Messages, Weegie Style

It’s funny the memories that stay with you. All the small insignificant episodes and experiences that stick to you from childhood like well chewed spitballs on the classroom ceiling. They’re there, you can see them but there’s no way of getting up there to clean them out. Some memories are disturbing, things you’d rather forget but for the most part, this week I have been remembering lots of odd wee things from my childhood. We’ve been clearing our the house getting it ready to sell and my mind has obviously doing a similar spring clean with its recollections. I’ve written about my childhood before. I was brought up in Queenslie, part of the Greater Area of Easterhouse. Sounds grand, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. Anyhoo,...

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See Ma Resolutions?

This is written for the same narrator as See Ma Man? I hope you enjoy it. See Ma Resolutions? See me? See New Year’s resolutions? Ah hate them, so ah dae. Every year ah say ah’m no gonnae dae them ony mair, but as sure as a murder oan Eastenders Christmas edition, ah aye end up makin’ a few. Ah mean, efter the excesses o’ Christmas, we aw feel a bit guilty, don’t we? We spend two weeks spendin’ enough money tae keep Greece afloat and sittin oan oor erses, stuffin oor faces wi’ turkey, chocolate and booze. So whit’s the furst resolution we make? Losin’ weight. Ah’m no sayin’ that ah couldny dae wi’ losing a few stone. If ah pit oan a thong it’d split ma erse between two postcodes. And ye canny switch oan the telly withoot seein’ ads fer Weightwatchers, Lighter...

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V is for Variety

The Glasgow Empire Theatre is renowned as being the place where comedians went to die. In common with many cities, music hall and then variety were popular pastimes for working people. After a week of hard toil, if a Glaswegian paid a few shillings he’d expect to be entertained, and his standards were high. Add to this the peculiar licensing laws of the time where the interval was the last chance to have a drink: men – and women – would pour as much liquor as possible down their throats and return to their seats, paralytic, armed with the left-overs from the produce markets. Unless, that is, they worked in the shipyards, in which case they’d fire rivets at the stage using catapults. American acts brought with them the glamour of Hollywood and always...

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I is for Insults

No body does an insult like a Weegie. and to prove my point, try using the examples below next time you want to cut someone down a peg or two. WARNING: the following contains sweary words. Away n bile yer heid.  Go and boil your head. Ya big balloon.  You large, pompous oaf. Ya bampot.  You are an idiot. Ya doolally basstard.  You are a bewildered soul of uncertain parentage. Yiv goat a face like a skelped erse.  You have a face like a slapped bottom. Yir feet ur puir bowfin n they gie me the boak.  Your feet smell and make me feel sick. Yiv a face like a camel eatin’ sherbet.  Your face looks like a camel partaking of something sour. Yiv goat a face like a dug lickin’ pish aff a nettle.  Your face resembles that of a dog licking it’s own urine from a stinging...

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G is for Gangs and Ginger

Glasgow. Gangs. The two go together like Morcambe & Wise, Torville & Dean, Brady & Hindly… As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I am from the greater area of Easterhouse. My wee scheme had 4 streets in it. Four streets and three gangs, the two biggest being the Rebels and the Fleet. One of the Big Enemies was the GYTO from Garthamlock. And there was hardly a brick wall without a ‘Tongs Ya Bass!” tag sprayed on it. Growing up in the East End in the 60s and 70s, you couldn’t avoid the gangs. There were regular running battles between rival crews, fighting with knives, chains, hammers, swords. In fact, the couture of choice for a gang lad was a long black leather coat. Imagine a greasy, flop haired Spike from Buffy. The long coats were ideal to hide the...

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