Glasgow Guide Home

Whats On Glasgow Guide
  Glasgow What's On


    Glasgow Reviews


    Glasgow Gallery


      Glasgow Links
Discuss | Guestbook | Postcard | News | Weather | Feedback | Search | About | What's New
Glasgow Guide Discussion Boards

Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )                >> View Today's Topics <<


  Replying to Home Made Tales
Enter your Name
Anti-spam code
Security Code Confirmation
Confirm security code
Loading Image
You should NOT see this if you are REGISTERED and LOGGED IN.
 

Post Options
 Enable Smilies?
 


Last 10 Posts [ In reverse order ]
peter.howden Posted 9th Aug 2020, 07:06pm
  American Swings.(5) The Tank

Young Hector longed for a racing bike, so with good intentions, his sister asked a blacksmith to come up with a suitable, but sturdy bicycle. When the cycle was delivered to her home in Whifflet, Hector was over the moon, seldom separated during his summer stay, other than the essentials such as food and sleep. It was a real heavy machine, but how it could take a bashing, for walls and lamppost did not dent the rough cast, or even a scratch or scrape the blackest of black paint which ruled it’s chasse. Hector struggled to lift his tank, even with his whole body braced for the task, bending down to heave it off the ground ,carrying it on his shoulder, but only short deliberate steps, then plonk it down, with great relief.

Although Hector’s fondness for the cycle had not diminished, during that season, he was slightly envious because several boys in the area flaunted pedal-power racers, with gears. Hector’s black machine boasted two gears…his legs, and one of them was slightly askew. Even so, his bike opened up freedom being only a leg push away, and boy…was it not grand sticking an empty fag packet between the spooks, kidding it was a motor bike anywhere in the world. But those 6 gear racers were modern fast and fancy. One birthday boy boastful how his father had laid out a fortune for a Lightweight brand- spanking new, brightly painted, which could be lifted from the ground, to way above his head, by one small pinkie.

The boys as a clan, always aimed for the forbidden glen. The mere fact it was prohibited, was a magnet enough to give courage even to the mamma’s boys. It was not far from the square in Whifflet, but to young eyes, it was the huge wide-open outback, where they built a den someplace few had tread before. The North Calder ran right through their Glen, just under the A8 road high above a deep unknown waterhole. With each visit, the empty-headed team had a constant dare. For just beyond the murky pool, a steep path all around, winding in and out of the trees willy-nilly, used by young supple bikers as an obstacle course, to prove their bottle.

This time Hector was first through not to swift…but safely without a scratch, after scudding a tree or two, with his Black tank. The other boys were not so fluky. Most came away with slightly buckled front or rear wheels and scratch frames, but repairable. Unfortunately, the one who came a real cropper was the birthday boy; his prize was laying at the bottom, half in and half out of the aged waters. Both wheels were warped, beyond restoration, not knowing they should be round, but worse of all, the frame twisted in all direction other than the right way.

After limping home… the clan didn’t see the birthday boy for a week or so, and it was rumoured he had learnt a harsh new meaning for ‘Spanking.
peter.howden Posted 7th Aug 2020, 07:17am
  Beyond words

The elderly lady shuffles along the uneven pavement alongside the busy road, heading for the traffic-lights, then hurry to the shops, desperately needing messages ,including slice sausages. Harry loves a bit of sausage, bacon, and lovely corn dobby, makes a rare sandwich in the middle of the night. Does the trick when she cannot sleep for worry. Then thinking to herself, she’s being a silly old fool, Harry will keep her safe. .

With eyes keen for her age, sharply squints around and reminds herself, better get her skates on, hoping she doesn’t meet Mrs MacBride, for she is a gossip, bad mouths everybody and everything. Good, no sign of her, nervously has a swatch behind, relieved she is not being followed. She knows her Harry will call her a ‘silly billy’ when she gets back home. Once the key is secured behind the new mortise locked door, then both of them will be all right… snug as bugs on a rug. Arriving at the post, where you press the button, wait for the wee green man, before stepping out onto the road

A wee laddie is idly at the Zebra crossing, stopping her four wheeled trolley from rolling any further, giving her time to gather her breath. He gives her a smile as she thought, ‘he does not look like one of nasty hoodlums, who broke into our house when I was out last week. Lucky, I had Harry with me…or he might have been hurt, or worse still, thrown out into the street’. The place was in a real stooshie, the mawkit middens even peed on the kitchen table, near scunnered her. Promising Harry, they’ll not catch her napping this time, buying an expensive double drop mortise, paying a real joiner to install it. She recalls telling Harry, ‘you can’t put a price on safety’.

The lights change as the old lady darts across at such a speed, she leaves the lad standing, arriving in the nyaff supermarket like a hurricane. She would much prefer to shop in individual shops; however, the high street is full of sad empty premises, while the once family butcher Harry likes is gone somewhere, but not local. She scoots around the shelves, hardly looking at the well-publicized cheap bargains, to tempt the sodie-heid shoppers.

Racing through the till section, then marches, runs along the well-worn street heading for her home, and back to the flat. She worries leaving Harry alone in the flat, however the chippie said the door was like fort Knox ….Guaranteed. I hope he’s right’ she felt as she entered the close, with her heart thumping ten to a penny

To her relief the front door was intact. She enters the home, calling on Harry, to let him know she is out of harm's way. Locking the double- drop, starts packing her messages away and makes the tea. With her favourite slippers, sits down next to where Harry is and relaxes. ‘Told you handsome I’d be back in two handshakes and a jiffy… and so I am’, she whispers as she fondly, and gently picks up, from the new coffee table…a photograph of her darling late husband… Harry.
-----------------
peter.howden Posted 4th Aug 2020, 11:20am
  My Chronicles 04/08//2020;

The mind is simply complicated

The important reason for taking a spin, in the old jalopy yesterday afternoon, was to visit Aunt Becky in her old folk’s newbuilt dementia home. It was the first official sanction, regrettably allowing only one person, appropriately veiled, to visit the large communal garden… warned no presents of any kind because of the naughty virus risks. I stayed in the car listening to McLevy, as Rebecca was escorted by a masked attendant, around the back of the building to see Becky.

Just some fifteen minutes later, Rebecca returned, in an emotional mood, taking time to compose herself before telling how Aunt Becky is not only very frail, but sat with her eyes closed, flouting her surroundings. She did awake when her personal assistant asked Becky if she knew who this is? pointing to Rebecca. Quick as a flash she retorted, “I don’t know her, or anyone here, and I don’t like them!”, then as quickly…shut her eyes again, ignoring everything around. We have great faith in the careful attention the home staff are giving Aunt Becky.

Apart from dodging the rain, my main task is painting the extending garden fence, longer than remembered and it needs two, perhaps three coats. I feel like huckleberry Finn’s grandfather…knackered, while Aunt Polly keeps her beady eye, making sure there’s no skipping off to meet up with the likes of crafty Tom Sawyer, or the judge’s daughter. Truth be told there is only two Becky’s for me.

The raw skill I possess makes me ponder in the mind, if such artistes, of the caliber of say, Vincent Willem van Gogh , Monet, Pissarro, the main man Leonardo da Vinci… and the almighty number one, Michelangelo, famed for painting ceilings and walls. Did they all do such menial stokes around my age? Conceivably, they served their internship from an incredibly early age, rather than a duff old timer, who akin to the Michelangelo, doesn’t want to, but now, seemingly taking as long with my personal ‘Sistine Chapel’.

Stop Press…news just in, Emma our granddaughter, Nikki’s daughter, has passed her exams with flying colours, which gives Emma a ticket into Aberdeen University, to study Biology and Cytology…magic…pure dead brilliant…for this is what she is pining to do.
peter.howden Posted 2nd Aug 2020, 01:57pm
  Alternative farming;(1)

Not so long ago while visiting Netherlands, collectively are the second biggest exporter of agriculture goods in the world. Firstly, there is no need for fences surrounding most areas, because the national abundance of canals produce individual islets, and larger islands of lush green grass, to enhance prime sheep and livestock. Half the countryside is used for husbandry, surrounded by inland waterway, it was obvious the shepherds may have a more complicated relationship with sheep and other farm animals., than here in Scotland.

This may lead to problems for herdsmen working through twilight, while holding his trusty crook, delicately approaching their flock of sheep, or flink of cows, becoming slightly disturbed, and unwisely disperse uncertain of his dark intentions. Rising despair of their situation, can possibly be followed by accidental tumbling or tripping, or simply falling unintentionally in the water? It would be so easy an accident for a very scared beasty, requiring one eye concentrating deep on the herder’s man, while moving over unsure ground

Before either one is aware, the poor beastie splatters into the ducts, probably feeling rather sheepish, who knows...but what danger lurks.? Their wool acts a disastrous dead weight, causing sinking. This peril is currently first in the backlog of health and safety for Netherland government, hastily organizing a programme of life saving courses, which would include chest heart manipulation, plus mouth to mouth respiration, to be compulsorily for all Shepherds in Holland

This also may lead to strained relationships between both parties. One such herder has been taken to court for gross indecency with his charge, but, earned sympathy from the court when explaining how one thing led to another. Scottish shepherds are up in arms, as well as their kilts, angerly stating clearly… it is unfair, and they are demanding kisses too?
peter.howden Posted 29th Jul 2020, 12:35pm
  My Chronicles 29/07//2020;

During this trouble time, it’s so easy an excuse, to think ‘maybe later’, when hard determination is sticking to a routine…no matter how weary it may be. She who must be obeyed’, and ‘I’, are clearly slowing down, unsure whether it is advancing old age, or lockdown…or a combination of both giving physical mental fatigue signals. We practically knowing each other almost inside out, while still can flip the odd surprise now and again. Being close and accepting each other’s traits and foibles helps, with perhaps some grunts do surface occasionally. Love isn’t a crutch…but a floating emotion confusing reality…but hey…bring it on.

Nikki and Emma played a happy surprise visit on Saturday afternoon. Sipping tea and just typical natter face to face, small patter, rubbish chatter, completer with laughter… just superb. I do feel sad for those who can’t see loved ones in person, for one reason or another, as I have long standing close friends, who are unable to do just that. Chris and Kirsti are fine though Kirsti is still recovering from a broken wrist.

With the lockdown restriction easing, after quite a whilst not actually seeing her at all, next Monday may be possible to drive to Aunt Becky’s home. I will drive Rebecca to the dementia residence, however only one person is allowed into the grounds…so definitely Rebecca to just see her, for Becky has been part of her life, right from when she was born…Rebecca not Aunt Becky. We have full confidence in the staff, although they must be under immense strain and stress.

On Sunday Rebecca’s IPod , accidently fell from the kitchen table, resulted in blankness. Following all the guidelines, on the internet to reinstate the data, failed. Early yesterday’, a purpose car trip into almost empty eerie central Glasgow, was right out of the 50s catastrophe films. The peoples working in Apple store Buchanan St were pleasant, and indeed successful in returning the device almost back to normal. When arriving home, all that had to be done was to type in the Id…and the sacred password. Where I went wrong, I do not know, but …after continuously going around in circles, Apple have blocked the IPod, in case of naughty goings-on. I’m indeed a dunderheed…back to the internet?

It’s not the mirror showing more wrinkles every day, neither the boldness of creeping baldness, or reality looking every inch my age, plus several more years…it’s the simple fact losing my independence and marbles, almost instantly forgetting things, plus intermittent pain by just touching a unknown surface. There is no sanctuary when friends say they are the same. Early yesterday morning as I reached out for my trust IPod, as always being the custom…But, it wasn’t there. Some vague recollection of using it the night previous, while in the office, come Toni’s room. Searching the usual drawer(three times), then all around the desk, wastepaper baskets, in case it fell in accidently, but finding no success…the fretting started.

All day Inside my crustiness, irritation grew in a blank mind, except… one question was irately rising …where the bloody hell is it . after dinner as I sat brooding, while upstairs, ‘She who must be obeyed’, called out my name, whilst displaying the precious IPod, and an old pouch I’d seen in the drawer, while I fruitlessly searched it…three times. Rebecca explained the lost device was inside the leather poke. I’m blind as well as daft, but thanks to ‘She who must be obeyed’, spared me from unlimited days, being unbearably annoyed at myself
peter.howden Posted 25th Jul 2020, 07:05am
  The cat sat on the mat,

“The cat sat on the mat”, a basic starting point to teach our vulnerable young children with simple terms and language. The tale is usually displayed with a cartoon caption of the whole story, added with plain printed words below? It could be argued, this innocent looking formation is creating a thought-provoking complex of extremes.

Those captions may well imply it is a fictional cat, on an imaginary mat, who looks totally puzzled, emphasizing a possibility of possessing split personalities, with oversized eyes staring right back to a dark source…searching for something unknown. Subsequently, if the other cat, not an imaginary one, believed it is a real mat, probability thinks the schizophrenic puss is being selfish, even if he only envision this to be the case. For there is only one mat, either illusion or real.

Going further into the unknown, would the other half of the split personality pussy have a nine-life cycle, with individual characteristics, or sadly nil…because it started from nonexistence? If the fantasy mouser suffered from a form of bipolar disorder, this presents a possibility of two mats, so which one would he sit on?
If the moggy inadvertently found out, it was not schizophrenic, or indeed exists… how could it come to terms pawing over inside its illusive mind? The terror and the very real danger to the kitty’s sanity, with multiple traits, this presents a possibility of two mats, so which one would he sit on?

In another dimension, would this depict the argument, an unspecified schizophrenic Malkin would believe the other cat is off his mat, because there is only one imaginary mat? What would happen mentally to the paranoid mouser if it found out by mistake, it was not in schizothyme mold at all, but did not happen? I think so therefore I am…closer to either schism or loosely schlemiel, while this would make tabby, a tad Jewish, and circumcised while not taking this chimerical serious?

In another spectrum, the ongoing phantasmal tabby: essentially a moggy’s disarmed tale, deliberately springing around the café scene on paper, not the mat. “Tip and mitten” just appear like a holy conception (implying Catholic connotations) however if it was not… how was it done.

Who, what, was the Uncle Tom? Stuck in his cabin or scrambling out of the closet; this imaginary or schizophrenic kitling. More to the point, who was the mother?
Where did she spring from …and how?
peter.howden Posted 23rd Jul 2020, 11:05am
  American Swings.(4) Free from the dark

Left abruptly alone without warning, for the other two adventurous had abandoned the quest, scurrying back towards the entrance which was but a dot in the murky emptiness. The darkness hauntingly wrapped around, almost smothering young Hector whose imaginary courage had fled without a steady light. In near blackness, as the candlelight had long perished due to clumsiness, and the much needed every ready torch battery, flickered intermittently. Strange sweeping shadows emerged in bloody darkness.

Resting on a boulder wondering what to do, Hector’s was aware his clothing was clingingly cold, and a hint of wind. With raw deduction from some film about miners, there must be a current of air, deducing its surly coming from the other end. Taking a couple of slugs from a Barr’s bottle of ‘Dandelion and Burdock’, bought at Calder St corner shop, he began recalling local tales about the burrow, a thought began to pester his mind. Perhaps this was the rumoured last century’s cart coal tunnel, some 400 yards long, running under Whifflet st, hidden for donkeys years

This assumption found him more spunk to see the ‘Dare’ all the way through, yet, with each step ricocheting into the unknown eeriness, worried him. Hector’s trouble had always been a vivid imagination, so the further into the abyss, the more alarming thoughts swam in his mind. After just a few minutes, to his relief, was forced to stop his solo adventure, as the way was now enclosed up. He persuaded himself he was at the end and had conquered the quest. In excited haste he retraced his steps, waded over knee high water, and at last, saw daylight peering through the entrance.

It took his eyes sometime to adapted to sunlight again. No one was there to witness his achievement, as he scrounged around for something to dry himself. Stupidly trying grass, leaving tainted frog legs when arriving home, with his sister scrubbing, in a frantic effort to save his skin…with little or no success. Unfortunately, when Hector’s brother-in-law came in, he gave him a thick ear, and a sore bum for his troubles.

It was raining next day, so the lads, and two girls met up in a deserted warehouse in North Bute St, playing a game of ‘Dare, Promise, or Kiss’. A mawkit milk bottle brought from the midden, pointed at Hector being dared to kiss the girl named Archibald...on the lips. He only consented to do so If they put a cardboard box over their heads while the act was being performed, even then chickened out…kissing her on the cheek. Brave wee man?

Next; The Tank
peter.howden Posted 20th Jul 2020, 01:26pm
  American Swings.(3) The Tunnel

During what seemed an everlasting summer, Garturk/Bute st was overflowing with a variety of brood’s, having one thing in common...“Dare” challenges, competing to come up with a desperate taunt. One morning, the ultimate test was thrown into the arena....to explore the depths of the abandoned tunnel, believed to be haunted by rats and the like, under the main Whifflet |St. It was rumoured, some kids the previous year were never seen again... failed reaching the other end, gauged to be at the incredible American swings.

The spooky tunnel ran underground, from Bute St all the way to behind Hospital St...and the famed American Swings. The reason for some playgrounds to have such a name escapes grown-up logic, although quite a few swings and roundabout areas were so called, in Glasgow and surrounding rural populated districts. Whifflet American swings were brightly painted, so maybe this is the justification, as most things in the 50s were drab and formally painted dark green, or brown at best. Another theory is it had a special type of apparatus, close to “A Dundee Swing”, but operated on a maypole fashion.

Hector had been instructed by his family; the upper other side of the main Whifflet Street was strictly out of bounds. Taking little heed, he joined the brave trio outside the dodgy entrance. The boys had battery torches, plus a candle and matches, from someone’s home. Richard explained the need for a candle was, to test the air was breathable. He added it should be canaries, but he only had a budgie…and his old Gran would miss it. Garry was first to enter the dark shaft, not a sound was heard until, just after a minute or two, he came clambering out the entrance, face pure dead white, yelling...’No f---in way’, and scarpered. Along with two of the other lads hector was a tad scared, but Richard,(who became a priest) stepped into the tomb opening, followed by two god fearing scared lads skulking through

Crawling down deeper than expected, holding his torch it is hard to tell the actual distance of this built underpass, but it was black murky, smelly, and dripping, constant cascading noisily, massive holed pathway, stony obstacles with boulders to attempt to dodge. The walls were wet and dripping as the challenged individual’s, had to take off socks, shoes or sannies, wade knee deep through manky water , with squelching icy mud seeping through toes…anxious as to god knows what lay ahead

Being about three boys wide with massive water covered area in the middle. The main danger was the reputed ravaging rats, living deep in crevasses slinking in the wake of the darkness down there, anticipating the unexpected explorer. The numbers were unknown, but Hector heard them scratching near and far, as their shadows darted back and forward. although defiantly saw a dark grey one, massively bigger than it should logically be. When cornered, rats bite, for every boy knew this as total fact.

Next; Free from darkness
peter.howden Posted 16th Jul 2020, 07:32pm
 
American Swings (2) A Leap beyond

Hector had some sense to practice when no one was around, meant sneaking out at seven in the morning. His balance was awkward due to cerebral palsy, plus the terror wavering on a curved top of the wall, working up to the dare. Landing clumsily on the gravel and on his bahookie several times. One day, while practicing, bid to jump the dreaded concrete nemesis, such a dreadful leap.... but not far enough.

Bounding between solid concrete into hopeful landing, Hector realized misfortune. The furthest corner was way out of reach, either by foot or hand, even when franticly trying to grab. He fell completely out of control, landing with arms stretched out only to feel his legs at a wearied angle. His right side took the main force of the craggy ground, covered in old fireside ashes. Wheezing in immense pain, lay there unable to move for what seemed ages, for it was more than his pride hurting. Eventually clambered with shaky feet, vowed never to do anything like that again, truly scunnered with the whole thing

Later on that afternoon while all the local lads, along with a couple of girls, one lad came along show off. Gleaming with bravado, carrying what appeared to be a real cowboy six shooter. He informed everyone his uncle brought it back from Hollywood, where he worked as an extra or scene mover, which kids envied with a lust passion. Tub’s(there was always a Tub’s then) handed around the heavy revolver to the keenly awaiting delinquent group, who showed their appreciation in the way they held it delicately. Being an outsider, Hector wasn’t privy to handling the magnificent trophy, but being mere cinema lad.... it was just out of this world.

Now in a fit of self-peek, hector blurted out his wild intention to jump the ‘corner to corner’ dare, which caused a few giggles from a couple of lads. What was unknown at the time, those boys had seen his pitiful attempts walking the wall earlier and were gunning for taking the micky ? For those few moments whatever came over Hector, he had little control over his mind, now oblivious to the fear of the petrifying obstacle. What was clear was an inner force driving uncommon bluster while scuttling along the approaching wall in fair speed and surprising agility? Lining himself up to the final approach where disaster happened that very morning, closed his eyes…bursting with instant energy and jump into blind abyss.

Before he knew it, landed safely over the opposite concrete roof with amazing margin to spare. He had jumped the jump. From that precise moment, hector was one of the lads...firstly being presented with the sacred weapon, even allowed to draw and fire imaginary bullets from it. From then on…accepted, that’s what most people want to be. He was a member of the Garturk/Bute St gang, missed when away...bonded when he came back.

There was other acts to prove valour, although he was as a member now… known as a dare devil...and not as an outsider.
Next…The Tunnel.
-=-=-=-=-=-=
peter.howden Posted 16th Jul 2020, 09:48am
  My Chronicles 16/07//2020;

I’m very fortunate to have a couple of long standing ‘Chinas’, normally with me in my mind, but I don’t see as them often as I would like, yet, with the lockdown restriction, not that I can’t, but must abide by the limitations, makes it tedious that I cant jump a train, car, or bus…just to say Hi’…in person.

Last Saturday brought a surprise to our garden, visitors from afar, Nikki and Simon, Andrew and Emma and the mutt, closely followed by Chris and Kirsti… seeing them, talking intimately with them… easily what the doctor ordered. The weather was a bit precarious, although we had large brollies and the non-de-plume old G.H.A umbrella at hand. I have been known to talk rubbish… but savoured every word spoken, by all of us… pure dead brilliant.

Unfortunately, Aunt Becky was in a slight incident at the care home. While brushing her hair, she thought another resident came to close to her personal space, and apparently hit out. The staff in the residence, took steps to intervene before real danger could take place. They phone to report the incident, and when questioned, stated the other lady was not hurt. As usual we have every faith the carers ability to look after our sometimes fast acting Becky. Due to concerns about the virus, they closed down the ‘Visit- open in the garden’ period, but now it’s reopened. We have decided to wait awhile until personal visits is in the frame, because Becky hasn’t a clue who we are, which will just confuse her fragile routine ,

The old jalopy needed to visit the ‘Motortune’ car hospital in Shotts, where the skilled vehicle surgeon applied his knowledge and ability. Because the need of parts it was quite a long wait, so as usual for vital exercise, I took a saunter around. Luck was in seen three rabbits near the chapel, scurrying and hopping about. On returning to the garage I only saw two. The presumption is the other rabbit was in confession…obviously the rabbit’s name was Peter? The real good news was I meet up with Fergus, which allowed a smashing hour or so, talking about how to save the world…in three easy steps…just sublime.

After coffees and tea in the automobile waiting room , another leisure stroll was in the wind, along unfamiliar country road, and boy what the amazing thing the imagination is. Looking at all the green fields at different stages, I was transported back to 15 years old, hobbling down another lane towards the sea at Whitesands, Dunbar…whiffing the delights of growing wheat. Although these fields yesterday had no wheat, the aroma of yesteryears is still within my mind…and exuberating…every time !
Review the complete topic (launches new window)
RSS Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 13th Aug 2020

All material in the site Glasgow Guide is copyright of the Glasgow Guide Organisation. This material is for your own private use only, and no part of the site may be reproduced, amended, modified, copied, or transmitted to third parties, by any means whatsoever without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. All rights reserved.

Glasgow Hotels: book cheap hotels in Glasgow online now.