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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 24th Apr 2020, 07:26pm
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The tales of Hector and ‘The Bruce’

There is a saying doing the rounds, ‘if you can remember the swinging sixties, you were not there?’ Hector can remember the very beginning of the 60”s, but he can’t recall much about the middle, or the end of that fantastic decade. Hector and ‘The Bruce’, as China’s, always put it down to too much booze, not realizing they were just out of their minds… with pure enjoyment…Hector may have extended it….just a tad?

Hector and ‘The Bruce’ entered the Brookland Cafe at the corner of Minard Rd/ Frankford St joining up with the rest of the hoi polloi. Encouraged by the Cliff Richard fan, faithful to the edge of hell, waitress Helen, who stole the idea, to start a youth club, from his recent film, ‘The Young Ones’… in Scout hut, Titwood Rd, just down a bit from the old Crossmyloof ice rink. Like the movie, the club was a great goer right from the start, Games of cards, a few illicit beers, and if you were lucky, several Moonies to slow playing records, to round of the entertainment

No matter what, stoned face ‘The Bruce’, never landed lucky, and Hector felt it was his duty to inform him, the female company whispered he was a wet blanket. This actually meant he was slobbery like a great Dane…and a face akin to Buster Keaton. Amazingly he took it quite well, though the part about facial expression, was deliberately left out. ‘The Bruce’, asked his china if he knew any way to remedy this affliction. Softly, Hector instructed him, he should practice, with determined lips on his pillow, each night, plus constantly suck mints to aid the aroma. (actual it was to control the drooling

A few weeks later, following the general triumphant measures taken, the end of the evening many musical birds, (is it allowed to write this, as its politically incorrect). The music began, much to the total glee of Hector’s china. Sadly, after ten minutes into the lippy game, ‘The Bruce’, huffily once more gazed into a record sleeve, obviously looking a wally, having been rejected by one girl, after another, time after time. Hector asked the females if it was the same problem, they answered No! they had not even got around to winching. They all replied, once he had in a clinch so tight, he would not let them up for air.

Hector reckon ‘The Bruce practiced to strongly on the pillow, to hard and for too long?
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peter.howden
post 26th Apr 2020, 07:46pm
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A class of her own

From the start of early dawn, it had been certainly a hard-long walk, because of her age, it was more like a cross country hike ordeal, than her usual stroll around the countryside. All this commotion to catch a train, with little or no amenities and packed to bursting capacity, which broke all decency regulations. As for crowd control…this steam engine ride was bloody inhuman. In her past, treated like a queen unequipped dealing with such anxiety. It was her first experience with these traveling methods, but little could be done, due to a schedule beyond her control. there was no time to take stock .

On this mystery expedition, some were a tad tetchy, having their own theory, of why being regarded worse than commoners, though no first-class lodging to spare, expected by her, associated with upper breeding. All the others on board, had no idea where exactly the terminal would be. She assumed honest simple thinking would suit the mood, feeling now was a good time to relax, ease the tension ever so slightly. .She wished hard, to rid of the constant clacking of steel wheels, rolling over the traction and cross lines multiplied with and bells and horns warning of brakes suddenly screeching.

Tiredness was beginning to take its toll, having been on her feet all day, with little food to nibble on or digest. On the other hand, she was more than pleased when the voyage, at last, came to an end, then allowed medical treatment if needed, or stroll around stretching their legs. She had expected something, what it was, she knew not, but having left rolling hills and green meadows scenery, the present picture was desolately drab, if not grey. A forlorn pounding noise, reverberating, making it impossible to tell the origin.

Encourage for something better while strolling along with the rest of the ladies, she could not help pricking up her ears, hearing constant loud thuds, and an obnoxious odour which frightened her. Still, since the rest of the group were moving towards the warm glowing entrance, happily embrace the clandestine ambiance, blissfully ignorant she was being rather apprehensive. Coming closer to the wide doors, the throng pleasingly formed a natural tapering V shape, allowing one at a time to move forward into the building.

Daisy, for this is what she was politely called, no matter her royal blue privilege upbringing in younger years, she had not the ability to read, and so tragically failed to see, which was in large lettering, spread across right above the thick black rubber doors …‘LOCAL ABATTOIR’.
The constant echoing thudding was…. captive bolt electronic stunning gun.
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peter.howden
post 30th Apr 2020, 11:35am
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The tales of Hector and ‘The Bruce’

It was both last year in primary and first year in Shawlands Academy, when Hector and ‘The Bruce’, visited Ken, the best builder of home-made boogies. He could always lay his hand-on the, ‘creme de la crème’, Churchill pram wheels, for superior speed. Ken’s big house was on top of the hill on Ravenswood Drive, behind Shawlands Primary, perfect to test out Boogie’s. His father was a university lecturer, who doted on two Siamese cats, named ‘Si and Am’, from the Walt Disney’s ‘Lady and the Tramp’.

Hector took first shot down the hill on Ken’s latest boogie, but unfortunately, ‘The Bruce’ whizzed down, crashed into a garden, took a moody, limped homeward bound. After a few more ‘trips down the amazing hill, Ken brought Hector into his dad’s hut. The two lads looked around at the various old crumpled packets of fertilized, and the odd weed killer poke, brownish baking powder and a rusty tin of antifreeze. Out of the blue came the subject of how those items could be basic materials to improvise a rough detonation.

Ken proudly spoke of his dad’s duties in Burma during the war, he brough back a filthy brown bag for mosquito control called Organochlorine… plus manky old durex’s, used by soldiers covering their gun barrels through the infection diseased swamps.
Ken methodically organized the items, with Hector watching memorized how he appeared in a wizardly fashion, protected by gloves, carefully extracting what was needed onto stretched cotton wool, adding simple earth, plus powdered fluorescent, to cause a chemical reaction. This finished as a porcupine shape, sticking out was lots of last year’s bangers. As he lit the lead fuse, he shouted “ F---ing Run

Hector and Ken scarpered like hell, as far away as possible, taking immediate refuge behind a massive old tree. The two household’s cats were preening themselves undaunted, until… a bloody loud explosion collapsed all over the place. Damaging most of the hut …and no sign of the cats as Hector took instant flight. The next day, meeting up with Ken, who told him, he took the whole blame by saying it was a terrible accident. His pocket money banned indefinite …only one cat came back…the family did not know if it was ‘Si or Am?’…but it was timorous from that day on?
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peter.howden
post 3rd May 2020, 11:22am
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Twa Worlds.

It was the time of despair, sheer hopelessness spread panic throughout the civilized planet, shocking peoples to run havoc, creating disorder in disbelief. Every boffins/ scientist, in the four corners of the world, concurred there was no hope, nothing to stop the calamity, Armageddon was upon the earth just hours away. Universal Politicians nervously endorsed evacuation for the leaders and key people. This was paramount, but unfortunately, they could not agree who those selected individuals were to be.

About a hundred rockets were available to be sent out to space, but, how robust would untested missiles function, more important, where they would reach, or if so…was it just pure conjecture. The preicious moments and minutes ticked away, unused and undecided, until one lone country, chose to save who they could. An electronic lottery was cast, collected with the diverse ticket holders arriving at the space station and boarded.

Almost at the second of approaching absolute doom, the feeble crafts were launched, total blackness fell worldwide….as the object of doom was nigh to collision.

Somewhere, perhaps in another dimension, a bunch of youngsters decided to play rounder’s, while temperatures were the highest ever recorded. In fact, the tarmac on the road was melting beneath their feet. Reaching the huge grassy sports park, they placed themselves ready for the innings, while slugging ginger.

The pitcher’s normal practice to bowl within the homemade rules, was underarm, but, for some unknown reason, this time he changed his tactics. From a spacious glass display cabinet, he had smuggled out a special hand-crafted ball, reputed from Stuart times, handed down through his family. All the boys gawked enviously at this extraordinary orb. This was his first delivery, in a unintentionally spur of the moment, why he did not know but he strenuously hurled it overhanded…with all his might.

The auld stale ball hurtled towards the batter’s head, like a missile with a death wish, leaving no choice for the batsman but to swing wildly at the oncoming sphere. As contact was made, the whole globe disintegrated into disastrous smithereens, leaving all the runners in a stooshie. Strangely, one boy’s keen eye observed what appeared as if wee solid shaped bits, supposedly from the inners of the auld sphere, projected out straight into the blazing sky…but unseen where they landed…no matter intense searching.

Were both events on the same globe, but in diverse time frame, or velocity? ….or poles apart, happening at the precise same moment on another universe entirely …Or two separate planets, but ,at that precise moment… both orbits fused in collision…running-together in parallel dimensions… or same cosmos with fractured distorted timeframe

Or remarkably simple coincidence?
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peter.howden
post 6th May 2020, 07:25pm
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Threesome /(1/ 3)
John; Borrowed Dapper


Why men wish to go to a Turkish bath, is a hard question to answer, for some just wish to meet up with business contacts, others to relax in macho company, in the last stronghold for a male club(until recently). Others, to take part in socialising, while a few, who’s routine was, the place, the same time and day each week, while many to dodge one thing or another, then the one or two, just out of sheer habit. Finally, believe it or not some came to use the steam room to wash themselves, remove the day’s dirt.

Ben Gunn was the Turkish attendant in Glasgow local Baths by accident, simply because he held lifeguard qualification; ‘Bronze Medallion’. He felt lucky to have the exceptional experience, where a variety of clientele’s, who’s words and manner, were mind-boggling poignant and entertaining
. .
Always suavely dressed, John was a regular because his wife wished to have those afternoons to herself. Sounds a tad selfish, but she keenly looked after her husband to a fault. Each day she laid out what John would wear, as in suit or casual, dressed shirt or t shirt, right down to the socks and underwear. Some may say, this echoes a ‘Hen pecking disciplinarian’, but not so, as Ben’ knew them socially, as deeply entwined to one another. She saw he needed a woman like that, so she provided herself in such a way .

Sadly, for John, his beloved wife died suddenly, leaving him heartbroken and empty, a hard belt to take for anyone who had known him as a grand entertainer, and talker, who liked a burl around the dance floor. While at the phenomenal turned out funeral, Ben was standing with him when his sister came and suggested, a hot cup of tea would help. This miracle cure was always a brew weed used for all occasions in certain circles in Glasgow, if not Scotland, which could mend all, if only. Over the crowd, she carried on asking how many sugars he took…however, poor John had not a clue. He was so used to his darling wife taking care of everything, right down to “how many sugars he took in his cup”. ,John was lost, but came back on his regular timetable, not-so-well turned out…just for human security
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peter.howden
post 8th May 2020, 06:50pm
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Threesome,(2/3)
Graham Record Artist


Within the populous of the Turkish suite, while working up to a cool douk, John’s usual chosen company was Graham, and Hammie. Both men would attempt to ease his pain, with Glesga whimsical patter, as he solemnly spoke with little enthusiasm, of ‘the book not yet open’, meaning his own demise. While in their company, they had the talent to amuse John, but had growing concerns as to his state of mind, when isolated in his home.

Graham was a conscientious employee in the ‘Daily Record’, a burly man, often mistaken as every inch a rank bajin, however in truth, being an amiable dude, who over-enjoyed a wee hauf…or two while off duty. People automatically believe the Turkish steam will sober the drunk instantly. This is a missed conception, as the steam dehydrates a body.

His other ideal relaxation was playing blinders in a three-man band, around the clubs and dance halls. There was talk, by Graham’s agent, cutting a record, to succeed becoming quite famous. This news circulated like wildfire in all the joints, and clubs they performed in. The group did not mind the tongues waggling, eager for extra monies due to the oncoming projected celebrity status.

One night, just at the interval break, a man, slightly fu, came up to him and asked, “do you mind if I give you some constructive criticism “, and Graham replied no. The stotious man went on… “Yous are bloody crap…aw in a cludgie ...cut a record…yous couldn’t deliver the Daily Record”.

Ben had a strong feeling this would not have been said, whither right or wrong, if the guy had been sober….Graham’s reply to the individual advice-giver… was never recorded?
-=-=-=-=-=

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peter.howden
post 11th May 2020, 06:34am
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Threesome,(3/3)
Hammie
Coloured Extension


Graham: looking all of a heavy in gangland movies, was slightly fue, attempting to sober up before going home, however, failing in his feeble attempt. Walking past him was a Glaswegian, down to his boots, Hammie, who owned the wee red corner shop in the heart of the Barras for thirty years. He was a typical friendly, true-blooder Scot, that just happened to be born a very darkened skinned born Pakistani. He asked Ben if the sun bed was available for his use. Graham asked why, Hammie replied in his sly humour how the previous day, only two people had called him a black bastard, and he was feart he was fading into a white person?

Perhaps Sigmund Freud might have given an explanation as inverted joke to reverse the turmoil within built… but the company all just laughed at a simple joke, as the man himself pulled over the curtain to fry in privacy. Hammie amongst company was no doobie,

Graham and John were both sitting right opposite the sun bed being used by Hammie. Some 30 minutes later, reopening the curtains in majestic glory, for all and sundry to see, Hammie totally surprised and shocked Graham. Graham growled to Hammie, “where did you get That?”….Thinking it was the tan, Hammie pointed to the debunked machine. “No” shouted Graham… “ I mean your manhood tackle….I wish I had one just like it”

Without a sign of emotional expression, Hammie tells Graham that he could have his wish come true, if he could obtain a short piece of string (gardening type preferred) and a fair size rock. Further information given, was to tie one end to the rock and the other end to his own manhood… leave it for a couple of days.

“Will it make my manhood the same size as yours?”, Graham asked eagerly.
“I don’t know about that”, Hammie replied, “but it will be just as black!”
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peter.howden
post 13th May 2020, 02:18pm
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Tales of Hector and ‘The Bruce’(part 1/of 2)

PLASTIC MAC

There are some places experienced once in early life, have a habit of mentally calling you back, creating a warm cozy memory of any time, or occasion. Hector holds many varied late visions, stretching a good 65 years now, including North Berwick, but most prominent, ‘Dunbar’. The east coast seaside town has instant recall, though not included are, old ironside battle with the Scots, or the amazing John Muir, no matter how rightly he deserved his fame.

Within the Pandora, a Glasgow oasis drinking establishment, Hector managed to persuade, ‘The Bruce’, plus two old pals, Ross Grant, and Graham, to visit the picturesque seaside settlement, for a planned long weekend camping break. This alcohol prompt conclusion left just a couple of days to prepare. Being the mid-60s, the pals thought they were the bee’s knees, what they did not swing…had already swung

The company made plans rather loudly, arguing who was responsible the gear and the like, plus departure time for the Edinburgh bus. They all drank praising the trips success, rather more than usual, leaving hazy Hector vaguely recalling, Ross and Graham sitting next to a guy, who looked closely, if not the spitting image of Keith Moon, the mad drummer of the super group; The Who’. Exceedingly early next morning, everyone turned up, including ‘Keith, who undoubtedly was either eccentric…or slightly off the wall.

When preparing for camping, the trekker should be ready for any kind of weather, however this guy was wearing a plastic-mack…and a hard-hitting bright sports jacket. However, he wore is dull gray old-fashioned Mackintosh… down to the ankles of his sannies. On top of this old mack, was the dazzling sport’s jacket…with one button closed. What was more worrying was…a permanent smile…rarely speaking. He was an inborne natural comedian, who appeared not to know he was so, but he was entertaining to have around
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peter.howden
post 15th May 2020, 02:55pm
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Tales of Hector and ‘The Bruce’(part 2/of 2)

HOT PIES

On arriving in Edinburgh, they boarded a local service bus, snapping glimpses of coastline as the jalopy trundled along. On the way, Hector persuaded the bus driver, the necessity to stop at a forthcoming country Inn, due to sensitive medical difficulties. The old bus stopped, though outside its timetable for several minutes, while he and Ross dashed into the wee boy’s room in the watering hole. While Hector, and Ross made their way back to the transport, stopped at the bar, to enjoy a double Water of life, for medicinal reasons of course.

Disembarking in Dunbar, in jovial spirits, to watch the bus rumble down the road, until the weary group realized, vital equipment was left on the bus, the tent, stove and odds and ends. Fortunately, someone had the wits to check the bus tickets small printing, stating the phone number of Eyemouth terminal. Hector was informed the bus was due back in 1 ½ hours and would drop off the gear…at no extra charge. They were under the impression, locally made beer was good for you, with natural hops, yeast, and the like. A doctor will subscribe a sweet stout, or Guinness, to build up weak patients, so, the more going down the more building up. Sounds O.K… who really wanted to argue. So, when it came to a clear choice, between essential food or beer, accompanied with a few glasses of ‘the water of life’… there was no contest.

Later, at the allotted time, collected gear from a fleeting bus, then sauntered along the shoreline, to Whitesands, striking up camp, just steps away from a water. The fact they had precious little to eat, apart from a couple of packets of crisps, peanuts, and the odd choc bar, made them famished. Once the campsite was settled, back to town for fish and chips…and more beer for later. The next morning rose long before they did, with only the rolling majestic rush of the waves tampering with the natural silence…apart from the constant huoh-huoh-huoh of seagulls


They all got up and different speeds and heavy heads then, try and shave in cold sea water suffering from a hangover, then attempting to eat cornflakes swirling in suspect milk, with wee black things appearing at will within the plate. A volunteer was needed to go the 3 miles, there and back for urgent supplies. The “Keith Moon”, volunteered, boldly striding forward towards the town, still dressed the same as the day before, though that is not quite true, wrapped in a bright yellow Rupert the Bear scarf, and golfer’s bunnet. The township of Dunbar lay about 3 miles north of Whitesands, giving walking time, there and back, two hours on a bad day for a young pair of legs.

Six hours past, while waiting for the messenger returning with untold goodies. A shout came from a lone figure, could be seen coming just over the brim of the hill, appeared to be running as if the very devil was chasing him, with the bright scarf, it was not difficult to know who it was. The closer he got to the camp, it was possible to pick out, even at his running speed, he was not carrying any large supermarket bags, but appeared to be clutching something to his chest. Almost upon them in person, he called with all glee; “HOT PIES, HOT PIES!, but the truth of the matter, what once probably were pies, but now a glimpse of pieces of pastry, cold fat entangled into a gooey mess.

It was then Hector learnt a valuable lesson… natural comedians, no matter if they know it or not, after a very short time, can get on your F---ing wick ?. As usual, ‘The Bruce’ and pals, met Hector in the Pandora, later in the week… and it turned out no one knew who the impersonator was, for he disappeared from whence he came, never to resurfaced again and wasn’t he fun?

They all believed he was a friend of the other guys. Maybe he was the real ‘Keith Moon’ but naw… he would have eaten all the pies for he was really crazy that way.
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peter.howden
post 16th May 2020, 06:19pm
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The choice today, Number 10 on my list of memorable L,Ps.


The near forgotten long-playing record; Walt Disney’s Soundtrack; ‘The story of Robin Hood, and his Merry Men’. Which arrived via the U.S.A in 1953. This was given to me, however it could only be played when my brother came home from University, before mother came in from Maryhill Barracks. I cannot recall why…but this was the rule.
God knows when the tides of time took the original disc. Still, we managed to purchase one copy in 2000… which I played, making memories back to Gorbals St, at the Clyde much… to the bemusement of the family.
-=-=-=
The choice today, Number 9 on my list of memorable L,Ps.

Again, this L.P was sent from America, solely my brother John’s personal property, Frank Sinatra’s classic album; ‘In the Wee Small Hours of the morning’. John owned quite a few old Blue eyes records; Frank could sing anything… but this beauty hooked me. Also, I was grateful to John…he let me listen to, ‘Dan Dare, pilot of the future, on Radio Luxembourg, via his Cristal set, which he built himself…. Both 10 and 9 remined me of my family in 8 Gorbals St
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peter.howden
post 17th May 2020, 12:52pm
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The choice today, Number 8 on my list of memorable L,Ps.

At the very beginning being taught within Shawlands Academy, by an amazing gifted music teacher, who, lucky for me, introduced to the class, a variety of melodies around the world, including classical experience. Without thinking, the words spring to my mind to the Irish melody; “Trottin' to the fair. Me and Molly Molony”, sheer delight. On the classical side, a obvious favourite, “Peter and the wolf”, described by Sterling Holloway., gave my starter to a complete lifetime enjoyment of all orchestras, and quartets . For my 12th birthday, Aunt Molly gave me this L’P, which sadly, through the sands of time is lost…however, now I have a copy safely stored on my IPod, narrated by Peter Ustinov, touched by genius

A bite of information…in 1962, the Clyde Valley Stompers, reached 25, in the pop charts with the jazz version of, “Peter and the wolf”
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peter.howden
post 18th May 2020, 11:15am
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The choice today, Number 7 on my list of memorable L,Ps.

Way back when I was 14, during summer holiday from School, luck appeared each year, in finding payed employment. First year was with a dental supplier, in West Nile St, delivering their stock (false teeth) by bus… all over Glasgow.

Second year’s holiday job was with a famous insurance company in West George St, as an office tea boy/ relief switchboard operator, at lunchtimes and breaks. It was an old-fashioned exchange, the kind you see in old movies. I had to say; “Good morning/afternoon, Forman and staff mutual benefit society---can I be of assistance?” I do remember ordering a brown Wheaton scone each day, from the upmarket bakers across the street…magic

The director constantly played, through the canteen’s ancient crackling tannoy system, the same Jimmie Rogers L.P each day while having lunch. It was his last session in 1933 “Yodeling My Way Back Home"; …Jimmie died 10 days later. I managed to download that session onto my iPod… my favorite is #Waiting for a train#
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peter.howden
post 19th May 2020, 06:51pm
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The choice today, Number 6 on my list of memorable L,Ps.

Our gang of teenagers met up in the Brookland Café, corner of Minard Rd/Frankford St, with bottles of coke, each uncultured night… then came the movie; ‘West Side Story’. The gang had seen the film the week previous, however I was unable to go to the Waverly Cinema. They all said it was a waste of money, though I’m not sure now what the girls in fact said…but the boys loudly testified, very non P.C in today’s society, quote “just a bunch of fairies floating and prancing around…real keech.”

I managed some days later, to see the flick, which blew my mind way out. I thought then, and still do, the music, the dancing…the film is a masterpiece. So much so, I wanted to attempt dancing all the way home, in a weird fashion. Gene Kelly would have been proud, but passing peoples gazed at my shabby attempts, as if I were a nuttier.

I did not challenge the gang about the film until several weeks later, to little comeback, as everyone was praising the movie. Safely in our home is the valued soundtrack of both film and stage performance…plus, the DVD bought for me …and we have even been to the Ballet version.
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peter.howden
post 20th May 2020, 07:12pm
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The choice today, Number 5 on my list of memorable L,Ps

A dreary Monday evening in 1962, Traveling on a public bus, around 9 in the evening, from Glasgow to Tannochside, the site of the mighty Caterpillar tractor factory, where I was fortunate to be employed, as a tool investigator. The wages were way above any equivalent British firm, but the only fly in the ointment, flash striking instant walkouts.

Left work on Friday morning, straight over to Clarkson, to join one of the legendary Alan Ramsey’s all weekend parties, returning now rather fatigued, from such a special endless event, laced with floods of alcohol. Today’s is No 5, the groovy smuggled L/P; ‘The Genius of Ray Charles’, over the 3 days, and nights, just played his tunes, over and over…and over.
He is a master at his craft…my personal favourite; ‘I can’t stop loving you’

So important was my position as the lone tool on nightshift…I fell asleep for 4 hours, hearing a distant Ray Charles deciphering ; ‘Come rain or come shine’… singing in my mind, while on the loo….when I awoke…my bum was numb and no one missed me…or even asked for me …
After being diagnosed having Dermatitis from the oils in machinery, it warranted an end to my lone tool position. At the time I believed I had made the silliest of mistakes, turning down a desk job…but now, what the heck, I would have lost out in a hell of a lot of way out fantastic times, what a ball?
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peter.howden
post 21st May 2020, 05:14pm
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The choice today, Number 4 on my list of memorable L,P’s

During the early 60s, scorching a young imagination influenced by all kinds of music entertainers, Paddy Roberts, , blues, Sonny Boy Williams, Chuck Berry, Elvis…being involved with the unbelievable great Matt McGinn in the folk scene. Then, at the world famous Barraland Dancin, personal appearances, Long John Baldry in his Hoochie Coochie men, The Kinks …and the everlasting Stones, before their fame, possessed a rawness about them, which bloody hit my bones and filled my socks.

No 4 memorable L.P must be…. The unique long player album; “Crying” Roy Orbison; ready to burst forth magic powers, reaching where other singers just could dream. This record takes me back to 23 Marywood Square…when haunting Ross Grant, my China, sharing a flat. We pooled finances from being in a basement flat, with two windows looking out to a steep grass verge, leading up to the public pavement. Those frames were used as an entry regularly, when behind in rent. So many ludicrous times just waffled by, like when reading a Dennis Whitley book, attempting to draw a chalked 7-foot circle, and the essential seven cones of incense, towards north at midnight…to keep the devil at bay.

A quandary arose, with the lack of the essential substance, so seven cups and tumblers, with dashes of Old Spice was the Sacrifice, to ‘Lucifer: Lord of the Underworld’. Lying there for quite a while, in the nude, and in the dark, as waving shadows of outside trees emphasis by the streetlights, … spooked us. Due to alcohol consumed was a contribution to our growing concern…until we shat ourselves… hastily rubbed out the circle on the wooden floor…while playing the Roy Orbison L.P. I have the original

So many more memories about we two…but this particular one lingers…in the shadows
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