New apartment tomorrow…new beginnings, please pop over and see us.



Its been a hellovaweek stateside, be it Boston or Texas. To which may I point you over to one of my favourite blogs and ask you to join if you can. When there is little you can do or say…do what you can.



Judy Garland’s celebratory ditty ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead’ from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ is heading for the Top 40 in the Official Singles Chart in the wake of Margaret Thatcher’s death.

After the former prime minister died, a Facebook and Twitter campaign began to get the song to number one in the charts.

[Related story: Thatcher – Revered and reviled the world over]
[Related story: Thatcher funeral preparations begin]

It’s already at number one in the Amazon MP3 bestsellers list and number six in the iTunes Download Chart (both at the time of writing).

The Facebook group already has 2,700 members.

New meaning… tune from Wizard of Oz climbing up charts (Credit: PA)

In the 1939 hit musical, Dorothy, the Munchkins and Glinda the Good Witch sing ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead’ after Dorothy kills the Wicked Witch of the East by dropping a house on her.

The social media campaign around the song highlights how politically divisive Thatcher was.

She died at the Ritz hotel in London after suffering a stroke.

Reaction to Thatcher’s death from the world of film has been mixed.

Meryl Streep, who won an Oscar playing Thatcher in ‘The Iron Lady’, said in a statement: “Margaret Thatcher was a pioneer, willingly or unwillingly, for the role of women in politics,” she said.

”It is hard to imagine a part of our current history that has not been affected by measures she put forward in the UK at the end of the 20th century.

“But to me she was a figure of awe for her personal strength and grit. To have come up, legitimately, through the ranks of the British political system, class bound and gender phobic as it was, in the time that she did and the way that she did, was a formidable achievement.”

Director Ken Loach had a rather different take on Thatcher, calling for her funeral to be privatised, saying: “It’s what she would’ve wanted”.

He said: “Let’s privatise her funeral. Put it out to competitive tender and accept the cheapest bid.”



Its wisnae me because I aint bought it yet…off to Amazon…would be a good ring tonne for me phone


 A wee old wummin died today… that’s sad…but lets try and remember as she was before her dotage….a spiteful ole witch who despised those aneath her and didnae mind who saw it or knew it… power cuts we don’t have because employees are too feart tae fart ner mind strike…private landlords, your case is NOT the norm Marilyn…and gawds knows I should know…cause one tried to kick the door in of my wee 87 year old wummin a few weeks ago at 9pm….the same we auld wummin whom if she died today would pass with very little fuss…..why, cause she is just my wee mammy…mother of 2 nannie of 5 g/g of 3…not to mention the extended family who love adore and respect her still coming her for advice even in their late 60’s..a wummin who marched against Thatcher on the streets of Glasgow while I aged 18 was left in charge of a ward of 60 patients with one auxiliary to assist…know what I’m proud of that…proud of those who strike against her stealin cheatin ways…and fervently proud of my wee mither

Well folks that was my bitter ranting rant following the demise of our former Prime Minister on face book earlier.

First woman prime minister, she did for women’s equality in politics what Rabbie Burns did for fidelity ..she single handed ley put the possibility of any other woman reaching no 10 Downing street decades into the future..well done Maggie.

I am told she stole the milk out of my mouth..well, not MY mouth, I used to turn up every Monday with my milk money in my duffel coat, so did most kids in our class… but know for a fact Miss Ross and Mrs Bradley used to give magic money to kids in their classes so they would get the milk and not have to look different from the both instances I knew of the granny’s were brining up the kids and things were thanks for that Maggie…okay no one got rickets…but many had the stigma of poverty piled on their young shoulders.

Sale of social housing…ohh this Maggie is my all time favourite. Yes I will allegedly benefit from your policy, when my we mammy pops her glorious clog…no she doesn’t wear clogs, but you know what I mean folks, me and my other sibling will sell the family home and split the profit. Now that’s great news if you have a house and aint on benefits…but my bro has a house and is on benefits…say bye bye to any government help for a few years son cause you got dosh so they wont be paying you…me I don’t have a house, I stay with her, my kids are living at mine ATM…so Il’ need to get a private let…I recon pph a couple of years and there will be none left. As for the housing stock…I need ground floor access, I owe them rent..therefore I can go raffle my donut…my daughter, who should be officially homeless, is in the same position…so thanks for that Maggie, cause now there are no social housing places to turn to.

The crushing of the unions, I swear if I hear one more dumb comment about well we don’t get power cuts now I will spit..Sure we don’t, like I said employees are also feart tae fart. The Employment laws in this country are an absolute joke, basically you can cast anyone aside with little regard or fear of retribution from the government in the form of any agency. Well done Maggie…you shafted an entire workforce

I could go on, of course, but I’m leaving my favourite one for last. The insidious capitalization of this country, the destruction of society and community alike…wannna guwess who ..yeah you got it Maggie. She sold the council housing stock in the hope of turning every buyer onto the capitalist idealism. Started with houses, then they stopped wearing school uniform, and going o school became a fashion competition, I call them the’ trainer generation’. If they cost under £100 you got laffed at…then they wanted TV’s, games, computers now three year olds aint complete without a tablet and seven year olds need smart phones for school. Thats the ill divided world that Thatcher created..a very firm dividing line between the haves and have nots, perpetuated by their parents and grandparents who ‘wanted to give their kids better’. Know what, I was born in the 60’s grew up in the 70′ thought we were well off because I had a pickles bike, tiny tears and went on holiday to visit my gaggie every summmer…and I was rich

So no, this blogger will shed no tears for the tyrant who drove her greed and dismissal through generations of this country. I just hope that this nation will rise off its knees and take responsibility for the nation not the individual.


Blatant repost


Its Remembrance Day. To some a controversial subject. Many brave men went to do their duty, many didnt return, and of those who did return many were never the same again. Both my Grandfathers fought in World War I. Sanny went to France and was gassed, but he survived. He also somehow made it to Paris at some point. My maternal Grandfather, Gaggie went to Galipolli. He was a born soldier, yet even he was horrified by what he saw. He was so moved he used the notebook the army gave him to right down what he saw. He tells of sitting on the beach, shells raining down around him, while he held a young officer as he lay on the beach dying. Powerful stuff. I adored both these men in equal measure. They were very different characters and the effect the war had on them was quite different. Sanny, he hated war, he hated the army, he hated anyone in authority. To the point where he bitterly complained when I joined the Guides, ‘Never put a uniform on hen’ he told me ‘It’ll lead to nothing but grief’. He was a strange character wis Sany, smoked like a chimney, wi a cough that sounded like his lungs were rasped wi sandpaper. He drank like a fish, many a time me and my cousin were sent to the off liscence at ‘Tates’ to ask the man behind the bar ‘gawnie tell ma Granda ma Granny says his dinners goin in the fire if he disnae come up the stairs the noo’. He was downtrodden at home, Bella was a formidable wummin. But he stuck firm to his beliefs, there is no such thing as a good war.
Gaggie was different, a seargent major of a man, with cotton wool for heart. He continued to be in the TA until the end of the second world war. He loved all the pomp and ceremony. He also loved a ‘position’ in life. To such an extent that he stole the job as ‘air raid warden’ when the family moved from the Gallowgate to Sandyhills. The reason being that the man who had volunteered wasnt up to the job as he found him in the street one night incorrectly dressed. Aye, Wee Cruikshank had the cheek to be out on patrol without his ARP Helmet, sheese, he gave him a roastin, and then pinched the job. (To be honest I hear Cruikshank was quite glad to relinquish, it being November and the frosts comin in) Gaggie relished my exploits in the uniformed organisations and proudly boasted in the 70′s, to his pals on the Isle of Man where he then lived if I was in parade.
Then there was the love of my life, Daddy. He, like his two brothers joined the Navy in World War II. And hated every moment of it. My father was a boxer, an incredible character, but deep down as soft as candy floss. Too soft. A character I have inherited from him. The war brutalised him, there is no other way about it. He returned with stomach ulcers which were never healed until the 80′s by which time he had the same heart condition as me.
Despite all these different men, with their different opinions of war and the services, they all encouraged us to be part of the Remembrance. So, today I will Remember…those men I know of and those I dont. For those of today and those of the past. No matter political opinion, or leanings towards pacifism, they did not ask to go, but went they did anyway. We owe it to them and the future generations, if we dont the consequences of forgetting are unthinkable. LEST WE FORGET.



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 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!!!


Well folks, we find ourselves at the end of yet another year. It seems that the t’internet is a blurr of annual reviews, dont panic, I wont bore ya. There are three main events which stood out this year.  At the the end of February yur Granny found herself a very reluctant inmate of H.M.P.G.R.I. Yip, a most unfortunate experience where once again I was utterly ashamed of my former profession. (nursing). Their misdemeanours’ would take a months worth of blogs, however…. it also brought out the better side of humanity and gave me a warm fuzzy feelin, how so you ask, well, my mate Teeny, whit ah wummin, she kept my sanity intact for 6 days with her texts and rounding up support from around the world via StPixels. I know Ive said it a hunner times before, but you peeps over there truly made me feel loved and cared for, thanks again peeps.

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

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,



Sorry folks this one is waaaaaay overdue, like by weeeks
Barry over at An Explorer’s View of Life blogged on this subject today and got me thinking. My family are big on prams. When I was wee I did indeed have a pram, it looked a bit like this

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?’
‘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.