What a Cnut.

That when you quit smoking you get your sense of taste back. Well, tonight I found out that this is in fact true. Having been off the cancer sticks for almost a week now due to my lungs being utter bastards who decided to rebel against my best efforts to turn them into shriveled sacks before I hit the age of fifty, and a chest infection. Having lived almost exclusively on cheesy pasta and microwave meals over the last week I decided that tonight I'd treat myself to a nice mixed kebab from the local kebab house. And what did I find? They taste fucking awful! Seriously, I've eaten some right old shite in my time, most of which I cooked myself and therefore have no-one to blame but me. But I know realize that nothing I have ever created in Ross' Country Kitchen can hold a candle to the mixed kebab I just choked down my gullet. So, it's either back onto the lung busters again or never darken the door of the local kebab shop again. Which is a double edged sword really, eithe...

Last Wednesday, I've had to stop smoking. Which is not a good thing at all. I like smoking, it's cool. We all have to die and it's totally out of our control so why worry about it? All the coolest people smoked. Bill Hicks smoked, James Dean smoked, Einstein smoked, Jean-Paul Satre smoked, Keith Richards smokes, Johnny Cash smoked and John lennon smoked. Tony Blair and George W Warmonger don't smoke. Point proven. Case closed. You can keep your government statistics and your surgeon general warnings. I win the argument. Thankfully not too many people know I've had to stop smoking. I've been cooped up in the house attempting to defeat this chest infection all week and haven't seen anyone. Tomorrow will be a different thing altogether though, I'm back to work tomorrow and I'll no doubt be asked by several people why my stress levels are higher than a hippy on the third day of Woodstock. I just hope that they can put up with the stream of abuse that...

That I have to fight the urge to knock some decency into someone. It's more like once a week. Today must have been the exception to the rule though, I had the overwhelming desire to knock seven shades of shit out of at least two people. Firstly, there was the bus driver. I got on the bus and dropped in £2.50 and asked for a daysaver (Normal price £2.30) and the driver said in an abrubt tone of voice "These buses don't give change, you've just lost your 20p." I let the remark go, took my ticket and said "Thanks." To which the driver mumbled "Yeah pal, whatever. Are you going to sit down or are you going to stand there like a prick all day?" I lost it. Shamefully. Full on rage took control of my mouth and I let loose... "Listen fuckface, I didn't get on this bus to get lip from a jumped up arsehole like you. I got on the bus to get from point A to point B so just shut the fuck up and do your job... Drive the fucking bus. And if you say o...

Top 100 show I'm gonna start hunting down TV executives. (This next bit should be read as though I'm screaming out. Mainly because I am.) Why, in the name of all that's fucking holy, do TV execs think I give a good god damn what the 100 most embarrassing moments of the 1980's were? Why, please, tell me why! I lived through the 1980's and believe me I know they were ass cringing awful times when it came to Music, Fashion, Politics and TV. There's no need to spend three hours of TV time showing me shit that should have been consigned to the waste basket of history twenty five seconds after it was first shown. And to add insult to injury B-list Celebs are asked what their opinions are. But here's the rub on that one, none of them actually remember the 1980's, oh no, if they remembered the 1980's they'd be sitting with their heads in their hands mumbling things along the lines of " Oh my god, I actually bought that record. I thought it was gre...

When you hit the age at which you realize you're gonna die there should be a government representative comes to see you and asks you how you'd like to go. This would eliminate diseases such as Cancer. Who in their right mind when asked how would you like to die? is gonna say, "I think I'll have the Cancer please. There'll be none of that sudden death nonsense for me, I'd rather spend the last six months of my life rotting away in a hospital bed while my family watches the slow steady ruination of my body." You could choose a charitable death. Which, at first glance, may seem a bit hard to put a finger on but imagine this... You're driving along the highway and come to a blind bend in the road. As you sweep around the bend a deer appears in your line of sight... You swerve to avoid killing this poor defenseless animal and crash through the poorly constructed barrier which lines every road in every country the world over... The car you're driving fl...

That I need a picture for my new MySpace profile. Everyone else manages to look quirky, interesting, funloving or just downright sexy in their picture and all I manage to look like is someone who you'd rather not meet in a dark alley. I could use one of the ones taken while I was on holiday in South Africa. And as this is a public forum type of arrangement I could throw it open to the vote. So here goes. It's your call. Which one of the following pictures should I use for my new MySpace page? Should it be... Picture #1. The Tattoo I had done while in Durban. Picture #2. Wandering out into the surf at Mtwalume. Picture #3. Looking quite cool. Even though I had just had a near death experience. So now it's all down to you lot out there in web land. Take your pick of the pics and leave a comment. I'll let the vote run for a couple of days.

Find me on MySpace Whatever the fuck that is. I dunno, the things you do for friends.

It's the coffin they carry you off in. I've got some kind of chest infection. I'm hacking up lumps of phlegm that you could put posters on walls with. But, never one to be put off by minor things, I'm still smoking like a very stressed lab beagle. Well, why not. I aint scared of dying. At least not since I found Jesus. Big J has my name on his list now. He's due me a favour after I rescued him from a savage beating in the pub last week. Allow me to tell you the story... It was late on in the night, I was drinking a nice long glass of rum and coke and Jesus was keeping the crowd entertained by doing parlor tricks, you know the kind, 3 card Monty, levitation, water into wine, passing beer nuts through the holes in his hands etc etc, when a large and surly drunkard made a comment about Jesus' mother being a bit loose after a couple of Pernod and lemonades. Which may be fair comment if you ask me, I mean who ever believed that Jesus was an immaculate conception? Apa...

Today I have been listening to some high quality comedy. Here's the list. Redd Foxx. (Title unknown.) George Carlin. Napalm and Silly Putty. Redd Foxx. Your momma. George Carlin. Carlin On Campus. Redd Foxx. You've got to wash your ass. And also on the list for listening today has been the following music tracks. Matchbox 20. 3am. Matchbox 20. If You're Gone. Matchbox 20. Unwell. Matchbox 20. Push. Matchbox 20. Bright lights. Matchbox 20. Disease. Matchbox 20. Bent. Hard-Fi. Living for the Weekend. Hard-Fi. Cash Machine. The Editors. Munich. The Sneaker Pimps. Six Underground. Gorillaz. 19-2000. Dirty Vegas. Days Go By. Tool. Aenima. Kelly Clarkson. Behind these hazel eyes. Kelly Clarkson. Because of you. Kelly Clarkson. Breakaway. Kelly Clarkson. Since you've been gone. And that's about it. Other than that it's been a day of sitting on my ass reading or playing games. I took a wander into town last week and bought Transworld Surf and Tony Hawks Underground for...

Whenever you're having a bath, and are having your evening meal whilst doing so, try not to have steak pie. Picking the crust of the pie out of the bath, when it's been immersed in warm soapy water, is a difficult task. However, should you choose to do this please bear in mind that some flakes of pie crust may have inadvertently found their way into the crack of your ass. When toweling yourself dry try to remember this as seeing brownish colored flakes gently floating floorwards can cause some anxiety. I'm not even going to mention the angst that the two or three baked beans falling from beneath your scrotum can elicit in you. And, spaghetti should be avoided at all costs. Seeing a long strand of spaghetti falling from a personal area could induce a coronary.

The World According To Clarkson. Jeremy Clarkson. Ok, firstly, ignore the review that the above website gives this book. It's from the publishers website and is hugely biased towards this book. Secondly, and this is for information purposes only, from now on I'll be using the acronym T.W.A.T to describe this book to people. Well, It seems apt. If perchance you are stumbling through your local bookstore, or are clicking away on Amazon.com and see this book, please, for the love of god avoid it. Consider it to be on a comparison with a syphilitic whore. Not only will you feel used and dirty after completing the deed, but you'll also have a terrible memory of that horrible day when it seemed like a good idea at the time. And before you think I'm being a bit harsh on Jeremy Clarkson remember this, I have read this book. Cover to cover. First page to last page. No chapters skipped, no delay taken. (Mostly because I wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. Kinda like a ja...

You may be dead. Seek professional help immediately. Click here.

About spending the day cocooned in the house reading books and listening to music, is the knowledge that at some point you will have to leave the glorious warmth and step out into the wind and rain to get a pack of cigarettes. Which is exactly what I'm about to do. I'll be right back honest... What's even worse about having to drudge along to the local shop is to find that they have run out of your brand of cigarettes and have nothing but Marlboro red in stock. Which means making a longer journey as you have to trudge to the local 24 hour garage, Gas Station for all you Americans reading this, to get some smokes. But that's neither here nor there. The point I'm attempting to make, and failing quite spectacularly at, is that since giving up smoking an average of 15 joints a day my cigarette intake has ballooned like never before. I'm now a forty to fifty a day man. Previously I was a pack a day bloke. You know the type, the kind of person who smokes but not at a ...

Again. Once more I'm off the demon weed. No drugs (Other than a small rum or three) has passed through my system in the last three days. And to cap it all there has been the offer of free drugs! Free, no charge, gratis, call it what you will, point is that I have had the chance to stray from the path towards rational sanity and I've resisted. Refusing free drugs caused much concern to the person offering them. After I said, "No thanks man, I'm off the drugs." I was stared at, as though I had just told the person that I had cumfaced his sister, but the shock of it all hadn't allowed it to sink in. (The claim of me being off the drugs. Not, as some of you may have thought, the cumfacing.) Damn, my mum will be proud of that last paragraph. Though, I suspect, not as proud of the fact I'm attempting to get off the drugs.

Unless you're Michael Jackson that is, in which case there's a bit of you in a child. But that's never been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. (Just give it time... One day Wacko Jacko will turn up toes and die. And on that day there will be a small, hidden, room found in the Neverland Ranch filled to the ceiling with blood stained Action Man underwear and pictures of Mcauley Culkin with a pained look on his face.) But that's enough of that. Back to the point of this screed. The little kid in all of us. I went into town today and bought a copy of Star Wars Battlefront II for the X-Box. So this week I'll be flying around the galaxy doing battle against the forces of evil, or perhaps with the forces of evil depending on how the mood takes me. Should there be a small break in between playing this game and reading the books I bought today I'll write a little something on here to let you all know that I'm still alive. Until then, May the Force be with you. (This...

Terry Pratchett. Sourcery. Terry Pratchett. The Colour of Magic. Terry Pratchett. Night Watch. Saul Bellow. Humboldt's Gift. Saul Bellow. Collected Stories. Jeremy Clarkson. The World According to Clarkson. Jean-Claude Schertenleib, Stan Perec & Lukasz Swiderek. The Motorcycle Yearbook 2005.

Because I have fuck all to write about tonight I thought I'd list the music I've been listening to on my MP3 player. Ten Pole Tudor. Swords of a Thousand Men. The Lemonheads. Mrs Robinson. The Presidents of the United States of America. Kick out the jams. The Streets. Dry your eyes. ACDC. Back in Black. ACDC. Who Made Who. America. Horse with no name. Armand Van Helden. You don't even know me. Ash. Starcrossed. BBC Radiophonic Workshop. The Dr Who theme. (1970's version.) The Beatles. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Blind Melon. No Rain. John Lee Hooker. Boom Boom. The Blues Brothers. Rawhide. Bob Dylan. Lay Lady Lay. Cast. Walk away. The Chemical Brothers. It began in Africa. Coolio. Gangsters Paradise. Creed. With arms wide open. Cypress Hill. Hits from the bong. Daft Punk. Around the World. David Bowie. Space Oddity. Depeche Mode. Personal Jesus. Dj Jazzy Jeff & The fresh Prince. Summertime. ...

Can be very painful. Just ask Yakima Canutt . I fell off a wagon yesterday. The Wells Fargo express, it was not. Oh no, my wagon was, as the Guardian of the Emerald City gate would say, a horse of a different color. ...This post is rapidly turning into a repository for links to Wikipedia... But, fuck it, I'm in no hurry if you feel like filling your heads with knowledge about any of the above links. Take your time. Just remember to come back here and finishing reading this post... You never know what you might miss. I could inadvertanty shit out the secret to eternal life. But I doubt it very much. Anyhoo, as I was saying. Falling from a wagon... Been there done that. The wagon I fell off was the 3:15 to Cleansville. And was caused by me smoking a joint. I know, I know, I shouldn't have succumbed to the demon weed but it has a strong grip on me. I can't think why, it's not like I'm addicted. Shit, I know people who have smoked hash every day for forty years and th...

I have a terrible habit. Whenever someone tells me someone I know has died the first thing I usually say is "You're kidding?" (Why this is, I have no idea. As if the person who has just broken the news to me is going to reply "Yes, actually I am. They're not dead at all. I just wanted to see your face when I told you that they'd died.") When I walked into work today I was informed of the death of Peter Beveridge, AKA The Major. "Fuck me..." I said. "I liked The Major." The last time I saw The Major he was being wheeled out of the club in a wheelchair with an oxygen mask over his face and a frightened look in his eyes. I remember thinking at the time "I wonder if I'll ever see him again?" And I think in my heart I knew I wouldn't, so I stood at attention and saluted him. "See you later Major." I said as he trundled past me. He saluted me, said, "See you later Captain." through the plastic mask that...

I crashed my motorcycle a few years back I've had dicky knees. After I've been sitting down for a long time I have to twist my leg to get my right kneecap to click back into it's proper place. I did this last night, as per usual, and was hit by a massive jolt of pain the likes of which I have never experienced. Now I can't bend my knee without it feeling like there is bone grinding against bone. So tomorrow I'm going to call my doctors and make an appointment to see if I've done any serious damage. I'll no doubt be chastised by him/her for signing myself out of hospital an hour after uprooting a concrete fence post with my right leg at a speed of about 60mph. (I was more worried about my Ex-girlfriend, who was lying on a stretcher in A&E with two broken ribs, a punctured lung and a badly twisted leg.) I was told at the time by an A&E Doctor that I should have gotten x-rayed to check for damage but didn't heed his advice. Well, I say I didn't ...

I haven't had a joint for two weeks. (Insert round of applause here.) (There now follows a small speech.) Thank you, thank you... I couldn't have done it without the help of Lothian and Borders Police force, who busted one of the largest drug hauls this side of the sixties a couple of weeks ago. I'd like to thank Delia True who introduced me to the music of Elliot Smith through one of her posts on her blog. I'd also like to thank my Ex-girlfriend Jennifer Young, who if it wasn't for her ripping my heart out my arsehole I'd never have attempted to smoke myself into oblivion. And finally I'd like to thank the people whom I've met in my lucid dreams over the last couple of weeks as I've slept the untroubled sleep of the clean and sober. Thank you one and all.

I have a day off work. Thank fuck for that. I'm sure if I spent another shift in that hellhole of a club I'd be sacked for shoving a glass into a members face. And before you think "That's a bit extreme..." Take a walk in my shoes bubba... So today I'll be having some "Me" time as a life coach would no doubt say if I was stupid enough to hire one. Which I promise you I'll never do. I fully intend on having a nice long lie in my bed accompanied by a good book, "Para Handy" by Neil Munro , some music by Elliot Smith a pack of cigarettes and nothing more.