Scotch News

So what's in the news today, I hear you ask. (I'm sure there should be a question mark in there somewhere, but can't for the life of me figure out where to put it. Colour me senile.)

The one millionth word to enter the English language is, by an amazing coincidence, Web 2.0 - er, that's not really a word, is it? It's a word plus a number. And even the number is unnecessarily specified to a higher degree of precision than is really warranted. Why not Web 2.00000? I would have picked lolcat. How about you?


There's a Global Pandemic of Swine Flu stories in the meeja. Yes, you know and I know that a pandemic is by definition global, just like Avian Bird Flu affects avian birds, but they still go ahead and use redundant tautologies. Stupid journalists. Oh! There I go doing it myself! Anyway, lock all the doors and windows, tape them up and don't come out until 2013 just in case. Or until you run out of air or food, whatever.

Miss California USA's been fired. There used to be a Miss California Scotland, but we lost her in the fog.


With Armed Forces Day coming up on June 27, celebrations are being planned to give people the chance to thank the RAF, Army, Navy and that for all the hard work they do in fighting off Johnny Foreigner. Scotchland's own Lorraine Kelly was up at Embra's Redford Barracks to reveal her knickers the Scotch events lined up for the big day.


Well, if you're only visiting this blog for upskirt pictures of Lorraine Kelly, why should I disappoint? Did you notice the matching accessories?

Happy Anniversary, Baby

Yep, 26 years married to Mrs Farty. Most of them happily, yay! We got to see lots of her relatives, too, but that was largely circumstantial.

Old Uncle Charlie passed away last week, and the funeral was held today down south Up North, in the borders. One of the advantages of having a new bungee manager every few months is that you can bury six grandfathers in five years and nobody bats an eyelid, so I had no trouble getting time off.

We caught the train down last night, even though it meant that I went through blog withdrawl and slept only fitfully, waking abruptly from a nightmare about the Internet being switched off. Brrr!

Anyway, woke up this morning to the sound of sizzling bacon, had some porridge and honey, then T and I went for a walk while the ladies got on with the important business of yakking.

It was largely overcast, with a strong wind blowing off the Cheviot Hills, but nothing unusual there. The fresh air cleared my head while T and I chatted about how, even out here in the country, technology is gradually encroaching, what with GPS-guided tractors and that. T recalled the first time he visited the Big City (Morpeth, I think) when he had seen traffic being stopped and started by magical beams of coloured light¹.

When we got back, some more relatives had arrived to pay their condolences, then in the afternoon we made our way to Chatton for the service. This was my first Catholic funeral, and I can see now why there is such friction between the Protestants and the Catholics - they missed at least a dozen words off the end of the Lord's Prayer!!! Heathens. And the incense made my eyes water. There was a bit of levity - when the minister priest was putting up the numbers of the hymns on the board, Uncle B shouted "House!" If looks could kill...

A familiar dirty laugh from behind made me turn around - yup, Favourite Niece had sneaked in late with Aunty B. That pair will be late for their own funerals, with any luck.

Charlie must have been a good Catholic, what with him being Italian I suppose, since the priest not only knew his proper name but his entire history from his youthful first trip to Northumberland during the War (just a flying visit) to his return after falling in love with the place and his eventual settling down to raise a family. (No, neither of his children had provided him with these details. We checked.)

A brief stop at the cemetery for the burial, then into the local eatery for a very nice hot buffet. We would have stayed longer, but we had a train to catch - or so we thought. When we arrived at the station, we found that British Rail (or whatever the fuck it's called these days) had imposed a 50mph speed limit due to the wrong type of wind and all trains were delayed by up to 2 hours. As luck would have it, the train which we would have missed if it had been on time was also late, so we caught that one and were only an hour late home.

¹ Ok, I stole that from Lillian Beckwith.

Ecksmas Is Coming

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GILF

Many moons ago God how I hate that phrase! Twenty years ago, when I was taking LMF to nursery, I used to stop off to pick up her wee pal Jimmy (or whatever the feck his name was, come on, it was twenty years ago).

Jimmy's Mum could, I suppose, have dropped him off herself, but it was really no problem for me. I was glad to help out. It gave her time between getting Jimmy up, fed, watered and out the door and getting herself dressed.

Because regardless of how well turned out her little boy was, er, Suzie never seemed to have the time to even don a housecoat over her see-through negligée. Not that I ever complained. I'm not one to complain, as you know.

After leaning waaaaaaay over to kiss young Jimmy on the top of his head, she would turn and flounce back up the stairs as the front door slowly swung shut.

Did I mention she was drop.dead.gorgeous?

Then she moved away.

Last week, Mrs Farty and I were shopping in The Gyle when whom should we see coming towards us but Mr and Mrs Suzie? And as Mrs F pointed out when we engaged them in conversation, Suzie hasn't aged a day. Like Goldie Hawn in that film, but without the hole where her guts ought to be.


Anyway, she's a granny now, but I still would.

What A Difference A Day Makes

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