Ode to my Toon

If yer thinking of following the rallying call
And voting for Scotland to go it alone
Just visit East Ayrshire and I'm sure you'll soon see
Why Scotland would sink like a stone.

Its people hark back
To a time when they worked
And spongers were few to be seen
But those days are now gone
East Ayrshires lost its working soul
They all say as they sign on the dole

If yer thinking Scotlands a welcoming place
Far abody's got a smile on there face
Just visit East Ayrshire and I'm sure you'll soon feel
The welcome the give, with their fists full of steel

It's people hark back
When a gay bash a day
Was as fun as beating a black
It's nae fun now they say
It's nae fun now the pope
Canna swing fae a rope

If yer thinking with pride 'what a beautiful place'
That on Scotland God smiled with good grace
Then just visit Easy Ayrshire and yer eyes will soon see
What the vandals and drunks destroy with great glee

Though millions are spent improving their toons
They destroy them until they a lie in great ruins
A church burnt doon here
A shop looted there
Its a part o their great master plan
Tae promote the great Orange clan

So if Scotland stood tall
And Perth wis its heart, Glasgow the back bone.
and the Highlands its soul.
Tak pity on me,
For I live in Scotlands areshole.

Sssssshhhhh

What a beautiful day I here myself say. Irish sea lapping at my ankles, dog splashing in the water and my lovely partner beached further up the coast. The sun is shinning, childrens laughter sprinkles happiness in my ears, swans like silk schooners softly surf the green and blue sequence of the sparkling sea and, and,

and god damn it my neck is turning red..............................aaaaaaargh.

But of course it doesn't matter because we are miles from Redneck Heaven. We're in bonnie Alloway where women only ever pip, men scan the horizon to check they are alone before farting and dogs pick up their own muck, or at the very least their owners don't encourage them to shit in the neighbours garden.

House tidy - NED style

Strolling past a redneck house, I see a soon to be identified NED mum and her aspiring NED child. NED child is eating a packet of crisps.

NED mum to NED child as they approach the door.

'Make sure you throw that away before coming into the house.'

A NED mum who can think forward! Wow. Its amazing the lengths some folk will go to keep their house tidy.

Who got the brown envelope?

It's gone. One of the few buildings in our wee village that meant anything.

Now here is how it allegedly happens.

JC (yes him again) gets listed building on the cheap because the upkeep of it will be so expensive. And we all know he's a generous spirirt. Do anything for the community he would.

Building falls into disrepair. Cllr McTake ignores it. Historic Scotland blink but forget to open their eyes.

Building is advertised to local youths as a vandal paradise, a firemakers hell.

JC (the essence of community spirit) says hey guys I cant possibly repair it, it's fallen into disrepair (yeah because of you, you fucker).

Cllr McTake says oops. Historic Scotland complete their 5 year blink and say, 'did we miss something?'

JC applies to knock 'dangerous' building down. Cllr McTake says 'good idea JC.'

JC applies to extend business empire onto derelict ground. Cllr McTake says, 'good idea JC, it's an eyesore. How community spirirted of you.'

JC now has prime piece of real estate at knock down price.

So who got the brown enevlope?

And of course all of the above is a fabrication. Isn't it?

Fire - Part Two

I can see clearly now the Local Sports Facility has been burnt down.

Damn those faulty matches.

Fire - Part One

It's a primeval urge played out at every BBQ up and down the country. Men own fires. And men with buildings they cant get permission to knock down then burn those building down.

Now heres a crazy thought. JC desperately wants to sacrifice his latest business purchase to the demolition squad. Cllr McTake agrees, only said building is not in his ward, and permission is denied.

Damn those pesky preservationists.

Building burns down. Damn those faulty matches.

Afternoon Nap

My house (notice its no longer my' Dream Home') is badly situated. The local watering hole is not far away. And like flies to a fetid wound Rednecks appear the minute it opens up. Normally though at such an early hour it is just men in there.

Well you can imagine my surprise when I go to get into my car one day to find a couple sound asleep at the end of my driveway. There they lay, the two sleeping beauties, cuddled up together, the woman snoring loudly. A local passed by, nodded and said, 'Lovely day.' Could he not see them? Was I imagining all this? Now I'm a kind soul so I decided it would be mean to run them over.

I'm sure in my defence I could have said to the judge 'I didn't see them your honour. How often do you expect to find to drunk people sleeping at the end of ones driveway?'

But I kindly gave the Sleeping Gentleman a prod with my foot.

'Excuse me,' I ventured, 'Would you mind moving.'

'What? he grumbled, 'Oh yeah aye sure mate, give us a minute eh.' He gave Mrs Snoring a prod.

'Eh? What? Come ere and give us a cuddle Mr Sleeping Gentleman.' She rolled onto her back and spread hers arms out. I denied my urge to get a hammer and nails and crucify her where she lay.

And he did. He rolled on top of her at the end of my driveway and began shoving his tongue down her throat. She reciprocated by giving his arse a big squeeze and rocking him from side to side. I hadn't had lunch yet so thankfully there was little in my stomach. Although the way she was kissing him I assumed she was sucking his last pint of Wife Beater Bitter out of him.

I watched horrified, but transfixed. Despite myself I couldn't take my eyes off the spectical. Was my driveway listed on some dogging site as the place to be? Was Jeremy Beadle hiding round a corner with his annoying little grin, clutching his microphone? Had I actually woke up today? Maybe I was having a bad dream.

Finally they stopped. He stood up and helped her up.

'Sorry bout that mate. Must have fallen asleep.' he said. She smiled sheepishly at me and off they stumbled down the road.

Democracy at Work

I got this reply a while ago from our local Councillor. I think his name is Mr McTake. He's always complaining about the rising price of brown envelopes in our local Post Office. Says its bad for business.

Anyway the reply went;
Dear Mr Blogger (this still isn't my real name, although I am becoming attached to it),

I can assure you I take all concerns of yours seriously. However I represent over 2000 people in this ward and I'll be listening to all of them and not just you.

Yours
Cllr McTake

Is this democratic language for F**k off?

Laughter saves the day

Now I am increasingly aware that everything has involved alcohol so far. And dont all good things come in threes?

'Blogger (not my real name, that be unusual). You'll agree with me won't you.' asked Ageing Skinhead

I hadn't been listening. Drunk men generally have a limited amount of chat that just repeats on a loop. I'd given up and was watching some liquid evaporate on the bar.

'Agree with you about what?' please dont ask me to hate someone.

'Immigrants.' Like this explained all. (and I'm not sure he knows the word 'immigrant'. He simply abbreviated an Asian country)

'What about them.' why am asking this, are you mad!

'They shouldn't be allowed in here. Should they. They just come and take all our jobs.' Ageing Skinhead was looking intensly at me, as were the two other rednecks in the pub.

Now normally I am very sure of my answer to such a question. It's an economic arguement in favour of immigrants. I love immigrants, I love diversity. But I'm not the bravest of men. In this pub to love immigrants makes you a homosexual, and to be a homosexual means you want to have sex with all the men there and they kill you for that.

But gods smile on a coward sometimes, and today he/she was beaming from ear to ear.

'Fuck,' said Mr Wifebeater, 'You're having a fuckin laugh Ageing Skinhead. You've never worked a day in your life you lazy bastard!'

Laughter all round saved me that day.

The Future is Orange?

Well we were naive, desperate for friends having just moved into our dream home. The invite was casual and commanding.

'Stay for a drink after.' smiles responsible publican.

I look at wife and say yes.

And thats how we happened to end up in a lock in after hours with the local Orange Order. Frightened? No not me.

As evening go it was.............different?

'So,' I asked the suited Orange Man in front of me (he's not really orange in colour, I'm confused), 'What is it about Catholics you don't like?' I whelped the last bit out as my wifes foot came crashing down on my own.

He looked at me suspiciously. I wondered if the question had confused him or if my rather high pitch at the end was making him suspect I was a homosexual.

'The Pope'. Says suited Orange Man.

'Oh Really.' I nods, you've clearly thought that one through.

'And the English?' Again my foot started hurting, but I forgot it as my question roused a pride of drunks in unison to denounce the English and the Pope.

So this gets me thinking. How to confuse an Orangeman (technically a unionist organisation).

With one final burst of bravery I ask, 'So who do you hate most then? The English or the Catholics?' I know, I know, I shouldn't be encouraging them to think, forgive me.

Do you remember Dustin Hoffman trying to figure out the riddle as the Rain Man? Well mix that up with a drunk Orangeman getting cross eyed and then imagine steam coming out his ears as his 'brain' (again I'm confused. Do they have one?) overloads.

'An English Catholic.' said Slightly More Sober Orangeman. Again rousing cheers followed from the pride of drunks surrounding us.

We left shortly after. They were getting suspicious. Why would anyone question their hatred?

We did get an invite from Slightly More Sober Orangeman though just before we left.

'Come to our Summer Ball' he gave me a consipratorial wink, 'So long as yer no a catholic like.'

'Aye' I winked back knowingly.

Flying Bats and Tables?

So here we are having a drink with the neighbours, it's a lovely sunny day drawing to a close. Am I the only one wishing I had put sun cream on before I got too drunk to open the greased up bottle?

'You don't belive me that bats fly here at night?' asks usually well mannered man.

'No as it happens I don't.' says I very bravely as it turns out.

But I do now believe in flying garden tables, wine glasses, ashtrays and general detrius from an evening spent blending ever decreasing amoutns of intelligent conversation. I sat momentarily stunned by the outburst from Usually Well Mannered Man, glad I had my drink in hand when he sent the table into orbit.

Did I scuttle away? I'm not sure.