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 <<

30 Pages V   1 2 3 > »   
Reply to this topicStart new topic
> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 31st Dec 2014, 08:32pm
Post #1

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485

The Journey


Jim stepped down from the train and immediately knew where he was. ‘I am dam well sure this was not my original destination when I boarded the carriage but I defiantly know this place’, he thought inwardly.

The guardsman hollered over his unheard thought “We will stop here for exactly two hours while we repair a vital part of the locomotive but don’t worry folks; you will make your original destination required on your own personal ticket. It was at this instance or there about, Jim saw the place as being his home town. The town he grew up in. Though Jim appeared to walk aimlessly, his feet took on an agenda of their own which led him to an old run down shop that had been his family’s business almost as old as the township itself.

It was in a decapitated state but Jim had seen it as its prime. He remembered he left the tiny enterprise while the depression was in full swing and his parents were in dire need of unpaid help but he needed to “Get away” and make his mark. Jim recalled he might have stayed on yet the lore to see bright lights out there in the world dictated his departure. His father suffered a stroke shortly afterwards and his mother never recovered from the gruesome toil as she struggled to make ends meet. They are both gone now and he could not remember being at their funerals. Sad, how things do change without warning especially when there is a wanting not to. .

Another unexpected stroll left him standing outside the church which was used for all religions and ceremonies within the tiny community, and past crept back into his mind, uncontrollably of his youthful girl, Jane… to be precise. The result of this unbridled fancy; was a seed of life created by embraced love and the need to marry…. so to keep his beloved’s reputation being torn by the prejudices of the straight laced core group of the district….he promised a hasty elopement..



Not only did he take cold feet at the last possible moment, disappearing without trace or a word as Jane waited at the hall door; leaving her to face the disapproval from the righteous bible brigade that scours every community, town village or city of this confused country. . Jim could swear he could hear the organist playing, rather badly, as she always did, but with gusto and heart and he was almost sure he caught a glimpse of his old sweetheart but gnaw it could not be. “I wonder what happened to her and my child”, Jim silently moaned to himself. She left town just as the gossips were weaving their distasteful tales and glances were never of the kindly type.

Somehow, as if by magic or some mysterious force, he was standing in front of the bank or what looked as the bank was back then. It had managed to keep its business head just above water and struggled against two possible runs on the back which were common for that period of time. One thing, above all else, kept it going was it belonged to the people and the community trusted everyone for they were all in the same boat. Times were desperate and hard and the silver dollar was but a dream and he had so many dreams. This was the very reason he chose to scarper however I would not supposed the town would have given these act two thoughts had he not taken $4,000 of their money with him. He persuaded himself he had to get out of such a dreary place and make good of himself. The trouble was; he never did.

Perhaps nostalgia or time had placed soft sparling coating over his eyes, for the township look good… warm to his thoughts….for whatever he had done in the past, and after all, it was where he grows up and became a man he was.

A call from the train guard and a haste boarding of the now ready train and they were oft like a bullet out of a gun. As the train tumbled along, the faceless ticket collector was high above him as Jim slunk on the couch of the carriage and wondered if he had been dreaming as he could not remember where his journey had started and had he been sleeping all the way. . He was just about to inform the man of his destination when his ticket was punched and handed back without a word being spoken.



Jim glanced at his ticket to see the words printed boldly; “a one way ticket to Hell”
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 1st Jan 2015, 08:24am
Post #2

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Second wind

There is a lot of absolutely nonsense written, and spoken, of global warming and how we humans are to blame for the end of the world as we know it “Jim”. Poppycock

Methane gas has been particularly aired out as a matter of fact cause and our poor cows have been shouldered the blame…………… absolutely verbal crap and nothing to do with gravity but can cause hallucination on a mass scale

For this reason the authorities are attempting to hide the truth behind the fallacy of the udder. It is factual that livestock, particularly cows chewing the cud, gives oft heat and decay and huge quantities of Methane, equal to two cars per cow per year, is true, yet below our feet lies the true problem….Termites. the following do not include Ants, Bees or Wasps…..

Insect experts at the Natural History Museum reveal termites, the creatures famous for building enormous mounds and eating houses. What they do not reveal is that there are 2,500 species of termites, never mind cockroaches, which brings the numbers into trillion billions or almost absolute infinity…..+1.

Atomically speaking; the scientists secretly are taunt and fretting with the physics of this massive problem. When termites and now cockroaches find or try and attract a sexual mate…. they Fart….. producing a small dosage of lethal methane. The boffins have worked out mathematically….. if the entire population of termites let oft wind collectively at the exact precise instance….there would be enough energy to move the world.

However now; with the realization Cockroaches are from the same family group, it is feared that if they all achieved their sexual appetite spontaneously, then the Earth would shift orbit and aim for the sun and a immature demise.

The boffins say it is not a question of if it will happen….. but when?

A guid Ne’erday’s ‘Tae ane an ‘A’………..It may last
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 2nd Jan 2015, 01:11pm
Post #3

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
End of her tether;

The flat itself is exceedingly cheerful; roomy with its fresh painted baby cartoons displays, coupled with rainbows on opposite end’s bright clean walls. This is not the despairing point for the young mother of two. It is the walls themselves which act as a blockade or fortification or a modern day stockade. The plain matter of fact is she is a prisoner of her own making.

She loves her children more than life, utterly adores them with an intensity to make her weep,; however they don’t t help not only being a guilty hindrance reminder but intensification to the problem. It was been bearable with the first beautiful child because of all the fuss made by one and all though the novelty of calling “ Goo goo Ga ga” whenever the scene warranted it, or “Whoopsie-Daisy” proved to be…. just as a whim ….though her love for her brood never waned .

Everything was a brand new experience and if she was not wrong, she absolutely radiated a crisp gorgeous persona. Even when things did not quite go to plan or ‘poo-poo’ nappies whiffed the already scented air at the most awkward of times. The sheer motherhood had enough twinkles and sighs in the eyes to absorb the invisible increasing frustrations.

Even when the second little adorable baby arrived, all and sundry’s behaviour was exactly the same as before yet it seemed to wear off quicker. Even father was not quite overboard has he had been before. Now with double helpings all the way, in everything, it has started to wear down her resistance to the point of mood swings and frustration, diving into depression and generating her own introverted mortified hell. No one comes around anymore, perhaps because of the constant nappies on the pulley or they are scared they might be roped into babysitting but they would say, when met by accident, how they wish not to disturb her routine and quickly contorted obvious thin excuses to leave.

The pram her mother-in-law insisted in getting them is too big to direct around the narrow staircase. In mother-in-law’s day; a Churchill pram was the bee’s knees but times have changed yet she did not wish to upset the mother of their father. She had dreamt, nay prayed, for motherhood and envied anyone who had a child, only to find her wished paradise fashioned spiral echoes that never spoke and silence itself became louder

How she longs for adult conversation and how she hates herself for not giving her all to her adorable babies. The walls may be crystal clean but that does not stop them from caving in to suffocate a lonely person. For nigh on 10 hours a day she spurts ‘Poppets’, ‘yum-yum din dins’ or whoopee’s repeatedly then asking who is a clever so and so. She tries to have a settle down period every day when the little imps are laid for a lunchtime rest, but this precious time is swallowed up by tidying up or washing clothes or taking jam out of the carpet.

The television is a God send…. with “Andy Pandy” or their favourite “Tellytubbies” which keeps them amused while those childish programmes were on but holy mother of Jesus…. it sends her brain around the bend. Almost all children always like a programme or action or story and then want it repeated, word for word, again and again and yet again till she felt her sanity was in question.

She could only glance out the window marvelling at the freedom of all passer-by’s and again retreat slight deeper into her own little unfilled world, more helpless than the day before. The once proud, almost beautiful, appearance has gone… to reflect her own self-loathing and her wanting true natural womanhood instincts, as told by her supposed friends and betters who are just gossip chatter merchants magnify her guilt-ridden mind to past reason and knowing no bounds

Her front door is green but no Frankie Vaughan behind her door…. only wash day blues………never ending……………..every day.
[size="3"][/size]
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 2nd Jan 2015, 08:08pm
Post #4

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
The Parables


The good Samaritan?

The old man dropped to his knees like a sack of tatties, in disbelief at the sight of his faithful mutt lying motionless at the side of the road. The dog had been excited by events around him as he and his elderly master was coming from the post office, and trod oft the pavement just at the moment a fast moving motor machine was passing. The driver had no chance to stop, in time but swerved in a vain attempt but tragically failed.

As the elderly man remained crouched down and staring apparently at nothing, a comforting hand reached out and held his shoulder. He turned around to see a face which was not unknown to him yet he could not place who it was. The driver almost crying as he hurried up to the old man in a desperate effort to make sense as to what actually happened….. finally the police became involved as witnesses tried to present their versions all at once.

The experienced policeman suggested that someone should take the grieving old man away from the horrible scene and as there was a café very near perhaps buy him a good strong sweet tea to steady his nerves. The comforting hand beckoned to comply and led the tearful body to the café sanction. Once inside he sat the old man down and ordered two strong teas. While awaiting the waitress to return he told the old man his elbows of his jacket were mawkit from the blood and tears involved. Encouraging the elder man to disrobe the garment, so he could make amends and rid the thread bearing sleeves of the manky dirt.

Words of silky comfort passed from his lips as he assisted the senior man on with his jacket. After some consoling words and meaningless chatter, the Samaritan made good of his departure. The old man stood up, though still rather confused returned to the accident to find all the necessary duties had been completed, and his trust old mutt had been taken away . All that was left was a couple of spots of blood and a caring constable asking if aid was needed to return to his abode.


Entering into the home he shared with the beloved dog, several tears fell from his now red eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the money he had taken out of the post office before the accident. There was only £40 there instead of the £100 he had withdrawn. He knew almost instantly that the Good Samaritan had dipped him. This meant he had not taken all the cash, only some in an effort for his victim to believe ether he was mixed up or somehow had used the money.


The problem he faced was he knew who it was but could not say anything for he had no proof.

Sadly the old man closed his eyes and pretended he was in the woods walking with his faithful hound.
-=-=--=-
[/size][size="3"]
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
Dylan
post 2nd Jan 2015, 08:15pm
Post #5

Mega City Key Holder
******
Posts: 4,494
Joined: 27th Oct 2006
From: Glasgow
Member No.: 3,936
Entertaining Peter , enjoying them !.


--------------------
You don't need a weatherman
To know which way the wind blows
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 4th Jan 2015, 10:26am
Post #6

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Circles



There is a fine line between reality and illusion


We have to face it lads, there is defiantly some kind of invisible energy ……… a force field in front all the time regardless of which direction we come from, preventing us reaching the given ultimate goal. …. yet sometimes it seems it’s all around enclosing the neighbourhood. With a sense of scientific conviction this just can’t be….surely not…. for we can go where our want takes us….. Yet the moment we attempt to move in a forward direction, something…something supernaturally, not of this world and totally transparent halts us…. If only we could break the cycle!...or is it a purloined dream.

It’s not alarming me…only cause’s compound limits, and you should not loss faith either, because there is a constant bright light…a beam which signals almost to the second every twenty four hours, giving us a continual bearing to measure and see the direction we need to travel. Other luminosities happen high above, if memory serves me, with either no set pattern or consistency to be reliable but the morning light never fails…………..if only we could reach the light we would be safe.

Yes we have food; Yes we have some restricted freedom, Yes there is life? nevertheless is it a false existence ….. But there is something out there…. What it is I’m not sure….Just out of reach…..shadows of some significance appear then disappear without logic. If only we had the intelligence, the ‘know-how’ I am sure we would recognize why we are here…. The answer …. the ultimate question of life itself…. if there is a divinity?


They are trapped and there was no doubt about that, yet somewhere deep in the their D.N.A; a stubbornness arose through generation after generation and raw evolution , a harden craving to seek the unknown, being totally away from their usual docile lifestyle, forcing them to fight against this imperceptible unwanted restriction…..

They would persist to find a clink in such unseen armoury their plight will last their lives …as goldfish in a living room bowl….
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 4th Jan 2015, 11:00am
Post #7

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Thank you Dylan.................which one I wonder?




The black cat

A group of young people were loitering at the rear end of this main chapel of the spiritual town holding a catholic ‘All Saints Day’ mass. While smoking naughty cigarettes they all spotted an exquisite black cat majestically strolling around the holy statues. What was evidently striking about the panther like creature was its blackest perfectly groomed pelt, so smoothly delicious it could be mistaken for silk. As the cat paraded around the inner grounds the shine, her coat alerted at the slightest twitch or direction the cat sashayed. Her large pupils reflected deep green eyes, while her stiff whiskers suggested military obedience as a successful predator.

The white-cassock robed youngsters were members of the chapel choir and caretakers of the consecrated relics during the service. One innocent lad stared and pointed while calling to his peers; ‘Look… Cats hold luck’. Crunching a very unchristian couple of words, the biggest of the boys, a tormenting bully deliberately flicked his red hot burning cigarette right at the cat’s jet black hair, which not only brutally scorched the flawless coat but cause severe pain for the unfortunate beast. Her eyes flashed with fury as her ear piercing squeals of agony was only silenced by the organ music coming from the chapel. The cruel sneering boy just laughed before he entered the holy place to prepare for his religious duty

The dutiful service followed its strict code of practice, performed and conducted by the visiting bishop wearing Dalmatic garment, from the chasuble alter, the priest reading from the Roman Missal in celebration of the Eucharist. Meanwhile, due to the pious obedience from the awaiting congregation, no one noticed the black cat prowling stealthily towards the sacred tabernacle area of the all-embracing Church. As a wild hunter she used the pews shadowing her existence of purpose as if stalking a particular prey. The only detection was the distasteful lingering odour of wet singed fur.

The tormenter of a lad was the main solo singer, stationed just under the Sanctuary lamp awaiting his celebrity appearance and recital. It was justly believed and noted he had the voice of an angel and would be a professional chanter in later life. Each other adolescent was prepared for the holy order, with Chalice paten and Purificator while the dark cat crept accurately closer to the stone alter as if on a deliberate hunt.

The young boy stood up to sing directly under the ‘Tabernacle Lamp’ looking ever inch angelic in his white cassock robe when… out of nowhere… leapt the frenzied cat, knocking the oil full lamp from its safety on the stone wall. It unceremoniously fell from its insecure holding as the contents of inflammable oils spilled unrehearsed onto the boy’s head, then splattered across and through his bright white robe, instantly igniting into uncontrollable flames throughout the petrified boy’s attire.

There followed screaming bedlam, echoes of excruciating screeching within the old walls of the medieval chapel, shaking its foundations. The cat just sat sedately quiet… watching the mayhem her actions had created, while she licked her coat of jet black. The alert priest had the presence of mind to rap the statue standing petrified lad in blankets to stifle the flames which saved the lad from first degree burns all over his body.

The boy will never sing another note due to the injuries to his vocal cords he endured almost becoming a horrific human torch…and the cat…. never seen again after it casually strolled out of the chapel…

Cats can bring luck….but what kind?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 5th Jan 2015, 11:00am
Post #8

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
(1)The Big Bang;


Along a uninhabited road which lead to what now could only be described at first and second glance, as a neglected path now overgrown with grass and assorted weeds . Yet this snakelike track concealed a slight trodden trail created by footwear, through thicket and almost impenetrable bushes, leading eventually to the end where a square consisting of old cobble-stones surrounding old inaccessible abandoned factory…long forgotten by the grown up people.

Once an explosive factory throughout the conflict, it was designed so not to pull attention to its location. Consisting of 6 stories high, its stairways were crumbling and untrustworthy but still led to the roof which was in fragments and not fit for purpose. In shadowy nights its gloom was beyond any imaginary explanation however if on the ground floor, if someone was staring up into the starry night… infinity was there.

Within this spine-chilling air howling building almost at the centre where the night-time sky was flawlessly visible, lay a huge oval shaped workplace stank most probably used as a water drainage when the floors were wetted and cleaned of all the explosive dust accumulated on the concreate surface. Whether this was indeed true was impossible to tell for anyone who had laboured there was either dead or lost in time, but what was a bare fact was the large elliptical shaped drainage stank.

One the grey colour metal stank with a slight angled into the centre, was a multitude of small holes which were right up to the rim of its slightly rusted circumference. Around the hub of the drain, was a mass of Bools; (Jorries), named as, plonks, clampbroth, cats-eyes, Opaque, Devil’s eye, agate, Lutz, China and rolled earth ware. All these and more were owned by mysterious boys and lads, living some distance from the old decrepit building. Each Ash Wednesday through to Good Friday, the local lads traditionally came to this very site to play marbles in peace and comfort away from prying eyes of the grown-ups.

Around twelve of the boys surrounded the inside gutter…unaware history was about to unfold.
Completely in furtively, one sleekit young fellow who was desperate to win in one go, had clandestinely brought the ultimate weapon… a steely …a enormous ball bearing, outlawed by all marble games.as they crowded around the bulk of Jorries, the improviser raised his hand and dropped his steel ball on the unexpected spheres below. What happened next was and is unclear but the force of the fall and the hefty weight of the steel orb smashed the rest to the outer limits of the oval rim.

Whether this alone exploded or some elements and particles of the explosive substance used so long ago was lurking however simultaneously from the lad’s foul, an immense explosion instantly acted. The marbles lost in such an eruptional flash…. spread indiscriminately around the drain. So was born the big bang theory………….

Was it in some parallel universe…from realities or fiction or a diverse Physic dimension … Quantum gravity from M-theory seen through Micro vision …….or in my mind’s eye…who can tell?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 5th Jan 2015, 11:58am
Post #9

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Sentenced

In his mind, he walked this final path along the ultimate cold avenue before early morning, recalling his school days being religiously, regimental, constructed by one overbearing sadistic individual, who wickedly carved into his mental and physical statue. This inhumane individual constantly inflicted unforgettable….unforgivable harsh treatment, because simply the lad being just him.

To this end, instruments would inspire pain, growing measures such as the leather belt, then the large brass buckle. Other dreaded times, a thin whip-like rod, callously inflicting with increasing intense heat as it tore away young flesh,… opening older wounds with each stinging flick attack. Numerous kicks with steel capped boots, followed blows where it would not give evidence to the outside world…. For although this master of diabolical wickedness grinned in apparent anticipation at each stroke…………strongly wished it to be kept quiet…their secret……….in particular held by fear. The lad was left as a wasted bundle…. preying to end. Craving for loneliness


Above all else, though he had believed he had now broken free the persistent bulling which made him do things…terrible things, he did not want to do. However he not excuse himself of his criminal and desperate life, by laying the blame on such evil deeds preformed on a boy who had no means to protect himself, for he alone was responsible for deeds ‘beyond the pale’ of decency and far worse things outside simple imagination, so personally demeaning, so utterly horrific…. he was now scared even to think about them.


The truth was he was more entangled than ever. Now he had to pay the ultimate price because as everybody knows, it’s impossible to keep them out, there are eyes… everywhere. Coming to the untried but familiar path, he took one last deep breath of cleansed air before the final thoughts and suspicions


Is any man's death accountable…and to whom…. weighing up from deeds preformed in the past…for he is manhood…. willingly or unwillingly…. no man is an island…. responsible for your action but more important…. responsible for what actions taken against you as mankind; wither individually or mass… therefore never “send to” know for whom the bell tolls…for it tolls for thee.”


Once again in pure surrender….trembling in his imaginings… prepared once more …after an immeasurable time scale of torment ….ready at last to climb the final steps…reality opens with the first peek of dawn…………..the abyss …no more……….until the next night of darkness
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 7th Jan 2015, 11:44am
Post #10

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485




Greek bearing gifts

She was a young, French, good, limited Catholic girl who thought he was old fashioned, even eccentric, giving her an amazing stimulating bangle with connecting lines, so delicately woven appeared to be fine lace, while Inside was amass with deep lavish green, blue stone giving the illusion of being alive. It was magically impulsive to examine its complex delicate craftsmanship akin to the world famous ‘Clover Leaf’ created by the Russian family of jewellers she had once seen in an tattered old Paris bulletin

She had always been attracted to glittery things, compelled to jewellery, an outcome from her strict religious family. The few men in her life knew what pleased her though most could not match her desired wants since leaving the confinements of a stringent religious family and region.

He was timeworn; becomingly pleasing to the eye, yet something mysterious was just out of reach, and whose speech sounded like imitation French added with a hint of Greek. A strange alluring man obviously with an obvious massive private income used to splash out in truffles washed down with Duval-Leroy champagne, raw oysters, and crème fraîche Beluga caviar.

Beseeching her to wear this humble gift, along with a single red rose, as a sign of his endless pounding love he holds for her, dear to him than life itself. . Wearing the finest white Kidd gloves, he gently placed around her delicate wrist. He explains in a soft seductive but ….deceptive tone, he wishes not to soil such an honourable gift to such beauty and venery qualities

She was enticed and captivated by the intricate dexterity of the craftsman who created such out of this world armlet, second to none…bar one. She did not love him but was captivated by his power of speech, affluence and obvious supremacy.

Once secured on her thin white arm, she felt what sensed like a needle, continuously piercing her skin but shook the very tight wristlet and it was no more. The rest of the evening was uneventful until alone in her private bedchamber when for some reason found it impossible to find a catch to release the precious gift. It was tight, she thought…but bearable until tomorrow where she would visit her jeweller’s and be aided in her quest to release the bangle. She drifted into a slumber so peaceful and fretless.

Across the medieval town, he lay in his bed sweltering ravishingly his sadistic feverish action, takin in the name of hideous revenge. He was a lunatic beyond reason, converted to religious retribution on the Roman Catholic religion He was an obscure numerous second cousin, unknown removed from one of the original French Faberge family who had fled ‘Picardy’ two hundred years ago, due to religious persecution of we Huguenots.

As she slept unaware her bracelet was coming to life in the shapes of countless deadly…’Emerald Cockroach Wasps’; who’s natural habits is to paralyzes with venom and disable anxiety, burry into their chosen victim, releasing a white egg which hatch three days later, excruciatingly to the victim kept alive right to the end, totally consuming internal organs and all before cocooning and then a full grown wasp leaves what once was a living body.

Because she was human…. this would last for numerous dark days.

Two weeks later … in the towns daily proclamation…the body of the 9th young girl in the past year discovered demised, was found in her boudoir…with life totally absent from her withered corpse…….identification was nay impossible… thought there was signs she wore a extremely tight armlet covered a multiple of large puncture holes still in evidence….

-=-=-=-=-=-=
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 9th Jan 2015, 07:02am
Post #11

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
The Parables

The Glasga good Samaritan;

He had always been a nutter, a chib merchant (weapon haulier) carry and using a cosh and knife or anything at hand while attacking anything indiscriminately against foes without care or fret. His enemies was the infamous ‘Monks’ gang, but headed by the local notorious ‘Fleet-Tay’; who held the same morals but were more of them than he could muster for self-protection. Unfortunately for him, the opposing gang planned and carried out an ambush on him alone, in revenge for a spontaneous battering he gave to an innocent cousin of the brusque gang leader. The surprised quarry was left unconscious, critically bleeding which would surely lead to his untimely demise.

Just by chance another member of the ‘Fleet-Tay’ bunch of hooligans returned to the scene, feeling true guilt and remorse, believing his mob had crossed the line and would regret the comeback and revenge, not only from the few mates the victim had, but more dangerous, from the police harassment and his bird (girlfriend) threating to dumping him…if a murder charge was in the cops books. He was aware of being just a Marionette while others pulled the strings His concerned newly discovered conscience, asking of himself what gain or good for anyone battling over who owned a bloody crap street

Ignoring obvious danger if seen aiding the enemy, he dragged the prey home, attended his wounds with care and precision self-taught due to past experience when giving medical help to him after each dangerous insane fracases ending in brutality on both side. For the first week or so stayed awake in 24 hour stints and using his job seekers money for specialized easy to consume nourishment, sterilized bandages and creams to keep the wounds clean avoiding decontamination.

Slowly the assaulted guy recovered, conspicuously having trouble working out why one of his adversaries was now his redeemer… and what scheme he was going to unduly surprise him when unprotected and alone in a unknown foreign den. When time and conditions allowed, his male nurse moved him to safety outside the ‘Fleet-Tays’ unofficial domain taking him as far as he dared into the victim’s unsanctioned dominion. Once the young thug reached his home and took his first slug of Buckfast; for medicinal reasons only…… he felt his pockets for a fag (cigarette) to find two ten pound notes which he was forced to recognize his adversary must have bestowed the money.

Did any good come from this surprising act of compassion is not known …but rumours were wild that someone had ignored the principles and rough rules of the gang and if they found out who………………

-=-=-=-=-=-=-
[/size][size="4"]
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 10th Jan 2015, 07:25pm
Post #12

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485

The Parables

Five loaves and two fishes;

Lady of the prime home had just clipped the lughole of one of her cheeky little tykes, for having the neck to try and sneak a wee bite of bread. As if she was addressing her whole waft of children, she bawls…. which echoes around the tiny scullery resounding loader than ever ‘have bloody manners and all will sup the feast’. Suddenly all pandemonium vanishes, stops the kids of all ages from any mischief they were doing as those responding words of command instantly gave them the ability to sit as quiet and still their young bones would allow. Everyone knew they were waiting for ………………old torn face…father

This was his pay day, nevertheless this was no guarantee if Jean, the ageing mother would have any money to put in her empty purse. She had three empty ginger bottles stashed under the sink curtain, just in case. These pop bottles where known in her circles as ‘Glass—Cheques;’ in good days the kiddies may have them but…not this bloody day. It all depended on Shug, the roving father, and who he met or what pub he landed in or if the bookies had called silently his name. Some may not credit Jean as being educated, as schooling in her day stopped when her mother needed help around the house. Though strapped for cash she had the sense to have planks all over the house. They held little bundles of money for desperate times but it was hard to tell the difference in these coming days.

Suddenly the door bangs open as Jean looks up to the tattered smoke ridden ceiling as if on silent prayer. Her man, if this is the true description, puts his head around the door frame and splutters out that Wee Willie, and John and Fred and another loon, had come back after kind invitation for a bite to eat. He softly adds ‘Jean; the boys want to see our little cherubs’ came a slurry voice from the man of the household. The five drunks hawkers sat down at the table oblivious of the bairn’s and waited for ‘something to eat’ Shug splurts out showing his buddies who is the master



Jean was a good mother to her weans, did everything to protect them from the violent things in life, though no matter how she strained to do so, the ugliness of poverty and ignorance bit deep into her soul. She knew her place in this world but more so in this small tenement flat she struggled to make a home. One thing she was determined was no one will take the food oot of her weans mouths. With a shrunken smile she stepped back hides the fact she is stirring a pot of illicit mince.



Adding to another pot of salty water, more than three and a half handfuls of lentils and then two Oxo cube she returned just ten minutes later and served up the banquet to the sitting guest including the chief of the puddins. A left over tin of Sardines, which was being saved from the Christmas dinner because Shug was too bevvied to eat, was displayed for all to see the two remaining week old smelly fish. Five near mouldy slices of Pan breed, was dished out to each and every guest.



Totally unaware of what was happening right under their noses, the blootered guests feed on scraps …while underneath the wobbly table lay her bulging brood, tucking into bundles of mince& tatties….fresh bread and butter…. imagining they were in a posh restaurant



-=-=-=-=-=-

[size="3"][/size]
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 11th Jan 2015, 10:56pm
Post #13

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
George (Thee Polar bear)

George was a sucker for fridges where he would wallow away a few hours dreaming of home in the sandy beaches of the Sahara Desert, well he thought he did owing to the clues. He knew he did not come from the Gobi Desert for that would be just plain ridiculous. Who ever heard of a polar bear from the Gobi desert? You would have to be right planker or plain daft or a bit rough to be contemplating that and anyway the number 41 bus doesn’t stop there.

It was only common sense, George though; that he truly came from Sahara Desert as his dad smoked those types of cigarettes before it came popular that they were bad for you, and anyway they gave bears a horrible smell. George was ignorant of his qualification of his origins, the basic fact that he (George took the hump (just like a camel ‘Dromedary’) or two (Bactrian) when he was not going his way.

Both bear and camel come from around the same Palaeogene era, and adding to this, as if to qualify its authenticity, George’s Aunt used to drink the dark Camel Coffee, bought from a shop in Dubai by some troops from the Royal Fusiliers. George does not talk much about his aunt because of her lose morals. The coffee was a bribe so she would take the soldiers, not up to the front but to local brothels which did not sell soup but were ill-reputed bawdyhouses.

George arrived at 12 Calvay Place and just made himself at home. We did discover his efforts to be here was encourage by the knowledge of a group of authentic synthetic yellow ducks resided within and growing. He made a beeline for the fridge and to slip into something cool. From then on, when the idea took him, he settled in the fridge for a couple of hours

George always avoided treading on the butter …for butter was the substance of life. Not water or air but glorious butter, not a breath or hair was ever left on butter in the fridge that George had visited or honoured with his presence. How or why he came from Sahara he did not ken, he just knew.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 13th Jan 2015, 10:15am
Post #14

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485


PEE WEE


Pee Wee is thee Glasga pigeon of some amazing stature, not a pair of cowboy boots of the same name in the American west. Nor is he a stool-pigeon… though he does give secret advice when needed , or named after past silver screen idol Walter Pigeon…. or any run of the mill pigeon… but a very extra special pigeon. He can talk any bird language you care to mention, but above all, he can talk human. Of the latter, the communication between is with only the chosen reprehensive of Glasgow, in the shape of “The Lord Provost” dating back, in some form, to the final era of the dark ages… where all magic was possible and plausible.

The mere suggestion the present Lord Provost would take advice from a feathered bird… will not raise many eyebrows …however…. that a pigeon could understand the political dealings with such an understanding … may stretch the art of belief.

This simple fact in its-self, would place him in a higher category bracket than any ordinary pigeon in Glasgow’s famous George Square, he is even more, much, much more. He was and has always been since time and immoral remembered as “Thee” number one guardian of all protocol within the boundaries of Glasgow now Greater Glasgow than before...

Pigeon history has been winged way back to times where hours did not pass without counting the grains of sand… or gazing towards the moon, while the sun was indeed the main ‘God’; which mysteriously disappeared nightly, which all who witnessed… blessed, and hoped in prayer it would deem to return the next day. The Rowan tree was the guide and the guider between the worlds known and perceived. Clandestine and magic were in infancy were and when anything could happen and often did, to the utter amazement to the young populous of the fair green place.

Pee Wee is not magical but had magic was about him and around him which enables the bird to do things out of reach of most birds. His life span knew no bounds and his memory of the past was razor sharp… recalling down through history each Lord Provost would not only rely on him… but depended on him utterly. From the very John Stewart, through the reformation… and its aftermath that so named the Lord Provosts to be Mr Glasgow to this very day. . Where Pee-Wee came from… is in the unwritten scrolls of legends s and how long he’s been totally unknown. The only hint was the very first Lord Provost was a nodding acquaintance at first but because of “the incident”… became a total admirer

He has, and always had, at his disposal, the means to keep all other birds in check, regardless of their rank or size. From swifts to the oppressor magpies, Pee Wee’s call was law and obeyed even by his mischief cousins, the tyke street/road pigeons… for under their feathers they feared and respected Pee Wee and in more than one occasion needed his protection.

Magpies… like all bullies, always picked fights with street pigeons, as easy meat but thought twice, about tackling a wizard of a pigeon as Pee Wee. Once defied and scuttled they did not even dare have such a thought ever again. In short Pee Wee is the super birdie in the skies. His patrol of George Square is recent as the Grand City Chambers was only built in 1888. His loyalty to Glasgow is timelessly undying and true. . ………….let the tale begin
[size="4"][/size]
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post
peter.howden
post 14th Jan 2015, 08:47pm
Post #15

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 474
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Grant’s Cloths;

Through anyone’s life, there are people who have had influence or manky fingerprint over life’s good or bad, and carries onward with certain moments of remembrance pushing forward one particular character or event

I have been exceptionally fortunate by having such a rich pot of people, both present and past, all loaded with experiences of the wildest stooshie’s ever…. so to allow me to miss the curved balls of life which can knock you for six. So why do I keep being stoatered by wayward orb’s. Who knows maybe I’m just lucky. .


Ross Grant has left a marker in my mind which frequently pushes a recall tab, simple because he was involved in a very important part of my life. This was the period where I had rented accommodation in Marywood Square. I did not need someone to share the flat as I was earning quite big money, one way or another, however through the mist came; Ross.

We became Best mates slowly, as we had different circles of friends but there is no question, we hit it off right from the beginning. He had ettle risk in his humour… coupled with actions which always took me by surprise. He dared to do anything to enjoy every moment of life with even a smile for the down times.
We, on the whole had a ball of a time, with scat concern of tomorrow and perhaps the closest we both came to those well published imaginary swinging sixties. Quotes bantered around with sayings such as “If you can remember then…. you weren’t there”, there areas of time I just cannot remember and even forgotten weekends which I’m certainly incapable to recall. This is down to too much alcohol consumption and not swinging illusions though I have had several of those. . Some of the parties held, at the drop of a hat, were out of this world and I can still see the wee happy bugger right in the middle of it all.

After one particular Ne’erday’s bash, we were drinking the booze left over's…. right through to April. I am not trying to smugly imply alcohol, in all its disguises, was the centre of our existence but it was a necessary release for our youthful exuberance and beyond.

A delightful laugh Ross had and was only serious when he talked about Dennis Yates Wheatley; thee penny-a-liner author... The book “The Devil rides out” was the most read book in the flat, second only to the fabulous “Famous Rugby Songs” and “Move away from the fireplace Granny, Grandpa is heating his bum”.

We did manage to scare the crap out of ourselves by following instruction from a Wheatley novel preventing Satan gaining control of our bodies or minds. We were so drunk and our minds so fuzzy the devil would probably not want them even if he came in person. The amateur occult wanted cleared, all the furniture and carpets and drew around us impregnable circles and triangles right to the letter, including salt at the vital points of entry, right to the last dot described within the tattered literature.



We heard unidentifiable peculiar noises coming from behind the door of our basement flat. This sent us into an unpredictable scared state. We realized it had just struck 12 of the clock; the time when evil lurks in packs. The basement was always gloomy though now it turned sinister and foreboding as each creek and movement was heard as if within our heads. The gas fire had run out as the metre needed fed and we were at a loss how we could since we did not have a two bob coin for it to consume.
We were genuinely terrified and sweating porously though this was probably due to being intoxicated with liquid spirit while preparing to meet thee Arch-fiend known as Auld Clootie. How long we were there is now stuff made by legends however at one particular point we cuddled each other more intimately than we were with the opposite sex, though we never quite discussed this principle part. A mate is a mate but when it comes to mating………


A few weeks later, a very important date to meet the parents of my true love of the time, “Cathy”. I had been out the weekend before plus the previous night and one by one spoilt my dress since needed for such an occasion. Pullers the dry cleaners had shut unexpected and I was lumbered with old cords which could walk themselves. Ross like a true gentleman said I could use his wardrobe for anything I need. Without thinking I had pressed his brown suit to perfection, polished my Beatle boots and draped my pink shirt. Sex personified I though however not quite.......I looked in the mirror and it became painfully obvious of the height and builds difference between Ross and me.

Ross was a good five inches smaller than I and slightly fatally proportioned (compared to me) which knocked the perfect dressing for six. The trousers where half way up my shin while I had to tense my belly, inward, so not to burst the buttons. I reckoned if I blew wind….. The seat would explode outwards. The sleeves of the jacket were extremely short while not only showing a cuff but practically the whole sleeve. Holding in my stomach meant my feeble chest exaggerating its potential, so much so it warped the cut of the suit. I looked like a blond wee monkey trailing my knuckles along the bare floor.
There was no choice but to brave it out. I am not sure if they noticed however I was never invited back and sweet lass….never brought up the subject……

After two great years, Ross and I parted company going our separate ways due to a number of factors; seldom saw each other until twenty years later he came to see me one Thursday afternoon at the Calder Street baths. We had not seen each other for years and I took the opportunity to have a few beers with an old friend. We chatted about old times and I do remember laughing our heads oft recalling one thing after another.

It was a superb night and more so because it came out of the blue. We saw the pub’s bells in, warmly hugged and called it a night. Ross had a rare blood disorder nickname “Christmas Disease” for some strange reason. If he cut himself, in the slightest way, he needed hospital attention immediately if not sooner. He was on a drug regime for life.

I received a message on the Saturday morning that Ross was found behind his door…spent…. He had stopped taking his medication for over a week prior……


I miss him……
Go to the top of the page
 
+Quote Post

30 Pages V   1 2 3 > » 
Fast ReplyReply to this topicStart new topic

 



RSS Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 24th Oct 2017

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.