wearealldoomed

I spend a fair bit of time in London, and note that the top and bottom of tube station escalators seem to be favoured venues for this w@nkish behaviour too.

This is the pettiest of petty nags, and I've no idea why it winds me up so much: People who read the Sunday broadsheets or parts thereof on trains long after Sunday has been and gone. On the Cathcart Circle, the Sunday Times' main paper, Ecosse and Review sections are particularly popular. When I'm in London, tube travellers are more likely to take one of the papers' magazines for some light reading, which I find much more acceptable. I think I'll take the review section of Sunday's Observer on the train next week, just to see if it feels as dickish as it looks.

Between than and only having the five fingers on each hand, it was a bridge too far.

C'nts closing threads whilst I'm in the process of typing an reply containing as many pejorative Ayrshire stereotypes as I could think of.

Franly, I'm amazed Dickson isn't claiming to have carried the wean for 9 months...

There were hundreds of aforementioned fuckwits though. When there's a sold out game on, I'll usually see similar numbers making a break for it with 5 minutes to go. I really don't understand why an element of the huunish support bother with the football.

Huuns. I was walking along Battlefield Road at around 25 to 9, with a steady stream of them heading along the same road, away from Hampden. I figured they must have been 3-0 down or something, but it transpires they're 2-0 up. What sort of fuckwit leaves a national semi final when it's 2-0 to their own team at half time?

Job interview tomorow. I qoute fancy the job, but really can't be arsed with interviews, or wearing a shirt and tie. I quite like wearing a suit with a casual shirt, but feel alien in shirts with the collar buttoned up. Still, if I nail the interview, it's potentially a few more quid and a better post.

This I can identify with. Early nights out with burds have always consisted of me suggesting a moderately priced meal then a trip to the cimema, as I try to hide the horrible truth that my ideal night is in fact dinner, two bottles of red wine then half a dozen pints of lager.

First trip to the gym in 2009 yesterday. I did a whole 2 miles on the bike then 2 miles on the treadmill, and my body is now a wreck. Muscles I didn't even know I had are aching today.

The cheese eating surrender monkeys seem to refer to a half litre as a "pinte" these days. A snip at €3.5-€4 during the happy hour. Still the lovely architecture, world class museums/galleries, fantastic food and stunning women (so I'm told - was there with the burd so was obviously not looking) more than make up for the lack of proper pints.

My neighbours are fond of similar behaviour, usually after OF or Champions League games. The last occasion featured an impressive range of rebel songs, couples tearing strips off each other and loud and repeated racial abuse. I've no idea who the latter was aimed at. Lovely folk.

c***s continuing to use the phrase "credit crunch", or indeed the new abbreviated "the crunch". The word you're looking for is "recession", you utter fuckwits. Ask yer dads. Even more annoying is the sudden blossoming of armchair financial experts in pubs and offices across the country. You clearly have no idea what you're talking about chaps, so please do the honourable thing and let me do my work or drink my pint in peace. On the upside, Woolies sold me a Jam CD for £1.50 last week. Every cloud and all that.

From the court pages of the Airdrie and Coatbridge Advertiser, it appears that a paper is the only thing that a junkie hasn't been convicted of stealing form the local Asda. The good people of Hamburg want to ensure that only the best quality porn is offered in their city. They don't wan't a five year old copy of Razzle from the Glenrothes branch of WH Smith ffs.

I popped into Somerfield a few months back for some for some lunch, sporting 3 days' growth and an old Parka. I was immediately accosted by a security guard who looked me up and down then in the most condescending manner intoned "Awright, mate?". My reply of "I'm not a fucking shoplifter, for fuck's sake!" wasn't one of my more dignified moments.

Glasgow Airport baggage handlers. I appreciate they're all out kicking Muslims whilst on unauthorised fag breaks, but 40 mins to retreive my luggage after a farily quiet internal flight seems a wee bit shite. Most folk only had hand luggage to boot. The sodding flight had already been delayed over an hour at Heathrow, so between that and returning to work tomorrow after an enjoyable week at the burd's, I'm not exactly full of the joys.

Some of my neighbours are utter c'nts. On Saturday night, I had the other door on my landing having a party. My idea of a party involves everyone eating, drinking and merriment. For the neighbours, it seems to involve fighting each other, rebel songs, banging dance tunes and much screaming and slamming of doors. Until 7am. Last night I had the fuckwit through the wall blasting tunes out until 3am or later, when I decided to move to the blissfully quirt living room, where there's a spare bed under the couch. Thank f'ck I'm away tomorrow. It'll hopefully be quieter once the festivities are done.

I thought that described using a cucumber retrieved from the waste bin of your local Tescos?

Just bought a couple of tickets for The Silencers at the ABC tomorrow. There's nowt like a bit of uplifting late 80s/early 90s Coatbridge indie to spark off the festivities. For younger readers or those not au fait with Coatbridge's musical heritage, a Silencers track is used on the title sequence to Sportscene.

I'm fairly open minded, but I can't see how the use of a shopping trolly would enhance carnal relations.

At the same time as I was patiently (OK, not so patiently then) waiting for two women to do this at the checkout on Saturday, a middle aged bloke behind me was doing his best to lodge his trolly in my arse cleft. Where exactly did he think I was going to go when two women with a trolly each were blocking the path in fromt of me, and my purchases were on the conveyor awaiting scanning?

The idea is the "drip drip" effect, I'm sure. Plenty of people outwith the USA protested again the Vietnam War, for example. The fact the events in question are taking place abroad is irrelevant. I'm guessing that the either outside the Greek Consulate, or was intended to head in that direction. As a means of protesting against their government, that's entirely appropriate, as far as I'm concerned. I suspect that the protest will have no effect on the Greek government, just as my SNP vote in the Glasgow South constituency will have little effect on the destination of that seat. That's why I drew that comparison.

It'll acheive as mush as your Conservative vote in Fife or my SNP vote in Glasgow. Both of which, by the way, will require a police prescence at the polls. Are you or I sad c***s for exercising our democratic right as well?

1) I have never lived in the town of Airdrie, something that colleagues over the last decade have had great difficulty in understanding. 2) My one and only apperance in the national media pictured me participating in football disorder, yet I have never ran with any group of football casuals. 3) I have never taken the recreational drug Ecstasy and never will. Don't know why, as I'll give anthing else a go. 4) My favourite album of the last few years is Frightened Rabbit's "The Midnight Organ Fight" 5) I have taken one competetive penalty in my life. I scored.

I now have an image of the housebound Glaswegian woman on "The Secret Millionaire" who had more facial hair than a member of ZZ Top and who's flat stunk of pish. Thanks.