of the base. In full size prams this void was often used for carrying a mammies messages, thus rendering the wean asleep thanks to the rumblin oh the tatties carrot and leek for the soup, which was okay as long as the lentil bag didnae burst. If this did happen Gaggie would be despatched with his trusty painbrush to sweep up the stragglers before settin them to soak in a deep bowl. Noice!!
So wee Hammie would skuttle aboot in the void, chewin on the newspaper faither put there to prevent accidents and chassin a jawrie for all he was worth. Half time in the hall ususally involved a wee slice oh apple and maybes the odd refresher fae the bottom of my school satchel. Mind you, for by the pram and the refresher Hammie got up to lots of other adventures. He was always escaping, oddly only when my mither wis oot, and then the entire household would be in ructions of searching for him. My brother, who’s hamster it really was, would be required to move the scelexrics or train set from the hall so that faither could move the hall stand as there was a piece of lino behind this which he seemed to be quite partial to nibbling. If he wasnt there then there was a strange blue and white plastic woven rug thingy in the kitchen which he also found quite tasty.(Irescently found from my brother that this rg, circa 1971 is in mithers hut if anyone is intrested) There were several times when faither had to take the bath panel off to have a look for him with the torch. And then there was the famous ocassion when we lost him for hours. Well long enough to watch a Shirley Temple film and for me to hide behind the couch while my brother watched Dr Who, so thats what, hmmm, must be at least three hours. Faither was in his chair, havin a wee doss in front of the fire with the Christmas tree on the coffee table behind his chair. I could hear my brother giggling from the couch and looked round to see what had caused this, to be honest unusual event. And there sat the bro, hand over mouth trying to supress a full on chorrtle while pointing at faither in the chair, sprawlled out wi the newspaper over him like a blanket. Then my eye moved to his tartan slippers and the cuff of his trousers. There in all his glory sat Hammy, in faithers trouser turnup washing his face and ears. At almost the same time faither grabbed the now falling copy of The Citizen and screwed his face up in that one eye opening, just awake, ‘ah wisnae really sleepin, just restin ma eyes’ look. This movement sent Hammie scurryin again, but this time he headed straight up faithers trooser leg.
‘Dont move daddy’ cried both me and my brother in unison.
‘Its Hammy daddy, he’s gone up yur trooser leg’ my brother explained.
Faither jumped up and then stood salk still.
‘That much I’d worked oot son’ faither replied, his shoulders shaking with mirth. And then he proceeded to shake his trooser leg until Hammy had descended to the mid way point just below his knee. The brother crawled over the carpet, ambush style, to offer assistance while faither rolled up his trooser leg revielin the long johns Hammy had used as a ladder and eventually the hamster was recaptured by the brother and returned to his secure unit on the table.
‘That bloody hamster has a death wish’ faither remarked. Followed by ‘dont tell your mother he escaped again or we’ll never hear the end of it’
Oh, on the subject of mother, you must be wondering where she was during all this. Infact come to think of it most of the times Hammy disapeared mother was in the same place she was that evening. I used to ask faither when he was left babysitting where she had gone, in reality this was usually after about quater of an hour of absense, okay okay I was a clingy kid.
‘She’s ran away to join the sodjers’ was faithers stock reply. Hmm, have to be honest that wasnt much of a comfort but as in most childhoods I grew to understand this just to be one of those wee sayings adults used. In reality mother was in the town (Glasgow) usually with auntie Mamie at Lewis’s having their lunch and then doing some shopping, which at this time of year was most probably for my birthday or the family Christmas gifts.
How did this blog turn intae the Hammy, daddy an tiny tears show, back to the prams.
Another intresting pram story revolves around my Gaggie, (maternal grandfather). I was the last of the grand children and when I was four the first great grandchild turned up, Susu. By this time gaggie had moved to live with his new wife in Isle of Man and was almost completly blind. A gathering was as usual planned at our house and the extended famliy arrived to see the visiting Gaggie and intorduce Susu. During this get together Gaggie got chatting to the eldest grandson, now almost 20, both in their own way a little exccentric. Somehow the subject got to prams, and Gaggie mentioned that of course if there was a need for a spare he knew where he could lay his hands on one. A bit confused the gs asked him to explain, Gaggie would do better than that, he’d show him. So off they toddled into the back green, round the side of the building and into the front garden.
‘Now where are we son’ Gaggie enquired of GS1.
‘In the front garden Gaggie’ replied GS1.
‘Aye aye, but where EXACTLY’ demanded the impatient Gaggie
‘In the top corner beside the roses’
‘Ahh, just under the big room windae?’
‘Aye’
‘This son is the last restin place oh your pram’
The grandson a bit startled need an explainasion.
Seems just after the war, when gs1 had outgrown his pram, and Gaggie unable to find a buddy to hand this on to he decided it was too good for the midden, and instead he dug a four foot deep hole and buried it, just incase it was ever needed again. So if ever you wonder where my hording habit comes from, I think this genetic traite can be firmly directed in this direction. By the way, the pram still resides at my original childhood home, if you should have need of such an item then email me and I’ll send you a map. Mind you, I’d go under cover of darkness as the folks that live there might not apprciate you diggin up their front garden.

A wee ps
Hammie the hamster did eventually go to the big exercise wheel in the sky. I of course, had to over dramatise this, but for that you can blame my parents, who told me he had been murdered in the night my burglars while trying to save the goldfish during thier intrusion. I heard a very similar story on a tv programe this week….may have been QI, so it sees lots of kids were lied to in the late 60′s and early 0′s, ‘splains a lot really, dont ya think. No wonder this bloody country is in the state its in, pfft.

Anyway, as usual I digress. Was in the shop during the week an Tam wis burstin tae tell me his latest news. The day before his hardware shop neighbour had came tae the door an hovvered aboot, lookin somewhat distressed. ‘Whits up Abdul?’ Tam enquires. Now he notices that Abdul is even more distressed than he first appeared, his eyes are moist and he is obviously shakin, Tam moves fae the back oh the counter tae the doorstep tae offer assistance.
‘Jeanie mind the counter, am jist seenin tae Abdul’ he shouts through the back.
‘Whits up Abdul?’ Tam enquires.
‘Tam’ says Abdul, ‘ah cannae believe it, ah cannae beleive whit a jist saw, light me a fag mate wid ye’
.’Whits up Abdul?’ asks Tam.
‘Fecksake man, are you awright, dae ye need a seat?’Tam enquires.
‘Naw the fags fine ta Tam’
‘Well’, starts Abdul, after a long exhilation on his fag.
‘There ah wis, staunin in the shop listenin tae the rerunn oh the cricket on radio5 an in comes this couple’
Abdul takes another deep drag on his Richmond Superking.
‘In they come, the usual, you know, the junkie set’.
Tam nodds his acknowledgement, the traders oh shittleston know the junkies only too well.
‘Obviously in for a wee shopliftin spree. The wummin dis aw the chattin, like 200 tae the dozen, while he dis the skulkin bit near the paint. But this two have brought their dug in, an there is a sign on the door sayin nae dugs. So ah manage tae stop her spoutin her verbal diohhrea long enough tae point this oot’.
Tam notices noo that Abdul has tears in his eyes.
‘ah knew there wis somthin comin’ Abdul continues,
‘when they both went quiet. Next thing the guy clicks his fingers, and before ye could say Crufts the dug picks up two oh ma £10 sheepskin paint rollers an’ runns oota the shop wi the two eejit junkies followin it faster than Jenson Button at the start oh the Grand Prix’.
By this time Teapot Tam is doubled in two wi laughter tears also streamin doon his face.
‘Fucksake Tam, whit is this palce commin tae, its shop liftin dugs we need tae watch oot fir’.

So, there you have it, gone are the days when local schools produced the good and the great, no more emminent plastic sugeons, politicians and journalists of high regard. Now, now its the weegie version of Cesar Millan dog trainer, wonder what he would make of this. Anyone think that Channel four would be intrested in
in making a new dug trainin programme. What could they call it? the mind boggles, and before you ask, naw, Dekwan isnt up for it, he says it might involve him havin’ tae get up before 11am and thats not for him.

Just to give you some background. I have suffered from a mystery illness for a number of years. Basically I was diagnosed with just about everything until two years ago we got to the crux of the matter, i.e. I had the old heart attack, case solved I do believe. I then had angioplasty and stents fitted in an emergency procedure in August 2007.(Did I mention I wis 43 at the time, ah mean c’mon, 43 ffsake, pfft, ye cannae beat yur genes it seems1!) Unfortunatly part of my right coronary artery couldn’t be stented and remains kinda blocked, which in turn leads to Angina. Most of the time its okay, and trust me on the unfortunate occasions I have been hospitalised with this you would have heard me. Let’s just say I aint been exactly complementary about the NHS at times. Now, this, coupled with the Breast cancer I had in 2001 means that times have been rough and basically I aint worked in, pfft, feels like forever. Last year I got scunered wi this and took the bull by the horns and told the buggars at the job centre I WANT A JOAB!!!! Yes dear reader, I was the only diddie in the village to be on incapacity and voluntarily looking for work, they call it actively looking for employment; I call it a full time job. You name it I applied for it, desperate wisnae in it. Unfortunately it seems the avenues open to retired madwive’s are.. Well let’s just say not forthcoming. Thousands of applications later, yes I did say thousands, I’ve had the sum total of three interviews and as we all know nae joab!!! I was not/am not despondent. Due to present circumstances, aye, that bloody prolapse again I have now been abandoned by the system. Well to be truthful I have been very fortunate and had a return to work officer who was just plain nice and encouraging whom I would name here but the poor sod has enough on his plate so ‘Tigs’ ta anyway. But even he has to draw the line somewhere and admit present circumstances mean its time for a holiday fae the job hunt. So, what to do, well I suspect its time I got back to the writing, be that on these here blogs or finishing those bleedin books my pals like to nag me about, you guys know who you are and I am grateful, honest. So, there you are be warmed, Granny ain got nowt else to do with her time so you lot are bein inflicted wi her utterins again. Now just to see if me an Jimmy Bastard could become the weegie writing phenomenon of the decade. Fancy writin a play big man?

Just tae think, a work life spent guidin’ foreigners through the poetic dialect that is my mither tongue, Weegie. Ahh the bliss, now thats what I call working balance. Could just picture the faces at the brew, ‘ah’m aff, £140 an ooer ya bam, stick that at the end oh ma return tae work chitty.’ I ofcourse have the advantage of the ability to skip seemlessly betwwen broad Weegie and bestest Kelvinside. Thirty applicant so far, so 31 wont make much diffrence. However, cant help thinkin we should really be keeping this in hoose so tae speak. I’m just wonderin if Scottish Enterprise would be intrested in funding such an enterprise locally. I’ll keep yous posted.

And now to other news. Looks like King Henrik is making his way over to complete his coach permits. The view is that eventually he will take over as manager at Celtic..sheese, me likie. This sounds like its time to start thinkin aboot savin for a season ticket again. Mind you, savin coppers in jam jars it might take a while anyway, but on the positive front, by the time Hen takes up the baton the effin cardiologist might have lifted the ban on me watchin ma beloved ‘Tic, pfft.
Ps Still quiet, so far