I read that their getting shot of cheques I wish they did years ago.
Im working in Chipie jeans in the Italian Centre & it's 1995 & it’s a nightmare when you tell people you work in Chipie because they get the wrong idea. Take for instance Im at a ‘dinner party’ in Eddyburger at some fancy lassies party & this guy in a tweed jacket says “& what is it you do yourself Mark” so were off to a good start with the name error. I say “I work in Chipie in the Italian centre in Glasgow” & he goes off on one about when he was a student he worked in a burger bar. Chipie Jeans ya silver spoon moothed donut ye & it’s Martin no Mark.
So Anyways there me in Chipie graftin away hard drinkin cherry coke & reading Mixmag listening to The Brand New Heavies, I wonder why we closed down?. Chipie was a teeny wee shop two floors. Each floor no bigger than the average living room & when it was busy it was busy but when it was dead it was deeeeeeed. On the shop floor that day was Chris Harris of Glasgow DJ fame, Mick Corcorran of Micks soul mix tapes no fame & Jacqueline Meikle wife of Orde Meikle of the Slam duo. In walks these two girls (each a nine) so am up like a shot super helpful salesman & out sharked Chris & Mick on this sale who are now trying to make me laugh with gestures of a sexual nature to the disgust of Jaq who’d seen this all before. “What’s that you’re from Ireland you say looking for a good night out” says I gifting free passes to the Subby (Sub club). So after some chat (ing up) & roping in a sale & possible meeting later it’s to the matter of the transaction for the goods to be purchased.
So one of the lovely ladies writes out a cheque & hands me her cheque guarantee card. The goods are over fifty quid & her cards guaranteed to a 50 limit, nightmare I have to phone for authorisation. I hate this coz you feel ded flustered in front of not just the customer but having to do your telephone voice with Chris & Mick wizzin their pants at you. So theres me on the phone to the cheque guarantee folk & the English girl with the gusto of a stoned accountant at a Dido concert “is tha custama there wif yoooo…blah….caaaad numba please…blah…”. Jaq feels my pain & kindly turns down the Brand New Heavies who are now “dream on dreamer life is in your way…”.
So then the girl on the phone asks me “& could you give me the name on tha caad please?” so I looks at the name & this is the first I’ve ever seen this name in text, I say “Sio ban Fahey” now I say it like (Sio-ban!) like in two syllables. I hear Chris & Mick scramblin doon the stairs gruntin with laughter & I look up Jaq is now trying to pretend she’s folding a jumper but almost trying to fold her head in there as well as her shoulders can’t disguise here hysterics I look at the customer & like a chorus the customer & the girl on the phone say “Siobhan…..Siobhan Fahey”. GROUND SWALLOW ME NOW!!
Months I had to deal with that, not just Mick or Chris or Jaq but they had other folk phoning the shop sayin “is Sio Ban there…” & getting girls in pubs to come up to me “Hi are you Martin…..Im Sio Ban”.
I don’t work in shops now but thank god for chip & pin I say.
Wednesday 31 March 2010
The Spaghetti Techno Western.
I’ve been asked to write about this story, so Tosh you played a lot of my requests when I treated you like a duke box & not a DJ so this ones for you.
During the mid 90’s I PR’d for The Sub Club, Sometimes Cool Lemon at the arches, bar Miro for Stefan King, Club 69 Paisley to name but a few. For me once I’d finished doin flyers my favourite pre club warm up was to go to the Rock Garden in Queen Street.
I use ‘warm up’ loosely because as you descended to the heat hazed basement of RG’s you could feel the vibration of grinding basslines, round deep 4/4 kick drums & strobed shadows cascaded the stairs. This small basement was wall to wall people starting their night with the sounds of Techno & House from Detroit & Chicago provided by Alan Mackintosh AKA Tosh.
Tosh would duck under this camo ghillie netting over his decks & being so tall sometimes even get entangled in it. He would spend a fortune on the latest white labelled releases whipping up the crowd. It was magic I used to arrange to meet folk there before goin to the club. It would always be full to bursting with people with an atmosphere & buzz that most club owners would have givin their right arm to have with that kind of regularity & word of mouth status. Sometime you’d leave RG’s & go to a club only to have a come down because of the ambient dip.
Now I wouldn’t say Tosh was obsessed with his art as he always played for the crowd. I think that they, I say they, WE were lucky we shared his passion. But on one occasion lets just say Tosh was ‘focussed’ & nothing was gona shift that vision.
The place is heaving when I arrived this one evening & scrambled throught to the bar to get my bottle of Miller & crawled over to wee Smudge who was part of the Carmunock crew. There was a funny atmosphere & it was generating from these two ned arseholes who had sneaked under the bouncers radar 'Ken' who was chattin up a couple of girls. These two diddys where out their faces & slagging everyone. Tosh gives me the nod then waves me over. Now I can’t remember exactly the tracks I’m sure one was a Leftfield track but anywho Tosh explains excitedly he was gona mix two tracks but rather fade out fade in he was gona remix live & he would tell me when he was gona do this so I could listen. Now we’ve all seen the bar fights in westerns yes! Well I return to speak to Smudge who suffers no fools gladly & has now decided to tell the two nuggets to bolt. Needless to say in a very crowded basement it kicks off. It’s bedlam. Tables getting knocked over people running about glasses, bottles everywhere most people run upstairs I make for a space but a chair ment for Smudge! Well, I get over my back. I had those bruises for weeks on ma back. After a minute of two the guys are ejected & only a few folk remain.
Now in the westerns the music usually stops…..not Tosh. I glance over holding my back to see Tosh bobbin his head one eye closed, face screwed up listening intently to make sure he’s cue’d up these two tracks just right & mix perfect he looks up smiles at me points to the decks mouthing “yessss” & takes a chug of his bottle of miller with pride, head noddin. Two perfectly mixed 4/4 beats. The Battle was only in Tosh's way this whole time.....gees ja mind DJ at work for god sakes.
After about 10 mins the Basement filled back up & you wouldn’t have known anything had happened…..kina like Tosh really.
A few months down the line Smudge toured Iraq with the Desert Storm Crew entertaining the troupes with Hard Techno in some of the most dangerous places in the Middle East. Although I always thought Tosh was wasted there with his battlefield DJ training.
When Che Guevara said “Homeland or death” Tosh was in the background cutting it with Castro.
Commerciality is dead this is not!! Keep it underground kids.
During the mid 90’s I PR’d for The Sub Club, Sometimes Cool Lemon at the arches, bar Miro for Stefan King, Club 69 Paisley to name but a few. For me once I’d finished doin flyers my favourite pre club warm up was to go to the Rock Garden in Queen Street.
I use ‘warm up’ loosely because as you descended to the heat hazed basement of RG’s you could feel the vibration of grinding basslines, round deep 4/4 kick drums & strobed shadows cascaded the stairs. This small basement was wall to wall people starting their night with the sounds of Techno & House from Detroit & Chicago provided by Alan Mackintosh AKA Tosh.
Tosh would duck under this camo ghillie netting over his decks & being so tall sometimes even get entangled in it. He would spend a fortune on the latest white labelled releases whipping up the crowd. It was magic I used to arrange to meet folk there before goin to the club. It would always be full to bursting with people with an atmosphere & buzz that most club owners would have givin their right arm to have with that kind of regularity & word of mouth status. Sometime you’d leave RG’s & go to a club only to have a come down because of the ambient dip.
Now I wouldn’t say Tosh was obsessed with his art as he always played for the crowd. I think that they, I say they, WE were lucky we shared his passion. But on one occasion lets just say Tosh was ‘focussed’ & nothing was gona shift that vision.
The place is heaving when I arrived this one evening & scrambled throught to the bar to get my bottle of Miller & crawled over to wee Smudge who was part of the Carmunock crew. There was a funny atmosphere & it was generating from these two ned arseholes who had sneaked under the bouncers radar 'Ken' who was chattin up a couple of girls. These two diddys where out their faces & slagging everyone. Tosh gives me the nod then waves me over. Now I can’t remember exactly the tracks I’m sure one was a Leftfield track but anywho Tosh explains excitedly he was gona mix two tracks but rather fade out fade in he was gona remix live & he would tell me when he was gona do this so I could listen. Now we’ve all seen the bar fights in westerns yes! Well I return to speak to Smudge who suffers no fools gladly & has now decided to tell the two nuggets to bolt. Needless to say in a very crowded basement it kicks off. It’s bedlam. Tables getting knocked over people running about glasses, bottles everywhere most people run upstairs I make for a space but a chair ment for Smudge! Well, I get over my back. I had those bruises for weeks on ma back. After a minute of two the guys are ejected & only a few folk remain.
Now in the westerns the music usually stops…..not Tosh. I glance over holding my back to see Tosh bobbin his head one eye closed, face screwed up listening intently to make sure he’s cue’d up these two tracks just right & mix perfect he looks up smiles at me points to the decks mouthing “yessss” & takes a chug of his bottle of miller with pride, head noddin. Two perfectly mixed 4/4 beats. The Battle was only in Tosh's way this whole time.....gees ja mind DJ at work for god sakes.
After about 10 mins the Basement filled back up & you wouldn’t have known anything had happened…..kina like Tosh really.
A few months down the line Smudge toured Iraq with the Desert Storm Crew entertaining the troupes with Hard Techno in some of the most dangerous places in the Middle East. Although I always thought Tosh was wasted there with his battlefield DJ training.
When Che Guevara said “Homeland or death” Tosh was in the background cutting it with Castro.
Commerciality is dead this is not!! Keep it underground kids.
The ups & downs with Glasgow's fashion elite.....& fish.
When I left school in 1990 I became an apprentice dental technician but after a year the big companies killed the wee guys in the industry & I was made redundant at 17. Truth was I wasn’t sad turns out I was a great technician but it bored me. I was a people person I wanted to be in amongst the Glasgow buzz not sitting at some desk all day.
So with the crowbar at my bed my mum & brother in law Jim Podmore who was managing ‘The Warehouse’ the biggest and most prestigious retail outlet in Scotland for designer wear got me employment………as a lift boy.
The Warehouse on Glassford Street had six floors. Basement was menswear, ground floor was the Sandwich bar & entrance, first floor was new generation where I so so so wanted to work. This department stocked the new diffusion ranges from designers for the younger generation. Second floor was ladies wear, third was the café & fourth was the office.
My Job was to greet customers at the entrance & if need be take them to the café or if I was lucky take some goddess to the ladies department. Between doing this I also had to courier supplies to & from the café & sandwich bar, not forgetting taking lazy staff members to the café.
Now you’re wondering why have someone operate the lift? Well it was an old manual operated lift kina like in the movies in America. It had a main shutter door & an internal cage door you had to close by hand then to go up you pulled a brass level back to go up, forward to go down & middle or release to stop (release was never a good option that’ll come later). The only difference to the American movie lifts & mine was like all American things my lift was a lot smaller about 3ft by 4ft, snug.
Now I could tell lots of stories & drop tons of names of stars I had in my lift as The Warehouse was the hub of Glasgow’s sophisticated & beautiful people but things never really ran as clockwork on that old lift.
The worst thing was……..FISH!!! On certain days the fish delivery would come & I would take the fish delivery man & his pungent box of gilled friends up to the café. Now I swear you could set you watch by it. The next customer to come into your lift would be some totally gorgeous woman wanting to go to the ladies department & the lift is stinkin of fish. So there’s me making embarresed excuses for the stench. Lookin good Marty, lookin good.
Now the operating handle could be taken off & I never seen the point of this, well that was until one day when the lovely Tracy Lee on the sandwich bar needed a crate of coke from the store room so me being the gentlemen I am I go get the coke & even offer to carry it round to the back of the sandwich bar for her. I return to my post to find my lift closed & gone. I could here it in motion & I spent at least 15 minutes running between floors I could hear voices inside saying “it won’t stop properly” & “give it to me, I can do it”. It was murder, some bloody customers went on the lift & were operating it. It’s not easy to do. You have to stop it right at the floor or the door won’t open & this took me at least two shifts to perfect. Eventually, sweating, panting & franticly running between floors I get up to the office & find the lift open. One of the office girls shout me & ask if I’m ok & told me two auld buddies wandered aimlessly into the office asking were the wee café was. I never left that lift without taking the handle with me.
The only problem with the removable handle was if you released it to stop, it would sometimes spring off and fall down the lift shaft & you were stuck. This is not good when you have four folk in the tiny lift & one is claustrophobic throwing their hands about shouting “HELP, HELP I CAN’T BREATH “.
I always remember the store manager my brother in law Jim getting stuck between floors with Laura from the ladies department who was covering the lift duty. We got the doors open & had to wait for an engineer. While they waited the café staff passed coffees and newspapers down to the lifts prisoners. I’ll never forget Scott who worked in the café on his hands & knees passing these provisions through the wee space saying “ is there anything else I can get for sir or madam”
After about six months I got promoted to sales assistant in The Warehouse Sale shop in the Italian Centre. I only ever got to operated my wee lift for lunch cover when I made my move or should I say my big break to the new generation floor with the fashion elite & there’s plenty of stories there.
I always mean to go into the old building which is now Peckams on Glassford street to see if my wee lift is still there.
So with the crowbar at my bed my mum & brother in law Jim Podmore who was managing ‘The Warehouse’ the biggest and most prestigious retail outlet in Scotland for designer wear got me employment………as a lift boy.
The Warehouse on Glassford Street had six floors. Basement was menswear, ground floor was the Sandwich bar & entrance, first floor was new generation where I so so so wanted to work. This department stocked the new diffusion ranges from designers for the younger generation. Second floor was ladies wear, third was the café & fourth was the office.
My Job was to greet customers at the entrance & if need be take them to the café or if I was lucky take some goddess to the ladies department. Between doing this I also had to courier supplies to & from the café & sandwich bar, not forgetting taking lazy staff members to the café.
Now you’re wondering why have someone operate the lift? Well it was an old manual operated lift kina like in the movies in America. It had a main shutter door & an internal cage door you had to close by hand then to go up you pulled a brass level back to go up, forward to go down & middle or release to stop (release was never a good option that’ll come later). The only difference to the American movie lifts & mine was like all American things my lift was a lot smaller about 3ft by 4ft, snug.
Now I could tell lots of stories & drop tons of names of stars I had in my lift as The Warehouse was the hub of Glasgow’s sophisticated & beautiful people but things never really ran as clockwork on that old lift.
The worst thing was……..FISH!!! On certain days the fish delivery would come & I would take the fish delivery man & his pungent box of gilled friends up to the café. Now I swear you could set you watch by it. The next customer to come into your lift would be some totally gorgeous woman wanting to go to the ladies department & the lift is stinkin of fish. So there’s me making embarresed excuses for the stench. Lookin good Marty, lookin good.
Now the operating handle could be taken off & I never seen the point of this, well that was until one day when the lovely Tracy Lee on the sandwich bar needed a crate of coke from the store room so me being the gentlemen I am I go get the coke & even offer to carry it round to the back of the sandwich bar for her. I return to my post to find my lift closed & gone. I could here it in motion & I spent at least 15 minutes running between floors I could hear voices inside saying “it won’t stop properly” & “give it to me, I can do it”. It was murder, some bloody customers went on the lift & were operating it. It’s not easy to do. You have to stop it right at the floor or the door won’t open & this took me at least two shifts to perfect. Eventually, sweating, panting & franticly running between floors I get up to the office & find the lift open. One of the office girls shout me & ask if I’m ok & told me two auld buddies wandered aimlessly into the office asking were the wee café was. I never left that lift without taking the handle with me.
The only problem with the removable handle was if you released it to stop, it would sometimes spring off and fall down the lift shaft & you were stuck. This is not good when you have four folk in the tiny lift & one is claustrophobic throwing their hands about shouting “HELP, HELP I CAN’T BREATH “.
I always remember the store manager my brother in law Jim getting stuck between floors with Laura from the ladies department who was covering the lift duty. We got the doors open & had to wait for an engineer. While they waited the café staff passed coffees and newspapers down to the lifts prisoners. I’ll never forget Scott who worked in the café on his hands & knees passing these provisions through the wee space saying “ is there anything else I can get for sir or madam”
After about six months I got promoted to sales assistant in The Warehouse Sale shop in the Italian Centre. I only ever got to operated my wee lift for lunch cover when I made my move or should I say my big break to the new generation floor with the fashion elite & there’s plenty of stories there.
I always mean to go into the old building which is now Peckams on Glassford street to see if my wee lift is still there.
Tuesday 30 March 2010
The Wrong Troosers.
I’ve worked in shops for years & I’ll probably tell loads of stories of dealing with Joe public in the world of Glasgow retail. But when I’m on the other side of the cash desk & I’m the customer things always seem to go wrong.
There I’ am in Top Man searching for these jeans that are on sale & up pops the sales assistant “HI YAAAAH” I know this guy he’s camp as 3rd floor in Tiso’s outdoor shop “you work in the Galleries av seen yeh?”.
After some help from my new friend am in the changing rooms with the jeans. Magic soft denim & on sale Yaaas. So on dae pop with the jeans & well there’s something just no right they feel funny….a bit kina jaggy, ruff. This isnnae right the denims are as soft as a baby’s bum. So am thinking there might be a price tag or a sticker in the crotch so I whips them doon to the knees feels aboot nuthin, soft as a big bag of soft things. Wits up here this issnae right. Then I clocks it there’s ma boxer shorts in my jeans on the floor…yup am commando here. I shake ma heed & laugh to masell. Now you need to remember I’ve been in this changing room a good wee while now & my helpful assistant decides to check up on me “How yeh getting oan?” & he pulls back the curtain. There’s me bent over with the shop jeans at my ankles “OH sorry” & off he goes. He must’ve thought it was his birthday or thought commando boy better buy them jeans.
Needless to say I got the jeans & with 10 percent off the sale price thanks to my new pal. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.
After that episode I must have met that guy everywhere, total nightmare.
There I’ am in Top Man searching for these jeans that are on sale & up pops the sales assistant “HI YAAAAH” I know this guy he’s camp as 3rd floor in Tiso’s outdoor shop “you work in the Galleries av seen yeh?”.
After some help from my new friend am in the changing rooms with the jeans. Magic soft denim & on sale Yaaas. So on dae pop with the jeans & well there’s something just no right they feel funny….a bit kina jaggy, ruff. This isnnae right the denims are as soft as a baby’s bum. So am thinking there might be a price tag or a sticker in the crotch so I whips them doon to the knees feels aboot nuthin, soft as a big bag of soft things. Wits up here this issnae right. Then I clocks it there’s ma boxer shorts in my jeans on the floor…yup am commando here. I shake ma heed & laugh to masell. Now you need to remember I’ve been in this changing room a good wee while now & my helpful assistant decides to check up on me “How yeh getting oan?” & he pulls back the curtain. There’s me bent over with the shop jeans at my ankles “OH sorry” & off he goes. He must’ve thought it was his birthday or thought commando boy better buy them jeans.
Needless to say I got the jeans & with 10 percent off the sale price thanks to my new pal. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.
After that episode I must have met that guy everywhere, total nightmare.
Yer patters like watter !
So I’m about to get off the bus, I’m excited because these passengers are about to witness my comedy genius, my Glaswegian wit, the power of wee Marty to turn yer average bus journey into a stage of shear hilarity. What am I about to do?...I’m about to hit them with some Patter.
You can’t beat Glasgow patter its magic & you hear it everywhere pubs, the street, funerals, trains, buses. Sometimes if you’re lucky it’s on the telly.
I can’t remember all the times I’ve witnessed genius patter but here are some memorable ones some classics.
I am walking down a street in Renfrew where there is a whole street renovation happening workies everywhere, cones, barricades, JCBs general chaos. At this time there’s a local general election & here is this cheap suit sickening politician posing for a camera grabbing folk in the street while some young lassie scribbles down his bull shit promises to hopeful voters. As I walk towards him I’m dreading he might grab me & I’m now doing my best to look invisible. Luckily as I get near two workies in full hard hat, high viz vests, rigger boots and bright orange boilers suits walk out the shop. The workies are carrying the essential working lunch…grease soaked poke (paper bag with heated dead cow in pastry), the Sun or the Star, Bottle of Irn bru & ten packets of crisps…..each!! Before they know it they’re approached by MP Hope tae be. “Afternoon lads I see you’re off for lunch I won’t keep you. So what is it you do yourselves exactly?” & here it comes…One of the workies screws up his face looks at his co-worker pal, looks at me, looks himself up and down & says “We’re a couple ‘o’ Serial killers mate in fact we were jist in there mate stabbin boaxes ah corn flakes” the two workies are now in stitches of laughter & so am I. They walk over to the worksite saying to the now red-faced MP who’s trying to laugh off his daft so obvious it could slap you in the face question “here pal ad find a new day job but were no gein up oors” and shouts to one of his workmates driving a digger “here you…your getting stabbed”. Magic!
Another classic was the time I’m waiting for a bus and this wee wuman walks by. She has one of these shopping trolley bag things but hers is a bit posh. It’s got four wheels instead of 2 and is leather with a boxed frame. But the thing is, at first glace it looks like a boxed-in pram kinda like a pram with no opening for the baby. Now this just pops into mind as I glance then I dismiss it but not to the wee man standing outside the pub having a fag with his drinkin buddies “here missus your waine must be a right howler seen is ye huv tae hide it”. Folk are laughing & pointing but the wee wumin is not impressed she says nothing but her scowl says a thousand words.
But here’s me here’s my stop coming up. So up I get, I’m poised & ready, it’s my time to shine to put my mark on the Glasgow patter map. I walk to the front of the bus & there’s a wee man sitting with a new brush/mop pole with an Asda bag wrapped round it & as we approach the stop I hit out with it “here listen yeh better watch that pole mate” he looks up at me & screws up his face & says “how son” I say “coz it’s aff it’s heed” in my head there’s an applause that would make Billy Connelly proud but hey I get a few laughs. But in true Glasgow banter style he laughs & is right back with “here son av bought if fur the wife for mothers day ja think she’ll like it coz am thinking al know where she’ll stick it”.
Ahh the banter.
You can’t beat Glasgow patter its magic & you hear it everywhere pubs, the street, funerals, trains, buses. Sometimes if you’re lucky it’s on the telly.
I can’t remember all the times I’ve witnessed genius patter but here are some memorable ones some classics.
I am walking down a street in Renfrew where there is a whole street renovation happening workies everywhere, cones, barricades, JCBs general chaos. At this time there’s a local general election & here is this cheap suit sickening politician posing for a camera grabbing folk in the street while some young lassie scribbles down his bull shit promises to hopeful voters. As I walk towards him I’m dreading he might grab me & I’m now doing my best to look invisible. Luckily as I get near two workies in full hard hat, high viz vests, rigger boots and bright orange boilers suits walk out the shop. The workies are carrying the essential working lunch…grease soaked poke (paper bag with heated dead cow in pastry), the Sun or the Star, Bottle of Irn bru & ten packets of crisps…..each!! Before they know it they’re approached by MP Hope tae be. “Afternoon lads I see you’re off for lunch I won’t keep you. So what is it you do yourselves exactly?” & here it comes…One of the workies screws up his face looks at his co-worker pal, looks at me, looks himself up and down & says “We’re a couple ‘o’ Serial killers mate in fact we were jist in there mate stabbin boaxes ah corn flakes” the two workies are now in stitches of laughter & so am I. They walk over to the worksite saying to the now red-faced MP who’s trying to laugh off his daft so obvious it could slap you in the face question “here pal ad find a new day job but were no gein up oors” and shouts to one of his workmates driving a digger “here you…your getting stabbed”. Magic!
Another classic was the time I’m waiting for a bus and this wee wuman walks by. She has one of these shopping trolley bag things but hers is a bit posh. It’s got four wheels instead of 2 and is leather with a boxed frame. But the thing is, at first glace it looks like a boxed-in pram kinda like a pram with no opening for the baby. Now this just pops into mind as I glance then I dismiss it but not to the wee man standing outside the pub having a fag with his drinkin buddies “here missus your waine must be a right howler seen is ye huv tae hide it”. Folk are laughing & pointing but the wee wumin is not impressed she says nothing but her scowl says a thousand words.
But here’s me here’s my stop coming up. So up I get, I’m poised & ready, it’s my time to shine to put my mark on the Glasgow patter map. I walk to the front of the bus & there’s a wee man sitting with a new brush/mop pole with an Asda bag wrapped round it & as we approach the stop I hit out with it “here listen yeh better watch that pole mate” he looks up at me & screws up his face & says “how son” I say “coz it’s aff it’s heed” in my head there’s an applause that would make Billy Connelly proud but hey I get a few laughs. But in true Glasgow banter style he laughs & is right back with “here son av bought if fur the wife for mothers day ja think she’ll like it coz am thinking al know where she’ll stick it”.
Ahh the banter.
The World that is Glasgow
“oh it’s a small world intit” you here this a lot in the old Glasvegas because when compared to the rest of the world the valley that is Glasgow is not that big, it’s just the characters in it that make it feel like the big city.
So in Glasgow it’s no doubt you could bump into someone or link someone to someone you know. But sometimes it’s usually or mostly people you stumble across that if you met them again it would be too soon.
Take for instance the time I’m in my local video shop & this couple are in there too. The girl keeps smiling & trying to catch my eye & as we near the counter together she gives in & asks “are you Alistair” to which I say “no sorry” smile & turn away. But not giving in due to her certainty she says “sorry but I’m positive I know you how is it I know you?” she smiles. Well if she didn’t ask I could have spared her blushes, I said “my names Martin you know me from when you came into the store I manage. You tried to return a pair of shoes because they were the wrong size but I could not give you an exchange because you’d already worn them. You proceeded to call me an anal retentive arsehole, amongst other things, as well as calling a member of my staff a stuck up cow. Then I had to get security to remove you from the store”. Her face was a picture. I didn’t tell her in a gloating manner but as in ‘a matter of fact, as you do’ type of way. She was scarlet because when she made her big “how do I know you” introduction the whole video store was in on the conversation. This girl & her boyfriend just stood there the tense silence was deafening but he couldn’t hack it he put the video down (yes video not DVD) turned & walked out the store shaking his head. I guess this happens a lot. My new affronted friend chases after her matching scarlet boyfriend shouting “where are you going, just leave me why don’t yeh!!”. Never seen them again, I wonder how they’re getting on.
I wouldn’t say Glasgows got bigger but as opposed to the early 90’s there’s a lot more pubs and clubs.
In the early 90’s there were only a handful of half decent places to go on a night out so most likely you were always going to share some uncomfortable time with an ex or that annoying person who wanted to be your pal. We didn’t have stalkers back then they weren’t invented yet.
There was always Eastenders moments in pubs & clubs back then because of these unavoidable meetings. Unless you decided to start drinking in ‘old man’ pubs or go to one of the more dodgy clubs, it was through to Edinburgh with a backpack for a night out.
I always remember sitting having my lunch in the staff room of a shop I worked in & one of the girls I worked with brought out pictures of her birthday from the previous week. So we’re passing these pictures round when one of the other girls I worked with stands up holding a picture, hand to mouth she bursts into floods of tears drops the picture & storms out the staffroom. We later found out that in the photo’s background (in Darcy’s) there pictured was her Fiancé & his ex girlfriend having a snog. Rule 1 broken right there, don’t shit on your own doorstep. But back then it was hard not to. I mean what was the guy meant to do take this girl for a pint at the horseshoe? Please ladies, I joke here.
Ive been told by Glaswegian friends who don't live in Glasgow anymore that "when you come back there's wee changes here and there but the folk are just the same". I know what they mean but I'm changing & getting older or I certainly feel it when you go to an old haunt like say 'The Rock Garden' or whatever it's called now & they're playing rock music by christ....where's Tosh spinning the old Jaydee "Plastic Dreams" & Joey Beltram "Energy Flash".
So I bet your hoping that I tell you some of my soap opera moments from the pub/club or should I say ‘Subclub’ days?? Well that’s rule 2, “no dirty laundry in public!!” ya nosey swines.
So in Glasgow it’s no doubt you could bump into someone or link someone to someone you know. But sometimes it’s usually or mostly people you stumble across that if you met them again it would be too soon.
Take for instance the time I’m in my local video shop & this couple are in there too. The girl keeps smiling & trying to catch my eye & as we near the counter together she gives in & asks “are you Alistair” to which I say “no sorry” smile & turn away. But not giving in due to her certainty she says “sorry but I’m positive I know you how is it I know you?” she smiles. Well if she didn’t ask I could have spared her blushes, I said “my names Martin you know me from when you came into the store I manage. You tried to return a pair of shoes because they were the wrong size but I could not give you an exchange because you’d already worn them. You proceeded to call me an anal retentive arsehole, amongst other things, as well as calling a member of my staff a stuck up cow. Then I had to get security to remove you from the store”. Her face was a picture. I didn’t tell her in a gloating manner but as in ‘a matter of fact, as you do’ type of way. She was scarlet because when she made her big “how do I know you” introduction the whole video store was in on the conversation. This girl & her boyfriend just stood there the tense silence was deafening but he couldn’t hack it he put the video down (yes video not DVD) turned & walked out the store shaking his head. I guess this happens a lot. My new affronted friend chases after her matching scarlet boyfriend shouting “where are you going, just leave me why don’t yeh!!”. Never seen them again, I wonder how they’re getting on.
I wouldn’t say Glasgows got bigger but as opposed to the early 90’s there’s a lot more pubs and clubs.
In the early 90’s there were only a handful of half decent places to go on a night out so most likely you were always going to share some uncomfortable time with an ex or that annoying person who wanted to be your pal. We didn’t have stalkers back then they weren’t invented yet.
There was always Eastenders moments in pubs & clubs back then because of these unavoidable meetings. Unless you decided to start drinking in ‘old man’ pubs or go to one of the more dodgy clubs, it was through to Edinburgh with a backpack for a night out.
I always remember sitting having my lunch in the staff room of a shop I worked in & one of the girls I worked with brought out pictures of her birthday from the previous week. So we’re passing these pictures round when one of the other girls I worked with stands up holding a picture, hand to mouth she bursts into floods of tears drops the picture & storms out the staffroom. We later found out that in the photo’s background (in Darcy’s) there pictured was her Fiancé & his ex girlfriend having a snog. Rule 1 broken right there, don’t shit on your own doorstep. But back then it was hard not to. I mean what was the guy meant to do take this girl for a pint at the horseshoe? Please ladies, I joke here.
Ive been told by Glaswegian friends who don't live in Glasgow anymore that "when you come back there's wee changes here and there but the folk are just the same". I know what they mean but I'm changing & getting older or I certainly feel it when you go to an old haunt like say 'The Rock Garden' or whatever it's called now & they're playing rock music by christ....where's Tosh spinning the old Jaydee "Plastic Dreams" & Joey Beltram "Energy Flash".
So I bet your hoping that I tell you some of my soap opera moments from the pub/club or should I say ‘Subclub’ days?? Well that’s rule 2, “no dirty laundry in public!!” ya nosey swines.
Monday 29 March 2010
Superman & the Bigoted Parrot
So on the many jobs on my CV,at this time I'm a landscape gardener self employed working with my other namesake & co worker Martin Letham. So why spiderman & parrots? Well on this particular day Martin & I are working on a driveway & patio for Mark Millar. Mark came out to ask us if we wanted a coffee interrupting a slagging match between me & Martin due to the forth coming old firm game. This was the first time I had met our client Mark & after we had sorted out sugars & milk Mark & I realized we'd knew each other from our clubbing days & we shared some memories of pubs, clubs & frolics.
The conversation then moved to Marks career. Mark was now writing for marvel comics & from what I got he was very successful being drafted in to save failing storylines. I actually found out later he was being very modest & he was now being hailed as he new Stan Lee.
Between typical Glasgow humour & tribal separation we'd managed to figure out whether Mark was a Tim or not & lucky for me Mark was Celtic daft so it was two too one Martin being the lone Ranger.
It was during this extended coffee break that things got bizarre.
Let me set the scene. It's a scorcher of a spring morning. Mark, Martin & I are standing in Mark's now renovated front garden that Martin & myself had transformed setting the world to rights in the suburban south side of Glasgow with a 'Friday post old firm battle buzz feeling'. With scene set Marks is telling us about how he is writing Superman & is portraying the 'baddy' as a Rangers fan, which is not something someone tells you they're doing to earn a crust that often. At this moment not to sound cliché with the superman convo I look to the sky behind Martin & Mark & see a huge red winged creature flying slowly towards us & I do the finger point & say “what the fu..” Before they could turn round to see what I'm pointing at there lands on Martin's shoulder this massive red parrot.
Martin is now looking like a very uncomfortable pirate with a stiff neck franticly asking “wit is it, wit is it ?” with wide eyes trying to look through his ear. Mark & I are in stitches of laughter tears streaming down our faces in chorus shouting “it's a parrot, a red fuckin Parrot mate”. After getting over the shock Martin slowly nervously heads into Marks house & with the yellow pages to hand the RSPB are on there way. During this time a massive lorry turns up & can't get past our trailer on the narrow road & rather than ask me the driver proceeds to "fucking" tell me to “move my fuckin trailer” to which I loose the plot & shout “here ya fanny wait the fuck up we cannae move it right away my mates in there way a parrot oan his shooder & he's the driver”. Martin managed to get the parrot off his shoulder & perched on a chair. Martin moves the trailer to the bemused arsehole of a drivers delight to get away from this mental situation.
After an hour the RSPB turn up tell us that the parrot is an African something or other & they'd check their records to see if anyone had lost one & off they went with the parrot. The joke now was why did it goto Martin to which we could only fathom that our African winged friend was a hun.
A few days later the parrot was returned to his owners who had lost their Parrot 2 days previous & were ecstatic to find their feathered friend which by the way turns out to be a massive Celtic fan. This parrot could sing “Hail Hail” & can whistle "you'll never walk alone" so our hun theory was well out the window.
Martin ended up in the local paper pictured with his new Celtic friend & happy owners but was asked by Mark not to mention him as this was his third move into his new house due to problems with freaky weird comic book fans/stalkers. Mark is now massively respected in the comic book world & also went on to write films such as “Wanted” & “Kickass”. Martin went back to the more lucrative world of electronics.
Oh & by the way Rangers won one nil too Martins delight.......bloody parrot.
The conversation then moved to Marks career. Mark was now writing for marvel comics & from what I got he was very successful being drafted in to save failing storylines. I actually found out later he was being very modest & he was now being hailed as he new Stan Lee.
Between typical Glasgow humour & tribal separation we'd managed to figure out whether Mark was a Tim or not & lucky for me Mark was Celtic daft so it was two too one Martin being the lone Ranger.
It was during this extended coffee break that things got bizarre.
Let me set the scene. It's a scorcher of a spring morning. Mark, Martin & I are standing in Mark's now renovated front garden that Martin & myself had transformed setting the world to rights in the suburban south side of Glasgow with a 'Friday post old firm battle buzz feeling'. With scene set Marks is telling us about how he is writing Superman & is portraying the 'baddy' as a Rangers fan, which is not something someone tells you they're doing to earn a crust that often. At this moment not to sound cliché with the superman convo I look to the sky behind Martin & Mark & see a huge red winged creature flying slowly towards us & I do the finger point & say “what the fu..” Before they could turn round to see what I'm pointing at there lands on Martin's shoulder this massive red parrot.
Martin is now looking like a very uncomfortable pirate with a stiff neck franticly asking “wit is it, wit is it ?” with wide eyes trying to look through his ear. Mark & I are in stitches of laughter tears streaming down our faces in chorus shouting “it's a parrot, a red fuckin Parrot mate”. After getting over the shock Martin slowly nervously heads into Marks house & with the yellow pages to hand the RSPB are on there way. During this time a massive lorry turns up & can't get past our trailer on the narrow road & rather than ask me the driver proceeds to "fucking" tell me to “move my fuckin trailer” to which I loose the plot & shout “here ya fanny wait the fuck up we cannae move it right away my mates in there way a parrot oan his shooder & he's the driver”. Martin managed to get the parrot off his shoulder & perched on a chair. Martin moves the trailer to the bemused arsehole of a drivers delight to get away from this mental situation.
After an hour the RSPB turn up tell us that the parrot is an African something or other & they'd check their records to see if anyone had lost one & off they went with the parrot. The joke now was why did it goto Martin to which we could only fathom that our African winged friend was a hun.
A few days later the parrot was returned to his owners who had lost their Parrot 2 days previous & were ecstatic to find their feathered friend which by the way turns out to be a massive Celtic fan. This parrot could sing “Hail Hail” & can whistle "you'll never walk alone" so our hun theory was well out the window.
Martin ended up in the local paper pictured with his new Celtic friend & happy owners but was asked by Mark not to mention him as this was his third move into his new house due to problems with freaky weird comic book fans/stalkers. Mark is now massively respected in the comic book world & also went on to write films such as “Wanted” & “Kickass”. Martin went back to the more lucrative world of electronics.
Oh & by the way Rangers won one nil too Martins delight.......bloody parrot.
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