Granny patter, the things your granny used to say. My gas has been at a peep; I’ve been feeling like a burst baw; I’m feelin wabbit. Whatever, not quite been operating at full strength or pace this week. Early nights have not necessarily meant waking up feelling rested and rejuvenated. At all.
Never mind, it’s the weekend, it’s a week since THAT momentous day and we’re positive all the way.
A few choons that didn’t make it in time for the special election flutter last week: Blur, the death of a party (yes, I know positive but hey if Labour treats its rout properly, rebirth could be a very good thing); this fabulous track from the Small Faces – whatcha gonna do about it? And this beauty from Fiach, Letting Go.
And go listen to this which someone posted to link into yesterday’s post. We’re always up for a bit of Marvin Gaye on the flutter.
The burd knows far too may Taureans than is good for her. The family ones I can do little about but like moths to a flame, I’ve also managed to gather a fair few along the way in the form of pals. What;s that about? End of April, early May is birthdaytastic. Shedloads of cards and prezzies for all then? Actually, no. Never that organised. They might as well all be Leos by the time they get their deserved goodies. But hey ho, it is the thought that counts and all those with a birthday this week and next. This is for you.
Just heard on the radio that the Kronos Quartet played the Hamilton Mausoleum because it has the longest echo of any manmade structure in the world. Only in Scotland huh? A wee gem hidden from us all and it takes an internationally acclaimed string quartet to bring it to our attention. And they play such beautiful music, so this is the birthday gift. A wee slice of Kronos and Lux Aeterna. It probably means something inappropriate but who cares, it’s beautiful. Happy Birthday y’all.
An idea so simple why did no one think of it earlier. A Festival of Museums. The first ever in Scotland and we in this household are excited: any excuse to visit some of our favourite places, especially when a rainy weekend is forecast. The wonderful Sara Sheridan is taking part, one of several writers who have been asked to write about her favourite object in the National Museum. We’ll definitely be going to have a look at that. But apparently it’s also happening in a museum near you. The local ones, of course, will be threatened in the months and years to come as money tightens. Do your bit and visit this weekend. We need our treasures, our past and our heritage to help us make sense of who we are now. Oh, and they’re fun!
The chicklet is desperate to go see Killie play in the last game of the season this weekend. But no way. Scottish football has descended from farce into shame. Do I want to pay good money to endorse one half of the Old Firm brand or be there when they likely lift the cup? No way. Which is a shame because it would be fitting for decent folk to be there to applaud Walter Smith’s many achievements in Scottish football and wish him farewell. But that is what happens. Good folk leave, the scum stay.
Who is brave enough to get a grip of the pernicious and destructive cycle of alcohol, violence and hatred – sectarianism frankly is only a cover for a much more deep seated and ranging problem in male life in Scotland – not the SFA, that’s for sure. And not the clubs themselves. UEFA? FIFA? The Scottish Government? Well, the burdz not holding her breath that’s for sure.
We need to face up to some very unpalatable truths about what lies behind the recent shocking scenes in Scottish football. And no sign of anyone doing that yet.
Until they do, as a consumer and the protector of my child, I will not grace a football stadium nor give them my money. An economic and social boycott might seem a pitiful response but it’s all the power we have.
And sorry, Killie. You’ve had a fine season, we should have been there to applaud you for it. But no can do.