Oh Flower of Scotland

A great weekend up in a little town in the Trossachs called Callendar. We were there for a wedding, the Cap'n was finally making an honest woman of McJanet and, as a result , there was a mass exodus from the Manchester area as various friends of the happy couple decamped north of the border.

And I have to say 'north of the border' but her best clothes on in a successful attempt to impress. For impressed we were. The hotel Dearest, myself and the four-legged friend inhabited was great value: warm, welcoming and reasonable. What more could you ask for? The location of the wedding - The Roman Camp Hotel - was stunning. Built around 1630 next to the remains of a Roman Camp, the place was enchanting.

I've always felt an affinity to the land of my forbears (my paternal grandad arrived in Manchester from Dumbarton via Sunderland just before the war). This weekend's wedding was an excuse to visit again for the first time since the 80s and it did my soul good. Youngest was an usher and was kilted up to the nines. A bonny figure of a man he made too.

Appetite wetted now. I'll have to talk Dearest into an Autumn break in the land of my fathers this year. Mind you, she fancies Venice. However, you can't take a dog to Venice can you?

Heh heh!

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Bye bye Anelka you moody prick. Fenerbahce......? Yeah. Whatever.

Hello Kiki Dee - 'cos that's what you will be called. Still - I couldn't give a shit what you're called - you've got a left foot and that's all that matters.

Free

3 years in Guantanamo Bay and less then 24 hours after returning to the UK, the British powers-that-be release the 4 repatriated detainees. Released without charge no less.

If that had been one of my sons, taken from me for three long years I don't think I could be held responsible for my actions. And yet, on the radio phone-ins and the BBC's website, the usual shite is being peddled:- "they were in a war zone therefore they're guilty", "no smoke without fire....", etc., etc., etc.

My mate Abdul - the smoking, drinking, darts fanatic pub-landlord was over in Pakistan just before 9/11. That's where his older extended family live. Also his aged mother. It's not rocket science. You want to be there for them. If Ab had delayed his trip (as he was considering doing due to business reasons) he may have become a 'Guantanamo Bay-er' - denied 'due process' on account of the colour of his skin.

I wonder if they're reporting the almost instantaneous release back in the States?

Ah well. Back to Pat Metheny.

The Way Up

"...everything is getting shorter, smaller, less ambitious, less detailed and less nuanced, and how the world is crumbling in its aesthetic ambitions.

"His answer: a CD that comprises one piece of music that lasts 68 minutes and 25 seconds. It's one of those noble, futile gestures that makes you want to ring and thank him personally."

Thus writes Stuart Nicholson in yesterday's Observer Music Monthly in his review of jazzman Pat Metheny's new album. I was excited as I had it on pre-order from you-know-who.

It arrived fresh from Amazon.co.uk this morning - the day of its European release - and, guess what? Yup I really do want to ring and thank him personally. Thanks Pat for reminding me that the American stereotypes we have become so used to seeing and hearing on our British TV screens are just that: stereotypes. One-dimensional purveyors of soundbites and mediocrity. God-bothering twats who have evidentially never read Gibbon's The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Or, if they did then they didn't make the connection'.

But today listening to this complex, uplifting, not-everyone's-cup-of-tea music as I surfed the net worked my balls off delighting customers, I was reminded by Mr Metheny that Dubya may have got the highest vote of any US President, but John Kerry got the second highest. I was reminded that for every Rumsfeld and Rice there's a Steve Earle, a Paul Simon, a Bruce Springsteen. I was reminded of the diversity, the multiplicity and the dynamism of the World's only remaining superpower and it cheered me. Dumbing up!

I'm on my fourth listen now and it's beginning to grab my very innards. That vital cavity that knaws deep within waiting to be filled and tamped by the creative endeavors of whoever fits the bill. It's going to be one of those that will be with me for a long time to come. Sure it'll be pushed to the back of the CD pile on occasion - weeks, months, maybe even years - but it'll be back. Serendipitously re-discovered some miserable November afternoon as the light fades and the annual pyrotechnics begin. Bliss.

Jazz is THE American art form. They gave it to the world. This wonderful, thought-provoking expressionistic, impressionistic, bombastic, eloquent, intelligent music comes from the same small towns, ranches and big cities as the uptight, screwed-down, holy-rolling 'thou-shalt-nots' who seem to represent America wherever you look - from the White House to radio phone in. This country may have given us J Edgar Hoover, but it also gave us Louis Armstrong, Artie Shaw and Duke Eliington. I like to think it's because of the 'uptight, screwed-down, holy-rolling 'thou-shalt-nots'' that Louis, Artie and the Duke were necessary. Necessary for the normal millions who mistrusted God and all his works in the first place.

Hallelullah!

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Today Eldest hit 31 years of age and I'm beginning to feel not far from my pension. Scary!

There goes the Equestrian Statue

Photo courtesy of Eastlands Blue

"most of the North is awful…” - Brian Sewell, Art Critic for the London Evening Standard

Public works of art? What do you reckon? A throwback to the days of local subscription honouring the so-called great and the good with a sturdy statue in the town square or city centre, or an opportunity in these modern times to invest a little culture into these otherwise drab urban landscapes? An opportunity moreover to question the ordinary Joe's perception of 'what is art?'

For or against? A sound investment nurturing and enriching an artistic sensibility in the general populace or a load of modernist crap?

Pictured above we have the latest addition to this time-honoured debate: Manchester's B of the Bang. A modern 'sculpture' commemorating the Commonwealth Games of 2002. Apparently it is now the tallest in the UK, pipping the Angel of the North by a few metres. The Angel just looks taller on account of the hill it's on and an absence of city in its vicinity. The B utilises the same 'it'll save money in the long run' welded and rusted metal as the Angel and both look infinitely better at night when they are lit up.

Personally I think it's great. A welcome attempt to mark our times with something lasting and thought-provoking. Over the past year as I've trudged (usually downhearted) from the City of Manchester stadium, I've been able to cast my eyes towards this slowly emerging explosion backdropped against the gun-metal grey of the Mancunian sky and it did something good deep within my very being.

It evinced a 'Fanfare For The Common Man', a 'look what we can do if we put our minds, hearts and wallets to it' warm feeling. For me at least and, to be fair, quite a few others also. Not everyone feels the same though.

Eldest, for example, rails against what he sees as a waste of public money that could've been spent on essential services. He has a point but I happen to believe that public works that gladden the heart can nurture and heal as much as any prozac. Still, what do I know.

I think it's the fact that it serves no obvious money-making purpose - indeed it cost a friggin' fortune - is part of what draws me to it. If someone had lacked the courage to stick it there, the area it occupies would be, at this very moment, being turned into one-bedroomed apartments 'in the heart of the City' starting at £750,000.

So? The B of the Bang? Pile of shite or a soaring - if relatively modest - piece of artistic magnificence?

He Ain't Heavy...He's My Brother....

Nice.

Cry-y-y-y-ing...Over You....

As I walked the shit-machine this evening, I was deep in the fug of gloom. Dark and deep were my thoughts: "why have I paid good folding money for a dog that, frankly, stinks like a rhino house, seems to misunderstand the most basic of commands and thinks that the best way to greet its 'master' of an evening is via a snout in the genitals?" (Mine, not hers).

You must remember that this beast almost qualified as a guide dog for the blind for Christ's sake. Unbelievably she only failed at the last hurdle and, if she had acted differently a few times she could've been leading some poor bugger under the wheels of a train at this very moment. If I was blind I would have been atomised by a passing juggernaut on day one. Her propensity for attempting to dive into the path of oncoming vehicles wasn't mentioned when we 'took delivery'. We were merely told that she was "slightly excitable".

But, hope does spring eternal, and, as the clouds parted during our late night crap-a-thon, I looked up to see Orion hanging in the night sky with Betelgeuse flashing red on his shoulder. Even the reflected glow of the lights of Manchester couldn't quench its flame. My gloom lifted for a precious few stolen moments of reverie before the unmistakable perfume of a squatting dog once again assailed my senses and my thoughts turned to another of life's disappointments.........

Mark Thatcher WON'T be going to prison in South Africa or back to Equatorial Guinea to be hung because he's done a plea bargain and will merely be fined a few hundred thousand (which he or his mummy or the estate of his late father can surely afford), before he fucks off to America, where he'll be regaled by the WASPS as a hero of free enterprise. That's his future. A fucking wastrel who hung on the coat tails of his mater and pater and somehow (nudge nudge wink wink) became a multi-millionaire. The rest of us will just carry on lifting that barge, toting that bail, getting a little drunk and landing in gaol...........and, eventually 'rolling on by'.

Bugger.

And, if that wasn't all, the turd in line to the Throne has been demonstrating his feminine side again:- Coward.

Witnesses said Harry pushed the photographer...

And finally.......The Final Solution. I despair.

Tomorrow Never Knows

Not long ago two of the Britons held in Guantanamo Bay were earmarked as cast-iron guilty and soon to be brought to Military trial. Now it seems it's OK to pass them back to 'Old Europe' to either try or free them.

At the moment I am listening to an American apologist for the unlawful incarceration of many hundreds of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It turns out he's a Military Lawyer. His line of argument is that whoever disagrees with him is - and I quote - "an ignorant slob". It doesn't help when we get self-styled pricks like this explaining that everything America does is OK whereas any argument to the contrary is dismissed as "siding with the terrorists". Arguments like that are no better than the maniacal ravings of the likes of Abu-Musab al-Zarqawi.

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Guess there must be an election approaching. Guess either Tony or Dubya must think the repatriation of the previously forgotten will somehow 'play good' with the British electorate. The added bonus for neo-conservatives New Labour is that it could knock the Blair-Brown shenanigans off the front page as the hustings begin. I doubt it though. That paraphrase attributed to Gordon regarding never trusting a word Tony says must be destined to become a central part of the Tories' platform. I can see it now paraded Saatchi-like on every billboard that Labour haven't already snapped up with their combination of Ecclestone et al's millions and their knowledge of when the election will actually be. Should be more interesting this year. What with UKIP and the Lib-Dems looking like at least eroding other Parties' votes as well as picking up a few more themselves.

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Another day of walkies, howling gales and dog shit. As someone, somewhere once sang.....'Things Can Only Get Better.................'

Well one can hope can't one?

Nightswimming

Dogs eh? One minute they're licking their arse, the next they're trying to lick my face. Well no dice pooch - your arse, my face? No match. It's bad enough taking you out every night for a refreshing drag walk in the howling wind and rain without contracting strange 'crossover' diseases from other species.

Combined with the ultimate pleasure of grasping piles of still steaming shit with only the condom-like thickness of a Tesco plastic bag between my fingers and the offending dollops, it seems I drew the short straw in this whole 'let's get another dog' scenario.

Cheers Dearest. Good idea a dog. Good idea.

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Just over a week back at work and the faceless twunts who occupy the upper echelon: the back-stabbing, career-obsessed, no-life pricks we are taught to look up to as 'go-getters', 'vibrant', 'proactive' and *snort* 'the drivers of British Industry', have started dipping their collective oars in the already choppy waters of outsourced IT support in a leading multinational defence contractor.

We now need - apparently - a software tool that allows us to record what we do with our time when we're not 'delighting customers' with our expertise, ready wit and ability to interact with a cleaner or CEO without fear or favour. This, we were told by some chap from overseas who kept calling us 'you guys', was to enable adoption of 'best practice' and 'cross-pollinisation' with the added bonus of finally letting the powers that be realise just how hard we work.

Well, as the laughing policemen once commented.......HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA....etc.

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And if life wasn't crap enough, the enigma that is Manchester City somehow contrive to lose against Oldham Athletic in t'Cup.

To quote Mr Stanshall, sometimes you just can't win.

You Can't Always Get What You Want....

You can't always get what you want....but if you try sometimes...well even the ref and the linesman may just feel in the mood for taking the piss. And that's what happened this evening. As the mighty Blues upset Arsenal's plans for the end of season 'do', so a blind linesman, ref and manager allowed Yooonited's woeful attempt at 'hanging in there' to still....well......hang in there.

Mr Yates: should you win this fuckin' league by anything less than two points, then your manager - and the rest of the 'brand' that is Manchester United (note they dropped the 'football club' bit), should be banned.

Why? Why?? I'll tell you why.....that ref tonight (along with his henchman linesman) was a cheating bastard.

Or did he just miss what a million other people spotted?

Or is it just moi being biased???

Answers on a postcard or in my comments section........

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"The tsunami must be dealt with. It is an act of God, an act of nature,"

"Africa is an act of man. Millions die every year completely unnecessarily.

Do you think he rehearsed that? Or did it just trip off his tongue? Clever, clever Bob.