completely plagerised but born of a want to see imagery alongside good music. I can but try -

http://www.youtube.com/user/Cumquatlounge?gl=GB

I would like to blame the stresses of work and the ever increasing voracious corporate demands on my very soul to explain my rants at other motorists recently however I know the reality is that my own disorganisation and choice to always leave it to the very last minute is the real catalyst here. I weave my way between disabled badges, 4X4 Subarus and ‘little person on board’ signs during what surely must be a break between Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women. I see the Royal infirmary in front of me. How hard can it be to get parked at this time of day anyway? I mean come on!! My frustration is apparent. I’m due there oh…? Around now and I’m still tearing around the block with an empty fuel tank that I intend to fill very soon.

Finally!

I take the letter from my inside jacket pocket and unfold it, it reads ‘Outpatients clinic – floor 3 10 minutes ago’. I attempt to match this information to anything remotely familiar on the information board in front of me but can’t. I can however tell you which department resides on floors A.B,C,D and F but for some reason not E. This has all the hallmarks of a pencil necked, white knuckled bureaucrat that harbours dreams of absolute logic deep in their wildest imagination. I am convinced of it.

I pass rows of the hospital’s castor beds all with Sellotaped A4 signs warning that they are ‘OUT OF ORDER’ and I think on how I wish I had time enough to add the word ‘BANG’ to each of them.

‘Excuse me’ I ask to a female worker, I am no expert and can only draw my assumption from the attire, ‘Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of the ‘outpatients clinic floor 3? ‘, I subdue my agitation. Her head swivels one way while her hand points the other, as if propelled by some magnetic bearings. ‘Certainly, just go up those stairs’ –she points to an innocuous mid landing to my left, turn left and then go through accident and emergency, then you come to ………somewhere, something something something, why isn’t she looking me directly in the eye, what’s wrong with her eyes anyway… (Grey static noise)… As usual I’ve only heard half of it. I always turn off after two or three instructions, assessing that to listen to any more will mean merely recollecting the ending while forgetting the beginning. ‘Thank you you’ve saved my life’ I offer in response which given the surroundings is perhaps not the best turn of phrase I could have returned.

I rush up the stairs and turn left. She said accident and emergency, I definitely heard that bit, yep there’s a sign, thank you, right it must surely be obvious from here I mumble to myself, lips stiff in disguise. I pass into a large room, an amphitheatre of foam picked chairs looking towards the entrance. The very entrance I should have used in the first instance. It’s only 1145a.m on a Tuesday morning and this place is heaving. Each and every seat seems to be taken up. There are looks of desperate prognosis exchanged for every new arrival, hoping it doesn’t lead to increased waiting times. I recognise this look simply as I have this very same look whenever I’m unlucky enough to grace these places however today I’m merely passing through. I say it in my head as I enter the room ‘passing through, passing through, make way passing through’ and flip an imaginary hand in the air. From the looks of those waiting it asserts my opinion that if you ever wish to remain truly healthy in life you really should avoid these places at all costs. It’s just desperate.
A stale air and a sea of fixated searching eyes follow me across the room. I hunt for a further clue to whereabouts of floor 3. I’m feeling like Anneka Rice on treasure hunt by this stage except the clock has already beaten me. For crying out loud there has to be some signs by now? A window? Someone to ask? Oh!(?) There…! And I’m off towards the lift shaft faster than a priest under investigation!

The lift finally saunters up, thinks about opening, has a yawn then slides its steely grey doors slowly ajar. Before I enter I finish the inner swearing that scrolls across my mind like a Sesame Street sing-along. I step into the lift where a balding man, his young daughter and an old lady in a thick brown overcoat are staring at the floor. ‘3 please’ I say to the old lady beside the controls. I take in a quick swatch of the floor myself just in case. She leans back and squints as if to focus her sight on the controls a few inches in front of her but I lean forward and press it myself anyway! I’m late!.

She looks up at me and flashes a warm smile through thinning lips and the lift falls silent. Slowly the creaky old box grunts and makes its ascent. I look around and notice the mirrored back wall. I see just how tall I really am compared to the others especially when I am stood in such close proximity to them. I have no idea why this should be surprising.

I notice that my head seems to be almost touching the lift ceiling and I look up just to check. There are only centimetres in it. ‘Is this roof really low or have I grown a few inches since I came into this hospital?’ I say out loud, breaking the unspoken agreement to stand there and shut up. Years of people asking what ‘the big man thinks’ and failing to pale into the background has made me the pest I am. Looks are exchanged between the balding man and his daughter which suggests there has been an acknowledgement towards this fact already. Both smile back before the acknowledgement that indeed it is me. The old lady smiles In agreement; her eyes are fairly seasoned yet piercing blue from under her hat rim. I warm to her instantly.

We stop at the second floor and the man and his daughter get out. ‘Noo watch yerself there now big stuff’ he says as he leaves and his daughter giggles a knowing laugh.

‘I take it you are going to 3 also?’ noticing that the only button still illuminated is for floor 3. ‘no, no floor 4 thank you’ she says. A shrug of the eyebrows and I lean forward and press the button for her. I say nothing, for once. Lethargically the door closes. ‘I think this lift has seen better days’ I suggest and gesture towards the doors. ‘It has it has’ she responds ‘but it will be great when they move to the new building across the road’ she adds. ‘There’s a new building across the road? I ask… genuinely? ‘Yes didn’t you see it when you came in? It’s a huge new building and I think it will make a great difference to the area’. She is very well spoken and I also notice how well heeled she is. She reminds me of my gran in many ways and I wonder what brings her to such a dump of a hospital as this. ‘No doubt this will all be flats before too long’ she continues. I exhale a momentarily relaxed sigh and say ‘yes I would think so, it is a lovely building right enough, it wouldn’t take too long for the money guys to see the potential here eh? However I think they have their work cut out for them on the inside eh?’

– I’ve now been in the lift for 7 weeks 2 days and 47minutes

Finally I arrive at the third floor and the lift slows as if to subdue its groundbreaking ascent. Teasingly the door begins to slide back. It opens to reveal an old dark tired wooden reception desk a few meters from the lift shaft across the once blue carpet tiles. Yesteryears health posters and self made signage adorn the walls. ‘Nice meeting you & good luck’ I say which strikes me as an odd thing to say although I don’t have time to dwell on it as I’m off out of the lift as fast I can without looking panicked.

I lean over the desk with a purposeful look yet is seems my panic was ill invested. ‘Aye she is back with him again’ I hear the streaked haired woman behind adjacent to me across the desk say. She is talking to an auxiliary nurse sitting in the waiting room with her feet up. In fact it seems she is the only one actually ‘waiting’ in the waiting room. Her white label trainers crossed and perched on the seat back in front of her. ‘She has got to be aff her heid’ she continues. The only other receptionist is on the phone snapping at some poor bugger for having the audacity to call instead of visiting.

I instinctively stand straight and upright as though making myself larger, less invisible, staring and listening to the riveting conversation before me, both my hands on the counter. But still they continue and I begin to look around as if acknowledging some fictitious audience, mentally relaying narrative best suppressed, yes I am real, yes I am in fact stood here as you can see, stood here waiting for you, as a customer (not a patient) and not as you may have mistakenly assumed as a janitor or as a fucking hospital hooker hanging around like some bad fart waiting for ‘last rights’ requests from the terminally ill, this I can promise you? Have I entered the twilight zone?here? eh?eh? eh? In my head I am now swinging round and addressing all corners of the audience. I off course say nothing and wait there.

It’s only been a few seconds but it is long enough for me to have analysed the situation several times while running a continuous mental monologue. Surely she can’t be that rude I think to myself? Surely not? Despite witnessing unprecedented levels of true ignorance over the years I remain shocked each time it happens. However I recognise that I may have become unsighted by my own haste and decide to apply some logic. Ok -Yes she is behind the counter but wait she is also wearing a jacket. So that’s something to consider. I give it a few seconds thought and conclude that she has to be both incredibly rude and incredibly cold or it might just be that she is in fact on a break. Eureka!! However she then disappears into the back office and now I know I am never to find out. I am left with the stony faced vinegar drinker who is not exactly ‘smiling down the phone’ but despite this I still wish to converse with her sooner than later.

Finally she replaces the hand set, composes herself and blows her straight grey fringe from the tip of her glasses. She approaches the counter and without looking up asks ‘your name?’ the phone starts ringing again. I tell her. ‘Date of birth?’ I tell her. She pushes her face forward into her computer screen, she juts her jaw forward like a wash hand basin before biting her bottom lip with in her top teeth. And where did you say your doctor’s surgery was? ‘Kilmarnock Road – Dr Geddes I answer’ avoiding the urge to say ‘I didn’t’. She applies some further girning before asking me to take a seat over where the auxiliary nurse had been warming the seats with her big warming arse previously.

I walk over to the tinted windows where one of those indestructible coloured wire toy things sits. I avoid the tinted windows and look through the only opened window to avoid making a dull day any duller. ‘Jeezus! It is huge! Unimpressive architecturally but very definitely huge’ ‘how the hell could I not have noticed that?’ I mumble inwardly. A gigantic new hospital building is almost completed directly across the road from where I had entered the building. I shake my head and sit down, resisting a read of the women’s weekly from August 2001.

I wonder to myself where nice wee well spoken lady in the lift was off to? I know it was on the 4th floor but I can see no boards next to the lift to help me out. I slouch down in the leather backed chair, take stock and finally relax. With only health posters and pamphlets to read and re read and re read I reach inside my pocket and take out my blackberry log on scroll past the email option and click on the brick-breaker game. The most stressful de-stressing game I know.

Are you Scott? booms a voice from my right hand side. ‘Yes’ I answer instantly lifting my head to see the Auxiliary nurse who once sat bumping her gums with the nurse on her break (I’ve decided). Frumpy and without cosmetic pretence she stands with both sets of fingers straightened into the shallow pockets on either side her apron. Her appearance reflecting the very nature of the job. ‘Well we’re sorry to keep you waiting so long son but we have had to send for your records to be brought up, are you ok waiting a wee bit longer?’ ‘SON!?’ is my first thought. She’s not a kick in the arse off my age and she is calling me Son! I pull an expression as if examining the options open to me and respond ‘yes no problem, I’ve got plenty to keep me going’ motioning towards my game. ‘Ok we won’t be long’ she responds before breaking into that two quick steps then walk again gesture of urgency walk.

Finally I am seen for a grand total of 5 minutes and I leave feeling like a hypochondriac. My 2 years travelling the world demonstrating ‘peely wally’ Scottish sun burn to nations haven’t taken their toll after all and the inauspicious looking moles on my back and under arm are just beauty spots. I’m told I don’t even need to come back and my big girls blouse image is maintained. To be honest I am glad. Girls blouse or not – I left with all the parts I came with and that’s a good thing. I smile at the horse in a huff behind the desk and press for the lift.

It arrives, looks at me, me at it…then grumbles under its breath – go on then. This time it is rather full but the gesticulating feet shuffles from within indicate that I am ok to squeeze in. I slide my head just under the roof and feel the close proximity of my new journey mates. I notice everyone is going to LG Lower Ground and with a quick scan of the menu board I see LG -‘Dept of Nuclear Medicines’ eh?. ‘Are you sure its LG and not G Ground to exit I ask or are you all off to Dept of Nuclear Physics’ My annoying upbeat mood still evident. Beside me I notice a head tilt, a brown fox haired hat and broach tilts towards me. My eyes move quickly between a little folded white handkerchief in her hand to the redness of her eyes. She forces a smile and says ‘ah its you again’. ‘Hello there again’ I muster. ‘She looks back towards her handkerchief then dabs her eyes but continues to talk ‘you look happy’, ‘that’s good’, ‘it must have gone well for you’ ‘it didn’t go so well for me today’. Her words are soft. Well meaning. My mood collapses into a paradigm unaligned with just seconds ago. My heart sinks and I for once I’m lost for words. In all effects I am still a stranger in box full of strangers, descending just as quickly as my mood just did. I say nothing but my head is searching for options.

What can I do? I don’t even know her? I open a mental debating chamber with a multitude of arguments and retorts being thrown back and forth in a matter of seconds, none of which seem right. ‘Aren’t you looking for the exit I enquire’’ I think its on the G Ground floor not Lower Ground’ then I notice a paper sign with curled edges hanging above the lift menu “Exit by LG Lower ground”. Her red eyes fix firmly on mine and my heart sinks. ‘no I need to go to A&E, is that on the Lower Ground’, ‘no it’s on the ground floor’ I say however we have already passed and the doors open at the Lower Ground.

I think I will go back up with her and offer to sit with her. For now at least…I’ve got to. Despite being at the front of the lift I move to the side of the door to allow the others out knowing that when they have all alighted I can speak to her on the way back up. Out they pour. Briefly she looks up at me and again asks ‘is A&E on this floor’ she corrects herself before I speak ‘no its up one isn’t it’ ‘no matter, ill take the stairs, goodbye then’ and she joins the exodus of people from the lift.

I leave the hospital thinking on what just happened. Thinking on how one second can change everything. On how things said can not be unsaid and realisation can not be rewound and ignored. I reach my car and sit for a few seconds before starting the engine. As the engine sparks to life so does the CD player. As if accompanying my mood it’s ballboy’s track ‘ I don’t have time to stand here with you fighting about the size of my dick’ where its not long before the lyric of how ‘days can be seconds and seconds can be your whole life’. It left me wanting to tell you. So I have.

Ballboy – “I don’t have time to stand here with you
Fighting about the size of my dick”

I don’t have time to stand here with you
Fighting about the size of my dick
I’ve got a meeting to get to
And a gun to pick up first

And i don’t have time to stand in the rain
Fighting about all the same things again
If i don’t leave now
Then i’ll be too late to ever get back

And in 24 hours i’ve lived a hundred lives
I’ve shot one man dead and watched another two die
And it’s touch and go if i should run or hide
And it’s touch and go if i can live through the night

Well i’ve got the money and i’ve got the truck
But it’s too close to call whether i’ve got the luck
But i’m too far in to even dream of getting back out

And i wish all the fighting
Had taken less time
I could have been in and out
We could have laughed through the night
But sometimes days can be seconds
And seconds can be your whole life

LAST FM                  

the theme of the group was simple – get as many like minded high users of Last FM together and speak music and general chit chat just as with any night in a lounge….the over riding surprise is how well it has worked and how great a bunch of people we have there – Put a lot of nice people together and nice things happen.

If you think you qualify give us a shout -  http://www.last.fm/group/The+Subterranean+Cumquat+Lounge

If there is one band that I hold dear its these boys. What they did for music, society and attitudes was so stark it could never to be rivalled again. What still confuse me though are the attitudes towards the Pistols to this year, 2-thousand and something or another.

And I am not only talking about the God fearing, white collared, Side parting, wash car Sundays and 2.2 Children makers and fine Samaritans of our land. I am also talking to the young fishnet-tight, PVC and Lace Clad Lads and Lassies that adorn ‘I am the Anti Christ incarnate’  T- Shirts. Normally accompanied beautifully with a rucksack of some description, and customary Teddy Bear Key ring dangling from it. Love it. But this is not just about the Goths or shoe gazers either. This is about attitude.

You see the Sex Pistols are viewed to this day like the fans that followed them. Full of nut jobs and anti social young thugums! Dear dear dear! When in fact the sex Pistols were never like this. Only one member could be likened to the fans and thats because he was one and that was one John Simon Ritchie/Beverley Or Sid Vicious so termed after a Hamster he had apparently. Sid Vicious was nothing more than a bit of a head banger mate of Lydon, but loved the band from the off, so was drafted in to replace Matlock because he wanted to play ballads and fluffy stuff (official reason ‘he loved the Beatles’). Turfed out on his arse despite being the only one in the band who could actually play or throw a tune together.

I laugh now when I see the next batch of kids coming through with Pictures of Sid on their walls simply because he was nuts. Jeez I even painted one myself when I was a kid, Right above my bed. I thought he was the absolute Dogs Bollocks, mental and anti establishment. Thatll do for me? Im having some of that to go with my puberty!!! Its only after years of reading about the pistols I see Sid for what he was, a mad Junkie who gave the band the image they needed and no more. Talentless and out his tits more often than not he could offer image but nothing remotely creative. His dog collar, leather jacket and Guitar stance were Jonnie Thunders and Ramones inspired. Nothing was original really. Perhaps his mothers white dinner jacket in my Way but not much else. The real genius was John the Rotten Lydon.

Lydon is probably the most misunderstood man in music. For most he just hated everything! And I suppose he did hate a lot of things, same as me and you. The difference was that he did something about it. I would like to think of this as challenging ideas. Yes lets call it that for now. This, for me, is why he was by far the best politician Britain has ever produced. He was his own person, took no direction from anyone, came up with is own thought process then challenged how he had arrived there. Then if it was still relevant in a few weeks time or whatever then this was to be his point of view. Of course this was to be reviewed again after another period of time. Cant let it stagnate now can we. When that would be? He may decide to change that too. Personally I think this is a fantastic way to be. Never to be pigeon-hole others or to accept be pigeon-holed yourself, but to challenge and progress. Its a way of thinking and a way to develop. You only need to look at religious nuts running around preaching and brainwashing without an ounce of proof to see why thats dangerous, far more dangerous than the Sex Pistols who look positively mild mannered by comparison.

Lydon was never anti the common man, anti the music scene, anti the workers, anti art. He was however anti fat cat, anti acceptance, anti greed and anti bureaucracy, with a very low tolerance of stupidity and that for me is his greatest quality. In the Julian Temple film the filth and the fury, the greatest ever film made about the sex pistols and one of my all time favourites alongside Talking Heads True Stories, you can see the Sex Pistols play a Xmas party for striking miner’s kids and one kid chucks a cream pie or cake in Lydon’s face. This is why it seems perfectly natural he went onto talk shows and participated in I’m a Celebrity! He never did take himself too seriously. The fans did. This is why I get annoyed when I hear fans say he sold out he never sold in!! He just didnt tolerate bollocks.

Ever get the feeling youre being Cheated? God Bless the Sex Pistols and all who sail in them.

Doors – 4pm The Pastels – 5 – 5.30pm Set 1
The Tenniscoats – 5.30 -6pm
Electrelane – 6.30 – 7pm Set 1
Pierre Bastien – 7.30 – 8.30pm
The Royal We – 9.00 – 9.30pm
Electrelane – 10 – 10.30pm Set 2
The Pastels – 11.00 – 12.00am Set 2
DJ – 12.00 – 1.00am Finish – 1am

After looking it up i still have nooooooo idea what an Tripytch is. According to Wikipedia its “A triptych (pronounced “trip-tick,” from the Greek tri- “three” + ptychē “fold”) is a work of art (usually a panel painting) which is divided into three sections, or three carved panels which are hinged together. The central panel is the most important one, and this is flanked on either side by two lesser but related paintings. The whole is intended to be greater than the sum of the parts.” so there you are. according to the website “if you don’t live it it won’t come to your Horn” so there you go. Clearer now? good.

With the ‘whole being intended to be greater than the sum of the parts’ it did kinda make sense to the running order of the day. it was a festival after all.
i would have prefered a Traditional Festival playlist for one reason only in that just as you got into it , it ended. just as you settled down to see The Tenniscoats you had to decided if you wanted to see another blinding set by Electrelane. thats festivals for you- you can;t see all you want to…not even when there are only a few bands!

The day started all very polite and ended much the same to be honest. this was not yer Hoi Polloi hanging out ruining it for everyone today sunshine – oooh no! this was yer Socialite and creative free thinker and even the odd pair of Tartan Trousers on a Sunday crowd. Ooohhh yes ill be lapping up a big dod of that sonny jim.

the CCA is a great venue for an indoor festival. Great light pouring in on A Sunny Day In Glasgow (not the band) to show it off. but i kinda thought they may use the bar area or even the entrance hall. alas it was not to be. I got seated and watered AKA Tennents, in the bar and did what everyone else did…watched the wee bald guy with the plastic bag and the tie walk around himself. i felt sorry for him on his own but like everyone else i ‘for once’ refused to invite him across. is that bad? perhaps i had hardened into Bourgois surroundings, who knows.

First roll call was for the intro ‘quiet session’ with The Pastels and The Tenniscoats. It was nice to see Gerard Love of Teenage Fanclub back in the line up and he even brought along Norman Blake to cover the base. so it was a reindeer section of sorts just for the day. I did over hear Norman confess to a mate he was blagging it so i am guessing this was not a permanent new fixture…nor a hugely flexed line up.

The music was uplifting and the voice of Saya Takashi was feathery and sweet. For me it was reminicent of Friday Bridge. Husband Ueno accompanied on guitar with some psychedelic guitar and Steven Pastel hunched on the deck behind the speaker as if we had just found Elvis working down that chipshop and threw him back on a stage to perform after all this time. It was all very individual but very collective. See i told you id gone all bourgois.

The set finished and off they trod to polite applause. it was all very orderly. we backed out of the big Library rrom and back down for another bout of check out the crowd.

Next up were Electrelane – 4 lassies from Brighton who like to belt out just as sweet a Lyric as Saya when they want but can mix it up with the Pixies / breeders type base lines and pace and change! and thats what they did. for half an hour. best set of the day!!

More booze and we were in full CCA mode now. Pierre Bastien was off and running. Being more of a Jung fan than Frued i subscribe to character types for most part and i do not possess the ability to sit through this chill out music made with mechano. this was pure CCA and the tartan trousers were really into it. Good for them too. Different folks Different Strokes. I stayed as long as i could but for me this was nonesense but probably more interesting to watch than to listen to. I wondered how mahy people might buy his audio CD afterwards to satisfy their lustful estatic applause. I have enough noise going on in my head to start letting someone else amplify it. so i politely left after about half an hour. if i dont like it i dont like it. its nothing i am not understanding i can assure you.

The Tenniscoats then played a solo set but i felt the need to leave early so as not to be the ones filtering out when it got quieter. Electrelane clashed with this and there lay the problem. I wanted to see both but the first Electrelane set had me wanting more. Not as blinding a set but still damn good.

Next up – The Royal We.I need to say i felt a little bit like i was watching something experiemental from a reality TV show. the look, the music and the voice didnt rock my world. pity as i had been looking forward to seeing this band and hearing more of their music. It all went a wee bit Siouxe Sue and forgetable really. who knows though eh?? i had heard they were breaking up, then not, then were …kinda like a…erm.. an experiemental band thing?

Alas the Finale – the Glasgow boys were out too for this fine collaboration with Staurt Murdoch and Stevie Jackson from Belle and Sebastian, Euan from The Last Project soon to side project as the kitchenettes according to Stuarty boy, and 1990′s and Yummy Fur’s John McKeown. These were just my spots!

Stepehn Pastel managed to take the audience rright back to their Hayday. An often out of tune, ramshackled twee feast ensued. It was was what the Pastels were for me and they were again tonight. its why i came. it was great! pity the crowd shifted away by as many as 20% of them before the band had finished their one hour set. a real pity- Stuart Murdoch included. it was worth the wait for the last song of the set with great vocals from katrina on drums for the popular simply nothing to be done. it was a good wee day, it was a ‘whole being intended to be greater than the sum of the parts’ kind of day you know? it wis indeed a bit of a ‘Triptych’ winnit? this day oot none too shabby either – a slow adrenaline rush but good! DJ’s were next-?

aye

“taxi!!!”

Pastels new album in the post
Electrelane new album out today!!

when you move around more. i always preferred gettting there to arriving…its not that i dont enjoy when i am there but its just that when you are moving around so does the world around you – its the old do what you always did get what you always got syndrome.

I spent two years travelling, working and drinking, and without a doubt it is the best thing i have ever or will ever do. its why i went into travel more than 10 years ago and still work there now. You havent lived until you ‘ve use a pig loo in Indonesia for example..forget homer’s spider pig this is a toilet with a difference where the locals insist you take a stick with you as the pigs often try to feast themselves before the snickers bar has left the wrapper. mmmm munchity crunchity!

BAD PIG!!!

From the heated toilet seats in Japan with two (count them , one, two) different squirty things to loosen …well you know (jeez this is turning into a toilet story) to the chinese Hotel systems where one guy checks you in at 2pm but the guy who gives you key doesnt come on duty until 6…its all great!!fantastic in fact

but you dont have to go far to see life’s little quirky stories! In London this week i witnessed a woman with a face like a bags of spanners, fake leopard skin collar with matching rimmed hat. the type of woman that makes me wonder..wonder where they came from…they certainly were not at school with me..something happens to these women. So there i was stood on the tube…and i hear the song PlayKilling in the Nameby Rage Against the Machine blaring out of some numpties mobile phone. this over the noise of the tube itself!. the wifey in the fur notices me swinging round to see what i was looking at and takes off into the carriage.

There was some Huge big black bloke sitting there texting minding his own business just as the songs defining lyrics arrive “Yeah! Come on!

Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” you know how it goes…

and with this the woman with the face like a horse in a huff lays it into the big black bloke texting. thats rediculous, we are trying to travel home in peace and you are sat there making that gawd almighty noise. her wee red broken veined pointy nose twitching up towards her eyes as she delivered her barrage of abuse to this bloke.

the guy was shocked. there he was texting his mate or whatever and this stick insect with fur and a beak is laying into him. problem was that his deep deep voice could not be heard when he protested his innocence! all the while the music carried on!

instead of appologising to the bloke the woman , once she understood what this commoner was saying, failed to back down. ‘ well its just not on anyway is it’. and off she returned back to where i was. not an apology , nothing. in my head i wanted it to be him! imagine the tension!?

woman walks to man
man playing music right on the lyrics
‘Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me’

woman gives him a piece of her mind
man turns off the music and says ‘ ooh awfully sorry i didnt realise i was disturbing you’

i had a right wee laugh to myself!

i got off the tube and there was a homeless bloke sleeping outside a locksmiths shop! ooh this stuff writes itself! another wee laugh and eyes open to the next bit of wonderment in this mental beautiful world of ours.

Fairfax Henrish McGonagle (pictured) King of the Tramps was not available for comment