Americans, Dogs, Beetles & Neck Tattoo's

I hated Americans without ever meeting one. I hated dogs without ever owning one. I detested Volkswagen Beetles without ever driving one. I detested unemployed people with neck tattoos without ever knowing one.

On Monday I attended a food course and was seated next to a guy from Chicago who was here for a year on an exchange programme. I was disappointed. Not once did he brag, show off or act like the fuck wits we are forced to endure so often on television. He was suave, funny, intelligent and a hell of a chef. We have exchanged numbers and we are going to meet up midweek for a few beers.

My girlfriend is ill so I have had to walk, feed and amuse her small pooch which up to now has just been background noise as far as I am concerned. To my delight I have discovered that a wagging tail, a cocked head and a welcoming little canine jig in constant circles as I arrive has grown on me. He is sitting beside me right now with his head on my feet.

Being on a limited budget dictates which mode of transport I get to drive. The for sale cards in my local supermarket threw up a limited choice after my scooter decided to die in the middle of a rainstorm on Friday night. I left it writhing in agony in a puddle at the side of the road where it fell. I never looked back. £1,480 got me a rather retro looking vee-dub, all be it somewhat rusty and with a musty smell which reminds me of mushroom soup. I love it. I feel like a kid again and people wave to me from the cramped confines of their own Beetles. So cool!

I'm still working on the neck tattoo thing though, but so far the prognosis isn't looking good.

Big Man

Hunger is a ghost of which no spirit can ever fill me. Today I missed a meal and also a friend. I can replace the meal, but the friend who lifted me and returned me to blogging has left. Enjoy the sun big yin, see you in Glasgow one fine September morning in the rain.

Waiter there is a nun in my soup

Extraordinary week this one now dormant on the calendar, but one for the diary while it's still fresh in the mind. Yesterday we had a few holy visitors from Ireland in to fill up on grub while their minibus was being repaired across the road. It seems that god made many things, but Movano buses was not one of his better ideas. As we were kinda busy during the lunchtime rush hour the lovely nuns instead of whining at the waitresses to hurry up and serve the soup, they actually ferried it from the serving counter to their tables. Nice of them in a way, but one customer sidled up to me and said that an elderly nun had spilled soup on his coat hanging from the back of the chair. What was I gonnae do?
I poured him a free coffee, but he wanted something more. I gave him free soup, all good, until the offending nun carried it over to his table with her thumb in the broth.

He stormed out. I  let him go, perhaps the devil serves soup better in hell. Amen to that one.

Janey McGurk

This weekend finds me a happier man now that my lady friend has decided that I need constant companionship and a few nice cushions and a throw on my sofa to make it less gloomy. It's funny how female company can make you change your mind about being a miserable bastard forever. Now I have to phone my sister and tell her that her spare room back in Glasgow will no longer be required.

Maybe next month?