Today’s the weather’s a bit kakk. Hooray, no car parking madness on the Esplanade. Peace and quiet.
Bang bang bang on the front door, it seemed like a 20 stone rugby player was using a 14 pound hammer to knock the thing off its hinges. Nope, not that at all, just cousin Baz popping round for a ‘chat’, Tassimo and a rant. Bless. It’s good to see him but he does get a bit hot under the collar about the simplest of things ( good job allatsea isn’t like that) and when fully wound up God help any liberals or noncy poncy do-gooders within gobbing range. It can be horrid to watch, albeit justified, most of the time.
His latest tirade was vented at the Commonwealth Games. Two things were VERY under his collar today.
One is the invention by the BBC and certain elements of the printed press that Glasgow is some kind of tolerant, chilled, multicultural, Shangri-La of goodness and all things nice.
It isn’t. It’s an enthusiastic pisshead’s utopia of pubs, brutal humour, puke, attitude and secular hatred. Try being an Englishman in town on old firm derby day. You’ll see what’s meant. That said, allatsea loves the place; pity there aren’t more places as honest and upfront in the UK.
Secondly, ‘Rythmic Gymnastics’! WTF is that all about and why did the BBC go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about it being wonderful??
It’s a sanitised form of POLE Dancing especially created to satisfy paedos, kiddy fiddlers and pervs!!! Young females made up to look like $5 crack whores and seemingly at a career cross roads (Prostitute? Escort? Lap dancer? Rythmic gymnast?), jerking about on a mat, ostensibly keeping time to some crap X-factor type music track and thrusting their jack&danny in the air. Jeeeeeeessuss H Christ, get a grip! It’s hideous!!
All that said, he did enjoy the English mastery of the Double Trap events. Fine stuff. I always imagine that each puff of phosphorescent powder that bursts forth following a hit, is the sanctimonious tosh being slapped out of your average Guardian reader. A very therapeutic thought indeed. Sigh! If only there was more of it to see. A chap can live in hope.
Anyway, Baz and I are off darn the tarn. Lunch is on me this week and the bacon rolls in College Square are the best around. This would normally be followed by a 6 hour session in Spoons and a stagger back to the Towers but sadly this won’t happen today. The jamjar is in for a service and there’s a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be a jolly expensive one. A chap’s got to have a clear head when he argues the toss with the garage proprietor and of course……………drives home. Bugger.