Trivial things that make you happy.

Red Indians, Miniskirts, Janet Reger underwear, nutmegs.......

.... but not necessarily in that order, and definately NOT a Red Indian wearing a miniskirt & Janet Reger underwear, showing his nuts

 

These rock!

 

Craig and Sally are on Tv today?

 

A good snotter excavation.

 

Speaking of flying saucers & other spaced out things.... Here's one I made earlier - well a decade or so ago - then edited with a chainsaw to 2k words:-

_______________________________________________________________

2002: A Space (Bhoy’s) Odyssey ​

I stare absent-mindedly at the MON Dynasty wallpaper as my Treble Y2K+1 screen saver kicks in and Henrik’s tongue picks me up and spits me out in the past. This is no nostalgia trip - I’m on for a metaphysical treble: Venerate the PAST, accept the PRESENT (it’s the thought that counts!), embrace the FUTURE: I plug in my virtual-reality headset, control that high, through ball with 1 majestic touch, dummy 2 defenders with my 3rd swish of the hips and volley the 4th and winning goal in Celtic’s 5th Champions League triumph.

The PAST: I first saw Paradise in ‘59; when The Jungle really was a jungle and a wee bhoy of 4 could get lost in the grass. Back then, negotiating the logistical intricacies of the turnstiles was an up-lift-ing experience, penalty boxes were measured in yards, and, we paid in Pounds, Shillings & Pence. Speaking of Old P – those toilets under the terraces would make even a Frenchman blush: Shrek meets the Sewer guys from Chewing The Fat, sprayed liberally with Ammonia(weeboylookingforbovril).

That day’s baked diamond-hard in my memory, like cold porridge in an unwashed pan. It was déjà vu in reverse: I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been many times in the future. Day 1 of a 4-decade pilgrimage. Now, I’m not normally prone to euphoria-edged, exaggerated, ethnocentric exaltation (?), but I believe Celtic and their supporters are unique. Oh aye? cynics whisper - tell!: Well, it may not be the definitive definition, but suspend time (and disbelief) and join me in a quest to trace that mythical soul and pureness of heart– what I call The C-Force - which separates Bhoys from lesser mortals.

A dull hum quivers the ether as I boot up the generator on my IT-C-Cel space-time transformer. A flash of emerald green crystal blinks ready-mode on the display panel of my headset. One short hiss & click as the pressure & safety locks engage and, WHOOSH! – I’m thrust back into the body-molded comfort of my acupuncturised lemming-skin seat, as we cannon through time & space to – check panel - Stardate Zero 1888, Planet Mars (or, was that Maris?)

Venusian Blinds open: At the edge of my vision stands a man, deep in thought, staring into the distance. A spiritual leader of The Brotherhood. His name is Walf R.Id. Sensors detect movement and swing me around 45° to survey the scene: A dark, dank street in a run-down, red-sandstone metropolis. A gang of rough & ready ragamuffins from an exiled tribe known as The Bhoys, are kicking around a discarded (post-famine) potato – or is it a cyber pod? (Welcome to warp space!).

<TARGET ENGAGED > A star diadode sparkles on my dream-powered Vision Control Adapter. Bingo! Id blinks twice, frowns, then breaks into a broad smile. Id is a modest man with no Ego (Jungian slip?). What happens next brings tears to his eyes: I flash-feed a live stream from a web-cam onto his irises. He’s watching a scene from Paradise, Stardate 2002. A sea of scarves swells above a 60K Green Army from every corner & ethnic strand of the universe; in every shade under the sun(s); every creed known to man; as they sing with one voice, with hope in their hearts, (hail-) hailing a flag of victory fluttering in the cool spring breeze. I jiggle a k-n-ob (joke erased) on the Brainwave Verbalizer and tune in to the voice in Id’s brain: ‘Nothing’s impossible. The dream can become reality. Keep the Faith!’ The C-Force knocks me sideways and bumps me against the Century Adjuster Node.

PAUSE: If there’s one thing that makes my shamrock-shaped heart skip a beat, it’s Celtic’s affinity with the underdog in society, and the association with charity and tolerance passed down by the founding fathers. Few things give me greater pleasure than seeing clusters of fans from Asian, or other ethnic minorities, amongst the throng; singing the songs with gusto; passing their love for the club to the next generation; adding strength & forward movement to The C-Force.

Century Adjuster Node beeps. Main Function control displays single operation mode: We’ve jumped 100 years in 10 nanoseconds to Stardate 1988: The C-Force we encountered was so strong; we’ve blown some circuits and bounced back to Paradise. - It’s late in the game against (expletive deleted). Celtic have clinched the title in the most important year - in numerological terms - in the inter-galactic astro-calendar, since Id had his vision. First double in 11 years – in Centenary Year - Cosmic, Baby! Noise drowns out thought. A warm glow bathes us as another blast of C-Force hits us full on…Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, we don’t care what -WHOOSH! We’re off again.

PAUSE. By 1988 I’d moved from Glasgow to London, then onto Amsterdam, where I still live today (a long weekend gone wrong). Along the way I’ve re-incarnated (on ambrosia?) from brainy sprog, to teenage pre-hippie; Soul Boy to Roxy/Ziggy clone; New Wave New Man to gothic/beatnik nighthawk - I wore more black than the average priest. Today I’m a burnt-out IT pro in the throws of mid-life crisis (great excuse). Devoted father of 2, piloting B 52’s over their heads, as they dance to the latest pop-pap hip-hop princess with less talent than your average tortoise. Never once has my love of Celtic been influenced by fad or fashion. Why is this? : ‘Cause he’s a dedicated follower of - The C-Force. Oh Yes he is!

Bright light fills the SolarWind Screen. We descend. Planet Esto Ril, Li Zboa galaxy. A cyber-carpet whisks us underground, away from the light, to a dark, concrete catacomb. Strangers are speaking in tongues – the languages of Roman gods and Space Girls from Ipanema – as they congregate in a tunnel, bewilderment on their faces. In the distance, an eerily familiar tune can be heard, edging gradually closer. A group of men march past in single file, in full voice, heading upwards, heads held high, towards the bright light. A noble Knight of The C-Force known as Big Jock is leading 11 Bhoys to glory. It’s Stardate Zero 1967 and the song is Grand Ol’ Team. The C-Force hits interstellar overdrive and we hold our breath as the cyber-carpet whisks back and we head into the sun, all systems buzzing – WHOOSH! …….

PAUSE: I was 13 when Celtic became the first British club to win the European Cup. Immature, but a cosmic storm of testosterone charging around inside. The girl I knew best was Clara (or was that Cleara?) Sil. Back then, I’d no sense of missing out (no sense, full stop!) - a weekend paper run + a few bob helping a Celtic Pools agent wouldn’t cover the trip - but I vividly recall the wild excitement and blissful euphoria that evening, pulling us like a magnet from the TV set and outside to dance like demented dervishes. Even that grumpy old witch who lived up the street cast aside her reservations (Honest Missus - I didn’t mean to smash your windows – twice!) and hugged and kissed me, an ancient Celtic scarf draped around her walking stick. The vibrations from The C-Force were strong enough to touch, blanketing us in it’s awesome aura.

….WHOOSH WAIT! Hold it!

PAUSE. You may have noticed I haven’t said that much about football. There are countless players & moments I revere, but it’s been said before, and more eloquently, elsewhere. What I’m striving for is more ephemeral – Heart & Soul, rather than Flesh & Blood. You want names? Check the Registrar of Births in Glasgow for the last week in May’67 - Loads of babies with 12 Christian names, 11 the names of lions (no, not Leo!). It’s rumoured a Rangers fan working there got so annoyed he went bonkers. With no disrespect to any of the 11, or the 1 poor soul lumbered with…Simpleton, Gag and Gumboil; Muckdog, McEel and Cack; Jobbybum, Wally, Charmless, Bald and Legless…

Touchdown. Mount Florida, Caledonia. Body-heat sensors register 133,961. We’re hovering above a massed choir of angels: Stardate Zero 1970. The Celtic End’s so full there are no passageways. A boy with 1 boot is carried on a sea of hands to a nearby Saint (Andrews/John’s?). Whistle blows. The Boy and the Saint join in the singing. The boy limps away ecstatic: Celtic have reached their 2nd European Cup final, in front of the largest crowd EVER in European football – not counting gate-crashers (literally!) and, BEHOLD, A MIRACLE! : On a fence near the exit is 1 DM boot, slightly crushed. Boy weeps with joy (his mammy won’t batter him). Switch to close up. Yes, that boy was I. WHOOSH

Tic, Tic, Fizzle. Dalektetron magnets playing up. Open Venusian Blinds. Thick yellow smoke billows in the distance. Rhythmic whistling pierces the air. Stardate 1993. Planet Westphalia. 50 years earlier this was the engine that powered the most evil regime known to mankind. Home to the Borussia tribe, proudly anti-fascist. Full time. Celtic lost 1-0. Dortmund fans stream past the end where 8K Celtic fans “celebrate” with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. Whistling stops. Air thunders as every single Borussia fan stands still to applaud them. You’ll Never Walk Alone fills the air. Borussia join in. This is how it should be. The C-Force hums in harmony.

PAUSE: The vast majority of football fans are a decent lot. Even when crushed together in a massive crowd (standing room only!), where one sway can lift you off your feet and carry you 5 metres; in the midst of a tense & important match, humanity can still shine through. Sadly, some need reminding that there’s nothing wrong with supporting your team with a passion, providing you respect the other side’s right to do the same! Lecture ends.

Whoosh, Blip, Tic, Whir. Silence. Open Venusian Blinds. Nothing but a dark void. Re-boot solar enhancers. Nothing. Vision scope to full power. Something out there. Steel. Glass. A space station? The roof opens. Keep cool (I’ve always found little green men a decent bunch!) Check panel – did that read 2001? – time mode indicator spins & skips. Whoosh (faint). Did we move?

We’ve moved - time? space? both? Try vision scope again. An ancient stone monument. Did that read 1982 or 1928? PHHHFFF. No visual but I hear singing. Whoosh – 2001 - the space station again, more singing. Same song. Tchssup. We’re back at the ancient monument. I zoom on ultra-sharp focus. A sign reads 1928. This is weird. Activate back-up circuits. 1982, 1928?, 2001. Adjust to wide scope. Vertical thrust lifts us into 5-mile hover. Aha! Amsterdam - 1982 AND 2001. To the west, the stone monolith built for the 1928 Olympics. To the East, the ArenA. Celtic have beaten Ajax - twice. The C-Force jumps off the scale.

Living abroad, you might expect my passion for Celtic would have faded. Wrong! It’s even stronger. I surf for crumbs and spend hours channel-hopping, hoping they’ll at least show the goals. Before the Internet, I’d spent 90 minutes staring at nothing else but a page on Ceefax, fingers crossed, waiting for a goal. Call me an ex-Pat if you like, but last I checked, Patrick was still my middle name!

Whoosh. Click. My It-C-Cel space-time transformer stutters. Vision gone. Radiowaves only. Dial skips - 2000, then 1998, now 2001. Heading home, to real time. 3 signals coming through simultaneously. Static crackles but I can make out some words. Martian has landed? City Devastated? Treble? Bass or Boss? Record impact or intact? Full volume: Yes! 1998 - Celtic champions. Record 9 in a row intact.. 2001- Brilliant Treble! 2000 – Martian has landed? What? Ah : Martin has landed Celtic job, Leicester City devastated. Something else. Boss’s Dad says he’d crawl on his hands and knees for the Celtic job. That’s The C-Force speaking at full power. Need I say more? NO!

All systems shut down. Quest over. Back to the future. END.

 

I had that one under Trivial Things That Annoy You... The worst ones are those the g/f throws in an after-dinner hissy-fit that actually hit the target.:icon_mrgreen:

 

when I bought the blackcurrant one they were on special and I looked for the chili one but they were out. I was so *. I even checked the boxes behind the other flavours to see if the chili ones were misplaced.

 

No rush. No compulsion. It was the flying saucer that reminded me of it. It's already >10 years old, so already embarrassingly dated. Give it another 10 and maybe somebody, somewhere, can be arsed reading it..... and perhaps maybe 1 in 10 will actually get it... (tongue in cheek staccato sci-fi sellic is a wee bit niche!). That's assuming they don't drop off after 10 minutes hard slog .... then wake up after another 10 wondering why they've wasted 2 x 10 minutes of their life... Eh , what was I saying?

 

Taking less than 30mins to put my contact lenses in.

 

Seeing a wee bit of wildlife that stops you in your tracks!Anything......for me today i was watching a couple of tree creepers(birds).......which i had never seen before!

 

Aye, they are definitely more visible in this weather!:icon_mrgreen:

 

Finished exams, booyaa *! its over until i find out how badly ive done, whahooo.:icon_mrgreen:

 

When Davidcfc likes your comment on a facebook page.

 

:icon_mrgreen:

 

Being able to watch Gaelic games away from home.