Search This Blog


Hang 'em High.

I always said that I'd never do a job that involved wearing a tie.

My work has decided that I should not only wear a shirt but I should also wrap a noose around my neck.

Apparently, trying to choke my spirit and the slow, steady crushing of my individuality isn't enough... Why is it when you take a reasonably rational person and give them a position of power it goes directly to their heads and they turn into a Nazi? Fucked if I know... It's a mystery to me. Perhaps you know differently. Perhaps not.

Whatever, let's not dwell on this shit. Let's do something to alter our minds frequency and kiss the skies. After all, that is what we're here for...

We are the children of the Grand Whazoo... We are proud warriors on a mission to enlighten the world... We are brave fighters who use words instead of weapons... And we are legion. So sit up and take notice. Or prepare to witness the whirlwind.

Take a stand or Take a seat. Lead, follow or get the fuck out the way. This is our time. Our world. Our chance to make a change.

And it is time for a change.

It is time for hope to shine through the fog of despair and banish the overlords who think they know best, who think they can control chaos with rules and regulations, who think that wearing a tie makes me one of them...

Governments, Committees, Steering Groups, Quangos, Ministers and Members of parliament take note... You do not control me. I am free as a bird and I shit on you from the dizzying heights of my mind.

Hang 'em high I say. Let their legs swing in the breeze while their necks are stretched.

Moto Gp.

The Moto GP circus arrives in Germany this week.

The Sachsenring circuit hosts this weekends race. Live timing can be found by clicking here.


You can tell a lot about a person...

From the condition of their desk.

Say, for example, you walk into an office and see a neat, well organized desk, you'll make the deduction that this person is well organized and takes pride in the work that they do. Or they have an obsessive compulsive for a cleaner.

If, on the other hand, you walk into an office and see a desk full of clutter with unfinished reports hanging out of in trays like an avalanche waiting to happen, you'll come to the conclusion that this person should not be believed when they tell you that the report you asked them to do last month is done and will be on your neat and well organized desk in the morning.

In an office environment this rule of thumb can be applied to help you get reports done on time. It's foolproof. Trust me on this one. I may not have worked in an office but I have spent my life watching humanity and studying their traits and foibles.

What you should do when you are faced with a desk that looks like mine is... Run. As fast as you can. Make for the hills, Flee, Abscond, abandon all hope and get the fuck out of there before your mind snaps and recoils in horror at how anyone can do anything constructive in such conditions.

This is a dangerous place. Step lightly, lest you wake the monster...

If the bottle of Stolichnaya that sits within easy reach of the seat doesn't convince you to bolt for the hills then the shot glass and the bottle of 80% proof rum should.

Ignore, if you can, the hashpipe and the cigarette papers that scream of wanton drug use and make a break for a Buddhist temple to spend the rest of your life in quiet contemplation.

Pretend that the stack of hardcore porn magazines, that sit proudly on the desk, are nothing more than editions of Sports Illustrated and hope that your mind can deal with a lie on such a large scale.

Block out the small glass vial of what looks like finely chopped oregano and pray that it is nothing more than an exotic spice used for adding spice to one of the pizzas that sit curling up in the stack of empty boxes next to the desk and barrel for the door at the fastest speed you can manage.

Pooh-pooh the ashtray that overflows with cigarette ends, so much so that it looks as though it is some kind of freak of nature and is in fact a volcano which spews forth not only ash but used cigarette ends, and skedaddle.

Or, do the rational thing, and fire me. And hope that I don't get it into my head to pay you a visit while I've been drinking...

"Compulsive reading."

A reader of this blog, who also happens to be a member of the club I work at, told me the other day that he found my blog to be "Compulsive reading."

This of course made me feel proud and swelled my head no end. Until he told me that his wife wasn't very happy about being described as "About as attractive as Maggie Thatcher" in one of my posts. I searched my mind to try to think if I had ever compared his wife to Maggie Thatcher. Nothing came to mind.

He explained that he had been reading the post describing my New Year and I instantly remembered the reason I couldn't recall it. I hadn't posted it on this blog. I had posted it onto a small sideshoot of this blog called "Ranting into the void" which was a small, and inconsequential blog project that I had abandoned aeons ago.

As the realization of what he was talking about dawned on me, I laughed and told him that I hadn't specifically meant his wife and that my words were a generalization and were not intended to offend. For a second I thought about telling him that from my memory I remembered that his wife was a very attractive woman but knowing that doing so can, on occasion, cause men to whip out a fist, I promptly forgot about it.

And it's probably just as well I did. He's an ex-cop and could cause me quite a lot of damage in a punch up... They know things about hitting people in places that can do a lot of damage to a human body but don't show up... Ho ho.

This week...

I will be attempting to re-write the Edinburgh festival bit.

I'll also be working on the comedy skit I have in the pipeline.


In the pipeline...

Is a comedy skit that I know I could do as a Stand-Up routine.

I'm not about to tell you what it is, so don't even think about asking. You'll find out after I have written it and am confident that it'll produce laughs in a Stand-Up comedy club.

You asked for it.

So here it is.

This is the piece of writing that I did at the request of my Brother. I think it's shit and doesn't deserve the space but who am I to question what the readers want?

The Edinburgh International Festival begins soon.

Edinburgh metamorphoses from its normally shabby grey color to become a city filled with jesters and merrymakers. Famous faces mince and mingle along the high street inches from such famous landmarks as John Knox House, Holyrood Palace and Edinburgh Castle.

It's always colorful when the festival is on. The influx of Actors, Stand-Ups and Australian bar-staff trebles the population and you get the feeling you can do almost anything. If you've ever had a hankering to walk down the street dressed as a nun whilst singing dirty songs at the top of your lungs Edinburgh, during August, is the place to be.

Founded in 1947, as a post war initiative to re-unite Europe through culture, the Edinburgh International Festival has grown into the biggest Arts festival in the world. Theatre, comedy, music and dance all play a large part within the Festival.

Many a dazzling career in comedy has been started at the Festival with comedians such as Bill Hicks, Emo Phillips, Dylan Moran and many others playing Edinburgh at the start of their careers to rave reviews from critics. This years festival comedy performances include such artists as Boothby Graffoe, Jason Byrne, Jimmy Carr and Dwight Slade. All of which are doing stand-up shows.

If Stand-Up Comedy isn't your bag then how about a little sampling of Opera? Or perhaps a musical? The Edinburgh festival covers a wide range of both. Ballet and modern dance also make an appearance in the Festival.

If music, dance, comedy and theatre are not your cup of darjeeling then you'll be pleased to know that Edinburgh also has an international book festival which takes place between the 13th and the 29th of August. Authors such as Iain Banks and Quintin Jardine will be attending along with hundreds of other international authors.

The Festival has also seen more than its fair share of controversy, with calls for shows to be stopped due to indecent material or social taboos being questioned a regular occurrence. Most recently the Jim Rose Circus was the recipient of a public outcry due to the nature of the show being branded as nothing more than shock for shocks sake. Needless to say, the controversy surrounding it guaranteed that the show would sell out.
And that's it. I did warn you that it was shit but did you listen? Oh no, you had to have it your way didn't you? Well I hope you're happy. I couldn't have shit on a stick but you'd want some...

In the interests of constructive criticism here is the reply I got from my brother.
It's fine for a starting point, but at the moment it's just a big list of stuff in the Fringe - it lacks the human small-scale touch of your report on the G8 nonsense. You need to put yourself in it more, or rather you need to put instances on a sufficiently minor key that people reading will get a *real* idea of what you're writing about, without having to know who Jim Rose or whoever is. Ask yourself - if they don't know any of the acts mentioned, exactly what does your piece tell a vistor/reader about Edinburgh during the Festival (a more interesting subject than 'What is the Festival' in any case)?
Any more comments on this piece are welcomed. Personally I think Stuart is right in his opinion that it lacks the feel of the G8 related piece I did.


A small one.

I finished writing the piece my brother wanted and have sent it to him and await his judgement.

I don't think it's very good. I'll let you know his opinion when I get it.



I stumble across writing that makes me sit up and pay attention.

This was one of those times.

"Wonderfully written, insightful and true to the nature of life." Is how I'd describe it if I were a writers critic.

The New Goo.


Off to work.

I go. Selah.

Tonight I plan on working on the challenge my brother has set me so don't expect very much in the way of posts. I may put up a couple of small ones, but don't hold your breath.

Damn it.

Writers block.

Damn it all to hell. I have hit upon a block in the last couple of days. Possibly due to the fact that I have been watching DVD's for the last couple of days and have therefore not had to do any thinking at all. Or at least, a very minimal amount has been needed to get me through the days.

I've been running on auto pilot really. The only things I've had to deal with involved what will I eat and what time do I start work.

The one thing I have been forced to think about is what to write for the challenge set by my brother to write something. This has caused me much angst. I face a deadline I feel obliged to meet for the first time in my life and what happens? My brain grinds to a scrunching halt.


No posts tonight...

Apart from this one. Obviously.

The reason for this is that I have too many DVD's to watch. I also have to try to figure out what I should write about for the challenge I have been set by my brother.


I've been set the task of writing a screed, on a topic of my choice, before my nephews birthday next week.

My brother Stuart set me the task after I had rambled on about how much my job at the club sucked.

The challenge is to write a piece that can be submitted to a newspaper/magazine. Where it goes from there I have no idea. Whatever happens I'll keep you posted.

DVD Days...

The next few days will be a DVD fest.

Tomorrow morning will be spent lying in my bed with the Sunday papers and the following DVD's to keep me company.
All that's missing is a warm woman.


Finished reading.

Dan Brown. Deception Point.

I'll now be able to finish reading Bertold Brechts' Threepenny novel.

While I do this perhaps you'd like to read this little screed by Hunter S Thompson. Perhaps not. But you don't know what you're missing.

I don't get it.

Life. It's a puzzling thing.

Lessons learned over time. But for what point? For what purpose?

I'd like to think that there is some grand scheme behind the intricacies of the universe but if involves taking communion, praying to the sun, giving my heart to Jesus or any other kind of general worshipping then count me out. Fuck that.

The Grand Whazoo does not require prayer or dedication. He doesn't give a fuck about that, I know 'cos It told me.

"I don't give a fuck about that." It said.

Why would It lie to me? It has nothing to gain from lying to me. Unlike certain things in life... Governments, Ministers, Clerics, Popes etc etc etc... They all have something to gain by filling my head with nonsense. Control & obedience. Allegiance.

The Grand Whazoo thinks this is all bullshit.

"It's all bullshit." It said.

When It told me that, I knew. I saw. I realized. The Grand Whazoo wants very little from me...

That I be me.
That I listen to the little voice in my head that lets me see this life, without the broken perception, without hollow judgment of who a person is or what they believe, without hatred in my heart, without fear.
That I appreciate that all people are the living embodiment of all the possible people I could have been.
That I do what is good and right.
That I love all the people.


Purely a list of what I have been listening to this last week or so.

Eminem - Encore.
Goo Goo Dolls - Iris.
Beck - Guero.
James Blunt - Back to Bedlam.
U2 - How to dismantle an atomic bomb.
Kaiser Chiefs - Employment.
Razorlight - Up all night.
Kasabian - Together we build.
King Curtis - Live at Filmore West 1971.
Damien Rice - Green Eyes.
The Pogues - Lorca's Novena.
L L Cool J - Knock You Out.
Everclear - Wonderful & Santa Monica.

You'd do no wrong downloading a copy of all of these tunes.


I felt a comment was required...

Regarding the shocking news that Grand Theft Auto San Andreas has scenes of a sexual nature hidden within the game.

What I'd like to know was who complained?

This blog;

Could be the first ever live & interactive nervous breakdown.

It's certainly looking that way in my life just now. I may, very soon, snap and do something rash. Something along the lines of quitting my job and throw myself at the mercy of the whims of the Grand Whazoo. Maybe. Perhaps. Who knows...

Only the Grand Whazoo.

Fuck 'em, and the laws they make.

The UK has now outlawed the use of Magic Mushrooms.

This is a law I will break whenever I am given the chance. I recommend that you do too.



I did intend on finishing Bertold Brechts' Threepenny Novel before begining to read another book.

Yesterday I bought a copy of Dan Browns' Deception Point and decided to put Bertold Brecht aside for a couple of days while I read Deception Point.

The best laid plans of mice and men, and all that guff...

This weekend...

The British round of the Moto GP is being held at Donnington.

Unfortunately I cannot attend. My friends, Steff and Oswaldo, will be there though.

They are fully prepared for a full on drunken assault on the camping grounds of Donnington Park and have been told to get pictures and that I'll be interviewing them when they get back.

If you are off to Donnington this weekend keep an eye out for them. They're the ones who'll be in the camouflaged gazebo with the Italian flag, A Saltire flag and a Lion Rampant flag on display for all to see. Feel free to pop in and tell them I said you've to get a beer from them. Just say that Ross sent you...

Between Shifts.

I'm doing a double shift at the club today. I've managed to grab a couple of hours sleep before I go back in at 6pm to do the other shift. And boy do I need it.

My shift tonight finishes at midnight and at 9am the following morning I begin another shift. So it goes.

Because of this I may not post very much tonight.

Just a quick one...

To let you know that I'm not, as rumoured to be, dead.

That's a different Scotsman. Kinda,

James Doohan, the actor who played Scotty in Star Trek, has died. He's been beamed up one last time and has been transported to a different dimension.

May the Grand Whazoo take care of him.


Awaiting the backlash...

I'm not very widely read on here.

I came to this conclusion after the London bombing happened and I didn't recieve any hate mail for selling this T-Shirt on Cafe Press.


Tony talks shit. Again.

Tony Blair today refuted claims by the Royal Institute of International Affairs (RIIA) that the London bombing was a result of the UK being the closest ally to the US lead invasion of Iraq.

Anyone surprised? No. Me either.

In the report the RIIA puts forwards the idea that if the UK was not so quick to jump onto the bandwagon the London bombings would not have taken place.

In a press release the RIIA said,
"There is "no doubt" that the invasion of Iraq has imposed particular difficulties for the UK and for the wider coalition against terrorism... The situation in Iraq has ‘given a boost to the Al-Qaeda network's propaganda, recruitment and fundraising, whilst providing an ideal targeting and training area for Al-Qaeda-linked terrorists."
Talk about stating the obvious. I'm sure if I were a valley girl I'd be saying "Like duh..." right about now. But I'm not. So I'll stick to making snide remarks and taking the piss. Do what you're good at and all that.

Reports in the New York Times claim that a month previous to the bombing the Joint Terrorist Analysis Centre lowered its formal threat claiming that,
"at present there is not a group with both the current intent and the capability to attack the U.K.,"
Yet another shining example of the words "UK Intelligence" being an oxymoron.

Any bets on who'll shoulder the blame? I'm giving 137 billion to one that it isn't Tony Blair. If it is, I'm going to be seriously bankrupted. So badly bankrupted that I'll possibly explode in flames at hearing the news that Tony Blair has stepped down after making a public apology to the people effected by this war.

The odds of that happening are about the same odds as me being propositioned by Cherie Blair outside a dingy public toilet in Soho. Though from what I've heard about Cherie this may not be such an outside chance. Perhaps Carol Caplin has convinced Cherie that there is good money to be made by sucking off strangers and recording it for celebs unzipped. Who knows...

Not me man, and if I'm questioned about this I'm saying nothing without a lawyer present.



I did intend on going into the city centre today to see about getting an open mic spot but for ome reason there is a strike going on involving the bus drivers.

And to think I grew up during a war for those swines.

Read on McDuff. Read on....

This post is just a list of the books that I will be reading in the next few weeks.

Bertolt Brecht - Threepenny Novel.
Ian Rankin - The Hanging Garden.
Robert Olen Butler - Mr Spaceman.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn - The Gulag Archipeligo.
Fear No Evil - Natan Sharansky.

Lets be blunt.

I recently had an experience with music that happens once in a blue moon when I heard James Blunts' song "You're Beautiful." (Read what I wrote here.)

Krissy, a regular reader of my madness read my review and is now addicted to listening to James Blunt. She listens to "Out of my mind" at least once a day. Or so she tells me. Perhaps she was only saying it to make me feel like I'm a part of her life in some small way.

I believe she listens to the song and does consider me an influence in her life, but I also believe that JFK was killed by his own government. I currently have no way of knowing if either belief is true. So it goes.

In order to appreciate Krissy on a deeper level than acquaintances on the net I decided that I should get a hold of a copy of James Blunts' album "Back to Bedlam" and dedicate some time to listen to it. I wasn't disappointed.

And neither will you be if you go out and beg, borrow or steal a copy of "Back To Bedlam."


It's a free country?

The backlash has begun...

Charles Clark has announced plans to install new laws in the UK to prevent terrorism. All well and good you'd think, until you read what it is that Mr Clark is proposing.

If these laws are passed by the UK government it will become illegal to...
  • Access web sites that contain information on how to make explosives or incendiary devices.
  • indirectly incite terrorism.
What right does the government have to tell me, a law abiding person if you don't count the occasional breach of drug laws, what web sites I can access? None. I'm old enough to decide what web sites I access. Being curious as to how you could make something go BANG and carrying out a bombing are two entirely different things.

And exactly what will be construed as speech which "indirectly incites terrorism."

If these new laws are passed it will no longer be legal to state, in a private conversation, that you wish someone would shoot George W Warmonger to save the world from becoming Planet USA. (A sentiment I have found that many people happen to agree with...)

But, then again, if these new laws are put into place George W Warmonger and Tony "lapdog" Blair could be arrested for inciting terrorist activities when UK and US soldiers are told to invade whatever country is next on the map for operation "Get Their Oil."

Wouldn't that be nice.

Still to be finished...

My Notes from Africa series.

All previous parts of my journey journal can be found by clicking here.

Would you? Could you?

Have you ever read a biography, or an autobiography, where someone gave up a steady job with a regular income to chase a dream?

I'm in the mood to do just this.

My job at the club is slowly driving me off my head... I actually think what's driving me off my head is some kind of deeply rooted self destructive streak but let's not go into that just yet. We have bigger fish to fry for the moment...

Since returning to Edinburgh after my month off in Africa I have found myself slipping back into the rut that I promised myself I wouldn't slip back into. And I'm annoyed at myself for allowing this to happen. Very annoyed.

For the last couple of years I have harbored a desire to give Stand-up comedy a whack as a career but as such I have only talked about doing so. It may be the time that the talking about it stopped and getting up and doing it began. What's holding me back from trying you may ask, and justifiably so.

What I think is holding me back is the fear of failure and the fear of not being funny or getting laughs. But that's only the bullshit that I tell myself to make the gnawing feeling ease off for a while. I know I can be funny and can get a laugh from most people who have a pulse, but knowing this and doing it on stage are two extremely different things.

There is only one possible way that I can find out if I'm suited to a career as a Stand-up... Do it. Bite the bullet, Swallow the shooter, Dive right in, Step up to the plate, Take the red pill, Grab the bull by the bollocks, Take the mic and stand up for Stand-up... Call it what you will; It's all the same shit in the same storage tank anyhoo.

So in order to get myself out the rut I find myself sliding back into I'll be going up to The Stand comedy club in the city centre on Monday to see about getting an open mic slot on the amateur night bill.

The way I see it is if I try and I fail, Fuck it, at least I'll have tried. Knowing you tried and failed is always better than never trying and not knowing. Carpe diem and all that guff.


Calling all tech-heads. Help needed.

I have an urge, an itch, a desire if you will...

To make a ringtone for mobile phones. I've wanted to do this for a while now and even wrote about it on here, the problem is I don't have the knowledge of how to go about doing so. If there is anyone in the blogosphere that knows what I need to do to create ringtones, please, drop me a line.

The ringtone I have in mind is yelling at the top of my lungs "Answer your fucking phone!"

I could also do celebrity impression versions including...

Sean Connery; "Could someone pleashe anshwer thish fucking phone!"

Mrs Doubtfire; "Oh hello dear! Would you mind answering the fucking phone?"

And many more. So if there is anyone out there that knows what I need to do to make a ringtone, that will make the crazy frog look like a temporarily insane tadpole, do the right thing and drop me a line or leave a comment.


The Upchuck diaries.

I've been in bed all day so far, trying my best not to hurl, puke, upchuck, blow chunks, spew, vomit, huey or ralph.

It's going well so far. I haven't puked at all today but I have sat and shat. If you can qualify shitting through the (brown) eye of a needle as having shat. I personally have no idea how you grade your shits. Perhaps you rate a nice conker colored firm stool sample as a ten on the shit scale and a runny wet poop as a one.

Perhaps I should take a picture of my next splatter and upload it to rate my poo. I'd get to use my new digital camera that my mother very kindly bought me for my birthday and you'd get the chance to witness the latest download from my butthole and score it on a 1-10 scale.

Wouldn't that just make your day?

Chicken soup?

As you may have read yesterday I'm currently crook with a stomach bug.

Never fear though, my mum has decided that chicken soup is the remedy for it and is bringing me some today at 2pm.


The only thing I know for sure...

Is that I don't know everything.

But I'd love too. So why isn't science working on finding a way to input large volumes of data into the human brain?

Perhaps they are... The ability may not be available to the general public just yet. After all, the military has to fuck around with it and make sure we aren't able find out all those nasty "National Security" secrets.

Because that can't happen. Can it? The general public can't ever find out that the Governments of the world are merely using each other, and the mainstream media, to compartmentalize and assign blame for their own failures.

When the shit hits the fan and Osama Bin bogeyman and his evil cohorts strike with deadly accuracy within a supposedly "safe" area what do the government do? They take away our freedoms and tell us that if we had ID cards none of this would have happened.

This weeks bombing in London has given the UK Government a perfect opportunity to push through their ID cards scheme. And the silly thing is that most people have fallen for it. Like fish taking a worm with a nice shiny hook stuck in it's middle.

Having a national ID card does not prevent anything. Just like having a law against something doesn't prevent people from doing it. It only makes you realize your actions may have consequences. If you get caught, that is...

There are laws against murder but people still get murdered, there are laws against rape but people still get raped, there are laws against child abuse but Catholic priests continue to fuck choir boys and say mass without bursting into flames and being cast into a firey hell or being prosecuted.

I carry in my wallet three forms of ID, A drivers license, a bank card and a national insurance card, all of which have at one point or another in my life been used to identify me in some capacity.

In the past I've been stopped by Policemen while I have been in possesion of personal supply amounts of highly illegal substances and have walked away from a potential jail scentence purely by showing some ID and acting as a member of the public is expected to. Smile at the nice policeman, answer his questions correctly and politly and don't look suspicious.

And then there is the question of suicide bombings... How does carrying a new form of ID prevent them from spreading chaos?

If you were a suicide bomber, who got stopped by a cop who wanted to see your ID card and you didn't have one, would you really give a fuck about pulling the trigger and doing what you were going to do in the first place? I don't think so. I think you'd yell out to whatever invisible deity you are blowing up fellow human beings in the name of and would yank the cord that seperates you from a big splattery death.

If you want my opinion, or even if you don't, I'd say stop worrying about it. The chances of you being blown up by a suicide bomber are very small. The chances of Elvis crashing a UFO into your house are smaller.

Forget about the fact that you could, potentially, die at any minute from one of the many things that kill humans each and every day. Be they terrorists, power tools, drunk drivers, freedom fighters, railway crashes, tornadoes, gas expolsions, lightning strikes, dog attacks, drownings, falls, aircraft crashes etc etc, and keep going.

So how do we defeat terrorism? Smile happily and go about your day. That's how.

Oh Sh*t.

I called in sick to work today.

I woke up this morning at about 4am and had to run for the loo. I only just made it before my stomach purged itself of whatever it was that it wanted rid of.

Since then I've puked my guts up three time and have decorated the walls of the toilet pan with copious amounts of very squishy shit. Not a pleasant image I know but I thought I'd share it anyhoo.

Because of this I've been in my bed all day.


Against all odds...

I survived through working in a temperature of 95degrees.

The inside of my legs were so wet with sweat at one point I thought I'd lost control of my bladder and pissed myself. Which is a popular thing at the club, there are a lot of old people who drink too much and forget that it takes them ten minutes to get to the khazi.

Tomorrows weather is supposed to be just as hot. This is unheralded in Scotland. Summer in Scotland is supposed to be when the rain comes slightly from one side instead of straight down. We only have two seasons here for fucks sake, Winter and June. And what are we getting? Tarmac melting heat that has made everyone in Scotland think that global warming isn't such a bad thing.

But there is also a bad side to this weather. Skin cancer. That age old killer of the sunbather.

Now it turns out that Scots have no worries about that either if those wacky scientists are right about curry being a cure for cancer. The Scots people have always had an unnatural fondness for curry. So much so that a large part of the population have developed a skin color not too dissimilar from a person from India...


Another scorcher.

It's still hotter than hell here in Edinburgh. So much so that I've spent the morning lying on my bed.

I can't take this heat. It's murder. I keep expecting to see the birds drop out of the skies above me, their wings aflame and making terrible noises. I'm sure if this weather keeps up I may witness just that. That's if I haven't went up in flames like a human shaped roman candle. Whooomph.

I'm working tonight so I'll no doubt be sweating like a Nazi at a war crimes hearing and cursing the club for not having any modern way of cooling the club down. That place is so outdated I consider myself lucky that it actually has windows. I'll just have to keep a sink of cold water in the kitchen and once in a while dunk my head into it to keep cool.

So now I'm off to have a shower to get ready for work. Doing so will no doubt make me more sweaty than I already am but what can I do? Move to the Arctic? Fuck that. I'd only start whining about how cold it is...

♫ Sun is shining, Weather is sweet...

Make you wanna move, your dancin' feet. To the rescue... ♫

...Here I am... Sucking on a cold brew, in the oppressive heat that is currently invading my apartment, and wondering if I'll sleep tonight or if I'll once again spend the night sweating like Michael Jackson before the verdict came through.

Who knows. Presumably the Grand Whazoo does...

But none of that wild jabbering of the Grand Whazoo tonight. Tonight is a night for something different. Tonight is a night for revelry, whoopla and merrymaking. In that order. No deviations. No distractions. No direction...

It has been a fine day today. The sun has been splitting the skins of the fair haired, giving Scots people ample chance to slap each others sunburn over the next few days, pensioners have spoken of times when they were younger that the temperature was three times as hot it was today and the young urban mums think, "Fuck it all. I'm wearing a short top, a miniskirt and stretchmarks be damned."

(That bothers me. The young urban mums, or yummys' as I like to term them, wearing low cut tops and short skirts. Well, I say it bothers me, it doesn't. It merely creates conflict between the voices in my head, One part of my brain screams and yells "Look at the rack on that Milf." and the other part tells me that I am being a pervert, but I try to block it out and appreciate her strengths as an independent woman. Righty ho, sure, that's what I do... )

After waking up at 1pm, following my not being able to sleep due to the heat that seemed to seep out of the walls of my apartment last night, I showered, dressed and went over to the post office to pay my rent.

Having negotiated the post office successfully, I strode along the road to Steffs' house and walked in to find him just about to leave for Oswalds'. He asked me to give him a hand carrying a gazebo so I threw it onto my back and we walked along the road to where Oswald had the kettle on awaiting our arrival.

Sitting in the sun in the back garden of Chez Oswald we had a coffee and chatted while appreciating the sunshine. After a couple of hours Steff, Zoe and I managed to gather the strength to walk along the road so that Zoe could go to her Karate class. On the way we stopped and got some icepops and ate them as we walked. I had cola flavor. The taste reminded me of times when I was younger when I'd walk the same streets as a small boy visiting his granny and I smiled as the memory of my granny popped into my head.

I wished to the Grand Whazoo for my granny to have good things and we walked on.

When we arrived at Steffs' the fan was switched on at full-speed-ahead-captain and we huddled around it jostling each other to get the best draught of colder air from it. The rest of the night was spent slapping each others sunburn, remarking on the yummys in their short skirts and telling Zoe that the weather was four times as hot when we were kids...


Please press #1 to find out if your loved one has been splattered across a London suburb.

Imagine that you are the friend or relative of one of the people who may have been caught in the London bombings last week.

What kind of anguish would you be feeling? The uncertainty of whether they are alive, dead or are currently wandering around with no knowledge of who they are due to the brain trauma that could be caused by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now imagine the anger that you'd be feeling when you discovered that the helpline set up to help find people caught up in the bombings is costing you 40 pence a minute.

This is NOT a joke.

Any reason or excuse that the company in charge or the Government comes up with will not be good enough.

Profiting from the dead has reached a new low.

As the sun rises.

It's 4:25 and I can't sleep. Ho hum.

I have no doubt in my mind that I'll be sitting here in more than an hours time and have written fuck all worth reading. But hey, that's life sometimes. Sometimes you eat the bear sometimes the bear eats you, as they like to say in the backwoods of Kentucky, Arkansas and Connecticut.

At some point or another all writers, I'm informed, hit upon some kind of blockage in their creativity. I think I'm about to have a blockage. I'll sit here and try to squeeze out something though. As the saying goes; Either shit or get off the pot...

As I sit watching the sun rising I find myself wondering how the people I met in South Africa are.

If I were to try to put a name to it I'd have to call it People-I-met-while-on-holiday syndrome. They're the people whom I met who are friends or acquaintances of people I know, people I met, or people I sparked up a conversation with while off on my African journey. When I bade farewell I knew that in time they will become just a face or a name, then just a memory. With enough time they fade into obscurity.

We all know these people. They're the people in our lives that we meet for a small time. Merely a blink of the eye in the span of a lifetime. The background extras in the movie of our lives whom we decide to give some lines to in the cosmic script.

On rare occasions the memory of one of these random people stays with us longer than we ever thought would be possible. And we are changed. Maybe for a second, maybe for a lifetime. The memory of that person throws itself into our conscious thoughts with no warning and we feel a sense of longing for something lost that was truly never had.

The loss you feel is one of not knowing if that person is still upon this physical plane or gone onto the next. Not knowing if a person is safe, secure and smiling or scattered and sad can break a heart in normal situations but when it is attached to the memory of someone rather than present knowledge you're surfing on a different swell. The waves that once swept calmly towards the shore now roll and crash with venom in their wake.

This feeling is merely an illusion. A trick of The Light. A mirage. A phantasm. All feelings are merely a figment of the imagination. They have no physical properties. Take a deep breath and wish for wonderful things to happen to these people and they will receive the appropriate karma the Grand Whazoo decides upon to reward your selfless thoughts and dreams.

If the person you wished nice things for is not on the same physical plane as you are then don't worry. The Grand Whazoo knows Time better than we mere mortals. A wish in the future is as good as a wish in the past or a wish in the present to the Grand Whazoo.

The Grand Whazoo sees all time as one moment. From the beginning to the end, Alpha to Omega, Big bang to Big squeeze, A to Z and all points between.

It sees, It knows. It dreams and it wishes. As we do. Sometimes for those whom It granted a long lasting physical lifetime. And sometimes It wishes for those whom It granted mere seconds. All these things are the same to the Grand Whazoo. A second is a lifetime. A lifetime is an eternity.

Tempus fugit? Not when you're the Grand Whazoo...


Laguna Seca Moto GP.

The Red Bull USA GP took place at Laguna Seca today.

U.S rider Nicky Hayden placed first with his fellow countryman Colin Edwards taking a well fought second place after a long and hard battle with Valentino Rossi who took the final podium position.

Hayden, who until today's race has never stood on the top step of the Moto GP podium, spoke of how it felt to win his first race in front of his home crowd...
"I can honestly say that this is a dream come true for me. You spend your whole life rehearsing the speech for a day like this but now it has happened I can't find the words to describe how I feel. It hasn't been easy for me in Moto GP over the past two seasons but every dog has its day and this was mine. Hopefully it can be the start of bigger things from now on."
Colin Edwards commented...
"I made another bad start and ended up with two riders making a sandwich of me into turn one. They had my handlebars on each side and just carried me into the corner so I thought it was going to end in a big mess. Once I got clear of the group I got my head down and pushed as hard as I could to pass Valentino. At that point I still had something left to try and catch Nicky but every time I closed the gap he responded, so hats off to him. When the tyres went off I was just hanging on to finish the race. I knew I had an advantage of around two seconds over Valentino but on the last lap I looked at my board and it said 0.6. I guessed it must be a mistake but I then looked over my shoulder in turn two and he was right there! I thought "oh no, not on the last lap!" I gave everything I had left to hold him off and came close to crashing a few times so second place is really pleasing."
Valentino Rossi remarked...
"I lost some time during practice trying to learn the circuit so the bike was not at 100% today, and also our tyre choice was not perfect. Anyway, Nicky rode very hard and it was impossible to catch him today. I knew Colin was coming but I didn't realize how close he was and he caught me by surprise in the Corkscrew. I lost some time there but at the end he lost some of his rhythm and I tried to catch him. He turned around to look at me and I said: "Hello, I am here!" I thought maybe to attack on the last lap but then I had a vision of both Yamahas in the dirt so decided third place was okay, especially for the championship! Anyway, I am very happy because I expected this to be the hardest race of the season but I am the fastest European rider here and I fought with the Americans. I have learnt a lot to try and beat them next year!"
The next GP takes place on the 24th of July at Donnington racetrack in the UK.

Moto GP. Laguna Seca.

The Moto GP race takes place at Laguna Seca in the USA later today. For the first time in 10 years the sound of a GP bike coming over the brow of turn one at Laguna Seca will be heard by thousands of race fans.

To view live timing for the race click here.

I've no idea....

What live journal is but I am now a member.

My brother has apparently paid £5 to make me a member. He must have been decorating the house at his wifes insistance, got high on the fumes and snapped or something.

I have no idea what use it is to me. Maybe one day soon this will become clear. If it does, I'll let you know.

How hot...

Is too hot?

I'd say that too hot was around the 100degree mark. And I'm pretty sure you'd agree with me on that one. After all you are a sane rational type. Otherwise you wouldn't be reading this blog.

While at work tonight the temperature behind the bar hit 95degrees. I've had a river of sweat running down my back for the last eight hours that would put the Rio Grande to shame.

But now, I'm home with a cold beer in my hand, I've whipped off all my clothing and I'm sat here butt nekkid. And damn does it feel good. It may not look too good but as there is no one else here that runs the risk of convulsively vomiting I'm sure I'm safe.

Stuck for something to do...

Next Saturday?

If so please feel free to wander along to the Cabaret Voltaire on Blair Street here in Edinburgh and check out Last Great Wilderness.



What with all the G8 guff winding up I'm in need of a project to fill my time and to give me something to write about. Perhaps I should look into the local community centre and see if there is anything that would grab my interest and give it a firm shake.

Maybe a foreign language course is the thing for me. I've always had a hankering for learning a new language. How difficult can it be? I managed to learn English.

Or perhaps I could do a computing course that I can use to get another job. That could be cool, I've never worked in an office before. I wonder how long I'd last before I got sacked? Probably not very long. I have the wrong work ethic according to most people who have employed me.

How about a writing course of some form? Creative writing is one of my stronger points so why not do something that'll improve on a talent I have a desire to use? It's not a bad idea. It'd certainly allow me to be able to write coherently.

Alternatively I could learn a martial art. That would, without a doubt, be a laugh a minute. I'd be too tempted to go to the class wearing a jumpsuit, eating burgers and doing impressions of Elvis in his latter days. "Hooaaa, Ah'm the king of rock 'n roll." Etc etc etc.

If there are any of you out there who have a suggestion for something for me to do please let me know by doing the point and click thing and leaving me a comment.

All new.

My blog now has something called a tag cloud.

I haven't quite figured it out yet but this will no doubt change with time.


My deepest sympathy.

To all of those people who lost loved ones in the London bombing yesterday.

I do not know you, or know your pain, but my heart aches for you.

Maybe I'm just a cynical swine...

But was I the only person who wondered to themselves if the bombings in London were a government sanctioned distraction to keep the populace from concentrating on the G8 summit?

I don't think I was.

Deepest apologies...

To my faithful readers for failing to post very much over the last two days.

This situation will be rectified tonight when I shall attempt to stay sober and awake enough to string some coherent sentences together.

Until then...

Have a nice day.

I'd give my right arm...

For this headache to go away.

I say headache, what I actually mean is hangover.

I didn't manage to get around to Murrayfield on Wednesday to watch the Final Push in the Make Poverty History campaign, but I did spend the evening at a barbecue at a friends house just around the corner from Murrayfield.

The evening was spent chatting and drinking with my friend Carol-Anne and a few of her workmates. All very nice people, I must add. Especially the one named Jennifer but that's another story...

Mampoer is a South African hooch that makes parts of you feel great and other parts of you feel awful. I whacked back at least half a bottle of it last night and by Christ does it get you blasted. It also has some kind of property that cannot be explained by science. Unlike most spirits above 30% it doesn't get you drunk in the traditional sense of the word, it gets you drunk in a whole new way.

You will no doubt be familiar with the feeling of "If I have another drink I'll pass out and be comatose for an hour or two." That was the stage at which I was when I was asked if I was going to have a mampoer.

Generally this is not the correct time of the night that you should start drinking crazy foreign liquor, but when you're at a party some deeply rooted part of your brain becomes the designated thinker and you find yourself saying things like, I can handle tequila, Ouzo isn't that bad, I'd love an absinthe and other similarly senseless things.

This is what happened to me. The designated thinker used my vocal cords and said in a proud and happy voice "Bring it on." A shooter glass was produced and a shot of Mampoer was stuck in front of my face.

I watched as my hand reached for the glass and tipped the liquid into my mouth. Part of my brain must have still been operating on a normal level as I remember thinking that what I was about to do was possibly not the cleverest idea I've ever had. The designated thinker told the voice of reason to get the fuck out of the way or face the consequences and I tossed back my head and swallowed.

And now, more than 24 hours later I have the hangover to end all hangovers. Memories of the night are hazy and I'm sure I'll be hearing tales of woe regarding my behavior for the next few weeks.



Later Today...

It's the Final Push in the make poverty history campaign with a concert at Murrayfield.

If I am able to pop around to witness the throngs of people at Murrayfield I'll do so and will report on it when I return.

Here's hoping that all goes smoothly, for not only the people attending but for the artists taking part and the police who will be attempting to control the crowds, and takes place with the least amount of trouble.

People have voiced concerns that the anarchy groups in Edinburgh at the moment may attempt to hijack the event and cause trouble. We can only hope they don't. Time will tell.


Sports report.

Yesterday was a special day in the annals of golf.

The first ever ONC challenge took place at Carrick Knowe golf course here in Edinburgh. After two hours of spectacular golf Steff Croy took first place narrowly defeating Oswald Western.

Here are some pictures of the game in progress.


Before the game.

Oswaldo tees off.

Steff tees off.
At the first.

Putting for par.
Oswaldo putts for par while Steff lines up his shot.

Bertha comes out to play.
Oswaldo grips it and rips it as Big Bertha comes out to play.

Pitching onto the last.
Oswald pitches onto the final hole.

The handshake.
The players shaking hands after a well played game of golf.

After the match Oswaldo spoke with the press and said, "Steff played really well and deserved to win. It's great to see talent like his and playing against him was a pleasure."
When asked if he planned on challenging for the title again next year Oswaldo replied, "I think I'll need to put in a little work with Bertha, just to tame the bitch." when our reporter on the scene asked which he would rather have, a tame mare or a wild stallion Oswaldo laughed and replied, "When you hear it that way..."

Steff Croy spoke very highly of his opponent and graciously accepted the winners prize of a can of Tennants lager. "I'd like to thank not only Oswaldo, for a great game, but also Edinburgh Council for the wonderful job done on the course, removing the dog shit must have been a challenge in itself."

Rumors circulated by the press that the players were spotted leaving the Cavendish Club wrapped around two busty starlets were this morning rebutted by both parties. A police investigation is still undergoing into the Columbian drug-money-laundering scheme Oswaldo denied being a part of last month.

Steff Croy is now being detained at Guantanamo bay after allegedly using the words "Fuck George Bush, I want to kill that swine." in a phone call between his manager and him. Mr Croy states that the remark was innocuous enough and was said in anger at not being able to play at Gleneagles tomorrow.

Pictures courtesy of the ONC Challenge federation.

Anarchy in the UK.

Report on the Carnival for full enjoyment. Edinburgh. 04/07/2005.

carnival for full enjoyment.

"TV rots your mind."

My mum used to say that to me when I was a kid. Now I'm older I realize that she was right. TV does indeed rot your mind. It also has issues with telling the truth.

If you were to watch the news last night you'd probably get the impression that Edinburgh city centre yesterday was a war zone where riot cops battled with black clad anarchists bent on destruction and mayhem. Allow me to set the record straight. It wasn't.

I left my house at 10:30am so that I could witness the build up of police and people that I knew was going to occur. I walked towards the west end and saw crowds of people waiting patiently for the chaos that they had been duped into thinking was going to take place. At least three hundred people were standing, or milling, around.

I asked a passing policeman, of which there were several, if he knew where it was the anarchists planned to meet. He replied that he didn't know and could I please move on. Why? I asked. He told me that I was being a nuisance and that he has the power to arrest me for being there. I smiled at him, said "Have a nice day." and walked away.

I walked over to the foot of Lothian Road, to make my way towards what is laughingly referred to as the "Financial District" but is actually two buildings, but was halted in my path by a steel fence. I wandered over to the fence and asked another policeman if I could get past so I could go towards Tollcross. He said that this part of the road was closed for security reasons and that if I wanted to go towards Tollcross I'd have to find another way to get there.

I turned around, walked along a side street, up a lane and wandered into Lothian Road. I felt like walking back down to the fence and asking the same policeman if he could let me pass so I could get back to Shandwick Place but thought better of it.

As I turned the corner the Standard Life building came into my view and I saw at least 100 police standing outside the main entrance. Press photographers and TV camera crews shoved and bustled to get the best pictures of the police as they stood guard on the building. It all seemed a bit farcical to me. The press and the police were the only people there. Sure, there were people standing about, waiting for whatever was to kick off to actually kick off, taking pictures on their camera phones and generally standing about, but there were no troublemakers. Or indeed anyone who looked like they were going to attempt to storm the building and bring down capitalism.

I sat on a marble plinth outside a building and made some notes while smoking a cigarette. One policeman looked at me with suspicion in his eyes but I ignored him and carried on writing. A few minutes later I looked up to see that the same cop was still keeping an eye on me so I decided that I'd wander around the west end of town. I reached into my bag, pulled out a beer, popped it open, took a nice long drink and began walking.

As I walked past the policeman who had been looking at me as though I was the guy who shot Bambis' mother I raised the bottle to my forehead and saluted him. "Keep it up man, you're doing a great job of guarding that traffic island. Your mother must be so proud." I said, and wandered off smiling.

As I walked back down Lothian Road sirens blared and I turned around to see a convoy of five police vans streaming past. I whipped out my camera and quickly got off a shot just as the final three approached me.

Trouble brewing?

They looked like they were in a serious rush to get somewhere so I swallowed the rest of my beer, dropped the bottle into a bin and headed in the same direction.

As I walked onto the junction of Princes Street and Lothian Road I saw small groups of protesters and other pedestrians being watched closely by throngs of policemen.


I popped open another beer and waited for a while, taking notes and getting some pictures of the police racking up overtime. As the clock struck midday the hubbub of the crowd dropped and silence descended. I laughed out loud and a woman who was standing next to me asked why I was laughing. I told her I was laughing at the fact that the crowd had felt that the clock striking midday was the signal for windows to be smashed, bars and baseball bats to be produced and Pret a Manger and the police set upon by foaming mouthed anarchists. She noticed the strange silence and laughed.

I stood and chatted with the woman for a few minutes to get her general opinions on the goings on around us then said goodbye and began walking towards the east end of Princes Street. The crowds were getting heavier now and the street was filling up. Before the clock had struck midday the majority of people had been standing on the pavements but now the street was the preferred byway.

Full Enjoyment Protest.

I approached the bottom of Castle street and saw four or five police vans parked across the road. Crowds of people were being held back by a line of police who had linked up to form a human barrier. I pushed my way to the front, and came face to face with a very large policeman.

People all around were being told to get back by the police. I asked if I could get past and was told that I couldn't walk past the cordon. "Why not?" I asked. No reply. "I'd like to walk along Princes Street." I said. No reply. "All I want to do is walk along the street, why won't you let me past?" I enquired. No reply. For the next few minutes I kept asking to be allowed to walk along a public road and was faced with nothing but a wall of silence. So much for the police being communicative.

Castle Street.

A cop inside the cordon shouted out an order and suddenly the policeman whom I had been chatting to sprung to life and bellowed "MOVE BACK" into my face. All around me the police were telling people to walk the other way. A small group of people who had been playing music were caught inside the cordon and when the police leapt into action speakers began blasting out the theme from Benny Hill. I laughed as I stood face to face with the policeman and then realized what the carnival was all about.

I stood my ground and began asking to be let through. I was met with the answer "Can I ask you turn around and walk the other way sir?" An Italian guy next to me was shoved by a policeman and told to move back. He told the policeman that he wanted to go along to see the Scott monument but met with the same fate as I had. Turn around and walk away.

Try as I could I couldn't keep a straight face. I laughed into the face of the policeman and told him that he should be arrested for blocking the queens highway and preventing, not only myself, but an Italian Emissary from making our way to visit the monument to one of Scotlands' greatest writers. The Italian guy laughed and said to the policeman in front of us that he was most displeased and could he possibly get a note of the policeman's number so he could make a formal complaint.

Carnival cordon.

The policeman took this not so well and began shoving us both backwards. All around the police were beginning to push up in ranks and force the crowd backwards. Resistance was met in the form of questions. People asked police for a reason to walk the other way but none was forthcoming, just move on. I gave up attempting to goad the cop and turned around and walked back towards the west end.

I got no more than thirty feet from where I had been when I came face to face with another police cordon. This cordon was preventing me from walking the way I had just been instructed by the other policeman to walk. I laughed and asked to be let through. I was told to move back. I told the cop that I had been told by one of his colleagues to move away from where he was and that I'd like to go to the west end. Move back.

I considered telling him to get fucked but didn't as he'd no doubt have had me arrested. That's how they think. If they think at all.

I turned around, walked onto the pavement, around a bus shelter and walked straight into another cop. To my amazement he apologized for bumping into me, asked me if I was ok and let me past.

Castle Street.

Leaning against the railings for Princes Street gardens I pulled another beer out my bag and popped it open. I took some notes and a couple of pictures and wandered back in the direction of the west end. People were still making the move to go along Princes Street but I knew they were pissing into the wind on that front.

As I reached South Charlotte Street I saw a large crowd of people being held at bay by mounted policemen at the entrance to George Street. I walked into the crowd and reveled in the carnival atmosphere as I watched a game of Frisbee between a group of clowns.

Edinburgh carnival for full enjoyment.

For the next hour I wandered in and around the police cordons using the back lanes to get in and out of the area watching the street party that was going on around me. I sank another two beers and then decided to make my way towards home.

At no point did I see anything that would be considered to be a criminal act. Sure, people were lighting spliffs, drinking bottles of wine or slurping from cans of beer but there was no trouble.

I caught a bus and went around to my mate Steffs' house and watched a couple of hours of whatever coverage I could find on the news channels and was shocked to see that the impression that the news was giving was way off the mark. Reporters spoke of the west end being the scene of running battles between police and anarchists and I wondered of the news will ever tell the truth.

Perhaps, one day. But don't hold your breath.


Aint it great?

It's the G8.

I've just arrived back from the protest that was being held in Edinburgh city centre today. I have a pounding headache and sore feet as, I'm sure, the rest of the people that were there do. Some headaches will no doubt be suffering from mild sunstroke like mine is, and some will have a sore head from being whacked by overexcited policemen.

My full report on the march will be written tomorrow when I drag my arse out of my bed. Right now though, I'm off to bed to get some rest.

Keep smiling.


I find myself wondering...

What is going to go down in the city centre tomorrow.

I've been speaking with a lot of the local residents of Edinburgh in the last couple of days to find out what their opinions on the G8 summit related happenings that have been taking place.

Generally the opinion is that the cause to Make Poverty History is a good thing, as is Wednesdays concert at Murrayfield, but the anarchist action that may happen tomorrow is a very bad idea and may well turn the city of Edinburgh into a war zone. That seems to me to be the general opinion as far as I see it anyway. The reality may be different, but only time will tell.

I have decided that I should be adequately prepared for whatever may happen, be it a peaceful demonstration or a full on burn-baby-burn riot, so before I leave tomorrow I'll throw some essentials into a bag. I'll be taking my camera, notebook, some bottled water, an old towel and my kevlar helmet.

I may also take along a few beers to suck down.


Is the day when, potentially, the shit may hit the fan here in Edinburgh because of the G8 summit.

And I'm looking forward to it. Whether this is sensible or not remains to be seen.

Anti-capitalists will be protesting around the city centre. Anarchist groups such as The Wombles, Dissent and others will swoop into the west end and stage random protests. Targets are alleged to be large multinational corporations, banks, financial institutors and there have been, according to news sources, calls to blockade roads leading out of Edinburgh to prevent the G8 leaders staff from getting to Gleneagles.

Edinburgh council have said on their website...
The Council is aware that a collective group of protestors are planning an event, The Carnival for Full Enjoyment, in central Edinburgh at lunchtime on Monday 4 July. However we have not been contacted formally by the group, so we do not have any official details on what is planned for the day. We believe in the right of free speech and support groupsÂ’ rights to demonstrate peacefully. We do not condone any action that involves a breach of the law or the invasion/occupation of private property. We hope that what ever is planned for the day passes safety and peacefully.
Police presence is high in Edinburgh. An estimate of 10,000 wouldn't be far of the mark.

I'll be there to live it all for you. Ain't I brave? Or just mad...

Failing arrest I'll be posting pictures and words from the protest tomorrow.


History in the making. Make Poverty History March. Edinburgh July 2nd 2005.

Today the world watched Live8. But not me. And why? You may ask. Because I was part of it.

I woke up this morning feeling slightly groggy from the previous night of drunken debauchery, showered, dressed, threw my work clothes into my bag and headed into Edinburghs' centre. The streets were strangely silent and devoid of people. A couple of shops remained open to passing trade but most were closed for the day. Some even had the windows boarded up.

I walked into the west end of Princes St and was staggered to see row upon row of police vans packed to the rafters with bored and boiling policemen. The sun whacked into the windows of the vans and I felt almost sorry for the poor swine as they sat being slowly roasted alive.



As I approached the Meadows, a large public park here in Edinburgh, the crowds of people drifting into the area of the Make Poverty History march got denser with every step.

Walking into the Meadows I saw wave upon wave of people with banners, flags and signs calling upon the leaders of the G8 to end poverty, make trade fair and cancel the debt to the third world. I stopped for a second to take in the sight of so many people who were willing to take the time to walk around the city centre. Emotion welled up within me as I realized that these people all felt so strongly about helping the needy of our world that they spared the time to put their name, face and body towards the cause.


I wandered into the throng of people and saw people of all ages and all colors united. There were no sad faces, only strangely contended ones. As though they knew something that the people who were not present didn't. That they could make a difference. That they would make a difference. And by being a solitary voice within this massive show of solidarity they did make that difference.

As the time approached 3pm the crowd were told that the minute silence was about to happen and to watch the big screens for a countdown. As the timer began a 3 minute countdown the crowd fell silent. With three minutes to wait until the start of the silence for some reason the crowd suddenly stopped talking. Only the occasional hushed voice could be heard.


As the bells of the churches around Edinburgh chimed the hour of 3 the crowd fell entirely silent. No words were heard and no whistles were blown. The only sound audible was the whapp-whapp-whapp of the three police helicopters hovering above.

The minutes silence ended and the crowd erupted in noise. Whistles, airhorns, rattles, drums, cymbals, cowhorns, bells and bagpipes competed with the whoops and yells of the crowd. I yelled with them. I stood with them. Of that I'm proud.

I wandered around taking in the sights and sounds of this unique moment in world history.

I walked towards Princes St and watched as thousands of people filtered through the safety barriers that had been erected to control the flow of people around the city centre.


As 4pm approached I left the march to go to my work. Where I spent the night watching the London concert live from Hyde Park.


Work, work, work...

All I do is work.

Yeah sure, my job is a piece of piss. Tonight I spent most of the time chatting to club members and watching the TV. Not idly watching TV either. I was watching to see if there was anything worth writing about on here tonight. But thanks to Sky News being obsessed with non runners in the news handicap stakes there was fuck all worth spending time writing about.

So now I have nothing much to write about. Therefore I'm off to bed and I'll whip something off for you to all clamor over later.

Goodnight & Via con dios.

Happy birthday to my blog.

It's exactly one year to the day since I started blogging.

To celebrate this accomplishment I shall be spending tomorrow night drinking heavily.

Wish me luck.