Random Stuff

Lena says she read an article recently stating that women talk more than men; 20,000 words a day the little darlings can manage apparently, compared to only 7,000 averaged by we men. And it’s all because our testosterone shrinks the brain area responsible for communication, thus absolving us immediately from all past incidents of “eh… dunno”, “aye… whatever”, “ssshhh, the X-Files is on” and “naw, I don’t think we need to be talking more about our relationship”. Now I’m no anthropologist but that can’t be right, surely? Only 20,000?


It’s funny how writing about chocolate gets the ladieeez all a frenzy. (I nearly used a less polite collective noun for you all there and then thought better of it.) But of course, in the same way that testosterone prevents us men from opening up and hugging more, there’s some hormonal rule that requires that your bodies must have chocolate regularly. I can’t remember the specifics but isn’t it something to do with your monthly howl at the moon? Or is it perhaps how babies are made? Or maybe it’s just to give your mouths a chance to inhale in between the 20,000+ words? Anyway, in answer to your question Lesley, it’s not the Creme Eggs that got smaller…


I got an email from Tony Blair the other day thanking me for taking the time to sign some on-line petition against road taxes or speed cameras or some such thing. It was one of the most articulate and informative responses I’ve ever read from a politician. Which is fine in itself but I thought I was signing up to send all the f#cking BMW drivers to Iraq. Pity.


Four weeks today I’ll be in Austin, Texas. I’m reliably informed that it was 80 degrees there today. It was p#ssin’ down and freezing here. Kilts will be worn and golf will be played. I can’t wait. If you’re in the States and want me to bring anything over from the auld country (Irn Bru, square sausage, shortbread, waif-like minors to take up domestic servitude) drop me a line and let me know. And relax ‘Nook, the Highland Park is packed.


And finally, for no particular reason, here’s a photo of my young nephew Fraser who turned 3 last Saturday. This picture appeared on the BBC’s website recently after a mighty storm caused, unsurprisingly, some severe storm-like damage around his neighbourhood. Don’t be alarmed if you think Fraser looks traumatised by the devastation; he’s actually p#ssing himself laughing ‘cause he broke that fence the day before and didn’t tell anyone and now everyone’s blaming the stupid tree.

Hey Scully, Take A Memo...

To Movie Lovers Everywhere:
I somehow got talked into going to see ‘Epic Movie’ at the weekend but, mercifully, managed to grab a quick nap in the middle of it. If you’re a big fan of eighty or so minutes of utter p#sh, then this is the film for you.

To My Cousin Ewen:
I don’t know if you still read this but I just have to tell you that I thought your team were unbelievably unlucky to lose to the Cheating Chelski B#stards™ yesterday. Those kids are breathtaking to watch at times (especially in the previous rounds against Liverpool and Spurs) and forget all this talk about Scholes, Giggs, Ronaldo and Drogba; if Cesc Fabregas doesn’t win Player of the Year, there’s no justice. His passing ability (surely the most beautiful skill of the beautiful game) and his movement are the best I’ve seen since Platini.

To Cadbury’s:
Until Friday, I hadn’t tried one of your delicious Creme Eggs since I made myself sick of them in the 80s trying to collect enough wrappers to send off for some mysterious treasure map thingy which was supposed to lead me to some priceless buried golden egg thereby removing the need for me to ever have to do another honest day’s work ever again. Ever.

Not only had I forgotten how difficult it is to remove the foil wrapper (and as a result, how f#cking painful it is to chew said wrapper with your fillings) but I also failed to recall my preferred manner of eating said Creme Egg. (How do you eat yours?) So on Friday I tried the bite-off-top-and-insert-tongue-to-scoop-out-all-the-creamy-goodness™ method. However probing around for the last of the creamy goodness only served to create a vacuum (much like the scenario of getting your big toe inadvertently stuck up the tap when you’re concentrating too hard on a sudoku puzzle during a lavender and thyme bubble bath) and I endured several agonising minutes of intense tongue-sucking decompression, the likes of which I haven’t experienced since… well… och, she's shacked up with Pitt now so... never mind…

The point is, there should’ve been a warning on the deadly foil wrapper. And don’t try telling me that there is but it must’ve been on the bit that got stuck in my fillings. ‘Cause that’s just gonna get me more riled up when I call my lawyers later today to sue yo’ ass. (I still like your Buttons though.)

To Warburtons:
I bought some of your delicious-looking jam-filled pancakes on Saturday and followed your instructions to heat them up in the microwave. However you neglected to warn me that in order to enjoy them after ‘warming’, I would have to execute the Bee Gee Bite™; i.e. the fine art of involuntarily performing the first line of the chorus of ‘Staying Alive’ after biting into a food product ten times the temperature of the sun. I is suing yo ass too.

Something For The Weekend 7

Hey Dave, get Blousie to download THIS from the interweb for you. I guarantee you’ll have "something to do" all weekend.

No News Is No News

If you’re one of those people who’re wondering whether anything new will ever appear on this website then take a number, form an orderly queue and get in line behind me.

I’ve never been particularly keen on writing something just for the sake of writing something (the effort required to let go of the remote, climb the stairs and turn on the pc just isn’t worth it) and I’m pretty sure the pressing issues at the forefront of my mind this week would have you asleep as quickly as they did for m….. zzzzzzzzzzz….

Things like…

1. Is there a machine to get the stones out of the middle of olives? If not, how f#cking boring must that job be?

2. I wonder if other people who live by themselves have a rota system for the plates in their cupboards and the cutlery in their drawers so that all get a fair chance to be utilised?

Anyway, I only dropped by today to let you know that the other blog, http://neilwritestheworld.blogspot.com is now complete with all the round the world travelogues together with some never-before-seen photographs… like the one of me in a Rangers strip!!! Whit's THAT aw aboot?

Meantime, stay tuned while I find out the answer to that whole olive conundrum.

Evie Grace Melvin

For those of you know him, here’s one of the first pictures of our friend Bruce; proud father. His daughter Evie, weighing 5lbs, 13oz, was born at 3pm on Valentine’s Day although inexplicably, it then took him another three and a half hours to pick up the phone and tell me about it. ME! His best man! Obviously, I have first dibs on being godfather but he better come up with a better explanation for the time delay than “placenta-grillin’” before I agree to take up my lawful rights.

You’ll be pleased to learn that both mother and daughter are home from the hospital and doing well. Bruce, on the other hand, claims to be very very tired and needing his baw-baws. The family just live round the corner from me so I’ll bring you further updates once I go to visit, which will be sometime after the child’s third birthday when nappies are a thing of the past.

Something For The Weekend 6

Sorry Dave, I got nothing for you this week. Way too tired, so why not just do what I’m planning to do all weekend and SLEEP.

Having said that, my brother tells me ‘Babel’ is well worth a look see.

And ‘Live at Abbey Road’ is essential viewing tonight on More 4.

And somebody told me the Paul Whitehouse / Charlie Higson radio show is very good… which is nice.

I’ll try harder for next week. Promise.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Old Is The New New

For three very good reasons, I don’t think I’m going to have much time this week to write anything new for this site.

1. I’m going to be very busy at work (jeez… I can’t believe I just typed that!) and they don’t seem to have any official Afternoon Nap Policy in place yet to assist with my constant exhaustion.

2. Following their performance at the Grammys tonight, I am far too excited at the prospect of an announcement about reunion tour dates for The Police so any spare time I have will be taken up listening to this album.

3. I can’t think of anything to write.

However, if you’re looking for something new (old?) to read, I’m going to post some stuff on the other blog I was waffling on about last Wednesday. It’s called http://neilwritestheworld.blogspot.com and it will eventually house all the rambling emails I sent back to friends and family during my round the world travels in 2003 and 2004. I’ve posted a few already and I’ll try to put the remainder on during the next week or so.

Please feel free to take absolutely no notice whatsoever of the rubbish writing styles on offer there including (but not restricted to) a voracious addiction for starting sentences with verbs together with some right bad examples of not very good grammar indeed.

With luck, I’ll be back on Friday with the regular cultural recommendation for my pal Dave so until then, have a good week. And now, if you’ll excuse me…

“ROOOOOOOOOXANNE… YOU DON’T HAVE TO PUT ON THE RED LIGHT…”

Something For The Weekend 5(a)

Rather than have my pal Dave sit in a darkened cinema this weekend or traipse around an art gallery looking for stuff to steal, I thought it was about time he got himself out in the fresh air to face up to his anger management issues.

It’s a fairly common occurrence for him to get a tad upset on a golf course if he doesn’t get enough to drink or takes three putts from four feet with his little pink golf ball and playing partners have been known to keep a safe distance of 100 yards or so in case any flying clubs start whistling around their ears. None of us are quite sure of the origins of Dave’s anger (and are too afraid to enquire further) but we’re pretty sure it has something to with being dressed as a girl for the first 13 years of his life.

So to help with both the mental and technical side of his game, here are a couple of training videos to demonstrate both the right and wrong ways to think and swing. In this first instalment we can see our hardy volunteer Bruce (one-time annual golf outing champion) grip his club a little too tightly and thrash away as if he’s trying to finish an important ‘personal project’ before his Mum gets home. If we could listen to the hysterical self-talk buzzing around his brain it would sound a little something like this…

Shot 1: “Right ya wee f#cker… I’m gonna smash you as hard as I can just like I’ve seen that Dave-boy doing when he’s angry. Aw f#ck, I’ve topped it.”

Shot 2: “Aw sh#t, he’s moving the camera round the back so he’ll see where the ball goes. Quick Bruce, hit it at as fast as you can.”

Shot 3: “Okay, I’m REALLY gonna f#ck this one into orbit. Come here ya wee sh#te till I hit you. Right Bruce, whatever you do, don’t shank it to the right. F###CK!! Stupid game this.”

The Wrong Swing

Something For The Weekend 5(b)

In contrast, this second instalment, featuring three-time Annual Golf Outing champion Neil, shows the correct method for achieving perfection (excluding fashion choices) on the golf course. While we can marvel at the outward demonstration of perfect ball-striking, it’s only once we climb inside his head that we discover the real secret to attaining full golf self-actualisation…

Shot 1: “You know… hitting the perfect golf shot is rather like making love to a beautiful woman… start by focussing in tight on your intended target and exude an oily smooth tempo with long, languid strokes to attain your optimum rhythm. Maintain this as you move back and through and on completion, strike an athletic pose with a perfectly arched back as the results of your effort sail majestically down the middle.”

Shot 2: “See Shot 1…”

So there you go Dave. I hope this lesson helps calm you down on the golf course this year and you’ll enjoy many a round without wondering where your playing partners have run off to. Oh, and if you get a chance, can you lend me that black strappy number you wore to your High School disco. Cheers.

The Right Swing

New Is The New Old

For reasons that’ll become clear once I have the energy to write more than one paragraph, I’m going to establish a new blog soon. Although, having said that, it’s not going to be ‘new’ in terms of replacing this one so maybe it should best be described as ‘additional’. And actually, now that I think about it, it’s not going to be ‘new’ in terms of having any new content because all the stuff has appeared before elsewhere. So, when I say ‘new’, what I really mean is that I’m talking a load of old b#llocks here and you can pretty much go back to what your were doing before you started reading this. Which I’m sure most of you have already. (You can find an example of my technical wizardry and an equally surreal taster of things to come here. Wow, it’s a good thing my new job has nothing to do with IT!!!)

In God's Country

After seven months of relative idleness (not counting the work undertaken in the basement to get my Gillian Anderson clone into some kind of shape) I’m going back to work tomorrow – F#####CCCKKK!!! – so I’ll obviously need something to keep me calm and make me look industrious in front of a computer screen for the first few days. What better then than some soothing images I took on Friday during my first venture of the year on to a golf course. I wish I had a better camera to capture the full majesty of St. Andrews when it’s bathed in a low winter sun but these’ll have to do meantime.

This first one is the view from the 8th tee on the Jubilee Course. The narrow fairway makes it an intimidating shot, especially when you’re already three holes down to your Dad.

Taken from almost the same spot, this is the view you’ll require across the Eden Estuary if you’ve hooked your drive into the water.

This was meant to be a view looking back towards the town but you can see that my Dad and I were unexpectedly disturbed by the appearance of a rogue tripod from War of the Worlds.

Driving south out of St. Andrews, you’ll spend much of your journey home along this back road wondering where it all went wrong and how on earth you ended up paying out big bucks to your Dad. But luckily you’ll forget all about it when you suddenly round a corner and get this great view down to Elie and over the Forth towards Edinburgh and East Lothian on the other side. If you look carefully you can see the Berwick Law in the far distance; a once active volcano which was responsible for the destruction of Pompeii. Allegedly.

Something For The Weekend 4

Dear Dave,

I’m sorry to have to inform you that I don’t really have any cultural reviews or recommendations for you this week. It had been my intention to take a trip through to Edinburgh to appraise the ‘Off The Wall’ exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art And Some Decent Stuff Also, but then on Tuesday night I got quite involved in looking up pictures of Gillian Anderson on the internet and the next thing I knew it was Thursday. You know how it is.

I suppose I could tell you about the joys of the pub quiz I attended last night but, as I’m sure you know, I’ve mentioned this before here and since I was compèring rather than competing, I don’t really have anything fresh to say on how great it is to thrash your opponents into a bloody messy pulp.

So why don’t I just take the ultimate cop-out route and say that if you’d like to learn more about some culture then you could do a lot worse than watch The Culture Show on BBC2 tomorrow evening. Shaving your head and chewing tin foil for example… THAT would be worse.

Spunky Geordie Lauren Laverne hosts the show and last week she was in sleepy Anstruther checking out The Fence Collective; the folkie Fife musos who first discovered/included KT Tunstall. Comedy genius Christopher Guest (‘Spinal Tap’, ‘Best In Show’) also made an appearance as did 15th century Renaissance artist Leonardo DiCaprio (the Mona Lisa, ‘Titanic’) who was being interviewed about his new movie ‘Blood Diamond’.

Tomorrow night’s show features Finn Cousins lookalike Bill Bailey showcasing his music rather than his comedy. And if that wasn’t enough to keep you in and forego another fruitless night milling around the capital’s cattle markets, pop’s newest star Mika will be playing live in the studio. I’ve no idea who he/she/they is/are but I know you like him/her/them so enjoy. (Overseas persons can find information about the show online here.)

Right, it’s a beautiful day so I’m off to St. Andrews for a round of golf on God’s gorgeous links. See you tonight in the pub. Mine’s a Stella. Thanks.

Cheers, Edge

P.S. I have no morally justifiable reason for showing you yet another picture of Gillian Anderson but here’s one anyway. Lovely, isn’t it? Mmmmmmmnnnnnn…..