The tattie bogles

She was mighty suspicious of mr. Football head.

Pet names I call my dog

Dizzy Rascal is her 'proper' name. But I also call her:
Moomin
Stinker
Pooper
Bogle
Sweetheart
Bubba
Missy moo moo

I also call my wife some of these names as well.

I hate umbrellas

The way was crowded with scurrying commuters, all dressed drably in
blacks and grays and reflected damply in the slick, wet pavement. It's
busy, you know, as only Edinburgh festival time can be. There's people
waiting for the bus (not causing no fuss) and they are all over the
path. Suddenly like splashes on a toilet seat when you walk into a
cubicle, really needing to go, and this is the only one free. You can
feel the clock ticking. Your train pulling out the station. You're
waiting patiently. Grinding your teeth. When here comes a splash of
colour. Jaunty greens and yellows. And just for a moment you believe
they are going to get out of the way. This garden furniture carrying
buffoon. Their huge canopy catching in the wind as they grip it's
handle with two hands ploughing onwards like captain oats towards the
south pole. And you stand defiant. Surely they'll realize. Put down
the bloody brolly. Step aside. But no. The spokes are suddenly in your
face. You've lost an eye. It's there on the floor, in the gutter, like
some kids marble. A scream bubbles from your incredulous lips. As the
umbrella wielding serial killer maniac inantvertantly takes the face
off the next victim.

Sent from my iPhone

Whoops I did it again

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think oh no what did I post
last night? What did I tweet? The dancing on the table with my
trousers round my ankles just suddenly went global. And no one, but no
one wants to see my fat gut wobbling in their face. All broken veins
and white spotty marbled skin.

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