Shit My Dad Said

Some time ago.

Dad worked on the top floor of a four-storey telephone exchange. There were no lifts (elevators), but the exercise he got from climbing the stairs every morning was still preferable to the drenching he'd regularly received while fixing junction boxes in the streets of Edinburgh.

Be that as it may.

One day, a uniformed police officer turned up by his desk, puffing and wheezing.

"Good day, my good man," or words to that effect, said the filth. "Would that be your car parked on the pavement downstairs, only it's causing an obstruction?"

"Would that be the silver Bentley?" asked Dad innocuously. Dad never drove in his life.

"Ah, no sir," replied the pig. "It's a blue Ford Escort. Sorry to have disturbed you."

And off he went.

Five minutes later, with much pounding on the stairs, the rozzer was back, gasping for breath this time. "Sir! Sir! There's no silver Bentley down there!"

"Oh, my God, it's been stolen!" Sharp as a pin, was Dad.

So then he made poor PC Plod go back down again, have another look to make sure, come back up and prepare to take a statement before declaring, "Ah, wait, the wife said she would be taking it today to fetch the shopping."

He would have loved Robin Cooper.

Roaming In The Gloaming

So I noticed that this week my sex change was commented on in Scottish Roundup, juxtaposed with the most excellent Scotland In The Gloaming. Seriously, I'm not worthy, but that won't stop me nicking their name linking to them for this post.

Be that as it may, I was at a "do" up near Bathgate a couple of weeks ago on one of the few days it didn't rain. A professional photographer had warned me not to bother taking my camera, since there was nothing to see but scenery. Yes, of course I ignored him. Was it worth it? You decide.

Distant Lake
Those cows totally knew I was there.

Walking At Sunset

Roaming In The Gloaming

Through A Glass, Darkly
I rather enjoyed climbing over the wall to get this picture with the sun directly behind the lamp.

Stay With Me Till Dawn

Sunset Over The Loch
Well, I say 'loch'. 'Artificial reservoir' doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

My Red Dress

I've been up to Hillend a few times to practice skiing, but I'd always planned to just walk up with the camera one day and take some nice photos of my home town. Then life happened and what with one thing and another, that day never came.

Yesterday, however, I found myself on holiday, with no fixed plans, beautiful weather, a new camera and a free morning. So I thought, "Bugger it, I'm off!"

Hopping on the bus, I started up Twitter on my phone and the very first tweet I saw was one from Chookooloonks about how to improve your photography. That led me to her blog, where I was momentarily sidetracked by a stunning photoset of Jenny The Bloggess wearing a red dress in a cemetery. Yeah.

Jenny's own post on the same subject would have prompted me to take this trip if I wasn't already there. Spooky coincidence, innit?

As always, click on any photo to embiggen and feel free to copy for non-commercial purposes.

Bluebells. Aren't they lovely? No, of course I didn't have to stop anyway to catch my breath.


Oh, looky! Someone's got a hang-glider!


The First Forth Bridge. To Fife.


A boat. And Fife. Again.


Arthur's Seat. And Fife. Sigh.


Top of the ski-tow. Practising skyline photos without ending up underexposed. Win.


North Berwick Law. Cockenzie power station in the foreground. No sign of Fife.


Edinburgh Castle. Pay no attention to the background.


Action shot of a skier going down.


Action shot of a hang-glider going up. Cheeky monkey.


Panorama of Edinburgh. This was stitched together in the camera from 3 separate photos. Isn't technology wonderful?


About this site. Robert Louis Stevenson was here.


That hang-glider again.


Gorse Bush. There's a lot of these around here. Hope that pilot can steer well. #spiky


And if you're still wondering about the title of this post, you haven't visited Jenny's blog. Go on!

FO Condemns "Despicable Cult"

The Foreign Office has described as "despicable" a cult led by a former member of the Hitler Youth, according to a memo seen by Newsarse.

Nazi Piece of Work

German-born Joe Ratzinger, who leads a cult calling itself the Catholic Church, is reported to have turned down several offers to make his sect appear more tolerant and forgiving by carrying out some specially planned activities during his next visit to the UK.

One proposal suggested that the "Pontiff" could open an abortion clinic, a move which would undoubtedly have reduced the number of unwanted pregnancies in the country and indeed around the world.

Another idea put forward in the same vein would have seen the launch of "Benedict condoms", which were also intended to reduce the spread of "Bad AIDS". These would have been of crucial importance to leading members of his own establishment, known as "priests" and "bishops", whose duties include bumming choirboys and orphans.

A Joke Too Far

A Foreign Office spokesman who wished to remain anonymous said of the declined offer, "We invite someone into our country - a person like the Pope - and then he treats us in this way. I think it's appalling manners more than anything else.

"The whole idea of a church that rejects giving aid to people who suffer from AIDS is, quite simply, a joke that has gone too far".

The Bishop of Nottingham said he did not think Catholics would be upset by the memo as they "are used to getting a bad press".

"Just look at that whole Torquemada business," added Bishop McMahon. "He used to strike fear and terror into the hearts of the unfaithful, but you can't even mention the Spanish Inquisition these days without some wag yelling, 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!'"

Pope Should FO

Many leading mandarins in the Foreign Office have privately expressed the view that instead of wasting £20million on the proposed visit, their own bonuses and pensions should be topped up while the old Nazi fucks off back to Italy.

Wedding Photos

I couldn't take my camera with me, but still managed a few before we left for the church and received some from guests. The official ones will probly be copyright or that.

Princess

Flower Girls

Necklace

Father & Bride

Mother & Bride

Bride, Groom & Chief Bridesmaid

Classy

Gaining A Son

So. Little Miss Farty is no more; now it's Mrs Drummer.

The service went very well, flower girls strew petals down the aisle as I led my daughter to meet her new husband. She didn't recoil in shock when she saw his face, which I took as a good sign.

The minister said a few words: when it came to the "any lawful impediment" part, he didn't even pause to draw breath; you don't want to take any chances with these things.

Rings were exchanged and the deed was done.

A quick pause outside for photos and then Mr & Mrs D headed down to Arthur's Seat for the scenic shots while the hoi polloi were carted off in a coach. Meanwhile the ladies and I climbed into the stretch limo and relaxed as we were transported in comfort and luxury to a classy hotel just outside the city.

Spacious grounds, sunny weather, hardly a breath of wind - hard to believe a week ago it was snowing here. A leisurely drink before the bride and groom arrived, then a blitz of photos. To everyone who asked, "But where's your own camera?", I replied that I had absolute trust in the professional photographer. Which left me free to get pissed.

The hotel staff were friendly and efficient, showing us all the way to our room. A bicycle would have helped: getting there involved negotiating a maze of twisty little passages, all different.

With the meeting and greeting out of the way, a kilted piper serenaded the happy couple into the wedding breakfast. Butternut soup, roast lamb or chicken, followed by sticky toffee pudding were all on the menu but first! The speeches.

Yes, I did do the bit about rising from a warm seat with a bit of paper in my hand (thanks to Non-Working Monkey for that), right through to my daughter being the reigning SE Scotchland Farmville Champion, which got a laugh from everyone under thirty and puzzled looks from everyone else.

And then got totally outclassed by the Best Man speech with accompanying slideshow. Grr!

Missed the first dance as Mrs F and I were up in our room trying to get our granddaughter, Princess Farty, settled. Not. Going. To. Happen. Eventually mum and dad arrived, picked her up and took her down to show her off to the guests. They were suitably impressed that at eight months she was dancing to All The Single Ladies, even though she can't walk yet.

There was a special request from Mr & Mrs D just for me - Westlife singing Amazing. Which was quite thoughtful, considering that they know full well I can't stand the talentless Irish coverband. I'm already plotting my revenge. Patience.

Three little old ladies turned up - I didn't see them arrive, but surmised that they had come by broomstick. I swear I heard one say, "When will we three meet again?"

And once we'd said goodbye to the last of the guests, and made our way back to our room, we found that we'd forgotten to pack Mrs F's underwear, my pajamas, her nightie, my jeans, any toothbrushes...as you do.

Slept soundly, then up at the crack of ten o'clock just in time for a quick shower before a fab breakfast with the folks who had stayed the night. Still wearing the kilt (see above), but combined with a t-shirt because I'm classy.

Cadged a lift home, opened the door to a bombsite. "Oh, my God, we've been burgled again!" wailed Mrs F. "No, wait. This is how we left it yesterday. Oh, lordy!"

Fast forward to Monday, where just as I was about to return my kilt to the hire shop, daughter-in-law dropped off her sons' outfits with an abject, "Sorry about the vomit." Lovely.

Oh, and if you were wondering if anything is worn under the kilt? See the labels below.

A Watched Pot Never Boils - The Mythbusters Test

Did I ever mention I'm an award-winning animator? I am, but this isn't an animation. Sorry.