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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 18th Oct 2017, 05:14pm
Post #436

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International News Desk;


Horrific uncollaborated reports have just surfaced, as to the authenticity and the true purpose of the R.T.E.R.P; No 1131345. (register/transfer elderly and retired programme) devised and run by the recently overthrown, one-party state of the past forty-three year. On paper its aims were to relocate those who qualified only, the retired/sick/elderly and benefit holders, under the guise of ‘people in need’, to specially state of the art accommodation, complete with hospitals operational theatres/surgery’s, specified healthcare.

Considered to aid the long-time unemployment regions, labourers, builders, and experts would be drafted into either northern Scotland or around moors areas, such as Dartmoor and the like. Crucial emphases to melt in with the landscape because these structures would be underground…and out of sight.

These single state-run movement raising outrageous demands, said to solve or at least ease the suffocation caused by mass overcrowding which had spiralled out of control over the last century. This seeping dilemma was due to digressing joint problems, caused by retirement age, set at 32 age-group, plus automation throughout every type of large or small manufacturing. Digit controlled machines achieved all repair works….

Apathy and tedium became the major ailment among the disgruntled so called pubic…there was nothing to do for themselves…. people had forgotten to react without instructions. This was the core reason for the riots and civil dissidence. Individuals refused to accept, as a necessity, workers should pay hefty taxes for non-workers and unemployable as the super-rich contributed next to nothing. The small percent of super rich, as usual beyond ground rules, believed they should not shoulder any expense for the disabled

Military government advertised newly built of luxury apartments, with any kind of atmosphere and temperatures installed, selected from anywhere in the world, boosted with noises and aromas and full wall views of your chosen location. Once these varied institutions were ready for occupation, each client, before given a written tenant agreement to sign a key document of interest… thrice to be lawful, for as long as they lived, they relinquish all legal rights, moneys, and personal property, handed over to the anonymous State.

The one common denominator being… each establishment, soon after occupants moved in, regions surrounding poor farmlands, were fed unlimited new Macronutrients Nutrients manure, supplied by each establishment. Clandestineness was the name of the game…any dweller not abiding the rules …just disappeared from the planet. Occasional, always at twilight, drifts of disgusting odour odder in the wind and every once and so often, purple smoke bellowing from underneath, through air vents and even seeping from the ground itself. the ground

It is testified there were rumours of euthanasia, in unbelievable callosal scale, as not one soul or inmate or worker or administrators found in any of the suspect premises, never to see, the light of day. The actual numbers are indefinite…. but thought to be in millions. No sign of any official records, but any evidence was destroyed just before the emergency team made their surprised raids synchronously, up and down the country.

The conclusion…these dubiously dark institutions were warned… any future accounts are believed to be too appallingly disgusting will reap the darkness of a diabolic world"… to be guessed at

Awaiting authentic proven reports coming in…
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peter.howden
post 22nd Oct 2017, 12:07pm
Post #437

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Tales from a tailor Shop


This little tale is dedicated to an incredible dynamo man, tailor, salesman, businessman …Maestro Gerry Duman. One of three brothers who owned numerous shops under the umbrella of ‘City cash Tailors’ which each I worked within. Later while employed by the council Mr Duman asked me to join him as a weekend salesman.

For the purpose of concentrating on this particular period, this account starts in the heart of oldest part of this historic city, situated in-between Mercat Glasgow Cross and the renowned bustling Fish-market, four premises down busy Saltmarket (originally Walkrgait). Glasgow never was an enclosed town, and “gait” is not a gated access, but an old Scottish word meaning “the way to”.

Saltmarket was named akin to the salmon curing around Briggait This famous thoroughfare lead to the entrance of Briggait, the longstanding high court, Glasgow Green, and of course the world-famous River Clyde….and of course Paddy’s market. On both sides of Saltmarket, displayed tell-tale signs of different classes, living cheek by jowl, both reasonably affluent and obvious overcrowding hardship in the not so far distant past.

Trading for all commerce’s within this small area, had altered considerable, with light pickings during the weekdays…. but Saturdays and Sundays were always a bonanza, because of the enormous crowds coming to experience the renowned Barras (Barrowland). This old Charles Dicken’s fashioned like tailor shop benefited from such swarms at weekends. Inside, was pretty neat but untidy as a rule, but with an aroma settling between age, staleness and something catching the throat but unexplainable in origin.

There was a one light basement, with darkness poking into corners and shadows lurking, full of fascinating old dress dummies, top hats, window display articles, shelves cluttered with ‘god knows what’, brown aged stained plastic bags, with even older gents clothing pieces of shop gear and whiffing of dampness. This is where the toilet and cold-water sink.

If you ever Watched a T/V programme called ‘Minder’, with characters named Arthur and Terry…then you may have a fair opinion how I was not his bouncer but the old man’s stooge. More than once he got on my wick, and I did walk out several times meaning to never return, however… through the 9 years working weekends for the old man, proved such a mixture of education and serious debates about world politics, both present and past. Gerry was raised in Ayr, and proud he belongs to the school rugby team, now rather portly eccentric livewire …in other words he taught me a lot, and I liked him,

During the week, due to slow trading, he could be seen just outside the open door of his premises, needle in hand completing alterations…shooting the breeze with passer-by’s. The characteristic demeanour of Mr Duman was when he himself would attend customers, until he lost patience, then firmly quip, “Snake-hips, I have no need to attend to you. I have property…peter assist this gentleman”. No matter how rough the customer took such performance …Doman expected me to overcome such predisposition, by gaining a sale.

He had a unique generosity of sorts, and I have not a willingness to offend anyone of the Jewish religion, I will offer this example. It was ‘She who must be obeyed ‘and I, 25th wedding anniversary, with plans afoot to take out first ever cruise. Mr Duman sprang into action and advice, saying I would have to have a dinner suit, in case we were invited to the Captain’s table. Highly unlikely but this is how he thought. With great excitement he continued to say how he had this marvellous dressed diner suit, and with a few alterations to the sleeves, by himself at no extra charge.

He then disappeared into the unknown dark depths of the basement and after 10 minutes or so searching came up triumphant with an old brownish full-length plastic covering …what seemed at best, an old shop dirty diner suit, probably one of the sources of the dampness. With such glee in his voice as he uncovered his treasure he insisted I have it. I felt I had no choice but to accept this unexpected gift, even though I had no intention of even unwrapping this item.

At the end of trading, Gerry spoke…” Don’t forget to take your diner suit home to surprise Rebecca, a good Jewish name…I have not taken off the rental fee off your wages, as yet…but await until you have had it dried cleaned on your return…and what condition it is after your hell-raising?”. Wow. If I recall properly I turned down the deal.

Years later, I received a telephone invitation from his son, to attend his father’s funeral to take place the next day at the Jewish cemetery in Hallhill road. I did so feeling privileged. The cemetery is roughly just around the corner from our home. I go now and again just to say hallo…as I said I liked the man… in memories as well.
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angel
post 23rd Oct 2017, 03:05am
Post #438


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Peter, a nice tale . smile.gif


--------------------
donate to your local food bank .
Pat.
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peter.howden
post 23rd Oct 2017, 05:53am
Post #439

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Thank you Angel…I really appreciate your kind response…my scribble is worthwhile…hope I can keep it up
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peter.howden
post 23rd Oct 2017, 09:32am
Post #440

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Member No.: 2,485
The Final Blimp.


International News Desk;


I am reporting from a nuclear bunker, deep down under the sea bed, the makeshift headquarters of the ‘the Cabinet of Civilization’, seemingly last stand for liberty for the human race. I have no idea if anyone can hear me, but this is to give hope to any survivors of the doomsday destruction of mankind.

Desperate efforts are taking place, to install the old-fashioned telephone lines for using Morse code, in a final attempt to regain control of the airwaves and link unhindered by computer threat. At this very moment, communication from our vault is being transferred by the first every computer equipment, once stored in the London museum as antique apparatus.

The theory behind such a decision was, the boffins concept of ‘Algorithm’ has existed for centuries, and the technology over the last century, has completely transformed beyond any imagination. The simple basic structure, zero and one, would be missed by the overriding master computers, who seem determined to dominate humankind…or to wipe out of existence…life as we know it.,

We have just received news; a state of emergency had been announced by numerous countries around the globe, just before we came on air. What had caused such widespread emergency can only be speculation, for as soon as these declarations made, complete clearance of human contact or recognised activity ceased to exist. Sombre concern as the remaining makeshift commission believes the worse may have befallen the population, in what can only be estimated, the entire world as we know it,

All information transmitted now is in computer language called a binary code text, but million- trillion-fold advanced than human ability to read or cypher by experts or top hackers. It is thought to be a sequence of using a more byzantine two-symbol system, hexadecimal numbers, usually tagged with the memory address.

For years, certain experts gave anxious warning of the dangers allowing supercomputers to make processers and develop themselves, void of a recognized possess to calculate problems, to be blindly used by all mankind, who knew they worked unqualified wonders, far beyond the original Binary digit code text … but not one person on earth, had any idea why?... Other scientists spoke outright how computer technology would lead to not only disaster but the total annihilation of people.

No matter what I will continue to repeat this message by means of any communication and as long as we can…however there is a grave realization that in time a………………......
0000000001000011111010001000011
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peter.howden
post 25th Oct 2017, 07:29pm
Post #441

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Jim 13;

Jim stepped down from the train, almost at once felt an utter dread for the future, which he had no idea why. Perhaps it was the cold clinical atmosphere, for all around, men in steel protective hats being the common denominator, though different colours of coats presuming in order of superiority. Within moments of walking slowly, Jim easily deduced this as true, witnessing brown coats salute the apparent superior White coat. Within moments later he observed grey coats did equal malodours when coming across Brown coats.

The cause for a sudden inward shudder was not clear… however, his instincts warned him to take caution. He walked towards some commotion as loud noises of detection, comparable to gagger counters, almost screeched. All around was signs emphasising in large print “All men equal” and underneath in smaller shake scribble “and women”. A thought sped into Jim’s mind “It depends what coat you are wearing, by the looks of it”.

Whether he was wearing a coat of any colour, (he could not see for some reason) as he walked forward, an immediate effect was bodies bracing themselves… submissively, allowing him pass? As if he knew the direction to take, he headed for a closed door, guarded by two huge brutes in grey coats. Both automatically saluted, then one opened the door, and closed it once Jim was inside.

Now in front of Jim, was panel of gauges and switches coupled with a blank screen which was clearly to do with high Tec. A white coat approached him, thrust a clipboard containing documents of apparent importance, into his right hand. “All is prepared Sir …just gives the word”. The board’s first page had for a bold heading; Nuclear and atomic power will discourage violence; followed in distinct red capital letters… the Neutron bomb as the deterrent…totally.

Jim looked around to witness a massive computer run complex and wall to wall length windows spanning them with airtight shutters clamped shut on the far wall was an oblong, thickened glass window, viewing a desert as far as any eye could see. “Just press the button; Sir, and we will have won” Glancing down he saw a singular green button amongst the panel loaded with gauges and the like. Without thought or ponder Jim just did what he was told.

An unbelievable stillness overcame the congregation of blue, red, green, and white coats, as the brown wearers alone looked anxious. A curious hushed boom, which Jim could not relate too followed by the shutters slowly cranking up, revealing what was behind them. All Jim could see was a massive mushroom shaped cloud reaching for the heavens.

Over a hidden loud speaker came a strict voice” we had to take this action, as the rest of the world would not head of our ultimate deterrent…they refused not listen; so hence to the natural conclusion, humbly release the Neutron bomb, standard enhanced by 5,000 to the power of 100, times more powerful Tsar Bomba; exploded by the Soviet Union on 30 October 1961 over Novaya Zemlya Island in the Russian Arctic Sea ”…then a long pause… “would all personnel remember to stay inside the compound for the next 1,000 years as the radiation will not clear before but this is the sacrifice we had to make”.

Jim fell from the step, unable to truly fathom what had just happened. Completely confused, he slowly moved his head around, until his eyes caught sight of a mirror. He walked right in front of the reflector and gazed…into emptiness…horrified it dawned on him…he could not see himself.

There was nobody in the mirror. [size="4"][/size]
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peter.howden
post 29th Oct 2017, 08:06pm
Post #442

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Joined: 21st Oct 2005
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Member No.: 2,485
My Chronicles 29/102017

Two sad pieces of news hit me this time around, Surprise update when I received news about a good mate, from way back in the lost avenues of time, had been cremated, with very few people attending …a cloud of guilt floated for a few days.

The second; was the demise of Gordon Pomphrett, a gentleman who worked for our association Calvay Housing. A popular employee with staff and committee, who phoned in feeling not well, intending to stay in bed, but determined to be there next day. On Friday, no show, and not answering phone calls. Worried staff phone one member of his family, in case he was in hospital. It turns out not to be the case, because his brother found him dead, in bed, in his home.

Gordon was a soft spoken gentle man, enthusiast photographer of scenery, crazy about the blues and loyal fan of the legendary Rolling Stones, who burnt some C/Ds for me …but most of all he was a nice man. This is a simple but glowing epitaph, which few of us, I believe, will be able to match. Long life to the family. It proves to me how important we should live life to the fullest in the unknown time we have, and we can. Everything in life is an adventure… we come either customize to the never-ending magic… or take a wrong turn thinking about humdrum

Lucky for me because it was rather chilly my attire consisted of a suit and outdoor jacket, which I opened when coming into the crematorium. Unfortunately I discovered when arriving home from the service…my fly was open all through the service….I think Gordens would smile at such a happening

‘She who must be obeyed’ is steadily improving in the ability to walk, though it is taking far longer to heal the wounds as original imagined however, with luck, next Thursday Rebecca may have a safety shoe, instead of the big boot, supporting her ankle.

As for Aunt Becky, she is almost constantly in a wee world, I have no clue how to enter, or comprehend, although she appears reasonable content as far as I can tell. Took her for a hurl along our usual route, with the sunshine animating all the colours of brown fallen leaves…plus these magnetic magical Kilpatrick hills silently echoing the stretching of the earth, as if the last movement before the winter sleep.

It became obvious I needed a haircut, because the last few weeks’ as my time just failed to allow such luxury. Tuesday last, I decided to make time and pottered up to my usual barber.
He took 30 seconds to cut my hair, which was the time I sat down in the coiffeur’s chair, to the time I stood up…Sort back and sides…and very short indulgence. There is so little hair, I reckon I will need a duster and a can of pledge next time round.

Tuesday is to celebrate All Hallows' Eve, All Saints' Eve, Hallowed evening, when the souls of the dead return to their homes seeking mischief. I will not need a mask…my face is rough enough…even with a 30 second haircut. [size="4"][/size]
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peter.howden
post 1st Nov 2017, 12:12pm
Post #443

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Joined: 21st Oct 2005
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Anecdotes from the auld Steamie


Bath Bank

In the centre of many manual hard working industrial areas of cities and towns of Scotland, stood buildings constructed for the essential amenities for the community, affectionally called ‘The Steamies’. Within these late Victorian buildings, usual had a swimming pool, Turkish Suite, wash-house and hot baths. These fertilities frequently were provided, out of vital necessities of the area, because of room and kitchen, single end abodes, and mass overcrowding living conditions, was the normal driving force of industrial Scotland.

In one such establishment, like most around the country, the hot baths were just brilliant for the surrounding population. For a few pennies, eager members of the public, were privileged to about half an hour’s worth, to wash, scrub and soak, in huge enamel bath tubs complete with plentiful hot running water.

When the customer fished the ablutions and left, the attendant’s duty was to scrub out the enamel bath, scrubbing carefully the entire cubical with disinfectant. It was hard work, especially on a Friday afternoon and night, plus Saturday morning. Friday late p.m. for the workers, and Saturday morning for the weekend people sprucing up for the evening’s gaiety.

An area, where bathing facility was right in the heart of a community, all hot baths were used to the full capacity, at times, some customers were turned away. The council believed two things, one…precious time was being used up due to the cleaning time allotted for each cubical while the massive enamel baths took most of the time to clean. Secondary… the amount of monies which could be made if the cleaning time could be halved. Plus…the expense in fuel could be cut.

Overall, Councillors, throughout the land, have proved habitually not very good business people, although most believe they are sharp, so several took their problem, then listened to a company who persuaded them how smaller zinc baths could be the positive answer. A deal was struck and this establishment customers were advised the hot baths would be closed from Thursday to Monday morning. Shrewd councillors had worked out, by using the long weekend, at least a day and a half the building was closed no revenue would therefore be lost

34 brand new Zinc baths were promised to be delivered, work commenced dead on the dot of Thursday morning, checking all waterworks, then removing the much-cherished enamel baths. By Friday night when the superintendents and some Councillors inspected the workmanship they were pleased to see all adaption had been made, and all that remained was the arrival of the brand-new Zinc baths to connect to the system

It was a well-known fact; council superintendents, senior staff, department supervisor’s, gaffers, and councillors, did not like work on a weekend, unless…an emergency or a dire need occurred to raise them to appear. on the Monday morning, a working party of the named above arrived at this establishment, to witness the opening of the new baths install during the weekend. They were flabbergasted…and as the nation’s comic said…their flabbier was never the more ‘gasted’.

All that remained was emptiness and pipes dripping onto the floor. Each cubical completely minus a brand-new zinc bath …. worse was to come, on further inspection…the old cherish enamel baths had also gone. A huge commission erupted, and the police were called in almost immediately, who quickly ruled out the bath staff, as they were employed in other establishments while the reputed work was being done.

The only people present was the workforce of the firm the council bought the zinc baths from. Because the council departments rarely communicate with each other, (small empires reign) no one recorded any real identity of who the firm was, apparent from their name ‘Baths incorporated’ where their premises were. The cheque for the entire works and goods, was cashed, due to an authorization signature that was illegible.

Now the senior police finally made a strange observation in their final report…. they believe it was an inside job…wonder what the meant? [/size][size="3"]
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peter.howden
post 3rd Nov 2017, 10:56am
Post #444

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Member No.: 2,485
My Chronicles 11/03/2017

Emotions may flutter in and out on an imaginary wind, hauntingly fraternisation of ‘Will of the Wisps’, or crash through the mind as impromptu revenging ‘Genghis Khan’. No matter what disguise they adopt, strange beasties one and all, changing all the time in shapes and intentions, carved with age and experiences, bad and good, anger or compassion, coming and going, with no regard to permission or want.

Many moons ago, my good fortunate was to marry ‘She who must be obeyed’ promising, to love her alone …with every breath life gives me. My pledge has been steadfast as years have passed, however my interruption of love has altered from its origin …though just as powerful…and demanding…. Rebecca is with me...without thinking.

My emotions have change since Toni, our daughter died in 2011. The funeral is a blur, but the after effects still both haunt me and strangle please me by recalling certain times. Shortly after our tragic experience, I was to perform as chair at a big conference, held in the Radisson hotel, for an organization I was privileged to belong to. My duty on the platform was to interduce some quite important people…but my mind was just inside out. Now the Consequences since are… any public speaking is an chronic ordeal which seemingly I can’t control.

Perhaps another reason is I am hopeless reading aloud from a page, or a book. My mind waifs away from the printed word, with my mouth and my head drifting absently with adjustments…sometimes a complete different tale. Reading fairy-tales when our children were young, Tone, Chris and Nikki complained strenuously for me to stick to the script. Children need their favourite stories told, repeatedly…exactly as printed…

Watching horror or grizzly killing films is not my cup of tea but they don’t make me feel uncomfortable, however if watching a repeat television show, and something untoward is about to take place, I feel wholly anxious, unable to continue and make an excuse to leave. I feel helpless, I can’t prevent this awful incidence happening…even though I know it is unreal.

Toni’s memory pops into my head for the strangest connection. If near any canal, I recall my visits to Toni and Fergus, (Toni’s main man) flat in Amsterdam. It was situated one canal down from the notorious red-light district. One night while I was outside naughtily smoking, a youngish coloured girl, obviously in her profession was asking me if I had the time. Before I could utter a syllable, Toni came walking over, presuming to protect my honour. The lady took the hint and left….so much for sex in the city.

If I’m walking in a park, unexpected I can see our thee kids, playing on swings when they were toddlers, and Toni acting as matron. Washing the dishes at home I can be whisked back to Leiden, Netherlands, another flat the pair shared, where on more than one occasion I washed up the tableware.

Now over these years, happier memories take their rightful place in my head, they are fresh and tenderly personal just at this moment, which Rebecca and my family share, around the kitchen table.
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peter.howden
post 6th Nov 2017, 10:29am
Post #445

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Member No.: 2,485
More Tales from a tailor Shop

I told a tale recently surrounding Gerry Doman’s cosy wee Charles Dickens shop in Saltmarket. Long before the period of being involved in weekend work for him, I was gratefully employed by Mr Payton, manager of the flagship of City Cash Tailors, owned by the three Doman Brothers, and their then retired father. The shop was situated in 15th century Trongate’ and King St. Tron is the old Scottish word for weighing scales…seems appropriate for the tales to follow.

Some may ask why I never branched out by becoming a manager, or even a respectable reprehensive for a clothing company but stayed a plain salesman. The answer was simple maths…and money. The so called upper market businesses, Burtons, Jacksons, John Colliers, or Dunns, and Tom Martins (50 bob tailors) salaries were roughly equal, while economy shops paid slightly under, but by substantial commission, shot miles ahead of any others, in the weekly wage packet. The Duman empire grew because of spot on up to date style for men and boys, but made with the cheaper line of cloth and fabric.

The brother owners of such shops as Krazy house, Flemings, Moffets, and City Cash, did not give good money away, they wanted their pound of flesh. I witness grown men cry, after being told, on a Saturday, don’t bother coming in on Monday!” ‘Why am I being given a holiday’…no was the rough answer…your sacked. The reason was they did not come up to scratch…their individual targets. The top salesmen worked harder to earn their extra commission, since the target gradually increase each week. Like all crafts looking easy when demonstrated, there are knacks, and shortcuts of the trade, which would be wrong of me to disclose completely, but perhaps one or two within these tales, will tumble through.

The real secret to smooth selling, is to know the stock available, inside out…. However, working in City Cash, or establishments of the same ilk, the second important point, burnt into your brain, trade fast as humanly possible….and the use of, ‘sleight of hand’. If a customer was purchasing a suit, everything was done to make it nigh impossible to try the trousers on. The third aid is a pleasant pliable face…and a trick or two up your sleeve, a conjurer sleight of hand to create an allusion was handy while holding a tape-measure. Having cerebral palsy, as I measured a trouser length, the customers, not wishing to be embarrassed, generally instantly looked away, as I broadcasted the length needed to seal the sale.

If you were of the view only low-priced tailors alone bore such shenanigans likely to cheat you, you are grossly mistaken, as the multiple tailors all had their individual strokes to play. Around this period of the late 60’s, swing or not, many so called ‘made to measure’ establishments sent all orders down to manufacturer companies in Manchester, sometimes Leeds, requesting their blue-pencilled steadfast patterns, individually cut suits, to be made up and transported back to their premises.

If the customers picked worsted cloth, when checked, down south it was out of stock, the salesman picked another near the same pattern but at either £10 to £25 price-tag (a lot of money then). Once the customer returned, tried out the brand-new attire, may say it seems different to the one he originally picked…then the polite salesman would quote, “It is always dissimilar when finally made into a suit…but Sir… it looks excellent, fits you like a glove!”. Thus, started the customers habit of cutting a corner piece from the sample pad, of the cloth chosen.

Once in City Cash, a boy and his uppity mother took ages to select a reputed Barathea blazer, extremely popular at the time. At last they moved onto Levi stay/press trousers. The problem was the mother wished superior cloth, at a much lower price. The reason the lads were so keen…it was the ‘In-style’ and dirt cheap. Everything I showed was met by the comment, rubbish, garbage’s, trash. This may be so but repeating it loudly was quite impolite as started to lose my easy-going manner, time was money was at stake.

What my next action was may be classified as impolite, if not downright rude. Finally, she lifted a pair of trousers, stretched them, and held them up to the low florescent lighting, saying in horror, “you could spit peas through this material” I coldly answered, “you are supposed to open the fly first, madam!’

The embarrassed lady bought the goods, for her prised boy… almost immediately…without another word
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peter.howden
post 7th Nov 2017, 11:44am
Post #446

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THE INHERITANCE

It was a great day, a sad day, a cold day, yet a warm day, the day of nonsense, and it was the day of reckoning, it was a day our family would know exactly how we stood. The very moment had come after waiting for so long, yet, I personally had not, as a sight hesitation was leading to a dark forbearance: within me.

Charles Dickens had once written, ‘there are strings in the human heart that had better not be vibrated’. I could not halt time marching towards this special day, for it may change all our lives forever.

My past, I preferred kept close to my chest rather than release for all kith and kin, as my reckless behaviour was not equal to the black sheep of my family…grey may be more precise. When young, having a cavalier drink and be merry arrogance, I wrongly struggled with emotions, breed from narrow views and being ignorant of the mountains and caves and troughs of life… I wish I had a few relived moments… but if wishes were horses?

I still make mistakes… proving how much I do not know.

Time has a habit of distorting what happens enclosed around family affairs while you cannot take your mind’s memory of the events as gospel truth. I would presume everyone on earth has done something private they would rather not broadcast.

Months earlier to this day, I was informed by a friend, who religiously read the marvellous Scottish printed institute ‘The Sunday Post’, before sending the treasure ‘Oor Willie’ transcript it held, to their family in Canada, the name Howden appeared in “lost but find “section, and it may do me some good if I contacted the paper. After some checking and attendance with a lawyer, facts emerged I had been left £5,000 from Aunt Molly’ estate, along with some stark news. Apparently, they were in pursuit of me for five years, and at the end of this time, the law strictly requires all acclaims to go to the nation.

This was beginning to take the substance of a Dickens novel. As a family, we had never been, what could be classed comfortable or ‘Well off’, due to my lethargic attitude to money, but more so…my drinking. Seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, this small inheritance could form a basis to change all our lives. It was a first small stepping stone to a personal better outlook on life itself, although it was a pity it was due to the death was my benefactor.

We always encouraged our children to save money during the year. To gain extra they would try jobs around the house, over and above, washing dishes, clearing their bedrooms which they did with a routine grumble all kids do no matter what. We also informed them every year, just before the family holiday, I would double whatever they had managed to save in the bank.
.
On this acceptance day of good fortune, one thing stood out in my mind, a sum of money should be given to the children, allowing them to do whatever they wanted, with no strings attached. The amount I picked on was £100 each. It may not sound much in today’s monies…but then it was quite a bundle From the eldest to the youngest, Toni, Chris, and Nikki, who all from the same gene, acted, behaved, and talked individually from one another. With such news, both Chris and Nikki, darted in all directions with loads of request on things they had longed and hungered for… barred simply because they could not afford.

When at last the final decision was apparently made, Chris and Nikki had worked out, almost to the last penny, what they intended to do and quite sensibly. In the end they had taken on the facts of their new-found wealth, used it with wisdom of a mature child but with a hint of devilment planned to purchase one or two frivolous things.

Now it was our eldest Toni’s chance, as she turned and looked straight at me, saying calmly; “Dad.. I wish to bank my money, every penny of it”. Rebecca and I were taken aback but also instantly pleased and proud our number one daughter knew the value of a saved penny on tomorrows outcome and was quite well to sacrifice today for a more prosperous time.

Then our fragile dream was cruelly shattered as Toni only stopped for breath continued to explain in a matter of fact voice and volume, “then because of your promise to double everything we manage to save, I will be able to buy a?....... what was said following…is now lost to me, although for one short moment I revered her spunk, before a mist covered over my mind. After seemingly endless silence, I tried to clarify how this was not fair to contemplate in such a manner

How can a near converted rouge, explain to his eldest cherub. What I can remember was Toni not being a happy girl… at all at all.
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peter.howden
post 10th Nov 2017, 10:36am
Post #447

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Anecdotes from the auld Steamie …

The Real Benghazi Mice

When the Benghazi moved residence to the Dollan Baths East Kilbride a few adventurous members, Big Jim, Archie, John, and myself, decided to celebrate by taking a ferry trip to the enticing shores which held Amsterdam, the alleged European centre to display goes on when two people intimately share a bed…in public…or elsewhere. Heading to the continent’s second city of love, was the four ‘Quatre Muskatee’, Athos, Aramis, Porthos, but who was D’artagnan ? now loose on a massive ferry, row after row, deck after deck with rather compact clean sleeping quarters rather.

The booked cabins were certainly neat, leaving little wanting to be there, other than for sleeping, for the astute ship operators being very intent on its customers, ready and willingly spending money on souvenirs, all types of alcohol imaginable, complimented with excellent prepared food, within the entertainment deck of this ferry… it just blew me away.

More than planned refreshments passed our lips rousing laugher at the drop of a hat, exaggerated singing from the ‘four Amis’, conducting themselves like runaway schoolboys, just the same performance we encourage on a Saturday morning at the baths. Having two reserved cabins as the party retired to eventually with big Jim and John in one, Arche and I in the other.

Next morning at open serving breakfast, Jim and John looked bedraggled, perhaps slightly crankily complaining as to the sleeping arrangements, grouchy only had one bunk in their cabin, making it a tight squeeze together, leaving little sleep for both. Big Jim was well named as he was a giant …which did not help the situation as far as they were concerned. Archie and I slightly puzzled asked, did they forget to use the top pull out bunk…they both looked at each other and said…”what f---in top bunk? So much for exotic intimate happenings when two people share a tight-fitting bunk…made for one.

We attempted to do what all tourists do within the sightseers bounds of amazing Amsterdam, its open smoking pot cafes, tram cars in all direction, and its exocentric and exotic shops with it pastries to melt for, canal rides (no subtle joke there) and its sex shops both live and mechanical. The capital of the Netherlands, with over 300 bridges, is a lovely curiosity city, with amazing mixed markets and intriguing curiosities, outside what is deem the attraction for day visitors, around this canal route Centre some quote as “The Main”. In the inner circle of clinically clean large windowed shop fronts displaying of a variety of scanty females…and males dressed to attract.

The florescent lighting assists the ladies by exhibiting anything white as pure snow, while their skin, regardless how it really is, dark and attractively tanned. For a starting price of 30 euros (don’t ask how I know) the pleasures and delights of organize sex can be yours, at a freighting pace. I stood at the canal corner observing anything, it all takes 7 minutes from start to finish, including repose ready for the next clientele. The pimps are at a discreet distance, but menacingly there. The difference between the stylish illusions of the front court, the rear guard several canals backward, is like night and day. The women in the holes-in-the-wall are much bigger… older and distasteful from a distance.

Having a few beers in the wonderful Amsterdam authentic Irish Pub while watching two seemingly locals, out of their brain boxes if not denying their actual mind. Stood up and urinated all over the bench. The local police just moved them on…taking the piss is no an offence …but smoking a funny rollup is…fined in the spot

John took a video camera and scheduled all that went on with all the hazards that were with us along the way. On returning home he edited all the swearing, most of that was Jim, kindly loaned the cassette to me. ‘She who must be obeyed’ and I, viewed it with some amusement. I few days later I was in a rush going out while, in a hurry to copy a programmed on the television.


The trouble was, in the haste I did not look at what tape I was using, and you have guessed?
It was the Amsterdam historic record experience…`````````````````` on film…. gone forever.
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peter.howden
post 11th Nov 2017, 09:14am
Post #448

Super Lord Provost
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Member No.: 2,485
Let’s not fail to recall how easy it is to slip into war
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peter.howden
post 12th Nov 2017, 12:46am
Post #449

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Spaced out.

Somewhere in the near future, an adventurous traveller, from the space section known as Srogan, stumbled onto the curious little planet of *banned word* … where the inhabitants(Treeks) ruled by the great Srogan renowned for his abhorrence to any outsiders but particularly individuals and anything from the zone known as Earth. Down through the years there had been rumours, and of some terrible renderings of horrors, but unsubstantiated by the powers to be…who believed these just gossips, were just suspiciousness and spite towards a small planet.

One thing was known, the famous fruit they cultivated by using ancient techniques, such as horses to plough their fields. Apparently, their natural produced manure from these steeds, had a hidden quality which stimulated the plant to tantalizes any pallet… costing a king’s ransom….but ’worth dying for’…was a phrase frequently used to describe such out of the world experience.

The planet’s populaces soon discovered the foreign spaceship awkwardly landed, and began to gather around the craft, in a menacing manner, assumed the traveller recalling the tales spread space wise. However, he was more than presently surprised, and relieved as the airlock opened, he could only see smiling faces and people clapping with glee at his arrival. He was treated as royalty with every personal whim he uttered was delivered, within moments to his excellent richly decorated quarters.

Laying back, being pampered beyond imagination, one thing entered his mind, so he asked if he could see these universal famous fields where the stupendous fruits are grown. Without hesitation, they whisked him off to these treasured grounds where, by chance, the harvest was being picked. Surprising to the visitor was, the pickers where outfitted, from head to toe, in protective gear, including breathing equipment.

The explanation was speedily forthcoming…within the taste sensational treasure perhaps one or two or maybe more, of toxic fruit. If accidently the membranes were damaged or cut, or god preserve us, squashed…then a gruesome death would have followed in a short time…there is no known antidote…the protective rubber suits, was just a safety precaution. The major rule of thumb…watch out for the bitter ones.

Returning to his suite, the traveller having basked in inhabitant’s kind-heartedness and concern for his wellbeing, was taken with complete surprise, by an assemblage of important peoples, including the Prime minister, to offer the key to their city, much more to the traveller’s liking, a craftsman’s delicately made glass colt charger, some two metres in height, standing on the main dining table. Beyond monetary value by itself… yet also visible within the mount’s underbelly, an abundance of majestic, almost forbidden fruit. With it came a silver plaque artwork…. etched with the words, ‘Look out the bitter ones’.

An immaculate garbed white gloved servant, proceeded to open the secret clasp, motioning the trekker to taste a sample of such a lavish boon. Overawed with the honour, he took one such fruit, saluted the collective congregation, then proceeded taking his first delicate bite. With a certain sense of relief, coupled with an overflowing of his taste buds, his unchallenged pleasure beamed as the pure delicate sweetness took hold.

Eventually swallowing his first delicate mouthful, the traveller was just about to take another bite when the nearest gentleman made a simple statement…the safe fruit to eat is bitter…as instructed…the sweet fruit is deadly…we do not like outsiders.

Fear struck quickly as the light faded fast, though one thought raced through the dying traveller’s mind…

"Do not trust the horse, or Srogans. Whatever it is, I fear the Treeks even when they bring gifts."

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peter.howden
post 14th Nov 2017, 11:38am
Post #450

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Member No.: 2,485
Report 99479

This report comes from the pen of one underground newspaper investigator, who wishes at the moment to stay nameless due to the dire consequence, from unnatural quarters if exposed at this moment, for reprisals jeopardising his, or her life…which could come from and direction as it is still unclear who or what sanctioned the following.

Somewhere in the seclude white sand beaches, overlooked by ‘Cnoc-na-Bèist’ far up on the picturesque Island of Lewis, in a hidden inlet, where recently accumulating reports of a wide range of trekkers and travellers… missing, without explanation or reason. The actual total is indefinite, but a mounting concern from the locals, who by tradition, believe in the old tales and superstitions, have centred on the very devil spirit, in shape shifter ‘Each-usige’, as being the source of these vanishings

The Shape-shifting ‘Each-uisge’ can, masquerade as a majestic horse, or pony, handsome man, or even enormous bird. If it chooses a horse façade, it baits the unexpected human to ride, however… the merest hint, or whiff of sea water, the human is trapped on the adhesive back of the illusive horse creature, charges into the water, to the deepest part of the sea, with the petrified victim…. who drowns. The creature rips and devours the total body…apart from the liver which floats to the surface.

This; of course, is one of many Celtic mythological Scottish water spirit’s…however… The reality is more chillingly, almost unbelievable

Somewhere near is a underground government scientific lavatory sealed from outside interference secret experiments involving conning has taken place using the newly discovered, ‘Eunice Aphroditois an aquatic predatory, five antennae worm, residence under the sand at the bottom of the ocean bed,…ominously named ‘Bobbit worm.(from public perception of a world incident) It injects its victims with toxin which stuns or kills the chosen prey before devouring it.

In the ocean these hunters reach some 10feet in length, but the boffins had no idea, D.N.A wise, of these marauders sexual habits, or reproductions and did certain hazardous experiment research using clones of this beasties. Unfortunately, under such unnatural environment, something triggered the cones to not only grow complete at a incredible rate but at a uncontrollable alarming size of 30,40 feet in measurement, with physique to suit…in other words they were individual. ‘Frankenstein monsters’.

Still contained in top security was the scientist security…except what the failed to comprehend, somehow the spawning mechanism is present, in some way spreading their genes imperceptible in the water. The principal idiocy was… the waste water was then abandoned in the sea nearby. At first, they would not accept the stories, but the government banned any news of such happenings, nevertheless, as the body count rose…the only theory could be…they had reproduced in the bay’s waters.

In blind panic, both regime and researchers refused to seal off the area…to prevent prying eyes and ears investigating

Then by accident, I saw someone swimming in the area, stop to put a foot down on the bed… and within seconds, disappeared in the middle of masses of bubbles…all remaining to prove something was…floating dirty blood.

This alone proves they have materialized way beyond any imagination …or terror.
I will report again when I can………
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