(A rare bad trip I encountered on my travels in Scotland.)
Fear And Loathing On the Lothian Line.
When we booked our family breakfast who'd have thought The passage to the Indian restaurant would be so fraught?
Our happy family was enjoying the ride on the 23 bus Until a newly embarking passenger took offence to us, He was a bellicose loud-mouthed non too articulate chap Whose views were a vile pile of risible racist bullcrap.
Sometimes taking the bus is no transport of delight, Like when a new passenger enters from the Right.
He kept spouting on, shouting on about 'bloody immigration,' And was bullish about keeping up his one way conversation, Here was a loud proud white Scot whose idea of genteel debate Was a unrestrained scream stream of invective, odium and hate.
The bus moved oh so slowly up to the Royal Mile... This journey was becoming all a bit of a trial.
His bloodshot eyeballs held a crazy shine Thanks to his breakfast of cheap red wine, And then his belligerent eyes set on mine own Just as I foolishly peeped up from my iPhone.
Upon hearing the edge of hysteria rise in his voice Engaging in an exchange of views wasn't a wise choice.
And so now that he thought he had a captive audience He ratcheted ratshitted up his crass arrant nonsense, My daughter caught my eye and ear with a discreet cough And saved me from suicidely telling him where to get off.
So next stop I, my daughter and the family swiftly debused Leaving our garrulous Great Orator momentarily nonplussed.
As the bus pulled away we stood safely on the footpath Happy to hear the foul fading sounds of anger and wrath, To deal with this asshole asinine nonsense would be purest folly, We saw no need to ride with a drunkard who's off his freaking trolley.
Unfortunately the 23 bus was now a route we'd be boycotting, Who needs to meet a character straight out of 'Trainspotting?'
Just down the road was Edinburgh University, seat of Learning, Well, my lesson in Scottish subculture had left my ears burning, We stood betwixt the Uni and George Herriot's Private School With me ruefully ruminating over some drooling drunken fool.
To have disembarked- here- seemed both sad and ironic, There's no making sense of the dumb, drunk and moronic.
So we called an Uber and went on to our breakfast destination, And I realised our wee bus trip had added to my Life's education- Sometimes a hot-headed father can learn from his quiet daughter- Not to go toe to toe with a dipso whose argument doesn't hold water.
Nope, why try talking sense with a dipshit who raves and rants? A dope who's blissfully ignorant of the fact he's pissed his pants?
‘Public transport? More like a public convenience’
'Another one rides the bus, Another one rides the bus, And another comes on and another comes on Another one rides the bus, Hey, he's gonna sit by you, another one rides the bus.' Weird Al Yankovic, 'Another One Rides The Bus.'
Straight From The Asses Mouth.
So Crystal Palace would slay play lowly Macclesfield,
Palace, winners of both FA Cup and Community Shield,
Setting off on the easy first leg of another amazing Cup run,
Any betting man knew this Macclesfield game was all but won.
I should have known the Gods of Chance favour the mismatched;
Stupidly I cockily counted my chickens before they had hatched.
Yes, with my Palace you can bet nothing goes according to plan,
There's a perverse streak that humbles this proud Palace man,
Yep, my Palace lost- to a team deep down in the sixth tier,
If only the mere sporting loss caused me to shed a tear,
But reviewing the account that I had at William Hill*
Was the blow that made my eyes fill, then bitterly spill.
*A UK betting firm that cheerfully takes your wages wager.
(Macclesfield 2, Pathetic Palace 1. Palace make FA Cup history, this time for all the wrong reasons! Well, you have to laugh hysterically through the tears.)
'Well I went to my brother to ask for a loan 'cause I'm busted, I hate to beg like a dog without a bone but I'm busted, My brother said 'There ain't a thing I can do My wife and my kids are all down with the flu And I was just thinking about calling on you 'Cause I'm busted too." Nazareth, 'Busted.'
It was a holiday jaunt we'll all long remember, Our short haul to the Scottish seaside in mid-December.
We set off on the charabanc to bonny Portobello, The trip gave us sea and spray, and just a hint of snow.
We laughed and froze frolicked, made castles in the sand, Faces of white, bright cheeks cheery cherry red, blue of hand.
I tippy-toed out to the shoreline thinking to dip in my toes, A rogue wave sloshed over my plimsolls and those toes froze.
That chill sea put a dampener on all thoughts of splashes As did the looming boomings of thunder and lightning flashes.
We watched in awe as the North Sea storm took form, Could we find, in Portobello, some warm port in a storm?
So we repaired to a beachfront cafe for fish and chips, Sorrowfully contemplating the buses hour long return trip.
Outside the warm fuggy cafe we all put it to the vote... One decided one could comfortably spare a twenty pound note.
So a most urgent call to Edinburgh Cabs was made; Said "we'd be the mob chillin' beside the amusement arcade."
Outside the arcade we stood, idly spinning our wheels, Me in my sandy sodden sneakers, really cooling my heels.
In my frozen hand I tracked the cabbie on the iPhone, This Portobello beach trip had left me chilled to the bone.
I was fast losing faith in the long promised early arrival, Would our cabbies glacier-like pace put paid to our survival?
Then the taxi appeared out of the gloom- oh, how we waved! In my cold heart I felt hope bloom- hallelujah, we had been saved!
I asked our cabbie to set the heater to full bore, It took us till Morningside before we all started to thaw.
Aye, I've seen Portobello through a veil of salt sea rime, My hot tip is- dip your toes in at Portobello come summertime.
'I'm walking on sunshine, wooah, I'm walking on sunshine wooah, I'm walking on sunshine, wooah, And don't it feel good!' Katrina And The Waves, 'Walking On Sunshine.' (Yes, I've used this song before but who can't smile along at such wild and sunny optimism?')
This day I sadly sat down at my escritoire To pen a farewell to a 50's French movie star.
So I say goodbye to ma petit cheri Brigitte Bardot, Slighter, svelter than the top-heavier Miss Monroe.
I recall those pics of her sun-tanning at Saint Moritz In a bikini so brief it barely covered her untanned bits.
But what cemented this boyhood crush that never quits? Watching BB in a double feature flick at the ol' flea pit Ritz.*
Ooh, how that pretty pout inflamed this callow young fellow, Lust just at the time a lad's interest in the lasses began to show.
'Twas all a poor besotted boy could do but admire her from afar... Now, in memory of my first blushing crush, sweet Brigitte, 'au revoir.'
*I can recall those two old films still; 'Viva Maria' and 'Shalako.'
'Brigitte tanning on the beach left me all hot and bothered.'
'What a perfectly apt movie title to be displayed.'
'It happened one summer, it happened one time, It happened forever, for a short time, A place for a moment, an end to dream, Forever I loved you, forever it seemed.' The Motels, 'Suddenly Last Summer.'
(Suggested by Lyle Lovett's song 'Church.' Thanks to Randy Dafoe at Mostly Music Covers for inspiring this silly ditzy little end of year post.)
Preacher, Give It A Blessed Rest.
For our preacher his Christmas service is a winner- A captive congregation for our tedious tale spinner.
Oh preacher man, tell your tale apace, Pare back the pithy parables in this case, Forget thy long platitudes to the devout, The time is nigh to get the platters out.
Preacher, there is no need to waffle on- Soon time for Christmas dinner will be gone.
Preacher, listen to your Christmas choir- It's well past time to ease up on the hellfire, Thy dry sermonising must have run its course? This long-suffering congregant could eat a horse.
It's high time to get stuck into the Christmas feast So let's serve up this goose that's been greased.
Preacher, Lord knows 'tis time you wrapped it up, It's high time to zip the lip and raise high a cup, Long-winded preacher man, know thy place, Sermonise with God speed- and then say grace.
Preacher, if you don't wish your congregation to grow thinner Say 'praise the Lord, and lets tuck into our Christmas dinner.'
'Me? I'm the special guest for Xmas dinner?'
Lyle Lovett, 'Church.' 'I went to church last Sunday So I could sing and pray But something quite unusual Happened on that day'
'You know that preacher kept on preaching He told us I have one more thing to say, Children before you think of leaving You better think about the judgement day.'
'And the preacher he kept on preaching, Long is the struggle, hard is the fight, And I prayed Lord please forgive me Then I stood up with all my might I sang'
'To the Lord praises be- It's time for dinner now let's go eat We've got some beans and some good cornbread And I've listened to what the preacher said Now it's time to the Lord let praises be, It's time for dinner now let's go eat.' (Theres many many more verses in Lyle's song but as the preacher should have learned, sometimes less is more.)
Well hi there folks, back home I've kind of arrived, Weary, bleary, red-eyed, zombified, sleep deprived.
So, sorry folks, I'm still soooooo jet-lagged, My lightly migrained brain has dragged, flagged, I'm still so fu- fogged up in my time travelled mind, My drained brain is running well and truly behind, Speaking of which, I've flown o'er three wide oceans... Brain clogged? Body ain't going through the motions.
Those three long slow sleepless flights passed without remark From me, dumbly wide awake through daylight and deepest dark.
So though back home I will (can) make few comments Since this wrecked wracked brain cain't talk sense, For someone who has gone 50 full hours sleep-free Friends, you'll hear precious little online from me, I cain't punch a key board- Lord, I can barely speak, My plan is to fall into bed and sleep for a full week.
'This long distance flying is something I can't wrap my head around.'
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces) Time goes by and goes so slow It just doesn't seem true Only just a few days ago You said you'd love me, never leave me blue. (I'm in pieces, bits and pieces) Whoa Nothing seems to ever go right (I'm in pieces, bits and pieces) 'Cause night is day and day is night.
The Dave Clark Five, 'Bits And Pieces.' (Thanks Dave at A Sound Day- this mornings post of yours gave me the perfect song lyrics.)
Dear friends/readers, I'll be absent from WordPress from 23 November till December 13. I'm taking a complete break for that time so I won't be posting or commenting on this or any of the other sites I befoul frequent. Sorry, but a rare and precious opportunity to catch up with my far flung family is in the offing, so I'm off! Scotland is calling, and I'm happy to go, even though I'm trading our late Spring/Early Summer for frikkin' late Fall and Chrrrrist-it's-cold Winter. Don't we all need a decent break from posting sometimes anyway? So I'm going to be completely hands off and unresponsive for that time. Thanks, I'll/we'll catch up later.
'Who's the ugly bastard snoring in seat 13D?'
'727, take me to heaven, 727 take me home.' The Box Tops, '727.'
'I can see clearly now, the rain has gone, Look all around, there's nothing but blue skies, Look straight ahead, nothing but blue skies.' Johnny Nash, 'I Can See Clearly now.'
Carol Wayne; The Party's Over At 42. (Fair warning- Pitch black humour.)
Let me take you back in time, back to a world of hopes, dreams and ambitions, where a naive young gal from Chi Town is keen on making it in the motion picture business, where the reality of the silver screen was less about talent, tinsel and glamour than getting taken for a ride. Let us see what happened to young Carol Wayne, who flirted with flitful fate and wound up leaving behind a minor celebrity mystery. (Cue music from 'The Twilight Zone'... dee dee dee dee...) Carol had all the blessed best attributes Hollywood or a TV studio could want- perfect platinum blonde hair, perfect smile, a perfect set of bright white teeth, a perfect pair- ahem, a chest that was a real eye-opener. Or two. (Yes, I'm all for PC, but this is a story set in the sleazy '60's, so of course I'm going to go down that coarse course.) Anyway, in those deeply misogynistic days it/they got her noticed, and she did bit parts (or two-bit parts- yeah, sorry again) on TV. She wound up getting a fair bit of exposure on popular series such as 'I Dream OF Genie,' 'Bewitched,' and 'The Man From U.N.C.L.E.' She then found a perfect spot, one that played up to her stacks of talents on Johnny Carson's 'The Tonight Show,' as the Matinee Lady. This role she filled (yes, yes, I know, get with it, it was the '60s, not now!) with a fair few decent double entendres, plus a few limp ones as well. After a few more ti- bit parts a la Blake Edwards' 'The Party' where she played a blonde bimbo-ey little girl voiced but big breasted starlet- not exactly a stretch for her abilities even if it was for her dress- (yeah yeah, sorry twice over, sheesh!) she continued with the piece-meal roles for the rest of her life. She married and divorced thrice, had one child, and lived in that strange twilight world of the fringe celeb. So, life went on, even if Show Biz career-wise on a part-time guest-star basis. Until, in '85 she met up with a new gentleman friend, Edward 'Dashing' Durston, (purveyor of high class slightly pre-used Automobiles) and, enamoured, they went away together on a romantic holiday to sunny Mexico. Unfortunately, the tropical paradise vacay warm vibes didn't quite pan out: There was a little tension on display apparently, so after a few frosty words were passed between them Ms. Wayne set off for a long solo walk along the beach, apparently to be at one with Nature. Perhaps to just chill out? Mayhap dip her toes in the cool soothing Mexican waters? This was a supposition Edward would later offer to the Federales. But hold up, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Anyway, as Carol was apparently walkin' in the sand, Eddie, upset that his charm hadn't worked at this particular time took a powder*, grabbed their luggage and drove off to the airport. Where he jetted off and away. And he left Carol's baggage dumped at the airport. Now, why the previously gallant Edward felt the need to leave Carol high and dry, stuck at the hotel with no luggage- and possibly stuck with the hotel bill- well, that is just one of those unknowables... Then, three days after he had hightailed it out of Manzillo, Carol's water borne body was found by a fisherman, awash in the shallows. Naturally, questions were asked; an autopsy was duly performed, and poor Carol was found to be drug and alcohol free. Her demise somehow was ruled 'accidental' drowning, even though other friends stated Carol didn't much like water, perhaps even shied away from it? Just another one of those unfathomables? So: How did she, a big, strong and buoyant gal become a body in a body of water? Some might have had their suspicions, but to be fair Edward was grilled interviewed by the Mexican cops, and he pleaded his case- he, a mere victim of circumstance, a completely innocent man, any idea of him being anything other than an honest witness was a slur against his honour, as a man, as an American- why, is there any man more honest, forthright and believable than a used car salesman? So the Federales eventually bade him 'adios,' and allowed him to go back North of the Border, a free man of unblemished unbesmirched character. (Good riddance, Gringo.) No doubt once Stateside he hit a dark and smoky bar and raised a glass of wry Rye in memory of Carol, to mourn and moon over the tragic totally senseless and unbelievable passing of Ms. Wayne. And so we say goodbye to Carol, a sad statistic, and one that shows us the transient nature of this twisty shifty and turny life. Ah, but wait... there's more. Now let us go back again, back to the year of '69 and catch up with another gal with a link to fame and fortune, Diane Linkletter, daughter of Art Linkletter (Famous at the time for 'Kids Say The Darndest Things.') But once cute gap-toothed kid Diane was now a full grown lass of 20. She was at that curious enquiring adventuresome age where parties and fun in the sun are a constant happening. Those carefree 'let's live it up and let tomorrow take care of itself' days and nights. So: This is how the story goes: Diane was tripping on LSD and decided to fly off a sixth story balcony, whereupon gravity took over. Her father had been at the apartment earlier and he was in no doubt she was high on LSD, he could see she was wired and skittish. But after a long long father/daughter talk Art (artlessly) left, as he honestly felt she had calmed quite some, and that he had talked her down. (Ouch. Bad choice of words, but you understand what I mean.) Whatever, around 9AM Diane dived (dove?) off the window of the Shoreham Towers, West L.A. Her shocked and unbelieving companion/friend numbly told the gaggle of cops who arrived he'd desperately tried to grab her before she'd jumped but, alas, was left clutching at nothing but thin air... So poor drug-addled Diane met her demise at the LAC+USC Medical Centre. Kids do the strangest things, to paraphrase Art. And so ends another chapter in the LA Chronicles of bad drugs, bad luck and bloody bad choices. Except there is a moral- or two- to the story. Talking about bad luck and bad choices and bad karma, how truly unfortunate were these two tragedies in relation to the poor bereaved person left behind to pick up the pieces? (Unfortunate, even bad choice of words again? My bad.) The one link in the crazy daisy chain that somehow tied these two luckless gals fatefully together? Well, oddly enough Ms. Linkletters good and true friend- the sad individual who had missed saving her by thaaaaat much- was a certain Edward Durston, Esquire. Just how much tragedy could one poor guy make take? Some cynics might say there's more to smooth talking smooth shifting Eddy than meets the eye, but whatever his faults it seems the ladies loved him anyway. And all we know for sure is Ed himself lived a long and apparently peaceful life here on Earth, before he was called up by the Angels and then ushered in to have the customary chat with Saint Peter. Just to make perfectly sure he really had the good character to meet The Pearly Gates Country Club criteria. Maybe his unbelievable story might fly there? Let's let the Higher court decide. So, let let us remember the beautiful breathy voiced buxom Carol 'Busting out all over' Wayne, the all too short-lived Diane 'High Wire' Linkletter and we should definitely not forget Devil-may-care Eddy 'Ladyk- Ladythriller' Durston.
* 'Take a powder' is now a fast fading aging slang term for 'get the Hell out of here.' Or in Eddy's case 'get the Hell outta Dodge?'
'Share confidences! Get the low down! Celebrity stories! Saucy! Salacious! Racy! Revealing! Straight from Hollywood! Tittle! Tattle! Take a peep behind the show biz tinsel! Flip through the files! Question the mystery!
'History never repeats I tell myself before I go to sleep.' Split Enz 'History Never Repeats.'
In 1914 the brave boys gladly marched off to war, By Jingo, they'd give those ruddy Germans what for!
On the 11th month on the 11th day on the 11th hour Of the Great Year Of Our Lord 1900 and 18 The evil enemy surrendered to our superior power, Ending the greatest bloody war the world had seen.
The few lads who had lived to see off the Kaiser Were now grown men, older, sadder, worldly wiser.
Throughout the kingdom the church bells loudly rang Proclaiming to those gathered the Great good news, Sweetly the choirs and congregations soaringly sang; Cold comfort to the war widows eying the empty pews.
'This is the end of all Wars' was the chaplains loud claim, 'Thank God,' muttered the ranks of blind, broken, lame.
So, then; a mere 21 years later again War was declared; And a second Great war succeeded, exceeded the first, And again the animal warfare left few families unspared, When it comes to learning lessons Mankind is the worst.
I pray God's Children ain't now so slow on the uptake, Christ, I don't believe we can survive our third mistake.
'Marching jauntily off to Victory, or Eternity.'
(Sorry, not much humour in todays offering. But then, the Great War shouldn't be easy to laugh off.)
'I slept through the night, I got through to the dawn, I flipped a switch and the light went on, I got out of bed and I put some clothes on, It's a pretty good day so far. I turned the tap, there was cold, there was hot, I put on my coat to go to the shop, I stepped outside and I didn't get shot, It's a pretty good day so far.' Loudon Wainwright, 'Pretty Good Day.'
When we met the nice new neighbours I'd tipped my hat, As neighbours we civilly smile and chat when 'ere we pass, Small talk- the weather, this and that, 'how's the dog and cat?' So as a good neighbour I mow both our and their front grass.*
This Guy Fawkes night the neighbours put on a spectacular sight,** Skyrockets and cracking fireworks assailed our quiet suburban sky, The nuclear family next door had sparked off a pyrotechnic delight, But for us next door, dear friends and neighbours, the end is nigh.
They'd frightened the sh- wits out of the cat, I asked them- politely- to tone it down but alas They didn't care a crap bit about our pet's habitat, And they told me I could blow it out my- how crass.
'Twas past midnight their last skyrocket made its final fizzing flight, Finally our freaked-out cat settled down, after one last piteous cry, Ten at night is late enough for your crashes and bangs in the night, Next time our dog strays on your lawn I'll let the doggy droppings lie.
* Grass berm, kerb strip in the US, boulevard in Canada, grass verge in the UK. Apparently in Australia it's called (schoolboy snigger) a nature strip. **Guy Fawkes Night, a stupid and outdated (IMO) celebration of a plot to blow up the English parliament way back on 5 November, 1605.
'We're out there winning hearts and minds One big bang boom at a time, We just keep doing what we're doing, 'Cause business is booming.' Jace Everett, 'Business Is Booming.'
(This is a bit of an exaggeration, but it would have been nice if they had given up the explosive fireworks a bit earlier than midnight. It would have been a bit more neghbourly, in the light of the following day anyway.)
Obbverse 