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 Today, 07:56pm

Some Jezebel has just broken my childish heart by ranting and raving how there is no Santa Clause, or Missus Clause. That naughty woman, havered and hooted how I was just a big Jessie, besides trusting a fairy tale fit for a bairn. My whole world has been crushed, hoodwinked, or was it a figment of my imagination…or a willingly wish. Even when central heating was installed, I blindly believed the magic main Christmas man coming through the ventilator.

Bravely hiding the pain, as tears fell while telling the poison dwarf to put on her jaiskit and bugger off …and what she could do with Goldilocks. Secretly I bought this magic portion of Reindeer food, which would attract Rudolf and the rest of the sledge team, straight to my back yard on the illustrious enchanted night for all good boys and girls.

From the pantomime, I know not to give away my five magic beans, but I do not wish to disclose how much I paid for the feed, in case the old hag was right, making me look a bigger fool than I am. The guy that sold me the unique nosh; rubbed his hands with absolute glee, then mentioned something about baby Jesus by quoting… “One born every moment…and some mothers do have them?”

Bizarrely , I’m became a tad worried about the Tooth fairy, for each night, I take out my teeth, yet in the morning… no monies or gratuity is left. I just thought she could not swim, or she was frightened of water….even when it was in a tumbler.

P.s….I hope this will not affect my Easter chocolate egg and mister Bunny

P.P.S. Santa: I miss you….From a 908-month-old nice little boy
peter.howden Posted Today, 11:48am
  Thank you ashfield
ashfield Posted Today, 11:02am
  I see you managed to get in to GG Peter thumbup.gif
peter.howden Posted Y'day, 09:20pm
  Granny’s Soup

Within Glasgow boundaries it was said bigotry was rife, while history proves an element of truth in these stern words, but perhaps not to the same degree as the 1930s Glasgow, Scotland, British settled Isles, possibly the entire globe. Such xenophobia against peoples of Italian, Pakistani, Arabs, Jews, Chinese stock, and most creeds at the drop of a hat. Anyone, and everyone who was different from reputed mundane or preserved way of life. Also, the disabled in families were hidden in a back room when company came to call, or worse… talked at very loudly, as if they were dense, or near brain-dead, and mainly in case disfigurement may be catching. It is now thought we have come a long way to re-correct this, but unfortunately there is always a hiding place for bigotry thoughts. We should not rest on our laurels, for sometimes it’s hard striving to see the other point of view

Ben’s household was reputed to be protestant, his new girlfriend’s family were all, to a man, Roman Catholic, causing him no real concern, being an atheist. The matriarch in the whole large family always showed a kindness towards Ben. The rest of the brood felt uncomfortable, not with his creed or the real lack of it… they had him down as a patter merchant, or as Glaswegians would say...a pure chancer

It became a custom to visit Granny every Sunday, without fail, no matter who was in the house, she would shout, “get some soup into the lad”… Three or four bowls of thick broth later before she was relaxed enough to await inquiring a few questions. Granny would probe how Ben’s hand was doing, while relating the secret of rubbing olive oil every night to stimulate the muscles, asking for his right hand, then whisper, it was defiantly coming stronger.

This ritual over, Granny insisted for her daughter to feed him something to eat, because he stayed in digs. This was usually an exceptionally large plate of totties and meat, and he was more than glad for the feed. It was not that the rest of the family disliked Ben….it was just he was labelled a smooth talker. He thought the old lady may have seen something more in him than the rest did, or she was sorry for Ben being alone in the world…or maybe, just maybe, she had a soft spot for him?

One day ,while in the kitchen of the chubby old lady, she was busying herself making soup. Ben witnessed granny cut half a pack of margarine, disposing it into the bubbles of the prepared mixture. He had never seen this before, so asked quietly what she was actually making.

Quick as a flash the reply came ….“Catholic soup you orange bastard”
peter.howden Posted Y'day, 12:05pm
  SANTA’S …Rounds

Santa is not only fed up, but bloody browned off as well, having stubbed his toe on one of the huge battery-operated games… for some wee undeserving kiddie, he moans profusely, then calls to his helpers, “I’m stuck here forever, with no hope of parole, unable to change a thing unless every child in the Christian world stops believing in me…. I’ve no get out clause!”

Mr Santa continued grumpily…’way in the past it was fine, a bit risky time wise, but plausible just the same to achieve in a night. Delivering an apple & orange plus a sugar mouse was easy peasy, even with the chimneys being different sizes and models throughout. Simplicity and simple presents was the core of success, aided along with Double Dutch 'Sinterklaas', and black Pete’, on the 6th helping with the continental deliveries. The good old days when I was allowed to carry a switch for the children who had not been good”.

A crumb lodged under his beard, distracting him for a brief moment, then continued to grouch again, ‘now its blasted televisions, and gigantic battery-operated toys of every conception, weighing a ton or more! My back is knackered, plus lumbered with the constant fear of acid erosion. I’m not given my proper place in the hall of Scholarship, for outstanding work and annually achievement in the field of quantum Science. No… I’m just a pinnacle of mirth , to ridicule, or a threat to a little child to go to sleep. What other scientist has come near to simultaneously be in millions of homes, without any side effects other than devouring cake and a glass of sherry”.

His eyes crossed and his frown full on, Santa had to add “And the increase in feed prices since last year, coupled with the credit crunch makes it hard to keep…Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, takes a gasp of air, then
Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner Blitzen, in trim… and as for that bandit Rudolph; he’s that busy picking up royalties along with that Celluloid cowboy Gene Autry. He should have stuck to singing to horses, instead of being a champion of a pucker”.

Crossing his fingers and taking his time Santa announced…. This was to be my last year and that’s a fact; but letting all those children down would make me weep and feel guilty …after all what do they think I am…inhuman?
peter.howden Posted 15th Nov 2020, 08:36pm
  Hector and School holiday work

During late school summer holiday, Hector’s Aunt Molly organized a chance to help around a Car Garage(name gone) but now National Tyres, opposite Langside monument Battle place. It was smashing being allowed to sit in fancy cars, daydreaming being in world Prix, oddly this led to him delivering false teeth to various dentists throughout Glasgow and beyond. It was not a dental version “Paladin”, (have gun will travel) more…“have dentures will smile” or “have gum, will fit”. Simply, one garage customer was an agent in Dental business, 142 West Nile Street, trade emergency orders for dentists throughout the city. The company found it cheaper, and easier to use young bodies directly distributing the essential parts by bus or tram and subway.

In a short period of time Hector was given a Glasgow corporation Pass, allowing him to visit every part of Glasgow, performing his simple tasks. Alas, early one Friday morning, due to being totally overawed by his first view of Glasgow’s University, he lost his grip of the traveling case carrying the individuals prized cargo, which fell spattering the precious contents all over the place. By good fortune they all landed on grass, as he unwisely places the loose false teeth into separate cases. The following Monday as Hector entered the dental premises the manager was in a trauma, due to numerous frantic complaints of wrong dental items issued, only discovered at customers emergency appointment fittings. One career lost.

The next Academy summer holiday, Hector talked his way into ‘Link’s’ warehouse,51Bell Street, as a packer’s gopher, collecting orders from each floor, taking them down to the basement, where packers toiled continuously mainly due to earning bonus’s on top of a not so good weekly wage…weakly would explain properly. Due to the lead packer, who’s mannerisms, and speech was of a feminine nature, taught him the enigmas of packaging, allowing Hector to grasp the knack for the art of wrapping. Within four odd weeks Hector was totally sorting all types of goods, plus earning top whack in extra bonus.

There is a television show called, “Are you being served”, which closely demonstrates the shop/warehouse inner staff structures, from the director, managers, and floor walkers,(Captain Peacock and Co.) to snotty counter staff…then the lower workforce down in the dunny. Woe betide anyone overstepping their place, as everyone looked down on so called manual workers. As for wages, as a summer hand, Hector’s was pitiful, but with top packer’s bonus, earnings were above counter staff, men, or women
peter.howden Posted 10th Nov 2020, 08:44pm
  Hector and Sniffy

Just before Duke Street hospital experience, Hector was deemed to be a juvenile petty thief, having not being caught made him overconfident with damaged scruples . Just for the record, he ran a paper and milk round in the morning, and a paper round late afternoon, being allowed two shillings and sixpence out of a total wage of tips.

Kilmarnock Road Woolworth’s institution installed waist height level mirrors around their emporiums, allowing staff the ability to spy for light fingered customers. Looking positive and taking advantage of the situation, Hector peeked across the mirrors, to see if he was being observed. He assumed through his devilish activities, no physical or monetary harm to any individual…just a worldwide profiteering business. He wasn’t crowing, however, each successful venture into the store, he returned with trinkets and a curious sense of bravado cocky pride!

Observing many boys at his school always needing spare jotters, he convinced wee Sniffy, to assist in taking 300 jotters from the janitor’s store, via the tiny wall window…selling onto the willing pupils. For a week or so, the result was fine, however, his partner wasn’t as devious in hiding the swag. caught red handed, then confessed all, including Hector being the major agitator. Punishment for Hector started with being skippered that very night. The pain was not the striking punishment… but letting his brother down which filled him with true inwardly regret

A further retribution installed, no pocket money from his earnings on the paper and milk round, until a sum was paid, covering all copies already illicitly sold. He was then frogmarched to the school, to wait outside the headmaster’s office, as his brother managed to convince Mr Bell not to involve the police. After a stern lecture, with both boys in front of him, Mr Bell informed the culprits, the main sentence was six of the best…each. Before punishment was dished out, it was normal for Mr Bell to allow all pupils after each stroke to change hands, , but on previous such reprimands, Hector was not permitted this luxury, under medical reasons, due to his Cerebral Palsy.

The other whiff of an offender was first in line, broke down in tears, bubbling after the first rap, then knelt down weeping, and whaling like a wean. So good at the acting, the headmaster terminated his retribution and sniffy was allowed to leave, while Hector received all the heavy stinging strokes of the belt…on the one hand. Although at the time he was angry at his fellow villain of the piece , being allowed a far lighter sentence, but fortunately…the aftermath of the visit to Duke St hospital, plus memories of Mr Swan’s advice, straightened the adolescent Hector out…well almost?
peter.howden Posted 6th Nov 2020, 12:16pm
Grandfather’s Fables

Grandpa’s visits to say the least were a random now and then, however, before departure, he always revealed an intimate ghost story, which erupted into the grandson’s imagination, leaving it difficult to fall sleep afterwards. Gramps narratives never failed to intensify the young inquisitive psyche. The charismatic speech possessed an uncanny knack, enticing any reaction he wish to relay between the lines. The grandson listened to virtually every vowel, and consonant, skillfully emphasized within a whole word.

His powerful voice never ran out of scary tales, nor vocally raise up, or adapt to separate accents, although his tone shifted in a flash, commanding an intense state of surprised bewilderment within the tale. The atmosphere craftily changed, left the listener in wonder and amazement. Just when trusting to be in sight of an ending, a sudden induced fear overtook the atmosphere, turning verses into spiky pictured thoughts …longing for the story to change or simply weep for the end the spiel…yet… one night, as they sat alone around a blazing crackling log fire, the grandson’s face stunned as if in a spell.

Grandpa began softly introducing a scene of a Norway’s forest, where Vikings were chopping conifer trees to build an enormous burial funeral, worthy for a great warrior’s journey to Valhalla. Surrounded by Norse magic seior, the privileged berserker warriors whispered stories of Odin, who held Viking destiny, released with each stroke taken with their axes. Boasting a notorious habit of guzzling home crafted alcohol, induced ecstasy visions of mystic splintered Fire-men to be awakened.

With soft charmed gestures, Grandpa embellished the tale, enticing his grandson to look closer into the sparking log fire, unconsciously being wrapped into the mystical vision. The story progressed, the fictional trees fell one after another by the power of the strong-armed held axes, as alcohol filled warriors, peered constantly for the impish wooden fire-men. For each mythical tree grounded, grandpa steadily urge his grandson nearer…and nearer the fire. Each time struck by hardened axe, the last tree standing, sent splinters and flint sparks, which fell on the rest of the logs…instantly miraculously bursting into flames, as the berserkers witnessed wooden fire-men emerging from the mystical combustion.

Just then Grandpa grabbed his grandson’s arm and hollered … “here they come”. The grandson saw pieces of fire escaping and racing towards him. Instant fear took hold as he tried to move but failed to do so, left in absolute terror. Suddenly, he heard laughter, coming from his grandfather, and the spell was broken. Unfortunately, the experience haunted him long after that terrible night

As a note, the grandson never physically met his grandfather…for he had died long before the grandson was born?
peter.howden Posted 4th Nov 2020, 09:03pm
  My Chronicles 04/11/2020

I presume like most people, a few but important issues slightly changed our routine, now to relay into the Archives. The most important is the safety of Aunt Becky, who we can’t visit, as the home has been locked down twice in succession. Thankfully, we receive regular phone calls from the staff. Becky is mostly happy in her own wee safe world, which doesn’t include us, or the extended family. Having a prized weekly internet linkup allows reports from our family tree, emails, plus comments from close friends via cyberspace, helps both of us. This is my world…may seem, and sound selfish, but whatever reason, it aids me to cope at the moment!

The other night while trawling through lots of photos on the computer, we came across many snaps, dating back 2002 taken throughout cities in France, plus many from a medieval village. Memories flooded back as to where, when, and how. Five days train journeys through France, and although my grasp of the language was appalling, helped me in communicating with fellow travellers , visiting out of bounds from tourist locations, seeing living neighbourhoods. Then aim for a special family’s home in Saissac, with excellent company, grand food, a few beers, returning home after five days. I mentioned to ‘She who must be obeyed’, I pine for that amazing family…’amour’.

From when first employed in Glasgow Baths Dept 1979… one long-time friend always in complete silence, was the first with a personal Christmas card pushed through our door, then to disappear into nowhere. Neil, each year… re-performs as the man on the auld T.V advert...'All because the lady prefers milk tray!’. This year he anonymously surpasses his time frame by soundlessly, yesterday pushing through unnoticed…a magic Xmas card…thank you Neil

Sounding, and in the same manner as a ground-effect machine hovercraft …overloaded wind power blasting from the back. ‘She who must be obeyed’ critically states… I’m a menace to the ozone layer. What is the cause of abundant noisy , loosely constant wind? I can’t imagine other than the threat, and actual lockdowns…or I’m I just an old F---t?
peter.howden Posted 1st Nov 2020, 11:55am
  Hector with… No Way to Turn

When ten or so, Hector had a appointment with a specialized doctor, to analyzed if brain damage had occurred due to Cerebral Palsy. These printed drawn tests were so simple, for example, consisting of a cowboy surrounded by five red Indians (natural Americans) with an assortment of weapons… asked which one would you shoot first…and why? He passed with flying colours, but perhaps thanks to the A.B.C. minors on a Saturday morning, and the ever-running Cowboys feature, rather than his intellect.

Having the long slug to just turned 15, spotty Hector’s attitude to life was Groucho Mark’s quote, anyone can get old, all you have to do is live long enough”. Hector had said or done things, which certainly would have been better left unsaid, and undone. Arriving at Duke Street hospital for further intense tests, including X-ray, and perhaps surgery, depending on the results returned. Duke Street itself, was famous being the longest street in Glasgow. It starts in High st (where William Wallace had a fray) right through to Parkhead, the home of Celtic football club, not at the same time or century. It was also infamous for having a prison, and a hospital, both held a variety of guests. Hector was placed into a ward for six beds, filled by all male patients. A kind lady sister took his face of innocence, as an excuse to sort of mother him, to an extent of preferential treatment, including sweets and extra toast.

He soon discovered a certain mixture of men, and conditions inside this cold ward, at the end of a heck of a long silent corridor. That first night in the bed straight across, was a fellow who could not stop playing with himself, to such an extent he was injuring himself severely. He told Hector, in between tugs, he did “IT”!, thirty/forty times a day, or more as far as he could remember. This free information disturbed Hector’s tiny brain a bit.

During another conversation with an older man, in the next bed, he blurted out he was a homosexual who preferred young bucks. A horrible chilled eyed hairless rough man, who worried Hector’s mind much more than a bit. He would be known as a bent queen, possible pedophile. On the other side was a guy around twenty years of age, who professed to be a hit man, yet no wardens with him. His bleak scaring mannerisms, to say the least, forcing Hector to utterly believe his statement.

That night, Hector lay cringing, terrified of falling asleep, not knowing which way to turn, whither to be strangled, or buggered or worn down before he experienced anything sexual or otherwise. . only thought was he’d be safer in jail. He survived not shaken by his ordeal, well sort off. After leaving two days later, he the number one record, at that precise time, ringing in his ear, was Eddie Cochrane, “Three Steps to Heaven!”

The strange experience changed his life completely, deciding not to treat himself other than a whole being. for he could not change the way people thought of him. It appears if you do believe in yourself, then good can follow you, encircling others to believe. The man is what he deems to be... normal is not normal…for it does not exist
Review the complete topic (launches new window)
RSS Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 24th Nov 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.