Holy Smoke.

That title should have the word "Batman" at the end of it.

It's impossible to say "Holy Smoke" without a little voice in your head saying the word batman at the end. Try it. Say "Holy Smoke" and you'll see...

See, I told you.

But, I'm wandering here. I didn't come here to tell you about the oddity of the batman effect, I came here to let you know what the hell has been happening to me the last few days.

I've been depressed. OK? Is that fine with you? If not, then tough shit bubba. 'Cos that's the way it was. And may still be, I'm not sure.

I'm not quite sure...

If my last post made much sense at all.

But the gag at the end more than made up for any shortcomings.

"Yesterday"

Spending a whole day in bed may seem like pure laziness. But I had a good reason. Honestly I did... I couldn't be arsed facing the world.

And it's all the fault of the TV. It depresses the hell out of me.

Whether it's the doom and gloom of the latest news or the sports results for the vacuous of mind, I sit there and question what the fuck is going on. Adverts for shit that no-one needs are beamed into our rooms and we stupidly think that our lives would somehow be complete if we had the latest labor saving gadget.

There are adverts for Tampons for fucks sake!

All over the world, women know that once a month things in the downstairs dept get a bit bleedy and something is needed to prevent the soiling of the knickers. They're clever like that. So why is it that there is a constant need to advertise Tampax? There isn't. So stop it. Please. Before I go totally insane.

And it's not only that...

There is now a 24 hour weather channel. What possible need is there for this? If you'd like to know what the weather is like, look out the window.

"Ahh, but what if I want to know what the weather is going to be like next week..." Says the little smart arse voice in your head. Wait until next week and look out the window. The weather system on this planet is in a constant state of flux, and can't be predicted accurately outside the timespan of three minutes, so what makes you think that some overpaid monkey in a suit can tell you if it's going to rain next week?

If TV stations were to apply "weather forecast reasoning" to the news stories of the day we'd all be shitting our trousers as newscasters spent the evening pointing at maps of Iraq and saying...

"The forecast for next week in Iraq is likely to be occasional small arms fire with sunni periods."

Ain't it awful?

That I only got out of bed five minutes ago?

I had intended on spending the morning tidying up my apartment, but due to my late night baseball watching session getting out of hand, I missed the morning all together. Selah, so it goes.

The afternoon is a goner also. Selah.

The evening, well, I dunno. I have a hankering to hit the town to see the last of the Festival packing up and fucking off home but the temptation to stay in bed and do nothing has a slightly stronger pull to it. And who am I to fight the whim of the Grand Whazoo?

Playing on media player... Louis Armstrong. Stardust.

I've not heard a lot of Louis Armstrongs music. In fact, apart from this song playing now I've heard none of his music.

As the music began... I found myself remembering old black and white footage of movies I couldn't name with actors I never knew, I saw tramcars and old ford trucks bustling about on busy city streets while urchins and traders flit and float between gaps in traffic.

The music fades and the next track begins. Ejeculoutro by Paul Van dyk... I float into an electric world where my mind speeds from chemical switch to chemical switch, making connections and conjecture in the constantly moving chaotic chasm that human life is.

Damn. This weed is good... Ho ho.

"Ring domma do domma da...

Wait for your daddy-o, Wait for your daddy-o. There's whiskey in the jar boy..."

Well, there's Vodka in the bottle. And that's close enough for me. There's also a bag of the best quality weed sitting beside it. And that's a nice thought also.

Today I've done fuck all worth writing about. Nada. Nothing. Fuck all. Zero. Zip... I woke up at about 12:30 pm and watched the Moto GP race live from Brno. Then I had another hour of sleep. I'm a lazy fucker huh?

Then it was shit, shower and shave and off to work. Which was, as usual, more boring than watching a freshly laid dog-shit dry in the sun. At one point I actually prayed for an aneurysm to strike me down, just to get me out of there. But, apparently the Grand Whazoo has other plans for me and decided to let me live another day.

And so...

Another August draws to a close. The Festival is almost over and the traders and performers are packing up and leaving Edinburgh for wherever it was that they came from.

And good riddance to 'em.

No more will the people of Edinburgh be forced to stand in queues behind luvvied-up actors who think that we should all bow and scrape at their feet just because they've spent the last three weeks being pampered by TV executives who think that they are the funniest person to have graced a stage since the dawn of time.

And thank fuck for that. Even I, an easy going type of person, was close to losing it on occasion. But, I fought the urge and didn't once yell "Will you please just order what you want and get the fuck out the queue before I rip out your heart and eat it!"

Though the temptation to do so was never far away...

Minor adjustment.

I'm putting word verification onto the comments so that ad-bots can't post comments.

Eye-aye.

I have a sty in my eyelid.

Not exactly something you'd care to know but currently it's about the only thing I can think to write about.

Rum tee tum.

I haven't posted anything of great length, or of great quality, in a couple of weeks on here and would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you all.

I'm sorry. Really I am. No, really, I am. Honest injun boss. It wasn't my fault, there was an emergency, my dog ate it, it was set on fire by Columbian revolutionaries who stormed my apartment and created all merry hell... It's been calamity, chaos and complete mayhem since then.

I wonder...

I've just been having a look at my archive for march 2005.

Doing so has got me wondering. Was Katie Bairdie real? I still haven't found out.

In order to attempt to tidy this loose string I'm going to ask Katie, if she still reads this blog, to get back in touch with me. Just for old times sake.

So Katie, dare you drop me a line?

Working on.

My festival report. Who knows if it'll be worth reading. Not me.

Art.

While wandering through the temporary market in Hunter Square, just off the High Street, yesterday I came across a stall run by a local photographic artist called Liz Tainsh.

Liz recently featured in the Edinburgh Evening News when the news ran a story on her selling photographs of the G8 Carnival for full enjoyment.

Please feel free to check out her web site by clicking here.

And they're off...

Into town for the day.

I'm taking my camera and notebook should anything exiting happen.

On the cards.

Is a new style layout for this blog. If I can learn CSS.

I'd like to keep it basically the same as this one, but with a sidebar on both sides of the posts so I can whap some of the content from the right hand side to the left hand side of the page.

Anyone who knows how I can do this without having to learn CSS can feel free to drop me an E-mail or leave me a comment.

It must be horrible,

To have a family member die because of a fire on a train in the channel tunnel.

What I find difficult to understand is why Google News has placed this story in the entertainment section of their UK News.

[ I would have linked to the page itself here but I don't quite know if you can get google news as a cached page.]

I have a question...

Will US televangelist Pat Robertson be prevented from ever entering the UK, under the new anti terror laws, after he called for the assassination of the President of Venezuela?

I doubt it.

Interesting TV.

I was stunned last night as I sat watching a documentry which covered the World Taxidermy Championships being held in Springfield, Illinois.

Too many jokes involving the words "Stuffing a beaver" were made for me to list them all. I'm sure with a little thought you can conjure up a few for yourself.

How do you do...

Drew Cefalu, who hails from Florida in the United States.

I don't know who Drew Cefalu is, but he is obviously a discerning man who has good taste in shirts. I know this because Drew is the first person to purchase one of my T-Shirts from my shop on Cafe Press. As Drew is my first customer I have decided to buy him a drink should I ever be in the Florida area.

Drew can also claim his free drink if he is ever around and about in Scotland.

Blog news.

I just stumbled across an interesting site and thought I'd share it with all you lovely people.

It's a blog by phone site and can be found here.

"Ifbyphone is a unique voice based information and entertainment service available from any telephone. Use your cell phone, home phone or business phone to access the latest news, listen to your Email, search thousands of RSS feeds, access hundreds of blogs, manage your portfolio, listen to a weather report, play fun games and enjoy Interactive Fiction."

Whether or not it's any good remains to be seen.

Should anyone already using this service feel like leaving a comment on this then feel free.

Cool tool.

I'm not much of a tech-head. Never have been, never will be. Fortunately there are people who are. The lovely people at Lazy Web Tools for example.

I like their automatic page refresher so much so if I was rich I'd no doubt do a Victor Kiam and buy the company.

Going out with a bang.

Light the blue touchpaper and retire, scream into this empty night and whizz across the skies in one last gonzo act.

With a loud bang and a bright flash Hunter S Thompsons ashes are set to be fired into the night sky any time now.

How many have you broken?

Deadly sins.

For those of you that don't know what they are here's a list.

1. Pride. Excessive belief in one's own abilities, that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.
2. Envy. The desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.
3. Gluttony. The desire to consume more than that which one requires.
4. Lust. The craving for the pleasures of the body.
5. Anger. Also known as Wrath.
6. Greed. The desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. Also called Avarice or Covetousness.
7. Sloth. The avoidance of physical or spiritual work.

I'm pretty sure I've broken them all at some point or another.

Minor adjustments.

Have been made with my Tagbox. It has been changed to a Shoutbox that has auto refresh.

The more observant of you will have noticed this.

9 out of 15 twats said their kids preffered it.

I have just been informed by a friend that 9 out of the 15 big brother contestants have secured record deals.

Say goodbye. I'm off to kill myself...

Scotsmen have the brains.

It's official folks, Scottish people have brains. We grow them in jars. Kinda.

In a Laboratory not far from where I am sitting boffins at the Edinburgh University have grown a human brain cell.

This technology can revolutionize modern life. We can send a brain cell over to the US and double the presidents IQ...

Ever wanted to walk all over Nicole Kidman?

Or how about jumping up and down on Ricky Gervais? I'm all for that.

In a desperate attempt to make London more glamorous there is to be a Hollywood style walk of fame built in Covent Garden. Wonderful. I mean that's what London needs isn't it?

Such "celebrities" as Ant and Dec and Dame Edna Everage are to be honored. It's enough to make me wanna fuckin' puke. All over Covent Garden...

Hmmm, Interesting.

This article about putting live broadcast video & audio feeds onto a web page.

Whether or not I can get this to work or not is still to be found out.

Perhaps it's about time that I got out of the dark ages of dial-up and got broadband. Donations towards the cost of this will be welcomed...

All new and improved...

I now have a tag box.

Aint that just the best news ever? It puts the moon landings to shame if you ask me, but I'm biased. And why shouldn't I be biased? Aren't we all biased in some way or another?

Anyway, this little addition to my site will give you all the chance to chat to one another. Or even to me if you're really lucky...

Blast from the past.

I have just recieved an E-mail from someone from my past.

The strange thing is that earlier today I had a brief memory of this person.

DVD days.

Over the next few days I'll be watching a few DVD's that I treated myself to.

• Richard Pryor. Live & Smokin.
• Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. Derek and Clive Get the Horn.
• Jackass the Movie.
• American History X.
• Malcolm X.

Should I feel that any of these movies deserve a review on here I'll whip one off and post it.

Happy Birthday to me.

It's now my birthday.

Whoo hoo.

How do you write "Whoo hoo" sarcastically? Fucked if I know.

The unknown Irish love.

Her name was Claire.

With a kiss that has lasted a lifetime she broke my heart.
That little Irish beauty who made my heart and soul one.
She held my heart in her hand and didn't know how much she effected me.
She broke me...

But I still think of her on occasion. A brief glimpse of long black hair while walking in the streets and I am cast back into the mists of my memory. Back in time I slip...

"Jump around" by House of Pain finishes playing loudly at the nightclub and I stager drunkenly over to the riser which sits by the stage in the corner. She sits there with a drink in her hand and smiles at me. The greenest eyes I have ever seen penetrate to my soul. The light splits into rainbows on her sleek black hair and time stops. I see no club, no lights. I hear no sound, no music. My addled mind clears and for the first time in my life I feel euphoric. I know. I see. I love her. I sit next to her and she speaks.
"There you are." she says, her voice like milk running down silk.
"Did you miss me?" I ask.
No other word is spoken. Our eyes meet and lock together. We are drawn towards each other. Inexorably, like mercury at room temperature, our lips move together and we kiss.

... Later. We part. Never to see one another again. I plead for her to stay but, no.

And with that kiss I am left.
Hollow of heart and bereft.

Writers block.

Screw the writers block I'm going through at the moment.

I need to, wind in my neck and get the fuck on with it; Stop wallowing in the misery of my approaching birthday and get it together; Focus intently on my goal and grasp the horns of the goat of destiny.

The Grand Whazoo doesn't like inactivity. Inactivity gives rise to idle hands and idle hands leads to the downfall of many a great man, masturbation. And I've been doing far too much of that in the last week. So much so that I have blisters on my hands and a crick in my neck that's on a par with the best case of whiplash ever seen by man. Ho ho.

Today is the last day of my 34th year upon this great earth. If I live to be 70 then half of my life is gone, never to be returned. That's if I live that long... When I think about the drink and drugs I have piled into my system over the last 18 years or so I come to the conclusion that I'm lucky to be alive.

There has been alcohol, speed, magic mushrooms, cocaine, uppers, downers, sidewayers, anti-depressants and acid-a-plenty ingested, inserted, inhaled and imbided into my body in amounts that would make Keith Richards steady himself on the furniture.

But that is not what is important. What's important is that I have learned lessons. Like which drugs make me high and happy and which get me low and funky... Other lessons have been learned also.

What else I learned I can't recall.

In a bit of a funk.

I've been in a wierd mood the last week or so.

This is possibly based on the fact that in four days time I'll be 35 years old.

Day of rest.

This is the first time in a few days that I have posted anything on here. The more observant of you will no doubt have noticed this...

I've spent the last few days taking in the atmosphere of the Edinburgh International Festival.

With my notebook and camera in hand I've trawled the high street watching the street performers ply their trade. And it's been fun.

Pics and words will be posted at the end of the festival when I've sat down and written the piece I promised you all.

Just a little one.

It's been pretty dull this week on the life path of me.

I'm off into town tomorrow to take in some of the festival so this will keep me amused and give me something to write about. And I'm glad of that. A man needs amusement and mental stimulation to keep from going mad. Or at least I do.

I have the urge to go gonzo tomorrow. I'm all for donning a Hawaiian shirt, a desert hat and spending the day skulking around with a pint of rum in my hand harassing the tourists and performers who will no doubt be involved in their own highjinx.

Pictures and words will be put on here for your amusement. As usual.

I'd love to say,,,

That the last week has been the most prolific of my life so far. But I can't. It hasn't.

I have spent this week mostly watching The Planet of the Apes 6 disk box set.

I've also been thinking about how to re-write my Edinburgh Festival piece that was created in answer to the challenge my brother set me. I'm off up to the High Street on Monday and will use this time to put together a more constructive piece.

The comedy skit I had in mind has mutated into more of a TV comedy piece than a stand up bit and has been put to one side for the moment.

Joyous news.

I am now the Head of Semi-intelligence in Danny Wallaces' new country.

To see what the fuck I'm waffling on about just click here.

The Degree Sham & its effects....

I'm no con-man, at least not on the same scale as Frank Abagnale, who would be Number 1 in a who's who of world famous con-men, but I do have an inordinary gift for lying convincingly.

I first noticed that I had this ability when I was a young boy...

I'd been caught illegally playing on the Baberton Golf Club course with a friend of mine and had to bluff my way out of being taken to the clubhouse.

Dougie B* and I were playing the bottom end of the 4th hole which, thanks to a blind drive, was unsighted from the tee. Whenever a golf ball landed on the bottom end of the fairway we'd pick up our ball and mark where our lie was with twigs and head into the woods that grew along the side of the fairway to wait for the golfer to putt out and take his drive back over the hill on the 5th fairway.

On the day we were caught we were playing a round of pitch and putt with a 7 iron, a sand wedge for bunker shots, a putter and a porn mag. Which Dougie claimed that he had found in his mothers bedroom.

At the time I considered this strange. There were no men in it at all, only women who had a tendency to munch muff and titillate tits. I remember thinking something along the lines of "Mrs B* can't possibly be a lesbian, she's had a child." Little did I know that lesbianism, like strokes and aneurysms, can strike at any point in a woman's life. Ho ho.

We had taken our pitch shots, from just below the crest of the hill, onto the green. Due to us lining up our putts we failed to notice the ball that dropped into the bunker next to the green, and 20 yards from where we had stashed our jackets and the porn mag while we played.

As Dougie putted, for what we were counting as a birdie, a loud shout broke the silence in our imaginary gallery of spectators and we both looked up the fairway to see a disgruntled member running towards us with an angry look on his face and brandishing his golfing umbrella like it was a sword.

Almost immediately, I said to Dougie "Be cool man. We're fine. Leave it to me. Just putt like there is a game being played." He looked at me and I smiled.

As the member approached us shouting, "This is a private golf course, you have no right to be here." I looked towards him, put my finger over my lips in a "Shhh" motion and said to Dougie "This is for par." The member looked stunned for a second and then stood silently at the side of the green while Dougie putted.

Thanks to our amount of playing time on the bottom of the 4th hole we knew the green very well and Dougie sank his fifteen foot putt like an open champion. The member watched in amazement, applauded Dougies' putt and walked over to question us.

I could see that my action of Shushing him and Dougies monster putt had sewn the seed of doubt in his head and all I had to do was play it cool.

The member asked who we were and what we were doing playing on the course with no bags. I told him the tale that I had sliced my ball into the woods at the side of the fairway and had decided to have my playing partner play out and then we were going back to look for my ball so that we did not hold up other players.

He seemed to buy the excuse and asked who had signed us onto the course. I told him that my uncle was a member and that he had signed us on and was waiting in the clubhouse having a drink and talking business with the Secretary while we played a quick 9 holes.

As the sound of "Talking business" hit his ears I could see in his eyes that he had severe doubts about hauling us by the scruff of the neck to the clubhouse and told us to have a good round and walked towards the bunker to take his shot. We stood and watched as he chipped onto the green and Dougie removed the flagstick for him as he putted out.

He then asked us if we would like a hand looking for my ball but we told him it was no bother and just to play through. He walked over to the 5th tee and whipped off a drive over the brow of the hill and set off with a wave towards us and a shout of "Tell your uncle I'm asking for him."

... But I digress. This is not dealing with the story at hand. This is merely letting you see a small part of my past and we didn't come here to discuss that, we came here to tell the story of The Degree Sham and it's effects. So here goes.

For the last couple of weeks I've been telling the members of the club that I work in that I have a degree in Astrophysics. And all of them have fallen for it. With no exceptions.

This has caused many a look of amazement from them and I have bluffed my way through their inquiries about the subject by saying... "It's all to do with the motion of planetary bodies in space, physics, quantum mechanics, molecules and relativity... I can explain it if you want..." To which the answer is always "No, it's fine. Some things are best not understood." Or something in a similar vein.

It's been a hoot.

The only downside to this has been that I am now the first person that anyone comes to when a difference of opinion occurs in the bar. I'm forever hearing the words "Ross, you've got a degree come and settle an argument for us..." And I'm left trying to bluff a reasonable opinion on whatever subject is the source of their angst.

Because of this I have found that if you keep blaming the shortsightedness of the most senior figurehead in whatever the subject is then you will mostly get away with even the biggest load of bullshit and be seen to be wise.

Then again... I'm only bluffing a load of bowlers. How difficult can that be?

Vote Kinky.

Calling all Texans.

Put down the branding iron, pick up the phone... Call your friends and neighbors... Kinky Friedman needs you...

That's right y'all, Kinky Friedman is looking for your votes.

To see what the Kinksters' plans are, should he become the Governor of Texas in 2006, click here and take a look.