THE DAILY ARSE 30th April Death of a Freezer

Isabelle cooked up a variety of meals based on the recently defrosted contents of the freezer. First an entree of Salmon Slop with garden peas followed by Nut Roast Hardbake then liquid ice cream to finish. This culnery extravaganza was due to the untimely death by stabbing of the Zanussi in a bizarre twist of fate....
I am scheduled for a long weekend away with the Failing Eyesight Motor Cycle Club. We're going up north staying at The Bogall Inn near the Firth of Fifth then The Crappington Hotel at Fort Intoxication.
In an attempt to reaquaint myself with the controls of the Suzuki I pulled the tarpaulin off the machine. This revealed spiders webs and a battery critically depleted in electrolyte. Since the garage would be shut at that hour I had the bright idea that the freezer (not having been defrosted in living memory) would provide any amount of de-ionised water in the form of frozen condensate. It was a rare spring evening and I was keen to be off down the road. (Admittedly it's one of those things you're never meant to do), but once I was chipping away at the ice with a carving knife I have to confess I got a bit carried away.
The de-icing process halted abruptly with the sound of escaping refrigerant gas ( What's that hissing noise?). I switched the freezer off at the wall and quietly closed the door on the escaping Freon 12 (sorry about the ozone layer, kids)......

THE DAILY ARSE 29th April Paint The Town....Magnolia?

The 10 litre bucket of Wickes Trade Magnolia emulsion was balanced on the edge of the trailer. It was almost inevitable when it slipped off and hit the tarmac of the car park with a dull thud. The impact split the plastic and almost immediately a small lake of paint formed, about the size and shape of one of those annoying mini-roundabouts. "We can't just leave it" I blurted out. "Look, just go, and I'll catch you up in Currys".
Well they wouldn't have to call in CSI Miami to trace the magnolia tyre tracks round to the other car park. So I set to work determined to make a workman like job of shovelling up the paint into the trailer. The whole process took place under the curious gaze of other Wickes customers. After all its not everyday you see somebody shovelling paint in a car park. Then the remainder had to be sponged up with the large green deep pile carpet that just happened to be in the trailer...What a waste.
It makes you wonder what painting the town magnolia instead of red would be? It's like this morning Isabelle remarked that Jimmy (the ginger cat) was starting to look middle aged. And I said that was because he's got a pipe & slippers and started listening to Perry Como records?
Still it's better than painting the town grey, "nah.. I don't think I'll bother, I just couldn't be arsed, not tonight mate, cheers."...

THE DAILY ARSE 28th April A Silicon Rubber Day

Colin Halfway is giving me a stack of money to clamber about on the roof at 5 High Street armed with silicon rubber, in an attempt to stop the leaks above his flat and the other neighbour's, ... So anyway, first off, I went for a piece of glass. The woman at the glaziers was belligerent : I said
"Can you cut me a piece of glass ?"
" It depends on how big it is.."
"?"
Then she had it out with the piece of glass when (despite going through all the correct motions) it didn't break in all the right places.
"That's alright" i said " I've got some pliers". I shouldn't have said that...
Because of course when I'd finally arrived back at the skylight, and got the pliers out, the glass snapped in half. Well I couldn't go back and face that woman again, so I just had to use more silicon rubber....

At this height, passers-by in the High Street look not so much like the size of ants but sheep. Wandering from the pub over the road to the betting shop directly below me, then back again, pausing for a fag by the newly installed mandatory ashtray cum litter bin.
I'm dropping occasional bits of dried moss from the gutters, that's OK, but I keep a tight grip on the trowel.
I can see it falling for about 2 seconds then embedding in a balding pate or worse; glancing off some child in a pram. Imagine.... just watching reality unfold.... Then what ? press pause then re-wind ? Hide on the other side of the roof and pretend it never happened ?... Now my hands are all covered with silicon rubber,
I can see myself spinning and dropping, from the edge of the roof still stuck to the mastic gun...
The weird thing is that no one ever looks up... they never do...

THE DAILY ARSE 27th April 185D Flat Race (The Letting Novices Hurdle)

Older Woman (550-1) with £2.50 in the bank made all the running in some style and none the worse for that was still at the head of affairs turning into the straight. But the gutsy mare was set to have her powers tested further. Teenage Couple owned and managed by both parents appeared to be her biggest danger on the home turn but those exertions told and they ultimately faded in the final strides and she was collared for second close home by an enterprisingly ridden Single Mum (100-1 outsider). The Jonjo O'Neill- trained thoroughbred dashed into a clear lead as they entered the final furlong and kept up the gallop to the line to score by half a head from Teenage Couple (7-4 favourite), with Older Woman seven lengths further away in third. The victory left Older Woman and Teenage Couple's owners reflecting on what might have been as the 19-year-old fell six out when clear and still travelling strongly in the John Smith's Grand National at Aintree earlier this month.
Bookmakers are at odds over Older Woman's prospects for next season, with Ladbrokes offering 700-1 and Boylesports just 4850-1 about her prospects for the World Hurdle.

THE DAILY ARSE 26th April Valley of The Dead People - All Inclusive 7 nights

What have I learnt today? That Isabelle has booked a holiday "very cheap" in Egypt.
I said "Well if you'd waited another day it would have been even cheaper after that terrorist bomb."
"What bomb?"
"What bomb ! the one that injured one Briton and killed 27 non entities"
"Where?"
"Somewhere by the Red Sea"
"We're going to Luxor..."

"Well they could just as easily blow themselves up next to the Nile as the Red Sea...."

THE DAILY ARSE 25th April Terrierist Incident

Tuesday got off to rather a violent start when the medium sized dog at Yew tree Cottage mistook me for the postman, or whatever unfortunate creature its ancestors had been bred to kill. Although apparently on a tether there was still sufficient length for the much vexed terrier to shoot out of the back door and mount its ambush. The closing of the garden gate had obviously displaced the hair trigger in its head with the alarm "INTRUDER ! INTRUDER !" I had my hands full at the time with 25kg of assorted tools , and I'm afraid , although taken unawares, dismissed the attack a little to offhandedly. The dog continued to worry my ankles, jump up at me snapping, before finally sinking its teeth into my left calf. I was forced to conclude that its bite was indeed worse than its bark. Mrs Mackneesup apologised after giving the animal a sound thrashing and said " Did he bite your flesh ?" I pulled up one trouser leg....
"It's ok, really, my Tetanus is up to date, but I can see why he was an abandoned dog".
" Yes he is a little unpredictable"
" Yes ? it's lucky I'm not still at primary school... "
"Well that's why we wanted you to do the work this week while we're off.... because I don't think he would have let you in the house otherwise....."

THE DAILY ARSE 24th April End/Beginning

Today marks the final end game of pink stick- on patches. Bumwise everything should be a brand spanking new beginning... And it's a landmark day at 5c High Street. The last afternoon of frustration with small electrical fittings, the last sprawling around in plasterboard dust, the last futile session of self-talk " Not much to do now etc.." To mark the occasion we had an argument about boot prints on the new bathroom vinyl. Then I ate a fish supper. That's as far as the celebrations went, its only taken 14 months on and off, more off than on Isabelle tells me. After carrying all the tools out to the car in the rain, it was dark. Then I was ready to fall asleep at the wheel. Just the new fridge-freezer to manhandle up the stairs tomorrow night (Yawn)... Then its a new beginning for our tenant: a very recently separated mother of two, judging by the plastercast on her right forearm...

THE DAILY ARSE 23rd April Dude, Where's My Psyche ?

Recently Isabelle has renounced Indian food and recommenced "her diet". I told her "You can't just live on steamed cauliflower for the rest of your life, anymore than than it's possible to live on Lamb Tikka Masala". After a few days packing a lunch of fresh green beans and a hard boiled egg she may reward herself with a simple apple strudel, ice cream and cream. Isabelles psyche is a very different country. A land of extremes where the Polar Bear lies down with the Camel, the Penguin shares an ice flow with an Iguana and the Giraffe browses with the Reindeer. Interesting.
In comparison I see myself as an endless grassy plain of meagre grazing under a big sky.
Snowflakes start to fall..... but... I see.... in the distance some animals....they're ...wait a minute.....I think they must be....yes... small wild horses..
I must be in...... Outer Mongolia.
Welcome thank you in my country.... please ?

THE DAILY ARSE 22nd April Desperate People

It was an early kick-off this morning and a desperate rush to make ready 185 D as a woman had agreed to rent the flat without even seeing the place. In fact she was due directly from Lancashire by mid morning, supposedly with deposit in hand. About 5 minutes before this appointed arrival time, when everything was set to create that favourable first impression, fate dealt an unexpected blow,,,.
Isabelle was witness to (an admittedly apologetic) young man having an out of stomach experience in the pend between our front door and Domino's. The result of the night's undoubted excess bore (coincidentally) remarkable resemblance to pizza topping in general but more specifically The Crustless Hawaiian. Three different sizes of these now marked the young mans transit through the pend: 15" , 12", and 9"...
This inopportune expulsion required immediate action. Luckily a pair of hastily improvised cardboard trowels did the job. Enabling me to fill a discarded pizza box with the tomato and pineapple regurgitant. Then it was simply a question of getting down and mopping up with water and paper towels.
The prospective tennant arrived non the wiser to the recent upheavals. However her recent bank statement (as requested) showed only a balance of £2.50. This cast a certain amount of doubt on her ability to make the withdrawl necessary to secure the flat .....

THE DAILY ARSE 21st April Mrs Mental

I nearly bumped into Mrs Mental coming down from the High Street this afternoon. In fact I nearly didn't recognise her, she seemed to have had a complete makeover. Gone was the grey two piece suit and in was a younger denimed look with some kind of permanent wave. But the eye was irrevocably drawn to the large cruxifix swinging from her neck. Perhaps just a rather chunky accessory piece or maybe an unequivocal public statement of The Christian Faith. If the latter, Mrs Mental must have jettisoned all her other faiths and undergone something more than just a radical transformation of style. Such a panoply of superstitions could not be accomodated in the new theology and she would certainly have had to be born again.
Luckily I managed to pass-by unrecognised from my previous dealings with Mrs Mental and her reccurent gas boiler problems... It was at that time when first reviewing the errant boiler flue that she gave me chapter and verse on the reasons for the continued, if spasmodic, malfunction. Clearly there was a Black Ley Line running straight through her flat. This was the root cause not only of the boiler trouble but also the demise of the late Mr M, apparently through carbon monoxide poisoning. Another perhaps even more insidious spin-off from this malevolent contour was the residency of a local Paedophile in the flat below. Mrs M then drew my attention to the guardianship of several bucket sized quartz crystals arranged strategically around the living room.
She assured me that things were now looking up in her life. Obviously Mr M had passed over, but the sex offender had been taken away and now I had been drawn to her to fix the terrible screeching noise from the boiler associated with periods of high wind. "It's driving me crazy, I think I'm going to have to sell the flat". Despite Mrs M's confidence about the neutralising of any evil influence through the medium of crystal healing, I unusually opted for the security of a rope when finally venturing out of the attic skylight....

THE DAILY ARSE 20th April Beauty and the Tradesman (modified)

Talking of possible breaches of trust ; there was a time a couple of years ago, out in the wilds of Highland Perthshire when I'd been contracted to line a chimney. The tennant of the unmodernised house proved to be a single mum, blonde, with pale blue eyes and not much conversation. She would generally be considered to be "not unattractive"...
The work consisted of standing around on scaffolding in the December wind, trying to work out what would be a reasonable enough time to wait until I could have another cup of tea. During an 11 am trip to the kitchen, whilst waiting for the kettle, the living room door opened and The Woman walked in barefoot wearing only her knickers and a tee-shirt... That was strange enough, given the very low ambient temperature, but not as strange as her complete lack of surprise or embarassment finding me there fumbling around with the tea bags. I thought "Is she just absentminded or just very relaxed about.... things....." The overwhelming feeling was one of fear, mainly because conversation to date had never, as it were, strayed from the awkward exchanging of pleasantries and general queries about the progression of the job. What I wanted to say was "HELP! beam me up Scottie...NOW.."

THE DAILY ARSE 19th April Now that ain't workin'

Clocked in at the surgery 9.15 am. Nurse Grey no.1 has given me till the weekend to continue going about with the patent pink sticky thing on my bum. Then that's it, the end of the road , and it's been a long road , 6 weeks in fact. Then it was straight round to our friend Mr McD to finally fix his wife's choice of "victorian" tiles around the newly widened fireplace. As I alighted from the Daihatsu I found myself assailed by live music. Strains of someone strumming an amplified guitar issuing from the living room at no. 59, I'm surprised he could hear the doorbell. "Music eh?" I quipped when the front door finally swung open, "Yes, just playing my guitar he replied". "We've made it easy for you" he said indicating the many tiles arrayed on the new beige carpet. " Yes ?" I said, " well we're going to have to cut these two and lose those two little ones, and make these the same width and bring that level to here.... " I could see the time involved expanding like the known universe.. " I'll leave you to it then" he gestured before driving off in the audi, I think he's a mouse- clicker, or operates a telephone by day. Anyway once he was safely away and I'd mixed up some tile cement, and run out an extension cable for the tile cutter, I switched on the Vox Valvetronic, plugged in the genuine fender strat took note of the positioning of effects and volume knobs, then selected delay with reverb to see if the windows were capable of rattlling.......
It only occured to me later that it wasn't entirely clear at the time whether or not Mrs McD was still on night shift this week...But anyway what possesses a man in late middle age to buy an electric guitar ?
Now that ain’t workin’ that’s the way you do it
You play the guitar on the mtv
That ain’t workin’ that’s the way you do it
Money for nothin’ and your chicks for free
Money for nothin’ and chicks for free....
Isabelle says "this is so unprofessional, I'd never have you do anything in my house" ...theres a lot of thin ice around here..a breach of the trust bestowed on the tradesman.. but then what about writing something about a real client, isn't that worse?
OK OK what really happened is this cigar shaped object landed and some little green men came out and etc etc.. Its the same old thing re the guitar, permission was never granted, like when the organs are taken without the say so of the next of kin, yes but he was dead anyway....."THAT"S NOT THE POINT!"
In reality I made everything up, I never even had an abscess on my arse..... Oh Alright the truth is I never turned the volume up that loud.. ok? and it was only a few minutes and the tiles were stuck on ok and everyones happy.... yeah......I don't think I'm a bad person do you?...... By the way I did play the drums in someone elses living room, that was The Best...

THE DAILY ARSE 18th April All About Nothing

There ! something happened today ! just now. My Senility Index ( see previous) just rose abruptly. That's because i just managed to delete everything I've just spent ages trying to write. I had said that O'Malley said I'm going to end up with nothing to say because I'm going to "run out of life experience" (what he actually means by that is baring my arse at the doctors). Now I'm actually "live streaming" senility, so that's life experience as it happens. Did anything else actually happen today? I lived. I breathed. I left the back door of the Daihatsu open which swung out during a turning manouvre, that gave me an SI of 3.9.
The door got jammed against the trailer, I thought, this has happened before, so now for a change, I'll just reverse the process. This caused the edge of the door to be irretrevably crushed, grossly affecting resale value. Not that anyone ( in their right mind ) would want to buy it. 188,000 miles without damage to the back door, then one careless moment....and... crunch. Still, if that's all you've got to worry about ?.. (Iran is stockpiling skiploads of Plutonium-239....as we speak. ). But what could be more boring than writing about what you're writng about?... Only writing about what you're writing about what you're writing about...
Tomorrow promises to be more eventful because I'm slated to reveal mon derriere at 9.15am.. but only if I haven't already dissapeared up it... writing about what you're writing about what you're wri.........

THE DAILY ARSE 17th April Whats your S.I. ?

SENILITY INDEX Worked examples 17th april.

1) In Topps tiles paying for laminate flooring edging strip (yawn) with a debit card. While the transaction is ongoing suddenly I feel a sense of a mild panic attack... Where is my debit card ?.... I take the other cards out, Empire movie club, Perth & Kinross leisure pass, MVC music video card, AK Bell library card...
Think!.. think back.. I'm sure I had it in Wickes 5 minutes ago.. is that were i've left it? How do I explain to the guy i haven't got my card ?........Now, If you'd like to enter your PIN number sir.....errrrm. Oh yes... Relief floods in with the realisation that the card is in the machine and I narrowly avoiding the embarassment of making a complete arse of myself

2) Driving around looking for a space in Dobbies garden centre car park which is near capacity on this bank holiday afternoon with nice cars and pensioners. I was overlooking the fact that the car is an additional 8 feet long due to the tralier being attached... ooh errr.....

3) "Are you using the oven ? "...
"What ?"..
"Well the ovens full on !"..
"Is it ? "
"has it been on all night !"
"No.......... just from when I got up this morning"

THE DAILY ARSE 16th April Easter Sunday

"Just keep going until you really really can't go on anymore" was Isabelle's advice today regarding my thoughts on a continuing career in chimney lining. Which could just as easily be my advice to Mother ( age 91) regarding life in a residential home. I had to call her anyway because it was Easter sunday. A normal telephone conversation follows a fairly set pattern of rising crescendo such as;
"Hallo how are you ?"...
"Hallo ?"...
" I Said, How Are You ?"....
" I can't hear you ..... it's a very bad line, isn't it ?"....
"CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW ?"....
" you're sounding awfully far away"....
"WELL I AM,..... about 300 miles.."
" oh... this is hopeless I'm going to have to put the phone down..... I still can't hear you.... "
Turns out there was even less conversation than normal today because my brother's mobile was switched off I think because of all the pacemakers in the home.
In reality easter sunday was remarkably like easter saturday and Good friday at 5 East High street. The main aggravation centred again on electrical fittings. Quality control must have gone awry in Szechwan province or wherever it is in the Peoples Republic they churn out all this stuff. The screw threads were outside the necessary tolerances.
I had to go over the road and have a large coffee, and try and think of something that isn't to do with flat renovation...

THE DAILY ARSE 15th April 2006 "Is it just a tidy-up sir" ?

Reveille was sharp at 0700 hours. We formed up a bulb planting detail, shouldered tools and marched out into the brisk morning. On the command "Hole" a depression was created for each naissant daffodil or whatever. Second on the duty rossiter after the bulbs, turned out to be; tidying up the cat mint. Mr Monster {Monsieur Le Monstre) ended up beneath the pile of cuttings searching for the ultimate high. Then just avoided being impaled with the garden fork. Next up; (because I'm starting to look a bit more mad than usual), cutting back what remains of my hair with the kitchen scissors... A few tufts of what looks to me like mouse fluff fall to the tarmac drive then quickly blow away in the light breeze. At this stage pruning is unlikely to encourage any new growth. Yet there was a time, (about 1972) when having a haircut was so dramatic it felt like being scalped. When the softly coughing, now long deceased barber with the nicotine breath, swept up enough hair off the lino to fill a large sack. But the early seventies were tough on barbershops, when the only customers they could get through the doors were old men and boys. That is boys with older fashioned parents or just older parents...

THE DAILY ARSE 14th April 2006

MAKE MONEY WHILE YOU SLEEP

Cracking on at 5 high street, (yawn). I spent about an hour grovelling about on the floor looking for a screw that fell out of the switch for the shower. I could have sworn I heard it landing in the bath ? but then irritability crept in and I had to go and have a large coffee over the road and pause for reflection.
Life is so short (sigh), like a handful of sand running through the fingers.... I cheered myself up though by imagining how tedious it would be, at this rate, to live forever. Isabelle had a woman in to value the place this afternoon, who walked around giving a salutary nod to everything from Ikea. I stayed out of sight at the top of a pair of steps in the bathroom still fiddling about having bought 4 screws for £1 from the hardware shop. "Very nice, very nice, open plan blah de blah new kitchen etc" she cooed. Well they're going to have to rewrite the book on property renovation because it turns out the longer it takes to do up a flat the more money you make. Its gone up to the tune of £25,000 in the year I've spent faffing around with it. "Mmmm.. you've dressed the flat really well" she praised... "but to maximize the resale price my advice would be to put your husband into storage." Well if I'm not as fresh as all the new decor its because THIS PROPERTY HAS PUT YEARS ON ME !

THE DAILY ARSE 13th April 2006

A, B, C2.

Griff Gribbin here at No. 4 drives a new silver BMW. Whereas No.2 Costly Place drives a shiny Toyota Vol-au-Vent 1.6 i saloon with touring caravan in the drive. No 3, by way of contrast, drives a white short wheelbase Transit van....
Judging by the sheer quantity of outdoor gear in Griffs garage; skis, boots, sticks, sails, boards, power kiting harnesses, etc, one can speculate that although undoubtedly weatherbeaten, Griff is probably a pen pusher or mouse clicker or combination of the two. This will be the reason, despite middle age, why he is so evidently driven to "get it on" with the elements at the weekends. At No 2 they both wear fleeces and potter about, on the basis of skin ageing alone they must be retired. Lawncare seems to be the main occupation, that and extended caravan holidays, but not recently on the continent, (no GB sticker). It looks like No. 2's almost certainly a retired exponent of the noble art of Biromanship.
The evidence in No. 3's garage is all short ends of upvc pipe and other accoutrements of the plumbing trade. Costly Place may be unrepresentative, but this sociological anomaly may serve to illustrate the erosion of pay differentials of which the Professional class is much given to complain. ie "The hacksaw is mightier than the ballpoint."

THE DAILY ARSE 12th April 2006

MUSTARD ASS

Back at the surgery today for a prearranged arse showing. Nurse Grey seemed pleased with project abscess. She then digressed into a certain amount of technical detail about skin regeneration beyond the scope of this publication. The upshot of it all was the application of a yellowish ointment not unlike Colmans english mustard. Now, for the time being, my arse is pretty much in my own hands until next week. " Don't be alarmed by the yellow staining " she says......?


LAMINATE FLOORING

Chris Rea, Shania Twain, Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a few "best of" albums like REM, all very inoffensive, on the shelves. I'd been left alone at 4 Costly Crescent this morning to somehow cut a hole in the immaculate living room floor without totally ruining whatever hardwood composite its made of. Here Its all open plan, fine wines, defrosting salmon, ample supplies of fresh fruit, dietary supplements, a gallery of competitive yachting photographs, and little plastic things under all the furniture legs to protect the floor. Mr & Mrs Gribbins just back from safari in Kenya had, not surprisingly, been shocked by the levels of poverty. Talking of the Masai, Mr G said "they haven't even invented the wheel yet" , " maybe its because they don't have to drive to Tesco quite as much as we do " I volunteered. Maybe the wheel's about as much use to a nomadic cattle herder as an ocean going yacht, I don't know. Why oh why? if they could only get their act together out there on the plains of the Masai Mara then they could be in a position to lay laminate flooring of this quality too and in later middle age perhaps enjoy a once in a lifetime big game safari in ........

.

THE DAILY ARSE 11th April 2006

TOAST, BUTTER AND COFFEE INCLUDED £4.80

Regarding cooked breakfasts on board the MV Isle of Lewis. I'm convinced that the bulkier individual is possessed of a more complete digestion. The task of mincing up and breaking down any 6 items; black pudding, sausage, egg, tattie scones etc is performed quickly and without fuss forming layer upon handy layers of fat for the future. Hence the bulk. However the scrawny amongst us, of whom I count myself, are virtually self limiting. What with heartburn, indigestion, burping, farting, hiccuping and feeling stuffed. And If the waves get any higher I know I could be sick if I really put my mind to it .....



FALLS OF BRUAR

Had to pull in at the renowned retail outlet in highland perthshire on the way back. I found a way through the tweed clad crowds to the Gents, while Isabelle went off to "have a look around". Everything here according to the tourist board is 5 star including the prices and the plumbing, but I have to take issue re the siting of the urinal bowls. The truth is, vis a vis personal space, they're just that little bit too close. Consequently my field of awareness told me that the chap on my left appeared to be suffering from an embarrassing delay. This, for some reason, increased my own anxiety in that department and it began to feel as if I was in some kind of race. A subtle feedback loop of tension had been created. My neighbour eventually backed down from this mexican standoff pulling the lever to flush, really just as a face saving exercise. However his departure and the splashing of water meant that I emerged as a clear winner, and for my part, the time spent standing hadn't been wasted at all....

THE DAILY ARSE 10th April 2006

IT'S OFF FOR ST KILDA

We`are up and breakfasted by 5.3oam only to receive a phone call from our man in Leverburgh. The excursion has been dealt a fatal blow by the updating of the online forecast; veering SW rising to force 6 to 7. In days gone by we would have been simply "caught out in a storm" . Now what do we do with all the sandwiches ?
But what an adventure we could have had, perhaps marooned on the island in extreme weather with all the cheese ones eaten and only the egg left because not everyone likes egg. Worse than that it could have been just a tupperware bowl of salad with onions in it for that same reason, and no forks.
Following the cancellation an optimist would have been dissapointed possibly in tears, a pessimist smug and self satisfied, a cynic jumping for joy, but the neutralist, he accepts this bald statement of facts calmly and adjusts his plans in the light of new data.
I take my long johns off and go back to bed for another 4 hours....

THE DAILY ARSE 9th April 2006

NEWSFLASH; ITS ON FOR ST KILDA

According to the chappie with the boat, tomorrow is to be a northerly force 4 veering southwesterly by afternoon increasing to ...errrr...? I'm sure he knows what he's doing and doesn't feel under any pressure at all to pay off the £150,000 that the new boat cost, or to cover the cost of diesel for the 80 mile round trip or even the outrageous public liability insurance. No no no non of that will come into the equation when deciding whether or not to brave the full force of the atlantic swell which has nothing between here and the coast of Labrador to impede it.
Granted we awoke to a blanket of snow this morning which had miraculously all gone a short time later, a testament to the changeability of the weather here on Lewis. The final leg of the voyage, as far as i can make out, involves the party being disgorged into a rubber dinghy and shoved off in the general direction of the island.. as they say... it'll be a laugh. Despite any improvements in weather forecasting our host here, when questioned directly, expressed little enthusiasm for braving 80 miles of the
atlantic in a boat of such a size, . But I'm sure our man in Leverburgh knows what he's doing..... .

Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave.
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.

THE DAILY ARSE 8th April 2006

MEGAPISS

Today by dint of our mode of transport, ie bus, we are brought into contact with an increasingly unfamiliar socio-economic group. I refer, of course, to "young people". Each youthful traveller clutching the twin necessities of modern life; the mobile phone and the i pod. In the wider scheme this is merely a snapshot of modernity. A fleeting transition in the quickening endless race towards tomorrows latest hybrid, "Cool".
Gone are the days of the rattle of cassettes and the snapping shut of Sony Walkmans. That was long long ago back in tine nineteen- eighties or to all intents the eighteen-nineties such is the pace of technological change. However other aspects appear to be subject to a conspicuously slower rate of progress. Graphically borne out by the malfunction and consequent locking of the onboard toilet.
Just keep your legs crossed as far as Inverness and try not to be too anxious about the future.....

MEGAPISS PROLOGUE

Having disembarked at Inverness it became clear that the bus ticket was for Aberdeen. The ensuing but necessary debate with the Ullapool driver left little or no time for toileting. As luok would have it the connecting coach provided a servicable lavatory. However as the bus negotiated its way out of the terminus and into the traffic there was considerable anxiety about maintaining an upright position etc The natural process was made all the more frustrating when the lights went out as a result of the door swinging open. This also provided an amusing revelation for seats 14 to 21.

THE CALEDONIAN MACBRAYNE ISLE OF LEWIS EXPERIENCE

An hour into the crossing of The Minch and for many increasingly pale faced children the experience is something akin to a ride on the waltzers that still has two hours to run. The hull creaks, the men walk with an inebriated stagger, the crockery smashes, the dogs bark, the waves bang ominously, the horizon performs a nauseating dissapearing then reappearing act, the sick bags are handed out, the child on the adjacent table has lost control of his "Cub Club" sausage and chips, and momentarily heads appear from under the cafeteria tables to gargle with bottled water.
"Good evening ladies and gentleman this is the last call for all main meals in the cafeteria....
Eeeeeeeeeyuuchh...

CONTINUATION

The toilets are not a place to linger. I pick my way through the sick and dying fanning themselves with sick bags, out, out into the fresh air on deck. A few hardy souls stand about in any available shelter from the salt spray trying to clear their heads. Suddenly a well built man in a jaunty short sleeved shirt appears clutching a rum and coke in one hand and a fag in the other. He is accompanied by a girlfriend with a sick bag. After sitting down abruptly he swiftly divested himself of the contents of his stomach, mainly over the deck and one leg of his jeans. " It's a lovely day for it" he announced gaily, trying vainly to remove the worst of the mess.

THE DAILY ARSE 7th April

As the swan flies (or doesn't) we are but a few miles from the epi-centre of the current ourbreak of paranoia. This morning I felt a sneeze coming on whilst climbing up the ladders at No. 59, I could be coming down with a touch of pandemic ?
You just don't know ?
Tomorrow we'll be getting well away from the affected zone. All aboard The Megabus ! because we're bound for Cali-for-ni-A, well ....actually, the famously remote island of St Kilda, now uninhabited, apart from hundreds of thousands of....errrr..... seabirds.



TRIP TO ST KILDA by Dai Version Anglo-irish welsh scotsman.

If ye want ma honest opinion we havenae got a snawballs chance in hell of bein landit on yon island by monday. Ye ken for why? cause thon puir suffering craiters that were a' liftit aff in the 30's, it was for the very reason that naebody could get landit mair then maybes twa days in a hale month!
And noo we're a' juist expectit tae hae were ain wee landing pairty an thats juist for the hell o it, no cause some desparate wumman's at the point o haein a bairn are naethin.

Glossary of Dai-speak

snawball snowball
ken know
landit landed
puir poor
craiter creature
aff off
mair more
hale whole
juist just
bairn child

THE DAILY ARSE 6th April

A dead swan has been found floating in the harbour at Anstruther..... now read on.....

In order to quell the rising panic surrounding the "deadly" H5N1 strain of avian flue
I suggested to Isabelle an immediate culling of both budgies this morning.
However this met with strong protest so I revised the proposal to euthanising all the resident poultry. To include "Hettie", "The Cream Puff", "Puff Minor", "The Evil Bitch", "Chicken Nugget", and "Mr Evil". A thorough going operation should be extended to include " Donnie the Darko pigeon" from the Matalan car park who should have been deceased anyway.
These birds are, by their nature, insanitary in their toileting habits and range a little too freely here, judged by 1st world standards.
Naturally there's a more costly solution involving lots of time, timber and chicken wire.
Unfortunately the fowl cannot be merely "brought indoors" as per any EU directive and expected to get along. This is due to long standing disputes, quarrels and bad blood all concerning "Mr Evil " and the pecking order. Only a policy of strict segregation can mitigate this problem and preserve both physical and mental health of all concerned .... but tonight it may be all too late as we face a global pandemic..... the worlds media are gathering and almost at the door of the hen house....

THE DAILY ARSE 5th April

Almost a worse case scenario here at No. 59; a woman from the nursing profession, off work with a cold, no apparent childcare duties and very fixed ideas about the patterning of fireplace tiles etc. It soon became clear that a worthwhile reduction in carbon emmisions or simple fuel efficiency were never factors affecting the decision to fit the new stovax brunel multifuel stove.
Instead the primary concern was and continues to be, of course, "how it's going to look, when its finished". The key phrase here is "when its finished" because its not often easy to tell how something's going to look until, well.. until it's finished? exactement, therein lies the rub. In common with many other couples who purchase a house the wife is invariably overcome by an immediate and overwhelming desire to remove the previous womans choice of hearth tiles. In the case in question, this was only to reveal yet another womans choice of tiles. A layer that could be dated fairly accurately by sheer hideousness to the mid 1950's. When women, by popular account, were very different creatures.....

THE DAILY ARSE 4th April

Today marked a solemn return to full time working despite a continued attendance at the surgery for a bum showing every other day. The lucky client Mr McD ( 50 and still groovy) is based in the very locale of the health centre rather than at the head of Glen Lyon. This bestowed an unexpected advantage on Mr McD re the endless queuing system for my services".
He greeted me warmly and straightaway posed a common enough customer question;
"will there be much dust ?" indicating the high standard of interior decor.
"Dust?... Well, not compared with the events that unfolded on august the 6th 1945 in Hiroshima, Japan" I replied.
Its important to maintain a strict code of professional attitude and distance, when dealing with the public. To that end the Kango Rotary Hammer and ear defenders take the place of the white coat and stethoscope as convenient props that help foster this illusion. Thus providing a handy automatic licence to create as much rubble in any situation as "necessary" . Suitably reassured, Mr McD left for work in his Audi, confident that during my workday with the demolition hammer here at 59 Craigellachie crescent I probably wouldn't be emerging through the living room wall into number 61......

THE DAILY ARSE 3rd April

Work continues "apace" at 5 c High street. Although this afternoon I felt quite close to putting a hammer through the new bathroom suite as another late afternoon misalignment frustration coincided with cafeine withdrawl. " Is that cafe still open? i managed to blurt out in a torpor from under the lavatory cistern". " "No but I've got some ginger beer " , "ARRRRRGHHHH".
Racing commentary filtering up ftom Scotscoop below served as just another irritation, a timely reminder that almost a year has passed since our brief flutter on the Grand National when we backed another loser ....
Way back then in the heady days of Ikea kitchen installation i deluded myself then as now that "its almost there, isn't it ?" or "there's not much to do now ..only... The Bathroom....." "ONLY THE BATHROOM ?"
If I'd known then what I still don't know now. Mind you there's not much to do at this stage "only" the lighting.
In a complete corruption of the words of the Late Professor Richard Feynmann:
" The joy of not finding things out"..........

THE DAILY ARSE 2nd April

"The degree of purpose engendered by the continuance of this daily diatribe has acted as a substantial bulwark against common or garden negativity, if not existential angst." i remarked casually to Alan Bullerton who was standing in the water at the bottom of the stairs of 185 south street. But his attention appeared to be otherwise focused on the removal of the communal letterbox which has long been an irritation and a security issue for most if not all tenants.
"My work here today concerns Las Cascadas Magicas" I continued, gesturing to the regular dripping from above, alan nodded. I must say I've been very appreciative of Alans talentsts of late, bringing a certain amount of pressure to bear on the more recalcitrant occupants to fit their own individual letterboxes.
This new era will successfully end that abominable practice of mail thievery. Suspicion had been laid at the door of the woman in flat F according to the woman in Flat H. Although judging by the evidence in the bin store below the stairs it could just as easily been any number of passing early morning vagrants ranging from IV users to anyone simply caught short and/or suffering from a sudden bout of nausea.....

THE DAILY ARSE 1st April

Things took rather a surreal turn at the surgery when Dr Sheldon ushered me into her offfice this morning. She began by explaining that things hadn't been healing up as well they might. At this point I interrupted: " Dr Sheldon, forgive me, but like Marlon Brando in The Godfather II I always insist on hearing bad news immediately". " Well, as you wish, I'm afraid we are going to have to put you on the list for a complete bottom transplant...." At this point the room began to spin ," may I take the weight off my legs for a moment Dr Sheldon ? "
"Of course"...
My first thought was how long would I be left sitting around waiting for another operation ?
"Am I to assume the necessary precondition that the donor has to be gender specific ?' "
Dr Sheldon glowered back across the table, "You know you could go privately, I believe these days there are quite a lot of eastern european boys willing to sell their ass on the internet'."
" I don't think i could ever see myself being in a position to go down that route" i reposted.
"Yes i thought as much, with that in mind I've made some enquiries at Ninewells and we may have already found a possible donor for you.. "
I felt a lump in my throat " oh...?"
"Yes a visiting Nigerian professor currently on life support, we're just waiting on a fax from Lagos detailing permission from the next of kin, a formality, you understand?" "Yes but would that really be a proper match for me? I mean, I don't want to be racist but....."
"Come come now, beggars can't be choosers in todays overstretched and underfunded NHS. Besides Britain today is a society composed of countless multiracial elements".
I reflected for a moment and realised that Dr Sneddon was right; "One World: One Arse".