19/07/05 G8 Drama!

Jim shortly before his assault by the Police State 

Shortly after this photograph was taken, I was diverted away from my chosen route to the "Southsider" hostelry, forcing me to take a detour which added well over 2 minutes onto my journey time.
Hopefully this photo will make people stop and think about things.
It's a sad day when a man in a straw hat has to deviate from his chosen pub access approach.
It's the thin end of the wedge.
This photograph was taken, at great personal risk to herself by famed pottery and ceramics expert Lorna Fraser.
It is through her courage and determination that this photo of what actually happened during the G8 demos has seen the light of day.

18/07/05 Return To Stalag 13 (or "Jim Goes Back To Work")

Tying my tie (with the accompanying uncomfortable restriction of respiratory function), is the defining symbolic event encapsulating the cold, painful reality of going back to work.
I had a shit sleep as I was too preoccupied with having to desert my scratcher at the ungodly hour of 8am.
God had obviously tried to stop me returning to work as he had organised a Lothian Regional Transport bus strike to coincide with my reunion with the racing rats.
I took the opportunity to cycle to work. It was all downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically.
My boss knew who I was on account of my legendary exploits in the company "Sailing Club" 6 years ago.
The incident in question occurred at Largs Marina.
I'm not much of a sailor per se, but I signed up for a weekend of tootling round the Clyde in a 6 person berth sailing boat.
The plan was to meet in Largs Marina Bar on the Friday, have a few drinks (alert alert danger!), then spend the night on the boat, sailing away early in the morning, docking in Lamlash Bay on the Saturday night, then returning on the Sunday.
This was in November, I hasten to add.
Having had a number of pints of 80 shilling I followed the captain towards the boat. I was fully laden with a weighty rucksack and also carried a crate of 24 bottles of Becks for weekend consumption.
We stepped out onto the jetty in the darkness and walked along till we came alongside our boat. Then he turned right up a little jetty alongside the boat.
It was attached by brackets to the main jetty.
My first step was on the bracket, which unbeknownst to me narrowed towards the main walkway.
My next step was into fresh air and before I could react or even shout "Fuck!", I was 20 feet underwater carring a crate of beer with a rucksack on.
I quickly took the painful decision to let go of the beer and then began my struggle for survival. I managed to thrash my way to the surface, whereby the captain grabbed my arms and pulled me up to safety. (The beer is probably still there, if there are any treasure hunters amongst you).
I was quite relaxed about the whole thing at the time. However, dwelling on what might have happened if I'd hit my head off the side of the boat as I fell etc etc managed to freak me out slightly, later on.
I had the piss taken out of me by everyone else for the whole weekend.
But I had the last laugh, as all the other novice sailors were very, very ill with sea sickness on the Sunday...and I was fine. Ha Ha.
So that story has been circulating in the "Sailing Club" for 6 years now!
I suppose it's good to leave a legacy of achievement behind me.
Ah well, first day of work...not too bad really...
The time will soon pass, Papillon...

17/07/05 Still Not Tickety Boo

My Friday night binge is beginning to look like the first ever authentic case of "a bad pint" in British Drinking History. It's the only explanation why I still feel utterly shite. In a way it's a kind of moral victory, as I probably didn't actually drink quite as much as I thought I did on Friday night, and that my anger at my lack of willpower may have been misplaced.
This is scant comfort though.
While peering at the TV watching Tiger Woods stroll to victory, I witness the astonishing sight of Dougie Donnelly, yes THE Dougie Donnelly, being mobbed by a large posse of autograph hunters at St Andrews.
The world has officially gone catastrophically mad.
Kids these days. I don't know....I really don't know.
What next? Anne Widdecombe headlining at "The Monsters of Rock" Festival at Castle Donington?
Nicholas Witchell doing a rap duet with Eminem?
Have kids lost the ability to differentiate between the irretrievably naff and the cool?
I worry for them.
Dougie must be on such a high after that!
If I'd been a kid and had seen Arthur Montford in real life, I'd have attempted an impersonation of his legendary deadpan commentating style, "It's a disaster for Scotland...", giggled, and run off.
I wouldn't have pestered him for an autograph.
I had a really nice gig at The Stand later on. It was a small audience, but I felt I'd won them over and was getting some fairly big tasty laughs.
Jane who co-runs The Stand watched my set and gave me an appraisal. It was mostly positive. I was pleased to get some feedback and she gave me a lot of sound advice.
I figured she wouldn't have bothered if she felt I was irredeemably crap.
All in all, a good night, somewhat tarnished by getting a bleeding parking ticket. Ona Sunday night at 9.30pm!!!! bastards...bastards..bastards...!

16/07/05 Stupid Stupid Stupid

I awoke with a hellish hangover even by the standards of this previous experience.
I was due to play in a busk with the Samba crew at The Mound. I thought that might help to blow the cobwebs away and perk me up a little. It didn't.
I still felt grim as I made my way along to The Stand for the evening show. The Dance Brothers were in attendance. This would be their first witnessing of me doing my thing. I downed a couple of Irn Brus to try and fend off this increasingly horrible hangover. It hadn't eased up all day. To make matters worse I was full of self-loathing on account having smoked 3 cigarettes the previous night in the midst of my premium lager binge. Stupid twat.
The Saturday crowd was much better than the previous night. They were really responsive and generally much more up for it.
Bearing in mind how terrible I felt, I thought my spot went really well. The adrenaline had got me through, and my fears of hitting the front rows with a spray of projectile vomit were not realised, (thankfully).
We watched Greg McHugh before heading off. His material isn't the most brilliant I've ever heard, but his delivery, timing and general stagecraft are impeccable. He's also very good looking and a big hit with the laydeez. Bastard.
We headed off to The Pear Tree to catch up with nerdy Physics Lecturer Martin Evans, it being the occasion of the day before his 40th birthday, (he decided to celebrate on Saturday night).
As the adrenaline wore off, I started feeling really shit again. I started drinking a pint but failed to finish it, made my excuses and went home.
I couldn't believe how bad I felt. Straight to bed for Jimbo.

15/07/05 Tiger Tiger

As Mr Woods powered to a 4 stroke advantage after day 2, I was able to lay off my bet on Betfair (ie offer very short odds to other punters betting on Woods winning the Open).
As a result if he wins I make £250 profit, and if he loses I still make £150 profit.
I've been given a IT contract. I start on Monday! Yikes, looks like I will be suffering from "post-traumatic stress disorder" for the next few days.
The Friday night at The Stand was ok. My performance was a lot better than the Thursday, but the audience were fairly unresponsive for a weekend crowd.
In fact, Jane the compere told me that it was the worst weekend crowd she had ever experienced, (she told the crowd this later on in the night. I think they thought she was only joking. She wasn't)
There was a large group of tossers who sat at the front, but then were real pains in the arse when the comedians tried to engage them with a bit of banter.
So why did they decide to sit right in front of the stage? Very strange.
I hadn't had my dinner before the show. This is quite usual for me. I prefer to eat afterwards. However, I skipped the eating tonight, and proceeded to down a series of pints of premium lager. Got fairly pissed and made the error of remarking to Jane the compere that I have an occasional game of golf with Jack McConnell.
I don't think I'll ever hear the end of this now. The damage is done.
Luckily, I didn't tell her that I had tears streaming down my cheeks watching Jack Nicklaus coming down the 18th at St Andrews, as he said goodbye to golf. It was emotional stuff.

14/07/05 Festival Begins...

I had to smile as I watched Vijay Singh (see link for previous Vijay blog entry), tee off at The Open.
It was at St Andrews in 2000 that the famous Vijay Singh joke incident took place.
Mr Woods has started off impressively, so my bet looks a fairly good one so far.
I began my 4 night residency at The Stand. I've been more used to doing 10-15 minute spots of late and found it tricky deciding how to distill it down to a 5 minute slot.
(what I'll be doing Thursday,Friday,Saturday,Sunday at The Stand).
It went fairly well. I probably tried to include too much in the 5 minutes and garbled a lot of the material. It's tricky. When you start off in stand-up, 5 minutes can seem like an eternity. Now it just seems to be over in a flash and there's not much time to fool around outside of your prepared material.
After I'd finished I nipped up to "The Roxy" to see Cloudland Blue Quartet and James Jamieson (together at last) perform a selection of their songs, with 3 other acts on the bill. Vocally they sound very good together.
It was all very enjoyable. Pity there wasn't an audience as such. (I hilariously announced that I'd only been able to attend on account of snapping up a ticket on Ebay) It's a reconverted church up near The Pleasance, a great venue. Acoustically it sounded great.
One of David's friends asked me about the snail on my ceiling. It's funny when strangers quote back stuff from your Blog to you. Little does that snail know how famous he/she (or is there something about snails being male and female simultaneously?) has become, as a result of crawling up my wall onto my ceiling.
I expect he and she are encountering a lot of jealousy and petty sniping from other resident snails of my garden, as news of the snails sudden new found celebrity circulates amongst the local wildlife.

13/07/05 With Snail Was I

I woke up today to see a snail on my ceiling. This isn't something you see every day. In fact I've never ever seen this phenomenum before. It's a first.
The day before I'd been transporting bags of garden refuse through the flat to take to the dump, (to be recycled I hasten to add...I'm green and all that).
I can only assume that I unwittingly dropped off the snail in my flat and it decided to go walkabout up the wall.
I removed it from the ceiling and lobbed it up the garden.
I later wondered whether there might be some symbolism attached to seeing a snail on your ceiling. I decided to go to the National Library to research the issue, and check if the appearance of the snail was some strange kind of metaphor.
You can't interpret these events too literally. Of course everyone knows that with Tarot cards, the "Death" card doesn't necessarily mean you're going to die. It can symbolise the end of an element of your life, such as a change of job, relationship etc
However, I was surprised to discover that my snail vision meant, according to ancient interpretation of pagan ritual, that a giant snail was likely to disrupt my act at The Stand comedy club during the upcoming "Festival of Jim".
This was very unsettling news which could destabilise my performance. I'm going to have to consider bringing a large container of Saxa salt to all my gigs to attempt to ward off this malign intrusion.
I played golf yesterday with Bill "Top Man" Wilson. It was a lovely evening bla bla just playing golf was a joy in itself bla bla bla seemed unimportant who won bla bla bla but it was me I won bla bla bla 6 and 4 bla bla bla
(assuming Darth Vadar voice) ; Is there NO-ONE in the entire GALAXY who can threaten my POWER and AUTHORITY on the Golf Course???

12/07/05 Bordering On The Ridiculous

Myself and nerdy Physics lecturer Martin Evans went for a walk in the Ettrick Hills near Selkirk in the Scottish Borders area.
I bought a book 5 years ago called "100 Walks Around Edinburgh". I thought it was about time I did at least one of them to avoid the purchase of the said book as being viewed as a complete fiasco.
I selected the walk we did because it was described as a "dramatic ridge walk". In the end it turned out to be as dramatic as an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine". It was still very pleasant though, if a little dull. And it was another scorcheroonee of a day.
I got offered a gig at The Stand next Wednesday (20th July). This means that the "Festival of Jim" now extends to Thurs/Fri/Sat/Sun/Wed of the coming week live at The Stand in Edinburgh.
The bar staff will be well and truly sick of my set by the end of this run, as will the audience in all likelihood. I hope different people go to each night otherwise my act will turn into a Catholic Mass type event, with the punters wearily joining in with the punchlines (irony), and standing up and sitting down at the appropriate moments and shaking hands with the people next to them sort of thing.
I had a samba practice at night for the upcoming Spain trip. I played with my head up my ass. Not literally. That would have been quite an impressive feat of contortionism and might have deflected any other criticisms. No, I just kept making rather stupid mistakes. I will have to spend some quality time working on being slightly less crappy. Just like anything else really.
My drive down to the Borders was soured by a succession of locals who didn't wave at me when I stopped and waited patiently to let them pass before moving out to avoid a parked car on my side of the road.
I am a stickler for this waving ritual, and see it as one of the last remaining benchmarks of decency and a feeling of community in the inherent tetchiness of 21st Century life.
Once we stop this little wave ritual, it will be a steady descent into mayhem and aggression, and we will all be in a "Mad Max" movie, and people will be dropping snakes in our cars from weird home-made helicopter things.
Mark my words.

11/07/05 Possible Job Shocker!

I found out today that I have a better than evens chance of getting an IT Contract in Edinburgh.
The problem is that I can't afford not to take it, bearing in mind that I'll be getting hit by a giant tax bill at the end of the month, and will also have to pay at least £20 000 when this hugely enjoyable communal building repair is (eventually) finished.
It would have been much better if the job could have come along in September though. Working and doing a Fringe show is going to be hard work, and my late night debauchery possibilities will disappear! damn damn damn.
Ain't life a bitch!
I can maybe take some time off, but employers are never particularly impressed when you start hassling for holidays as soon as you're in the door.
I had a feeling this might happen. Ah well never mind. It could be worse. It could be raining!
Think positively man! At least I'll be able to hassle my co-workers to come and see the show.

10/07/05 "Festival of Jim"

This week there is a "Festival of Jim" at The Stand in Edinburgh. I will be appearing there on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.
Apparently, there are other comedians on as well. And for some unspecified reason, most of them are doing longer spots than me. However, I am the only one who is on every day! Hurray!
It's nice to get my first weekend gigs at The Stand. It represents progress.
I'm looking forward to it.
Jeez it's so hot.
After a tour of duty hacking about in the old garden, I made the natural decision of any self-respecting Scot on a hot summers day, and retired to a beer garden.
The Pear Tree was selected as the "hostelry du jour".
I cycled up, narrowly avoiding death on 2 occasions. I cycled back, narrowly avoiding death on 3 occasions.
Cycling in the west end of Edinburgh is a dangerous sport.
I still do it though. It's a Pamplona "Running of the Bulls" type experience. Sometimes you need a sense of danger in your life. (What a load of bollocks, I know...and so, so pretentious....tell meabout it!)
I re-invested £100 of my Wimbledon booty on Tiger Woods to win The Open at 4/1, and £100 on Australia to win the Ashes.
In terms of design, St Andrews is the ideal course for TW. It doesn't tend to throw up flukey unknown champions like last years' winner (I can't even remember his name).
So that's my tips for you.

09/07/05 A Magnificent Gesture

I've always quite liked "The Magnificent Seven" film. It's a classic boy's own adventure piece.
However, there was a part of the plot that spoiled things a lot for me, on account of my pedantic leanings, and inability to suspend disbelief for the purposes of some cinematic hokum.
There comes a point when the Villagers betray the M7 (that's "The Magnificent Seven" not a UK Motorway, in case there's any confusion there) to the bandits, and the M7 find themselves under House Arrest.
Now any self-respecting Mexican Bandit in this situation would deliberate long and hard over a suitably grisly end to inflict on the M7, particularly since a lot of their mates have already shuffled off this mortal coil on account of the impressively high standard of the M7's "fancy shootin'" in earlier skirmishes.
They'd normally be either shot on the spot, be dragged around tied to a horse until dead, or perhaps hung upside down from a tree, with molasses spread all over their head. This would be done near an ants nest (of an appropriately aggressive species of ant), and a horrible fate would ensue.
So what did they do?
Yes that's right. They let them go. And the next day the M7 returned and killed all the bandits, although they did lose a few of their own number and became the M3 (that's "The Magnificent Three", not a UK motorway, in case there is any confusion there)
I had my own moment of this "poor decision making syndrome" today.
I captured a group of gunmen who had been hired as mercenaries by my neighbours to drive me out of Coates Gardens. I also let them go. Will I live to regret this generous gesture? Will I live to regret writing this terrible Blog entry?
Probably.

08/07/05 I Know It's Only Global Warming But I Like It!

Scotland has hilariously decided to do an impression of Saudi Arabia, and has gone all hot.
This was not the best day for Mark Dance to select Lothianburn as a golf course for him, myself and Scott "Eyebrows-R-Us" Wilkins to play on.
It's not so much a round of golf, more a Himalayan Expedition with a few golf shots thrown in to vary things a bit. (ok, ok I know that there has been too much golf in this here Blog of late. I'll scale it down. Honest.)
I can't even establish who won. We all played utter shit, and Scott had to leave at the 16th on account of a terrible attack of Fever of the Hay variety.
Mark sprayed his drives liberally around the Pentlands area with the accuracy of a 15th Century blunderbuss.
My worst shot of the round saw a vicious slice racing into the car park at Hillend Ski Centre.
I bought an Evening News later on to check that no-one had been killed at Hillend. Phew.
Later on, I told the simple, happy people of the Edinburgh Samba School that I'd decided to go on the Spain jaunt. They all cheered and punched the air and danced with wild abandon and joy at this wonderful news.
Well, no actually they didn't do any of these things.
I'm worried now. Are they going to "wack" me in Spain for leaving it so late to swear allegiance to the Samba Gods, and commit to the trip???

07/07/05 How Depressing

I wasn't shocked by the bombings in London. I'd been expecting this to happen at some point. I was convinced that something would happen during the last General Election campaign, but in the end they decided to sabotage Blair's hosting of the G8 summit instead.
Anyway, it wasn't a shock, but it was still numbing and altogether a depressing experience watching events unfold on TV.
So cruel coming the day after the euphoria generated by London's successful Olympic bid, and the guarded optimism that for once a G8 summit would result in some groundbreaking global agreements on Poverty, Debt & fair trade.
We British have our failings, but I was enormously moved by the classic "stiff upper lip" mentality displayed by Londoners who vowed to carry on and not be cowed into changing their day-to-day routines as a result of the actions of these vicious bastards.
In other contexts this classic British character trait can be repressive, but for this situation it's the ideal reply to the terrorists.
I had a gig scheduled for the same evening. I initially tried to get out of it as I felt it was the last thing I wanted to do.
However, I ended up doing it and had a really storming set. Fantastic reaction in a real bear pit. Very weird. Just before going on, I was so not up for it, but after a couple of minutes I was loving it and was glad I decided to perform. I guess that's just the human condition. Life goes on.

06/07/05 St Bob

As I strode down Coates Gardens heading towards my local store to purchase a pint of cow juice, Bob Geldof suddenly appeared getting off a bus.
I would have loved to report that I said something witty to him, prompting him to smile and give me a couple of high 5s before heading off...
Unfortunately, I was so surprised to see him, I just gawped, and before I knew it he was surrounded by a media scrum shouting questions at him.
Then a massive squadron of buses appeared and loads of people who'd bussed it up from down south alighted onto the streets of Edinburgh.
They were all kids about 17-18ish and seemed very good natured and excited about arriving for the Live8 doo-dah.
At night I had a game of golf with Mr Colin Crabbie and Mr Mark Dance upon the hallowed turf of Dalmeny Golf Course. After a fairly sodden day it turned into a beautiful sunny evening. There was not a breath of wind and the River Forth glinted in the sunlight.
On such an idyllic evening, it seemed unimportant who actually won the match, as it was really just all about the pleasure of taking part. But it was me. I won. Fairly comprehensively. No triumphalism from me though. That would be wrong (again).
Back home in time to marvel at a 76 year old dancing about onstage with a couple of bikini clad stunnas!
No, it wasn't David Bann, it was James Brown of course...!

05/07/05 So You Think You're Funny? Well, I don't know really...

I had a phone call from a lady at the BBC requesting that I enter the BBC New Talent Comedy Competition. Apparently, I'd been recommended by the "So You Think You're Funny" competition organisers.
I was going to enter the BBC thing anyway, but was having difficulties transferring a digital recording of my live set onto a CD, (has to be part of your entry).
My immediate thought was that it was quite flattering to be singled out and actually asked to enter. However, is this reaction on a par with expressing delight at receiving notification that you are to be congratulated on winning a "Readers Digest" prize draw?
I don't know how many other people were asked.
I also initially assumed this meant I was likely to have made it into the final stages of the SYTYF competition, (held during this years' Fringe)
This surprised me as it was not one of my best nights in the Glasgow heat. Not by a long way. Some audiences love weird, leftfield stuff. That one didn't.
Of course, they may be trying to soothe my disappointment in advance at not qualifying by bolstering my fragile little ego with a BBC invitation.
Who knows?
We're supposed to hear about the SYTYF finalists this week.
You can see how this business screws you up psychologically can't you?
Anyway, I've decided to go to Spain at the end of the month and join the samba faithful who are playing at a festival in the town of Mataro (nr Barcelona).
Should be a hoot and a half.

04/07/06 The G8 Escape

Unable to resist my base voyeuristic instincts, I headed along to Shandwick Place to witness the "Cavalcade Of Full Enjoyment".
This had been widely tipped as the most likely initial G8 flashpoint as the organisers had stubbornly resisted invitations from the police to discuss what they were actually going to do.
There were helicopters overhead, mounted police, hundreds of cops, and hundreds of media types...cameras and microphones everywhere.
About 40 drummers, dressed in pink, then marched up Shandwick Place, surrounded by the press and police, playing a spectacularly awful version of "Samba Reggae", (says Jim donning his smart samba anorak).
There was nothing much going on, so I got bored and went home again.
I had a really good gig at "The Stand" later on. Felt very loose and relaxed. My G8 opening gag bombed, but I got a big laugh when I explained "that joke was delivered as part of the "Make Comedy History" campaign". Ho Ho. The rest of the set went well.
Paul Sneddon (aka "Vladimir McTavish") made me snort with laughter earlier on at the bar. He showed my a photo he'd taken of the Anti-Capitalist demonstrators in Princes St. There was a big group of them looking fairly intimidating with their faces masked, carrying banners and taking aggressive poses.
However clearly visible in the midst of this melee was the iconic "Golf Sale" banner. Priceless.

03/07/05 Make Hangovers History

...is what I should aspire to really...!
Looking into my crystal ball I see a month with very little alcohol disappearing down my throat. It's time for a de-tox.
One of the side effects of quitting smoking is a discernible cranking up of the normal rate of alcohol consumption.
I had a godawful headache this morning.
I managed to watch some of the tennis final. Roger Federer is the man. He's good to watch though, and something of an artist on court. Nice to see flair and artistry triumph over brute force, (eg Greg Rusedski)
I have to admit to being slightly shocked at the trophy presentation.
Ever since I can remember, the Duke and Duchess of York have entered the court area and them moved slowly down 2 rows of ballboys and ballgirls, engaging roughly every 3rd or 4th person in the column in some airy banter before moving on to the next "victim".
I was always intrigued as to what they spoke about.
"My you're a tall young man!", "Is this the first time you've done this?", "Have you any amusing "ballboy" anecdotes?", "Where are you from then?"
This procedure genrally lasted a couple of minutes, as the players shuffled about, anxious to get the ceremonials over with so they could bugger off.
However this year, the Duke of Kent, on his own (I think the Duchess is ill), just strode past all the ballpeople and never said a dickybird to anyone.
The ballpeople must have been devastated. They thought they were on a 4/1 shot to chat with Royalty and be seen doing it on live TV.
I can only draw the conclusion, that it was the Duchess of Kent who historically insisted on this corny little ritual taking place. Her husband obviously thought the whole idea was a complete waste of time, and seized the opportunity of her illness to drive a coach and horses through the whole concept of ballpeople interaction.
This is a sad day for ballpeople.
We may not have had a British men's champion for 362 years, but at least our Royals always delighted the public by selflessly chatting to ballpeople.
Not any more.
It's over.

02/07/05 Make Poverty History

I took part in the march and played with the Samba band. And very enjoyable it was too.
I get bored shitless with the bad mouthing of all these events by know-it-all arseholes. As far as I'm concerned, ar least 300 000 people (probably more, even though the official figure was 225 000) decided to show a bit of solidarity for an idea to help eradicate the global blight of poverty, and went for a walk round Edinburgh.
Yes, a lot of Africa's problems are self-inflicted and any debt removal has to be tied to conditions to prevent corrupt leaders diverting funds. Yes, a lot of the key components of this measure are already agreed.
So what was the point of demonstrating?
Well, it was just an affirmation that a lot of people felt a need to demonstrate their support for such measures, and push for more similar action on the bigger global scheme of things.
There was no big Rock Concert involved, so please spare us the tired old arguments about people just wanting to go to a party and feel pious about it all.
People of all ages and backgrounds had travelled from all over the UK just to take part in this demo. There was no hidden agenda. So don't criticise them sitting on your arse in your favourite armchair watching Live8 on the telly.
I had some funny photos taking of me hobnobbing with some cops in full riot gear.
I will publish them on the Blog, but unfortunately Lorna (whose camera it was) and Mark have rather selfishly gone up to Granton-On-Spey on holiday for 2 weeks, so I'll have to wait for them to get back first.
News that Venus Williams had won Wimbledon capped a splendid 2 weeks of sports betting for me, and I turned in a nice profit of £600.
This is probably an inappropriate Blog entry to include such gambling tittle tattle, but such is life.
I should add that I immediately bought a large round in the Southsider Bar when news of Venus' triumph was announced.
Saw a bit of Live8 on the telly. Enjoyed Madonna, Pink Floyd & Paul McCartney.

01/07/05 And Saskia Walks...

And so it came to pass that Saskia was evicted from the Big Brother House...!
kerching! kerching! as £64 falls into the coffers of Jim Park Inc.
During the day I had a game of golf with Mr Mark Dance on the hallowed turf of Dundas Parks Golf Course. This was where I learnt to play golf as a young boy.
It was another beautiful sunny day. The trees swayed majestically in a cooling breeze, and in the distance Dundas Castle glinted impressively in the sunlight.
On such a day, it seemed unimportant who actually won the match, as it was really just all about the pleasure of taking part. But it was me. I won. 5 and 4, (that means 5 holes up with 4 to play you non "golf aware" philistines). No triumphalism from me though. That would be wrong.

30/06/05 Shouting Out Things

In the good old days, one of the defining characteristics of a British crowd at a sports event was a certain decorum and a stoical unwillingness to shout out things.
I don't include football and rugby in this analysis, as there is a culture of shouting out things in these sports. I'm talking more of the gentler pastimes of golf, tennis and cricket.
At Wimbledon, you'd maybe get few oohs and ahhs during rallies, but that would be it. The crowd's only involvement would be to give good, solid rounds of applause at the appropriate moments.
Now, after just about every point, there's a highly irritating chorus of "Come on, Tim/Greg/Roger/Andy etc!!!!".
It drives me nuts. I wouldn't mind if someone was saying something interesting or funny. Is this some pathetic attempt to get their voice on TV? Do they record the matches, and play them back when they get home, and try to find their stupid, rubbish interjections?
If I was sitting next to one of these culprits at Wimbledon (unlikely), I'd do a big,pretend yawn thing, simultaneously stretching out my arms, and would accidentally on purpose, elbow them in the face.
"Oh sorry, how clumsy of me! Yes, I know that's the eighth time I've done it. I'm just very unco-ordinated. Yes, really!"
In golf, we have imported from the USA, the even more annoying shout of "Get In The Hole!"
This is shouted every time a player makes a putt, and bears no relation to how close the ball is likely to end up near the hole.
I am at a loss to explain the motivation of the idiots who shout this out.
If I was at the Open Championship, (I have to concede this is more likely than me being at Wimbledon), and I caught sight of an offender, I would have no hesitation in removing the pin from a hand grenade and discreetly placing it in their napsack, before retiring a safe distance away.
They really have to be vehemently discouraged, and hopefully this could serve as a warning to other wannabee "Get In The Hole-ers"...
I was looking forward to whipping Debbie's ass on Thursday night.
I mean this metaphorically in a tennis sense.
Unfortunately, it was again my ass that was on the receiving end of a sound thrashing, as I crashed to a 2 sets to one defeat, and was sent homeward to think again.