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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 22nd May 2020, 02:04pm
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The Desultory fellow;

What’s in a kiss

Some voices ask, ‘what’s happened to this world?’, an aimless excuse for what is happening nowadays, which they disagree with . The world is the same as it has always been, just roughly tolerated, with a slight glimpse of trendy alterations, ever few years or so. Because of extremely poor living conditions within Scotland, one such desperately needed, or accidental trend, began some 45 years ago, with the introduction of tenant self-controlled local housing associations.

The living tapestry within this revolutionary housing movement, were chairs, directors and committee members, mirrors life itself, mainly determined to make a difference in their homes, surroundings, and neighbourhoods. The growing movement has found a couple of rogue directors’, pompous senior staff, some self-opinionated chairs of housing committees, a few conceited witches as office bearers …but, completely outnumbering those naughty lemons, are dedicated staff supporting ordinary committee members, genuinely working each day, constructing neighbourhoods to be proud with… through hard work, have surpassed beyond any measure ever dreamt of.

Shug and Old Tam, innate horses at the diplomacy game, attended quite a few network Conferences, organized by advisory establishments, such as S.F.H.A.., E.V.H..and S.H.A.RE…G.W.S.Forum, conveying important legal information, Business plans, work ethics structures, and inevitable changes in the government’s attitudes. Perhaps it’s Shug’s wavering memory to blame, but there was quite a bit of carefreeness and fun collectively between the serious business at hand.

Donkeys ago, one such weekend conference of E.V.H, was held in Perth’s prestigious Railway Hotel, apparently slightly overbooked, no room at the inn for the two olden lags. The Director of E.V.H. at the time, offered to share his spacious apartment (apparently used regularly by pole taxer Maggie Thatcher).

Shug rose exceedingly early next morning, having been disturbed by old Tam’s constant snoring, echoing throughout the massive room, each wheezing sounding like a death wish. Standing in the total buff, opened the curtains and window wide, with vigour started to exercise both arms and legs. Tam woke with bleary eyes, grumpily protested about Shug’s weird actions. Shug turned around, headed towards Tam, calling out ‘Tam what you need is a big morning kiss!’ .

Tam was out of his bed, and like a rocket into the bathroom…closing the door with a banging stramsash. This slight kerfuffle…the Director opened his private door…revealing his own nakedness… other than Flash Harry boxer shorts… A sight to beyond at any time of the day?

To this day…he still coughs nervously…recalling the memory.
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peter.howden
post 23rd May 2020, 07:26am
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The choice today, Number 3 on my list of memorable L,Ps

‘She who must be obeyed’, and I up to this date, via Nikki our daughter, gave us grandchildren, named, Lauren, Andrew, and Emma, with Emma now just about to enter university. Lauren was a baby when I took over daytime supervision during the week, then working nights and weekends cleaning carpets and suites, To say I enjoyed the experience of childcare, would be an understatement, regularly taking Lauren with me to most of Calvay committee meetings, and around Easterhouse. When Andrew became on board, I found it slightly different, and difficult planning for two because of timing.

Limited where we could go, unorganized and acting on impulse, now experiencing staring at four bare walls. The Teletubbies’ was the answer, giving 30minutes of peace, as both tots watched intently memorized when the title tune came on. My bright idea of taping the programs, extended the comfort zone. Even the shocking news, 11 foot, ‘Tinky Winky’, was gay propaganda, because of the ownership of a handbag, did not deter my minutes of near sanity.

Years later, we were driving down to Salty’s cabin, (my brother in law), for a week’s holiday, with the grandkids. Lauren wanted to hear, Tony Christie’s; “ Is this the way to Amarillo?”. At first… not so bad, however…it was played over and over, and over many times, grinding nonstop, I could not erase it out of my head. Even now it pops up from the wilderness of my mind, as a uninvited guest.
Today’s nominated number 3 album is…Tony Christie; ‘I did what I did for Maria’ reminds me of the kids and how precious they are …thankfully…the song; ‘Is this the way to Amarillo’…is not on it
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peter.howden
post 24th May 2020, 09:58am
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Demise of a blue plate

If someone utters how your version of thee auld folk song; ‘Don’t pee in the fireplace granny…grandpa is heating his willie’, is at the very least misrepresentation of the true literary written word….then beware of someone without imagination, for, like a seed…a poem, a song, a selection of words must grow within individual minds as they see it, without causing offence. but then again, has there ever been a normal?

Nicking a well-known opening line; ‘it’ was the best of times…it was the worst of times’ …but now, has it come to be the normal of times?

Since Toni died, as a whole family, , practically every Saturday, it became an necessary time around our old kitchen wooden table, strengthening our resolve by banter, and as foolish conversation as possible…matured into normal

During the Saturday preparations for the family gathering, the table was casually laid out with mugs, teaspoons, and knives. Because Toni’s main man Fergus, was usually first to arrive, three clean dark blue plates laid out first, when the throng arrived, other cutlery and tea plates would be placed on the table.

Noticing the other day, only two dark blue plates, where once there was three. I sadly surmised, somewhere during the lockdown, one very particular plate had been broken, laid to rest in the bin. When or how this occurred was unknown, due to the enforced tedium of circumstances…I was not surprised. The missing plate developed into mourning the ending of a superior normal.

Just last night, three very blue plates left drying at the sink. Rebecca informed me the plate had been at the back of the fridge…and I had not noticed…is this the age of foolishness?

Will there be a new normal?
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peter.howden
post 26th May 2020, 11:56am
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The choice today, Number 2 on my list of memorable L,Ps

I can’t say I was the best of fathers…or indeed average, yet I have the cheek to be immensely proud what our children accomplished, by being good people, with the odd foible here and there…but I had scarcely much to do with the end result. I do recall their fun and ‘High Jinks’ each time it snowed in Easterhouse.

We had just moved to Rachin St, with little furniture to fill the spacious home, when it snowed heavy. This gave me the excuse to take, Toni, Chris, and toddler Nikki, Titch the mutt, plus the wee blue baby plastic bath, to unknown adventures on the slopes leading from the chapel down to the playing fields. Staying out for donkeys, we had a ball, with each child squealing all the way, burling down the slope…with ‘Titch’ franticly trying to catch snowballs. Appreciating all soaked nearly to their skins, grudgingly we slide back home.

Rebecca ran the bath for all three, to be in together. We played submarines, each out with homemade water pistols frolicked around in the steam and hot water. The last out was Nikki, but we had run out of clean towels. The smashing sight Rebecca saw, was Nikki in the skud, wobbling down the hallway with her bare near pink bum, trailing the sheet provided for drying in front of the living room coal fire.

I have been told by all concerned that most of the music heard on that day…and apparently most often afterwards, was songs by Cliff Richard,

The choice for the 2nd on my list of memorable L.Ps, is “Me and my Shadows”
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peter.howden
post 29th May 2020, 07:23am
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My Chronicles 29/05//2020;


It has been quite a while in between reports from the Chronicles, mainly due to the tedious routine from day to day, plus the inability to visit Aunt Becky. Without doubt, scrapes rub slightly on my naughty sanity. We trust the staff implicitly working at the unknown coalface, through this period of dodgy safety guidelines, and the residents in the home. This particular fall this week has put us on fretting mood, though assured by the caretakers, imagination can sneak in unease thoughts, concluding the fact wee Aunt Becky is shrinking, and fragile…Our fingers are tightly crossed!

Although Chris and Nicki and Fergus keep in contact via the internet, yet, the inability in person to laugh, argue or simple brush by their chair around the old kitchen table, makes both of us oversentimental on the phone. Hidden memories drift around, almost at the moment they say hallo… still, when on the computer weekly gathering… with just mundane news…we dry up very quickly.

The day will come when we can meet…we wish it speed. Rebecca and I are fortunate having a garden, sitting on Aunt Becky’s bench, watching our own wildlife, though the sunshine can be a two-way mirror…a touch of freedom, with moments of aloneness, bordering on woe creeping into my inner consciousness, where the sunshine is a hinder… rather than a boon.

There was a touch of guilt last night while clapping for the Health Service, we as the collective public, let them down two-fold. The government’s emergency virus laws, deliberately broken by the inner cabinet adviser, they covered up this intentional personal crime, then so obviously allowed to go without punishment. The prime minister had a solemn duty to protect the public, but chose not to keep such a pledge…Why?

The collective we in the U.K, failed in demanding better pay, better conditions, more trained staff in the hospitals, care homes throughout the past 30 years, while the governments constantly drained all services of vital monies, attempting to blatantly transfer ownership away into privatization.

Tomorrow the sun will shine…optimistically
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peter.howden
post 1st Jun 2020, 11:25am
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The choice today, Number 1 on my list of memorable(3)L,Ps

I don’t believe anyone has any real control over their emotions, or as people in my age group call, falling in love, because it has to do with genes, scent and mysterious body vibes, but, staying together is another thing. After some 53 years, I declare; ‘She who must be obeyed’, was, and is, the corner stone, through my quirky furtive ways. I also confess wishing so often, being able to sing; ‘Deep in my heart dear’ in the same mannerisms as Mario Lanza…who’s voice was something else, marvelously transforming Opera and popular music. We had a old L/P; (the title escapes me), although I played it until the groove disappeared. I have the very song on my IPod.

Being a jammy guy almost all my life…but genuinely appreciate my main good fortune, was certainly is wrapped around Rebecca. due to my taste in music, the Rolling Stones played a big part in our relationship, before we were wed. The Strathclyde Students tavern in John St, was the cheapest in town. The main entrance security guards were rigidly strict, always seeing a Student’s card, before anyone was allowed in, yet, not having one… every attendant always waved us on, with a smile, because I wore a student’s scarf. “Aftermath” was thee Long player…. It is playing now!

Our first date was the Cinema in Victoria Rd…the Film ‘Deadlier than the male’. The following date was to attend the Art Galleries. After browsing around, we missed a 57-bus, in Clapslaps Road, the shortest Rd in Glasgow. An old-fashioned café at the corner of Sauchiehall St/Argyle St, suited our needs while the record, by ‘The Mamas and Papas, played more than once.

The memorable Song: “Monday, Monday’’…To this day…transports me back to that very moment we sat across from each other…I have is earmarked on my iPod.
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peter.howden
post 4th Jun 2020, 06:42pm
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Tunes of Glory

In the long distant past, Smithy had been attached to the boy’s brigade, when he was disciplined for sucking a fisherman’s friend while on church parade. This was a melodramatic, near military experience for the lad, as he struggled unsuccessfully to blot it out from his memory, along with the unique technique he established while performing the Indian clubs display. Perhaps for reasons of his idiosyncrasy behaviour, the name ‘Smithy and all other names following are non-De plumes, protecting the innocent

In later years Smithy, was courteously invited to a Provincial army dance within military established headquarters, situated in Crow Rd. Smithy’s spouse Senga was related to charming, but flirty Doris, who volunteered a stint of training duty in the Territorial army. This dire stroke was taken while desperately trying to impress Dougie, her new soldier beau. Therefore, this marshal affair intitled Doris, not only to attend the military twostep with a uniformed partner, but also invite two guests of her choosing.

Due to suffering from a serious bout of man flu, snotter’s everywhere…and loose, Smitty had no wish to attend, but Senga let it be known clearly, insisting he attend this classy ‘Do’. So, his taut drainpipe sky-blue jeans were stuffed with many paper hankies and assorted lozenges the tight pockets could take, while Senga dolled up in her finest finery. Smithy’s only comfort was the thought of a slight refreshment, and perhaps a wee hauf…or two, then slugged some cough medicine before leaving the home.

Arriving at the hall, the dance was in full swing, but unfortunately Smithy was not. His medical condition dropped drastically, as Senga’s nagging caused a draft in his brain. The situation deteriorated beyond question, when he realized there was to be no alcohol refreshments, the army forgot to reapply for a liquor license. Smithy steadily became worse fitness wise, continuously sucking lozenges while forced to sit with only a glass of ginger, surrounded by tedious company, incessantly talking over each other. Groggy and perspiring profusely, headed to the loo, sucking Eucalyptus pastilles.

Standing, as all men stand under the same circumstances, leaving nature taking its course, Smithy became scunnered sucking red menthol lozenge…lacking enthusiasm spat it out. Yet oddly, a hidden force projected the sticky sweet against the stainless-steel sheet, spinning and rebounded to landing tackily on Smithy’s glory… which was still peeing. Several times Smithy tried to relieve himself from the tricky predicament, then, a slight snigger, followed by a laugh out loud, thinking it was apt to where he was… the packet of lozenges was named ‘Tunes….so…”Tunes of glory”!
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peter.howden
post 9th Jun 2020, 06:55am
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The tales of Hector and James(1/3)

Wanting power corrupts….having power corrupts even more


Jim.H, and Hector, twa china’s midway through the swinging sixties, planned rough camping somewhere along the east coastline during the fair fortnight. Hector had visited North Berwick seaside town before, remembering little except the continental swimming pool, surrounded with blue and light-yellow Perspex, giving an impression of sun-baked tropical waters. The reality was an open icy pool, with water coming straight from the North Sea, chilled the very marrow of any swimmers. You had to keep swimming, or you thought you would freeze your monkeys. The china’s arranged to hitch hike for two weeks, during Glasgow’s Fair, however their original plans had to be “put on Hold”… because of illegitimate George!

At the very beginning of that particular year, Jim, and Hector, were sauntering down Allison Street. In front, walking roughly at the same speed was two casual boys. Across the road were two sneaky gazing men, one well known locally as “George”, a rank bajin. Unexpectedly the two boys in front began vindictively heckling George, as persons wrongly done too somewhere in the past. The two sly men gave chase, but George, being fat, totally out of condition to be a danger to the youths sprinting away.

Catching their breaths, the devious men stopped short of Jim, and Hector, asking if they knew these lads. George muttered it be all right, for he would snooker “these two”. It took no time at all to work out what he meant, proving stories did not overstate George being a f---ing illegitimate person. The dodgy men marched the pals to the police station, fabricating a pitiful story. Jim and Hector were charged in Cragie St cop-shop. This was not major league stuff, but Mr and Mrs Hamilton were not pleased that a waif like Hector could draw their son into such events, bailed Jim alone, leaving Hector in jail

Arriving at the court the next day, George hinted it would be better to plead guilty. however, his partner definitely looked ill at ease. Both pleaded,” not guilty” to Breach of the peace and the “Honour” pronounced the next appearance before him, right in the middle of their intended holiday. They no choice but wait for this day to arrive.

George swore in evidence, stating they were off duty policemen, in civvies, observing the accused who appeared on high jinks, causing a public nuisance, when the stramash offences arose, not a dicky about the real culprits, though George’s partner was hesitant to say the least. Jim and Hector were called, and straight after that they were admonished. This meant the court believed the police…not the innocent… so pop goes the theory; “truth conquers all” unless they are in blue.

Jim.H and Hector decided to hitch to North Berwick the very next day
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[color="#000080"][/color]
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peter.howden
post 10th Jun 2020, 11:31am
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When young, I was too lazy to seek perfection, now being older, I still don’t seek it, with the theory when perfection is achieved, no matter in what arena, you are never satisfied again
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peter.howden
post 12th Jun 2020, 07:03am
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The tales of Hector and James(2/3)

You cant tell a book by its cover

Jim.H and Hector, arrived and camped in a rough secluded area, right next to the coast in walking distance to the seaside town. Their first casual saunter along narrow pavement, in the narrow streets, was hampered while passing some local gawking youths, assembled outside cafes and chip shops, clad in leather gear, scraping fingernails with assorted instruments, but minus the motorbikes. Further on, other groups of adolescents, smoking fags, as in a French film at different stages, though just the area’s youths, protecting and rebelling within their patch.

Jim wore cool Buddy Holly glasses, reflecting a handsome disposition. Hector was rather scraggy, owning an obvious limp, while both were small in stature. Every time they hit town this harassment behaviour was repeated, irritating more than anything. The Glaswegians posed no threat to either the leather hardcases, or delinquents picking the nails with knives, although this stroll into territory of the native juveniles, thus allowed the home team to show off, flexing their muscles without danger.

The lads spotted a advert on a streetlight pole, exhibiting there was a dance, so Jim and Hector, decided to head into Berwick that night . They entered the harbour with suave and style, at least as best they could muster. Once again, the local team pushed and shoved, attempting to harass, with bumping them on the disco floor. The dance before the interval, the young lady Hector was with, asked where he came from. Hector was originally from the infamous , ‘Glasgow Gorbals’; and he told her so. During the break, a lot of chatter bounced around the hall, making the reaction afterwards quite amazing

Hector danced with a girl on holiday with her English parents, while Jim’s escort was a local girl. Hector had, for a short period, stayed in Gorbals Street in a large flat on top of a bank.

The effect of a name of Glasgow, in particular, “Gorbals”, was instant, for as they walked through the crowd, it spread open before them. Bodies would make all effort to be out of reach for any physical contact, squashing and wrinkling to do just that. To all outsiders we were wee Glesga heidcase’s, and no chances could be taken. They danced with our prospective partners and banged into all in reach…with immunity. Not even a growl was displayed, so they carried on.

For the duration of the holiday, while sauntering down the café route, all bodies in front of the establishments, like the red sea parted, youth delinquents dispelled out of view, allowing Jim and Hector past. .Jim could never claim to be a fighter, waif Hector, according to Mr and Mrs H, was a bit of a scallywag, but….everyone local thought they were both from…. you known where?

Notorious Reputation outguns reality.
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peter.howden
post 15th Jun 2020, 07:07am
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The tales of Hector and James(3/3)

Devout bafflement

As a 60s armature rock group, attempted to play higher decibels than required, so burying their inexperience, but everyone truly relished the buzz. After the dance, the couples went they separate ways, enjoying every crazy moment. The young local lass was seen home by Jim, while Hector’s dancing partner was taken to the family’s holiday carriage. It was clear to Hector, her parents, had a bob or two, hiring a whole railway carriage, totally refurbished for elite caravan status.

Arranging the following night, Jim agreed along with his date, to babysit for the young minister of St Andrews Blackadder church. Hector believed he had cracked it…but unsure in what he had actually cracked. Earlier, in the dancehall when the rock group had almost stopped twanging every electrical cord, and before powdering her nose, his English rose, in delicate tones inquired, “would you like to go to our Venetian party tomorrow night?”. Not to appear like a dupe, as did the Emperor with no cloths, Hector vigorously nodded, plus hollered Yes.

The boys prior to leaving, arranged to meet each other afterwards, in the ‘County Bar’, for liquid libation(having not mellowed to slight refreshments yet). Talking about events of this strange evening firmly, Hector tells Jim about being invited to a swanky, ‘Venetian party. With his mate looking puzzled Hector adds, “Possible a sociable upper crust get-together, showing slides from a Venice holiday, cheesy snacks and sipping rare wines…even water of life. While Jim gazed baffled to what ‘Venetian party’ actually was, Hector sneaked in, “you have no chance in a vicar’s manse, more like broken bread and water!”

Next night Jim and Hector were heading for the town, although with different destinations, each close to the country hotel. For Jim, a near certainty no beer appeared likely the highlight of his evening, while Hector was hitting the toff’s top table at a society do. Meeting his bird (not politically correct today} then headed in the opposite direction to Forth St. Coming across a rather tatty mission hall, populated by lots of people…Hector was about to pass when his companion beckoned him inside this rundown building. It turned out to be the name for a special ‘Vincentian’ information film, followed by one and a half hours of pious theory and teaching. The night before, due to the ear-piercing din in the hall, Hector heard’ Venetian’, not the actual word ‘Vincentian’ anyway he would not have known what the word meant either!.

Not an alcohol drink on site, or in sight… or even a dip stick, except Hector. Returning to their hidden camp rendezvous rather deflated , he found Jim, grinning from ear to ear, surround by cans of lager.
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peter.howden
post 18th Jun 2020, 06:57pm
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My Chronicles 19/06//2020;

“She who must be obeyed’, and I are still trudging along for the majority of the time, simply because we are each other’s shepherd and companion during the deadly disease which caused lockdown days. I find at best tedious, but now and then a hassle, continuously empty in lost days unable to break the cycle, but the weeks, just vanish as in they don’t, or didn’t exist in the first place. We must endeavour not allowing this naughty virus as concealed weapon against reality, disparaging our sacred thoughts, plunging innocence into a timeless wary quagmire …apart from that…we are O.K

In appearance, I sense I’ve grown older in the last 8/9 weeks, than the last five years, owing to the response by either people we meet while doing Rebecca’s daily exercise walk around the block, or to me by Tesco/Morrison staff, at 6 o clock in the morning. They all show over attentiveness, at the drop of an imaginary hat, due to my crinkly appearance, not long for this existence. Or probably its owed to my often-facial expressions, reflecting a personal frame of mind while enduring umpteen murkier sensations.

No longer can I classify myself as a man who’s in, ‘latter years’, with still sufficient vim, for it takes me twice as long, to do half the work, and even longer trying to start the chore. The mind is just depleting towards a uncertainty…even reading the odd auld ‘Beano, with bouts of acting like Peter Pan, ’ has not released me from this edgy sensation… secrets, thought locked away deep in my memory .

While washing(without dish plan hands, as I use rubber gloves) a plate with a blue Chinese decorative pattern, which scooted my mind back to the mid-fifties…and the Gorbals. As the youngest in the family, I had a duty during the week, washing and drying the dinnerplates, but certainly not on Sunday’s, precious plates and silver cutlery served up, for use and aired.

Recently, moments of Toni has invaded, and stayed for a while, odd darkish things being relived. On leaving her Friday, I promised I would buy a small tin of Vaseline, for her dried lips. On the Saturday, while driving home, a call on my mobile, to go to the Southern General hospital. On arriving, Rebecca told me she had died with cancer…and I didn’t have the petroleum jelly with me. The tin is still in my ownership…How I wish I had gone back earlier…to give her the tin of Vaseline
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peter.howden
post 21st Jun 2020, 01:22pm
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My Chronicles 21/06//2020;
Pay the price

‘She who must be obey’; has raw Celtic blood flowing through her veins, behaves like a true Irish tinker when it comes to monies, or simply purchasing goods…on the other hand, I’ve been gifted with part Nordic blood, conceivably more accurate would be Viking partisan behaviour most of my life. Yet, against such a vibrate inherit grain, I’m easy-going about money, if I have it, I spend it…if I haven’t, I’ll stoop to either scrounging , or tout, or obtain it by varies other means. There has been the odd accusation of living as a con man, which I can’t deny the allegation, on legal grounds…however, perhaps colourful imitative persuasion would be nearer the mark

Unfortunately, the monotonous lockdown, rightfully imposed on the Scottish population, has turned my finely tweaked instincts, closer to a perceived miser status. This financial cutback is shining on the humble Brillo pads, and the wee green washing up sponge/grinder. With ruthless determination, managed to conquer the throwaway attitude of such kitchen aids, to near continuous labour savers. Mixed with canny usage and proper separate drying of these said items, each industrious pad last well over 10 days of constant use, but the real pride is with the wee green sponges/grinder…reaching close to five weeks

With overall auld Scottish blood flooding my body, stepping up to the line, doing my bit, within this time which calls for the coupling prudence and action during the lockdown. A wily idea is my contribution which may allow a feeble place among famed Scottish inventors in the sciences. At the moment, unable to meet twa China’s for a slight refreshment of the famous; ‘Water of life’…brought on a surge to overcome such a tragedy, to prepare my stomach to become an elite prodigy. Over the next weeks, setting and educate a part of my abdomen, to be vacuum-packed airtight, only for controlled intimate short periods, foiling any serious consequences.

Accumulating within, a host of numerous fruits, varied vegetables, extra yeast, re-energizing sugar will be my goal. Left to ferment into alcohol by turning into ethanol. The cunning result, to drip produce a slightly course… but portable alcohol, casually seeping into my body …although, a problem remains…. I’m still marooned without China company…perhaps by then, I will fail to notice?
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peter.howden
post 23rd Jun 2020, 12:47pm
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Above…and beyond

Due to the scary fact, we are in lockdown within our homes, living abnormal existences as best we can adapting our focuses. There are the most spectacular, magnificent, utterly out of this world glorious phenomenon sunrises, and sunsets, over the Glasgow sky, as anywhere in the world.

Before this horrendous virus, the population, allowed this potent enchantment, to go un-noticed, because of the tiresome tread board of life. The visible heavens, you can almost touch just above…normally does not get a look in, except when on holiday, and even then, it is in the backdrop of some trivial photograph. We take our sky for granted, while in our homes.

Even if invisible, the sun constantly shines every day of the year, as a natural advert to entice you to Egypt, and the like, but the sun always, every single day, looks down on Glasgow. This free daily event, has the power to challenge the very gods themselves…. go on, spoil yourself… stop and wonder …have a peek…
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peter.howden
post 24th Jun 2020, 07:07pm
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‘The Key’(1)

‘The key’ is international phenomenon commercial enterprise , extremely beyond any international institution, towering over global banks, Empires Nations and States. . Awards for humanity, from countless governments, endless peoples and universities, honourable societies rendering esteem scholarships hosted onto the magical enticing named ‘ The key’

It costs a mere £10,000 a week, sometimes keenly more, to belong to this elite society , where, without question, each individual’s whims are catered for, within luxury apartments, based all over their realm, throughout the globe. well thought out adverts, flamboyantly persuaded each associate ( never termed clients or customers) have no bounds apart from good taste.

No matter the difficulties in organizing, no question where, when, or how, every wishful sphere of influence, is but only a twinkled thought away from the fingertips of the payee. The desires of the extraordinary institution offer a magical once in a lifetime, worldwide overshadowed Disneyland, for the young, the middle aged, but most important, the elderly… all with money, of course.

It is not only the affluent clientele who benefit from ‘The Key’, around the world, as hundreds of thousands, if not millions of all grades, gain employment throughout their establishments. Many economies believe, ‘The Key’ is the miracle responsible for their financial stability, and employment success

Postcards displaying written excitement, sprinkled with absolute amazement, are in full view for relations and friends of the associates, to vouch ‘The key’ ‘are providing their precious loved ones, luxury beyond utopia. Unfortunately, when one’s final curtain has arrived, a gratuitous insurance policy is at hand, it will be organized with dignity and peace, completely without pain. Their bodies or their ashes, whatever was’ the associates’ wish, delivered to the families for personal devotions and final rest

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