The Misssy M Misssives

Shameless Self Congratulation

2012-02-12T15:01:00.000Z

Got some nice news last night. The video I shot and directed for The Lorelei won the Fudge for Best Video 2012 last night. I am very chuffed. The band also won Best Punk Band ( I know, me neither) so congratulations to them too.

Here's the video (and the punks) in question. Be lovely if you shared it, folks. Thanks!

Here's the video
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Worried Of Aberdeen

2012-02-08T12:35:00.005Z

"What me, worried?"* A bit, yes, if I'm honest.

I am worried about my city. And I am worried about my country because of what has happened in my city. Sometimes I think we in the Scotland get complacent because we expect democracy to work. And when it is being undermined we tend not to notice or we shrug and think it must be some kind of mistake. But as with most things the clues are in the little things.

In the last few years I have been watching as one of our city centre parks is being wrangled over. One camp wants to develop it, the other wants it to be left alone. I am in the latter camp. I think that a Victorian park with mature trees should at most need some cleaning up, some more lighting put in and the toilets restored and re-opened to revitalise a park that used to be able to host events before the council decided to neglect it. Others believe that the whole structure of the park should be changed at a cost over potentially over £100million. Each side is entitled to their view. That’s democracy.

Union Terrace Gardens as it is now.

Next month we get to vote on whether the proposed design for the park goes ahead. A referendum is being held. Yes or No. Simple as that. The problem is that the last time a consultation with the public was held on this issue, of those that voted 55% said no. But this result was then ignored and the plans kept going anyway. Hmmm, that’s not democracy.

So some designs were put forward and the public were asked which ones they preferred. That’s democracy.

But there was no option on the voting form that said something along the lines of “I don’t want any of these developments, I wan the park to remain as it is”. So as soon as you voted for any of the designs it meant you were putting your support to developing the park. Even if you went for any of the designs that you deemed “the least worst option”. Hmmm, that’s not really democracy.

Turns out the design most people wanted wasn't even chosen anyway. This one was.

The proposed design for new development.

Known as The Granite Web by Buro Happold.
(notice the cars going in the wrong direction...)

It gets even more interesting as of last week. One of the companies whose design was chosen as the winner of the design competition, Buro Happold, announce on their website their joy at being awarded the contract for the redevelopment of Union Terrace Gardens. Oh, hang on a minute. What about that referendum in March? Surely no-one will be awarded any contract until the voters have decided in that fair and transparent referendum? Hmmm, I’m getting a bad feeling about this so called democracy.

The announcement on Buro Happold's website last week.

Someone from Aberdeen City Council gets a call after someone on twitter points this out. And Buro Happold promptly takes the announcement down and someone probably gets a bollocking for letting the cat out of the bag. I’m still waiting on Chief Executive Valerie Watts reply to my email on why this happened. However the radio media are on it like wasps on a donut. Now a free press- that’s democracy!

The Aberdeen Journals, Press and Journal and Evening Express instead carry no mention of the gaffe at all in the next day’s editions deciding instead to focus solely on former Aberdeen resident of thirty years ago, football manager Alex Ferguson, who has on that day lent his support to the Yes Campaign. Free and fair press? Hmmm, you decide if that’s democracy, folks.

My last little paragraph concerns today’s little exercise in democracy or the lack of, and that is freedom of speech. Something I really happen to like. Fellow blogger, Fraser Denholm, who is far more eloquent on matters concerning the Union Terrace question than I, wakes up to discover his blog has been flagged as spam and that Google have temporarily taken in down whilst they investigate. As they must. This happens on the day that ACSEF, the body responsible for economic development in the City and Shire and huge campaigners for the Yes vote go on “a massive myth busting drive”. Their words. Stopping everyone having a chance to have their say on a subject? Democracy? Hmmm.

Google have since reinstated Fraser’s blog after deciding that it is not indeed spam and that someone was merely trying to make his life a little bit more difficult in the realm of opinion expression. Now, that’s democracy.

***

*Update 1: 09/02/2012: Press and Journal reports that the results of public consultation on the gardens designs will stay a secret. Click here to read the report.

*Update 2 09/02/12: Stars of the film One Day Removals Patrick Wight and Scott Ironside will be making a short film in support of the Save Union Terrace Gardens campaign in the gardens on 10th of February from 1pm. All welcome.

*Alfred E Neuman appears courtesy of Mad Magazine.

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You've Been Trumped Hits the US

2012-01-22T12:46:00.002Z

I am too busy to blog- that's evident, but last year when I wasn't so busy I wrote a review about a film that is very close to my heart and indeed my house. That film is You've Been Trumped which is directed by Montrose based filmmaker Anthony Baxter.

My sister Lindsay and I have been opposed to the Trump golf development at the Menie Sands (which are situated beside Balmedie in Aberdeenshire) from the day the proposals were first announced. We've argued with friends and family over it, we've got too angry and tied ourselves in knots trying to figure out why politicians and councillors we previously trusted have rolled over and allowed US based tycoon Donald Trump to build on and destroy a Site of Special Scientific Interest which should be protected by law. We've watched in disgust as local residents have been bullied when they refused to sell their family homes to allow Trump to realise his plans for a huge golf and hotel resort, which hardly anyone in the local area will even be able to get membership for. We scoured the local papers for any reports on the disgraceful acts that Trumps security firms were committing for example detaining a female horse rider by force for merely riding her horse along the beach which bordered the Trump owned land. It almost seemed that even the local press were in Trump's power too, as coverage of these events was either non-existent, biased or scant at best.

Whilst all this was going on Anthony Baxter was filming the whole thing. His film is fantastic but did nothing to stop Lindsay and I being utterly despairing about the situation over at Menie Sands. We thought that we were living in a democracy. It turns out that there were things in that film we didn't know had happened that made us even more angry. As we sat at teh premiere of the film we were angry but at the same time we were also proud of the Menie residents who are still standing up to Donald Trump and delighted that Baxter had documented it all for the truth to finally be known. Not one review of the film appeared in the local press. Only one journalist from local radio station Northsound was present at the premiere. No BBC Scotland, no STV, no Press and Journal; the film was being blackballed.

You can read my full review here.

I spoke briefly to Anthony Baxter at the premiere of the film which was also attended by the Menie residents. I asked him if he would come and speak to my students one day about making his film. I have kept in touch Ant via twitter, but I don't think he will be visiting Aberdeen College any time soon and this pleases me greatly. Why? Because You've Been Trumped has become a huge success. it has won awards all over the place, Michael Moore has championed it and audiences all over Canada and the US have been talking about the film and OUR STORY!

This week actress and broadcaster Rosie O'Donnell saw the film and was blown away. She invited Anthony onto her show "Rosie" which is watched by millions.

Here is his interview with Rosie O'Donnell. This is an important film. Please go and see it if you can. Trump hasn't beaten us yet.

Filmmaker

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Hack Yourself

2011-12-24T13:46:00.003Z

Photo courtesy of Stuart Walker

The blogging and the writing has taken a back seat this year as I've gone back to doing the creative thing I started doing first, making videos.

It seems only fair to share it on the Misssives. I've made four music videos this year for The Lorelei to coincide with their album release. This is the biggest video to date with nearly 100 extras and seven wonderful crew members. I will blog about the filming day another time but for now, hot off the edit suite, here is the finished article.

Merry Christmas everyone!

(Or watch direct on Youtube here)

And if you like that then get their album here

Misssy M
x
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Disasterdly Dawg

2011-10-09T16:37:00.000+01:00

Sonny The Black Menace had an accident today. The full details of which are only just emerging. It started with a phonecall from the backroad, "Dad Sonny's not moving".

As opening lines go, it's a cliffhanger.

And talk about the dramatic irony of Mr M receiving the call as he was half way through building a massive garden fence because Sonny keeps on escaping and we are dreading that he will get run over one day.

Sonny not moving was not the result of him being dead. I don't really need to tell you how relieved we all are about that. Instead he has an eye injury caused by a bungee clip that fired off and hit him square in the right eye.

Now the reason for this, which I've only just learned:

Sonny met his BFFs Ann-Marie and Stuart on the back road and decided that he'd rather hang out with them than Indy. So Indy had to bungee rope him to his bike as he didn't have a lead. You can piece together the rest.

So we've downgraded from death to possible blindness in one eye. One emergency visit to the vets (Sunday callout! Get yer wallet out!) and she seems fairly happy that his cornea isn't damaged despite a gash to his eyelid and a big ole shiner (not visible to human eye given the blackness of the Menace but there all the same), and a horrible bloodshot eye which is the reason I decided to b/w the photo cos it's a bit horrible.

Quite a traumatic day, but given that as I was typing this- our neighbour delivered him home after another escape, I reckon he's fairly much over it all.

Us, not so much.

That Disasterdly Dawg...
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Help! My Granda's a Zombie!

2011-09-26T19:00:00.000+01:00

For the past few weeks my kids and my nieces have been secretly filming my Dad, their Granda, also known as Frazzlegranda.

This is why.

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Andrew Collins- J'Accuse!

2011-09-03T11:22:00.008+01:00

A few months ago whilst watching Springwatch on TV I declared that my eighties love for Chris Packham was undiminished. In fact it was possibly stronger than ever. I declared it for public record on Twitter.

Packham: If I weren't married Chris..

if I weren't married....

Never would I dream that Chris Packham would see my tweet, see my profile pic, leave his wife, plead with me to leave Meeester M and we'd set up home together on a hide on a mountainside making mad passionate love every morning before going outside to identify chaffinches. No, because that would have been an over reaction on his part and it would also mean that Packham wasn't the man I thought he was cos he clearly searches his own name on Twitter, Which would make him a little bit sad. I probably wouldn't fancy him anymore just because of that.

However my friend did reply to me, "Chris Packham! Next you'll be telling us you fancy Gaz Top!" This is how twitter works by the way- you say flippant things to get a reaction from your mates and have a wee laugh throughout the day or when you are watching telly. I reply "Ha! Even Gaz Top's WIFE doesn't fancy Gaz Top!"

Gaz Top of Get Fresh and How 2 fame

It's not even ten minutes later and I get a direct reply to my tweet from none other than a @GarethJonesTV who is indeed Gaz Top* who I neither follow or who follows me. His tweet to me says "I think you'll find she does!" Twitter is a strange beast- some people search for their own names. Some celebs in particular search for their own names. Still I thought Gaz's reply was moderately hilarious and we had a bit of a chat back and forth which was good humoured enough. For the record, he doesn't still have that ridiculous trademark hairstyle. He has mellowed. Shame....it was magnificent.

I mention that little Twitter story by way of a bit of background. It is only the prologue to the happenings of this week which I wouldn't have blogged about if this hadn't appeared this morning on Andrew Collins blog. For those of you who don't know who Andrew Collins is, he is a DJ on BBC 6 Music, which is my regular choice of listening. It is the best station in the UK but sometimes I nip over to Radio 4 to catch Desert Island Discs, The Today Programme or Woman's Hour- I'm only human after all- I like that whole free will thing, I can't help it! However on Tuesday I was doing some work from home and was enjoying being entertained by Shaun Keavney on the Breakfast Show as I wrote a script about not getting killed on an oil rig. Lauren Laverne, my absolute favourite on the station would be on next. She wasn't. She was still on holiday. Who was covering? Andrew Collins, the bloke he admittedly says himself is the bloke who covers everyone else's show when they aren't there. I'm not really a fan. In fact, his banter drives me insane.

Collins: He doesn't like me much.

But I'm sure if he met met me he would.

He's one of those guys who I'm sure is very nice in person but tends to pick a stupid inane thing that's happened in his personal life and run with it talking absolute nonsense for the rest of the show. Usually involving his home town of Northampton and stuff he did as a teenager there. I couldn't write a script about saving people's lives on oil rigs with Collins on in the background whilst feeling all stabby. And to be honest I was slightly pissed off that they couldn't have replaced Lauren with one of their female DJs who don't get enough airtime as it is. Although I must be honest this was a minor point- I just don't like listening to Collins. I told Twitter as just telling the dog seemed silly:

" I love BBC 6 but I draw the line at Andrew Collings sitting in for Lauren. Liz Kershaw not available? Off to listen to Women's Hour on Radio 4"

Not even five minutes go by and I get this from Andrew Collins (who you'll note I did not message or @ . In fact LOOK I even spelled his last name wrong!):

AC:@MisssyM Well thanks so much for your supportive words. Just doing my best here

Eh? Crikey!

MisssyM: @AndrewCollins Nothing personal-just feel that 10-1pm slot should have female replacement for Lauren-not enough female voices on BBC radio as it is. You've been trumped by Jenni Murray- there are worse things that could happen.

Now I lied here- it was personal- I don't like listening to Collins, I was trying to spare his feelings here. I'm not a monster.

AC: @MisssyM I will do my best not to be a male next time

Christ, now I'm horrible and a sexist. He's bought the whole woman thing. This isn't going well. My, what a sensitive flower! Is he going to come round to my house. Should I tidy up just in case. Should I buy some Kleenex in case he breaks down. Shit, I HATE it when men cry- no-one knows what to do in that situation.

@AndrewCollins You're taking this too hard,Andrew.You can't be everyone's cup of tea.I feel dreadful now...maybe I could make it up to you?

I want to point out that I am NOT offering him sex here. He's no Chris Packham after all.

AC: @MisssyM It's fine, really. And the female voices thing is pertinent. I would say don't tell somebody you're tuning out while they're on air

But but but I didn't!!! Christ, I wouldn't get this shit from Jenni Murray.

"I can confirm that Misssy is a nice person

and indeed she would never get this kind

of shit from me" Jenni Murray earlier today.

I turn back to BBC6- my ears are burning. A half hour later Collins tells his listeners to stand down as the lady who upset him has apologised. Oh Christ- he's been talking about me already! He goes on have another little rant about me though- saying it's fine I don't like him but that it's rude to message the person to tell them directly as they are going on air. Hmmm. I need to put Andrew straight. He's made me feel terrible... But I feel that a slight injustice has been done and am slightly wary of some shoe gazing 80s fan boy Collins fans attacking me in the street by beating me to death with Smiths 12 inches or something.

I reply again:

MisssyM: @AndrewCollins I now consider myself suitably shamed! (I could argue that I never used the @ but that would be churlish)

I don't like that I've upset anyone and I do like to think of myself as being a reasonably nice and polite person. Collins calls me rude. I don't feel that I was, I never directly messaged him to tell him I was switching him off. Why would I do that? That would be horrible. I've been on radio myself not so long ago, it would be upsetting to hear that whilst on air. I might not go on to rant about it repeatedly on air or indeed write a blog about it, but yes, my ego may be a bit scuffed for about five seconds. Andrew, like me, writes books, he's surely had bad reviews- does he write to those people who have given him bad reviews and tell them how hurt he is? Does he wait for them outside their houses to tell them how upset he was on reading their review as they go out to buy a newspaper? I got one bad review for my book- it stung, but I wouldn't dream of contacting the person and having a go. It would be undignified and well....a little sad.

Still, I do feel bad in the heat of it all. I then offer him a homemade mobile phone mitten with anything of his choosing by way of assuaging his hurt feelings. Maybe a caricature of Morrissey- he likes 80s music after all. To date I've heard nothing more on that subject. Some suggestions on what I should put on a phone mitten for Collins are gratefully received.

Jenni Murray of Woman's Hour, perhaps?

Stop Press: 21.07 Saturday- The saga is over. It's important to tell you that the above link to Andrew's original blog is now not working as he has removed his post. He was in a bit of bad mood and over-reacted and you know what, he's man enough to admit that. In fact he's written a post saying so. Good on you Andrew. Here it is.

As you can see from this photo we are now buddies.

Photo art by DaisyGlaisy

*it's Gaz Top's 50th birthday today- I urge you all to wish him a Happy Birthday by tweeting him @GarethJonesTV . Happy Birthday Gaz!

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Belladrum Festival VLOG Part 3- The Festival Weekend

2011-08-08T17:50:00.000+01:00

Includes very rare footage of Misssy M wearing her glasses due to an ill advised attempt to insert her contact lenses after using antibacterial hand spray....also features mis-cued presenter links, fashion tips from Dr Ben, a Mighty Boosh tribute act and The Lorelei, who have just been nominated for two Scottish Music Awards (Best Album/Best Folk Act)

Who's coming with us next year?

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Belladrum Festival - The Arrival

2011-08-07T21:26:00.000+01:00

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Belladrum Festival 2011- VLOG 1- Preparation

2011-08-03T21:06:00.002+01:00

Is it really August already? Well, I suppose that if it is, it must be festival season.

Challenged by my ace roving reporter, Billy, who delivered his excellent Glastonbury reportage in June, I too will be vlogging the first festival that I am going to this year; Belladrum Tartan Heart Festival.

Not sure what the signal is like yet but I'll try my best to do a wee vlog every day and get it posted up on the Misssives.

Belladrum is particularly exciting this year because The Lorelei are on the bill (for the second time) and they've just been twice nominated for a Scottish Music Award (Folk act of the year and Best Album of the year- get in!). If you are at Belladrum come along and see them and if you see a wifie with a small video camera then it's bound to be me0 say heloo- I'll stick you in one of my vlogs if you are gorgeous enough.

Ok, here's my first vlog-Preparation is ALL. (or Cheesey pasta)

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Just Keep Swimming

2011-07-26T14:26:00.000+01:00

I didn't blog on holiday in Andalucia. Instead, I vlogged.

Here's one of the main events.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part Six

2011-06-27T08:56:00.000+01:00

Billy's back and it's the last day of The Glastonbury Festival. The sun is shining and how's Billy's heid the day?

Glasto 9 - Last Day (The Sunday). from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part Five

2011-06-26T13:21:00.002+01:00

What is Billy up to today? Could it be sunburn, a couple of drinkies, Elbow and Glasvegas upside down?

Glasto 8 - Elbow & Glasvevas (the Saturday). from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part Four

2011-06-24T21:06:00.000+01:00

It's the first day of the festival and one of the things I'm giggling at it Billy's hair getting madder by the day. Enjoy.

Glasto 6 - Finding Shangri-La from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part Three

2011-06-24T21:01:00.001+01:00

The dedication of roving Misssives reporter Billy knows no bounds- it's day three of his Glasto experience and the reports keep coming despite the rain and the queues for upload. What's Billy up to on the day before the festival kicks off? (Ropey sound at start but keep watching for bizarre over version all you 90s kids will recognise)

Glasto 5 - Random Bandstand Band from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part Two

2011-06-23T09:05:00.001+01:00

The second on our Vlog series from our roving reporter Billy Sangster. Today Billy makes his way to Glasto. Fairly low quality footage but gie the man a chance- he's trying to upload reports from a flippin' field!

Glasto 4 - Getting There. from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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Mighty Human Billy's Glastonbury Diaries -Part One

2011-06-21T21:57:00.001+01:00

If like me you are gutted you can't make Glastonbury then The Misssives can ease the pain ever so slightly. Friend of the Misssives and North East hero, Billy Sangster is going to be guest vlogging (wi-fi permitting) over the festival weekend.

Tonight he goes through his Glasto packing essentials one the night before the big trip to Somerset.

Glasto 3 - Packing. from Billy Sangster on Vimeo.

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You've Been Trumped: A Review

2011-06-18T12:56:00.004+01:00

I would like to start this review with a disclaimer. I did not go into the Scottish premiere of the documentary feature You've Been Trumped with an open mind. I am fundamentally against the development of the Menie Estate near Balmedie, Aberdeenshire into a so called world class golf resort by tycoon Donald Trump. It's important I say that. I am a a local lass brought up a few miles along the road in the similarly stunning area of Newburgh which is a nature reserve and has what I think is the most beautiful beach in the UK. Newburgh also has a golf course, but it stops short of the amazing dunes. Donald Trump wants to make his golf course ON the dunes of Balmedie Beach. And despite them being a SSI (Site of Scientific Interest) and therefore supposedly protected from developments like this, the Scottish Government have let him go ahead anyway with the development of a golf course, 300 houses and a hotel. So I state my objection straight away. If he'd been building this course on the dunes of Newburgh, I'd probably be chained to one of his diggers right now. Crying.

My goodness, though, I didn't know the half of it. Director Anthony Baxter wanted to make a documentary that got the whole story of what has been going on at the Menie Estate in the past two years. He was concerned that the local press were giving a biased view on the development, an unremittingly pro-Trump stance, demonising those difficult residents who wouldn't give up their homes so that the local economy could prosper. The ,local press has painted them as belligerent troublemakers clearly just holding out til Trump opened the cheque-book still wider. Baxter knew there was more to this story and set off to get to know all of those involved. What he found were ordinary decent and brave folks. All of whom were at the premiere last night.

The film charts a year over which a decision by Aberdeenshire Council to deny planning permission given grave concern over the environmental impacts on the protected eco-system of Menie Sands and the actuality of exaggerated economic claims for the local economy, was overturned by the Scottish Government. It charts a year in which residents on the proposed site lived in fear of having their homes put under a compulsory purchase order, a order usually reserved for houses in the way of civic and infrastructural developments like new motorways or new hospitals, not private developments.

The makers of the documentary got to know those people involved, the residents who had to watch as they landscape they loved and lived in for many years changed day by day as the construction workers moved in and made devastating changes to the landscape that weren't on the plans . These people had their water cut off for over a week with no emergency supplies brought to them and no interest by the local authorities who could have brought the organisation who did the damage to task. these were people who were subjected to routine observation by security patrols and in some cases arrest by the police if their activities were deemed in anyway contrary to Trump's development, even if it was just removing a marker flag from their land to stop their grandkids getting injured on its metal spike. These were people who felt cast adrift by their local authorities and support systems. They had every right to be bitter, instead they are amazing.

Baxter also tried to speak to the other side, the Trump organisation and in a film that largely provokes dismay in its audience it is the moment it is these moments spent trying to engage with trump and his employees that flashes of humour arise. Baxter as one of the few local journalists asking probing questions about the residents' situation is quickly identified by Trump himself as an enemy and his disdain for the filmmaker provides incredulous laughter in the audience. Conversely the Trump organisation's focus on Baxter also provides the film's most shocking moment in a scene where Baxter is roughly arrested with no charge by local police after visiting the site office to calmly find out why local residents have had their water cut off for over a week.

In short I thought I knew a lot of what was going on in the Menie Estate, but until I saw this film I realise that I didn't know the half of it. There is a thoroughness to Baxter's reporting that has been absent in other reports and features I have seen on the development. He gets objective views from experts in the fields of land rights, ecology, economics which open up the development for real scrutiny in a way that the national politicians in charge of the decisions made seem not to have done.

All that missing is a formal interview with the man himself, Donald Trump, which could be the film's only flaw. Where are the interviews with Trump Senior, Trump Junior, George Sorial, or any of his development team? The answer is given in a final scene in a familiar phone box in Pennan at the end of the film.

The film won the Green Award at the Sheffield Documentary Festival. This is a massive achievement. But as yet no distributor has taken the film on, so wide distribution into mainstream cinemas is unlikely until that happens. Similarly the Edinburgh Film festival rejected the film for inclusion in this week's programme. This is a great shame. Someone needs to take the initiative on this as I think we could, if the right distribution goes ahead be looking at a contender for Best Documentary Feature in a number of film awards. If Michael Moore could do it with Roger and Me back in 1990, then Anthony Baxter could do it with, let's face it a subject far better known on the world stage.

Find out more on the film here.

See the director and the residents of the Menie Estate (and main players of the film) at the premiere last night here. (Photo courtesy of Richard Pelling) and today's Channel 4 report.

Follow director Anthony Baxter on twitter @antbaxter

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Endescapology in Camden

2011-06-04T14:32:00.000+01:00

So although it looked like my attempts at filming The Lorelei were thwarted (see last post for details), I managed to get them in the end (except one endo-escapologist cheeky monkey).

Here is the video for Endescapology by The Lorelei.

Or watch it on Youtube by following this link.

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Permission to Land

2011-05-31T12:17:00.001+01:00

“Always get permission!” – this could be my flippin’ catchphrase at college. Either that or “Right, tea break!” or “Look busy; the boss is coming”.

My students go out there and they film stuff. They often care not for formalities. They come back to face my new mantra. “Did you get permission? , “Have you had a consent form signed?”, “Did you contact the owners to ask if it was OK to film in their garage?”

“It’s my Mum and Dad’s garage”

“Doesn’t matter- they could sue, you can never tell. Parents can be the worst. Ask Maccaulay Culkin; he’ll tell you.”

It’s been a full week of that kind of nonsense as my class turn in their production files for marking. “That pigeon you filmed, did you get a contract drafted with his agent first? Has he given you worldwide rights? Did he twitter any copyrightable melodies?”

Turns out I am hypocrite. For this weekend I myself got busted for guerrilla filmmaking and brushing my stupid cheek against anti terrorism legislation. Probably.

It’s Friday and after a week full of deadlines being met at work (both mine and my students) and preparations for childminding, animal sitting and hunting for passports that turned out to be secreted in volumes of Margaret Atwood novels (I know- what goes on in my head?), we are on the last leg of The Lorelei’s Album launch tour to London. I am on a mission to collect enough footage to put together a third video for the band (First and Second can be seen here, pop-pickers). I have instructed all band traveling companions to get as much video as they can of the band members as they make their way to That London. “Airports, train stations, tubes, buses- the lot. Film them and hand it all over to me at the end.” We are all traveling separately like the Royal Family so I find myself alone on the plane with Meeester M, Lorelei lead singer and usually jovial behatted troubadour. The problem is that we are not sitting together as we booked our flights at different times. He’s three rows behind me chatting to his fifty something glamourous neighbour.

“Psssst, Meeester, I’m supposed to be filming you!” I shout over in a stage whisper. For one second I think he’s going to ignore me and keep chatting to his new best mate to make me look like some kind of paparazzo sticking out of a hedge- it’s maybe in line with the persona he’s putting forward to his glamorous new companion. "Ignore it, it happens all the time, love. Anyway, where was I...?"

Meanwhile my erstwhile new companion, a guy of about twenty-five, who has until now made no attempt to speak to me offers to move and let Meeester sit beside me, redolent of the bit in When Harry Met Sally when Harry tries to annoy Sally on the flight and her neighbour offers Harry his seat. I’m Harry in this scenario by the way. “Didn’t we once....you know?” “No we did NOT!”

Reluctantly Meeester agrees to move and I set about filming him with my iPhone. He’s not in the mood. He’s got a cold, has just done a full day's work and his Garnier caffeine enriched eye roll on lotion hasn’t quite taken. He gives me the sly two fingered gesture at the side of his cheek as I turn my camera on immediately ruining my first shot, so I decide to get general views of the plane itself. I film the ground crew out the window, I film the overhead signs in the cabin and oh, ace, the safety briefing has started with Gary our Chief Steward who looks like a Dara O’Briain- I’ll film that!

Gary’s in full flow .....and then..... suddenly he stops. He disappears from view and turns off the intercom. I’m still filming. “This is gold dust!” I’m thinking. Gary then comes back into view and suddenly is striding towards me. I’m still filming. In fact I’m still filming him when he stops at my seat and says, “What are you doing?”

Oops. “I’m, em, filming you?” (Am I? What a bloody idiot!) I am currently floating above my body and looking on as an eejit who was filming the safety briefing is given a telling off as an entire cabin full of passengers look on, several of them laughing, including my former twenty something neighbour who made no attempt to chat me up earlier confirming that I have indeed “lost it”. He is pissing himself laughing in particular.

Gary is nae happy. It’s taken him thirteen hard years to perfect that safety briefing. Only to have it ruined by an IPhone wielding eejit. “You are not allowed to film on the plane. You are particularly not allowed to film a safety briefing” He says as if it were indeed one of your actual Ten Commandments and he is your actual Moses.

“Switch that off,” he commands as he turns and returns to his briefing starting position.

Gary isn’t finished with me yet though. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he says with intercom in hand once more, “ I apologise for having to start the Safety Briefing again but SOMEONE was filming me.” The safety briefing recommences with no-one watching it as they are now all looking at me. Many of them are openly sniggering.

As drinks are served, I try to hamfistedly make amends with Gary. I could have done better as my opening gambit is, “I'm so sorry. I’m not some mental terrorist, I was just filming my husband’s music video”. Yes, I actually say the word “terrorist”. Gary still hates me, possibly more now that I’ve claimed I’m not a terrorist which is exactly what a terrorist would say.

“The pilot has instructed me to tell you to delete all that footage. You need permission to film on a flight and YOU WOULD NEVER be given permission to film a safety briefing” (again with the Wrath of God Old Testament tone). I take my gin and tonic from his judgmental hands and examine it for spit as Gary moves off to serve other better behaved passengers.

So this is the start of the flight. I’ve a whole 80 minutes of Gary’s wrath and fellow passenger ridicule to endure. Highlights include Gary grabbing the intercom halfway through the flight as I make my way to the toilets to tell me to return to my seat “as the conveniences are not available when the seltbelt warning sign is activated” and the bloke behind me who didn’t even try to chat me up laughing at that too.

Always get permission.

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The Chiropractor Embarrassment Increases!

2011-05-17T12:41:00.002+01:00

Turns out the most embarrassing incident in my husband's life has made it to the finals of the MAD bloggers awards.The post "The Chiropractor Story" is up for Best Post of the Year. Very exciting as I get to go to actual real life awards.

You can read the post again here and if you like it (more than the other finalists, that is, cos you should read them too) then you can click the link at the bottom to vote for me. I win a Soda Stream if I win the category but I'll stick that up as a prize on the Misssives. (cough- that is not a bribe- no really)

Here it is:

The Chiropractor Story

After a good four years of writing the Misssives sometimes you feel that you’ve run out of stories. And then something HUGE pops into your head. This has happened this morning as a result of Meeester M posting this Blipfoto yesterday. In the blurb he claims that if he was a lady and had to wear high heels it would be these. Who can blame him? They are ace shoes.

This morning I said to him, “Oh my goodness Meeester M, do you know what I’ve never blogged? The Chiropractor Story. Can I do it?” . Check me, uncharacteristically asking someone’s permission before I post.

“Yes,” he said, straight away.

“Are you sure???” I say, even more uncharacteristically making them reassess whether a full Misssive on the subject might not damage their reputation like some kind of reverse tabloid journalist.

“I’m pretty unembarrassable. Do it,” he says. It’s true, he is. Just as well.

Ladies and gentlemen it is with great pride that I give you the Chiropractor Story.

Back in time when Indy was a baby Meeester M worked in social work. He was the manager of an old folks’ home in Aberdeen. Very often he had to lift old people, whether in be in and out of a bath or if they had a fall. One day he twisted his back when an old lady decided mid lift that she didn’t want to be lifted anymore and thrashed about a bit. Old ladies can be difficult creatures. The resultant back injury gave Meeester M a lot of gyp, so much so that he decided that he had to seek professional help.

His doctor was of no use, just recommending rest and painkillers, so one of Meeester’s friends recommended a chiropractor. What possibly swung it for Meeester M was the added bit of information that the chiropractor was the uncle of Tim Wheeler from the band Ash. I throw that in for no other reason than to give a full picture of the timescale. Ash were currently very big. So were the newly wed Beckhams. Victoria had just been on Parkinson the other week embarrassing her new husband about liking to wear her underwear. Remember that? So we’re talking around 1998/9. It was a time of a new Labour government, no banking scandals , no real terrorist threat and George Bush hadn’t been elected yet. Times of positivity and innocence. I think they call them “halcyon days”.

The chiropractor was just round the corner from Meeester’s workplace but he hadn’t been able to secure an first appointment during work hours. He was on an early shift meaning he had to leave the house at 6.30am on a wet dark winter’s morning. Indy and I were still asleep when he left. We would meet him later on when we collected him from the chiropractors on our way down to see Meeester M’s family in Glasgow for the weekend.

After a sore day at work where Meeester M could do no more than office and supervisory duties, he limped around the corner to the chiropractors. He was looking forward to a quick twist and a crack or two of his spine that would suddenly release the pain, and with any luck the mobile number of the management for Ash, so that he could secure a support slot for his band for any upcoming tours.

He met the chiropractor and explained his problem to him. “Old ladies can be difficult creatures,” he said.

“Yes,” the chiropractor said, “If you just go into the changing room and strip down to your underwear and we’ll get you to lie on the bench and I’ll take a look.” I imagine he was flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles at that point, but I’m probably embellishing that to add more colour to the scene. Not that any more colour would be needed within a few minutes.

Meeester went into the cubicle and began to undress (steady there, ladies). His back was smarting and he had struggled to get his shirt off. He was worried about bending down to take his socks off. Could he just leave them on? No, they would have to come off. He didn’t want to look like an arse. He needn’t have worried, as something far more pressing was about to happen.

He looked down at his crotch and realised he was wearing a pair of his wife’s knickers.

Now I’m not one for lingerie, so it could have been a lot worse. But the pants were bad enough for a big hairy man to worry about going naked in front of the chiropractor uncle of Tim Wheeler for Ash. The pants were hot pink bikini cotton pants from M&S. They may even have been tanga design. There is no way they could possibly have been passed off as bloke’s pants. And, ladies and gentlemen, they had not been put on by mistake that morning. Don't feel too sorry for him. Meeester had worn them ON PURPOSE.

At 6am Meeester M is not good. His underwear drawer is a mess, and he often cannot readily find clean pants in the dark. That morning he decided not to put the light on and disturb his wife as she would very likely attack him viciously if he wakes up the baby, as is her right.

“I know, I’ll stick a pair of Misssy’s keks on," he thinks. “They’ll do. Nice and snug as well”. That last thought of Meeester’s – I’ve added that for comic effect, but you know it’s true, they would have been nice and snug. In fact, they would have been very snug indeed.

At 6am he has forgotten that he is due at a chiropractors in a few hours time. He forgets the same thing each time he visits his work loo that morning. Dr Freud would have a field day.

Back to the changing cubicle and Meeester M is panicking. What is the best course of action? Does he appeal to the doctor to keep his trousers on? No, the back pain is in his lower back. Does he go commando? Is it better to go out there completely naked than with women’s knickers on? No, he doesn’t want the police involved in the situation, this is getting public enough. Does he march in nonchalantly wearing the pants and make absolutely no reference to them? He considers this. It could just work.

In the end he decides to ‘fess up. He clears his throat and calls the guy from behind the curtain, “Er, I have to warn you. I am wearing my wife’s underwear.” Now on reflection his words could have been better chosen, as “underwear” suggests a bra was also in the equation.

“Em, it doesn’t matter. Just come out,” the uncle of Tim Wheeler from Ash who Meeester’s band will never support in concert replies.

Meeester steps out and sheepishly stands in front of the spine jockey as he regards him.

“Tell me,” he says as he looks at the pubic explosion that is Meeester’s crotch and the fuschia pink knickers combo, “Is it a David Beckham thing?”

you can vote here

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Love is Blind

2011-05-10T09:36:00.002+01:00

Behind the scenes at the video shoot

Never a truer word was spoken.

This is the first ever music video I have ever directed. I've been busy this past couple of months directing videos for my husband's band, The Lorelei (hence the absence here on the Misssives).

I chose my favourite song on their new album, Faces, (available here) for my first shoot and here is the result. I was helped hugely by my student Martin Symons who edited it for me and did an amazing job and put up with me texting him all the time! I am very proud of what he has achieved here.

Now I know I'm biased and all that but I think this song has got the potential to be a hit, and I would appreciate it if you think so too, if you could spread the word by sharing the video on twitter, facebook, your blog, whatever you use, because they really deserve more attention.

There is a second video for another song called Song for The Boy but I'm going to post that separately tomorrow, as it deserves it's own limelight and there are a few stories attached to it that I want to tell you.

Oh and you can come and see The Lorelei live on these dates throughout the country. Click here for tour dates.

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The F**king Furries

2011-04-21T15:39:00.006+01:00

I don't get the Furries, I have to be honest. But my woman seems to like them no matter how unreasonable they are. I suppose there is no accounting for personal taste. She clearly sees something in them that frankly I just don't. In saying that, their bums smell amazing, so maybe that's it. Maybe that's why she's got two- one for her and one for the man, so they don't fight over them.

I'm not going to lie, I'm kinda addicted to sniffing their bums. It's what some would say is a guilty pleasure. 'Cept I don't feel guilty, I just feel anxious in case one of them catches me. But, the danger is quite exhilarating, really. It's win win in that respect. Y'see, that's the thing about the Furries, for all the sniffing and mooching about they do to the family and all the furniture AND TO MY FOOD SOMETIMES (the nerve) they hate it when I sniff their bums. In fact, they get rather violent, so if I get a chance of a sniff I have to get in and out before they notice or I'm nursing a scratched nose, or a cuffed face. It can be humiliating too- especially in front of the family who've been known to laugh. Unkind I know, but I just can't stay mad at them.

"But, Black Menace," I hear you say "You're bigger than them, you could easily take the Furries". Yes, and you would be right, I could take either one of the furry bitches if I really wanted to, but I'm the bigger person, you see. I'm a Spaniel and I have a reputation to uphold. I have to be docile, pleasant and non-aggressive- it's in the job description. One bite of a Furry and that could be it for the whole firm. Cocker Spaniels haven't held the top chosen family dog slot for the last five years for nothing, you know. One bite and that could be it, the Labradors could get right back up there, or God Forbid, those little fluffy sex addict fake dogs that try and ride you when you're in the park minding your own business. They are already everywhere you look. Give them the top slot and then where would we be?

It's the same with the Littlers, you're not allowed to even look at them funny- even if they are poking you repeatedly in the eye with the point of a retractable pencil and are annoying you when you're a bit tired and they've got a bag of open crisps within easy reach. Not even then. One snarl and that's it, top spot, labrador; game over- expulsion from the Cocker League an absolute certainty. Not worth it- even if the crisps are beef flavour.

So yeah, the Furries, I could TOTALLY take 'em if I wanted to and sometimes I just chase 'em about a wee bit just to remind them that I could, but I'd never do anything. I'll just have to concentrate on the bum sniff benefits, the occasional chance at swiping their food when no-one's looking and keep the resentment stifled deep down. I've just got to all take the beatings for the team.

See you on the park side,

Yours,

Sonny the Black Menace

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Ghostface

2011-04-14T21:07:00.001+01:00

Been busy, you know. Directing a few music videos, you know. Check me out, I come across as vaguely interesting.

No I have. I'm not making it up. Meeester M's band the Lorelei are launching their album "Faces" on the 16th May ( I believe it to be available on iTunes from the 16th May but it's available for pre-order on Amazon now for those who want a cold hard CD copy to rub all over their bodies). So given my capacity of a video director who languishes frustratedly in corporate video and never gets to make anything remotely interesting, I offered to direct a couple of music videos.

The album cover-

did you send in your photo? If so it'll be there.

I enlisted my crack team of video pixies, (also my students), every one as hardworking and talented as the last and we set about turning these hairy beasts into the gorgeous rock stars that they see in their own heads. That's why Misssy M hasn't been on tinternet much. It's been all consuming but excellent.

Here are my team with some of their cast at the location for the video for "Song for the Boy".

One of the videos was studio based and involved headshots of the band with stuff happening to them. The song is "Love is Blind, which I think is the best song on the album. The final effect will look like stop animation but we're not ripping off Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer video in any way. Unless it's in an ironic fashion. And even then, not really, if Gabriel's lawyers are reading. Not at all.

The other video was set in a location which I can only describe as a slight obsession with us. There are two derelict houses on the outskirts of our village that are in the most amazing location but are rumoured to be haunted. There is a very gruesome story associated with a suicide in one of them, and Meester M and Dr .DD, the viola player refused to be filmed in that one like the stroppy divas they are. That's what happens when you work with ex-religion and philosophy teacher and a goth, I suppose. The fear of the dark side is strong with them. Big jessies that they are.

In fact Dr.DD claims this photo she took here is evidence of something ghostly appearing in the house we did film in.See that coming in from the window? I dunno- Goths, they're obsessed, I tell you!

Spooky

I can't show you the videos yet as they are still being edited but I can show you some stills for the shoots under which I will put witty and vaguely offensive captions.

This is the ongoing edit. Even from here you

can see I put too much eyeliner on Meester M.

Again with the guyliner

Dr DD with a random fox appearing.

See Gabriel- we're far more surreal than you ever were.

It's difficult to say what's going on here.

I filmed it and I still don't know.

It's really just all about one man's grooming

And what is the point in being the director

if you can't give yourself a cameo?

Videos up soon!

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The Beauty Chorus by Kate Lord Brown

2011-04-01T11:28:00.001+01:00

As some of you may know I write stuff from time to time. One of my inspirations has been this lady, Kate Lord Brown. When I was trying to get published, Kate helped me out. She gave me tips, she read my stuff and gave helpful criticism. And she was the first person I wanted to kick off my virtual blog based book tour. Now I delighted to say am returning the favour.

Kate's first novel gets released today. It's called the Beauty Chorus and you can get it here. That's what I'm going to do as soon as I've pressed publish on this post. The plot concerns the female pilots of World War 2, the ATA. I interviewed Kate just as her book was going to press.

Gillian: What inspired you to write about the women WW2 pilots?

Kate: I was flicking through a flying magazine at home (my husband's a pilot), and came across a small obituary for a woman who had flown Spitfires. I immediately thought 'why doesn't everyone know about these amazing women?' and then 'wow, this would make a great story ...'

Gillian: Did you do copious research first and then write the book or were the two parallel?

Kate:Yes, I did loads of research first - with the Air Transport Auxiliary archive, museums all over the country, and was lucky enough to get the advice of a veteran pilot whose amazing life makes the fiction look boring! The great thing about writing historical fiction of this era is there is masses of film and written material. The story came pretty quickly after that - but I had to go back and research isolated details (particulary about planes, I dreaded getting any tech bits wrong being married to a pilot!)

Gillian:How do you immerse yourself in the 1940s?

Kate:It's been really good fun - I love the music from the era, so I've had Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, all the big band tunes on a loop while I'm working. I've read as many first hand accounts of the era as possible (including things like housewive's diaries to get the domestic details right). Also I don't need much excuse to watch a black and white film, or go along to an airshow where chaps dress up in the uniforms ...

Gillian: What advice would you give to anyone writing a book set in a time they haven’t experienced first hand?

Kate:I've always believed 'write what you want to know' rather than the usual 'write what you know' dictum. Pick an era that really interests you, sparks your ideas, your enthusiasm. Then, I'd read a really general history of the time to get a good 'groundmap' before you start focussing on your particular story. After that, visit as many museums as you can, listen to music from the era, even cook food they would have eaten (if that's appetising ...!)

Gillian:Have you ever met/spoken to any of the surviving WW2 female pilots?

Kate:Yes, I was really lucky to get advice from an amazing woman who flew with the ATA, then went on to have a second wartime career in espionage. There are also several brilliant memoirs written by the women that helped enormously. I was blown away by the bravery and modesty of these incredible women - and hope the surviving veterans approve of the book!

Gillian:What advice would you give someone sending out their manuscript for the first time?

Kate:Make sure it is absolutely the best work you are capable of. After you finish the first draft, put it in a drawer for a couple of months and come back to it with fresh eyes. Someone said 'write like a mistress, edit like an ex-wife' - or something like that. It's good advice! Once you are 100% happy with your m/s, arm yourself with a copy of Writers' & Artists' Yearbook - look at publishers and agents who deal with work similar to yours. Send them exactly what they ask for - if it's a query letter and 3 chapters only send them that. It goes without saying that m/s need to be sent as clean, businesslike copies (no gimmicks, green biro or ribbons :)

Gillian: Where can we buy your book?

Kate:'The Beauty Chorus' is published today, April 1st, and is available online from Amazon, Waterstones, Tesco, Asda etc - and should be in all good bookstores as they say!

Thank you for having us at The Misssives!

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Professor Ryan Botox

2011-04-01T09:32:00.003+01:00

Professor Brian Cox and Gia Milinovich

I like Professor Brian Cox. I loved his Wonders of the Solar System, I felt my brain nearly explode whilst watching Wonders of the Universe and I enjoy his Friday stints on the Shaun Keaveny Show on BBC6Music. OK and yes, he's also undeniably fit which doesn't hurt. Although he claims people only say that because he looks a bit better than Patrick Moore.

In the last year he's become a bit of a superstar himself, his success I think is down to the way his enthusiasm for physics, something most of us remember hating in school as it was invariably taught by a portly balding man in glasses, sporting a comb over, shoulders bedeckt with dandruff, and who you just knew drunk stuff from the chemistry lab at lunchtime. I have lost count of the amount of people I've heard or read saying, "I wish Brian Cox had been my physics teacher at school". And not just women...Gay men too! No, you get my point- not just for his looks, but for the way he makes the impenetrable at least interesting, if not entirely simple. If it were all about looks then surely vacant eye candy like Vernon Kay would have the same adoration. But folk think he's a twat, so that's that argument blown out of the water.

I'm not going to go on about how attractive he is. For one his wife, Gia Milinovich is heartily sick of it. A TV presenter and boffin in her own right, she wrote in the Guardian about how she feels entirely ignored as a result of Brian's charisma and looks and latterly massive success. Eek!

What I am going to go on about is my students and my relationship with Brian. Every week, someone will try and get a rise out of me by criticising Brian. Usually as a diversion tactic when I'm teaching. It's all good humoured. But recently I found myself drawn into it. In fact, I even helped them in their spoofing of dear star and space loving Brian. On Monday we shot this. Brian, please forgive me, I was swept along with the tide. It must have been the phase of the moon.

Oh and you can follow @ProfRyanBotox on twitter. Ask him anything; he has the answer.

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The i-Dad

2011-03-29T10:46:00.000+01:00

Dads all over the UK steel themselves at the prospect of facing a life on the dole as Apple launches the new i-Dad.

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My favourite things: My Life with Sonny the Black Menace

2011-03-24T14:21:00.001Z

I love that boy. We are shambolic together.

This is just 2 mins of our "routine". I bet those Crufts champions are shitting themselves.

PS: the word you're looking for is "majestic".

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My favourite Things: People Watching

2011-03-22T15:22:00.001Z

I am a right nosey git. I could sit all day and just people watch.

I was spoilt for choice here in People Watch Central in the pedestrian area just outside Marks and Spencers in Aberdeen. Sit here for no longer than 2 minutes and the rich tapestry of humanity unfurls in front of you. I am being deliberately flowery in my language because let's face it,let's call it what it is; I like to spot freaky people.

I got a fair few candid snaps of some local characters and as I sat up to move on I was going to put a shot up of the bloke who sings cover versions of country songs with a full synth set up and a range of his own CDs for sale (which I saw 3 people buy whilst I was there, so he's clearly got a fanbase). The man intrigues me. I see him and I think, "What's your story, mate?"

And then there's the old newspaper seller outside Markies who looks like he's an extra in Lord of the Rings. And then there's the middle eastern bloke with the Marionettes who seems to have actual skill other than turning a handle. And then there's...oh there are too many!

But none of them were to be my photo today, because as I left I snapped this bloke who I think was once a student of mine briefly and who I keep on seeing around town, each time looking more and more like a rock star. Because that is one of my other favourite things and that's folk who dress like rock stars even if they are not.

Turns out it was my favourite of my people watching photos today, not just because I caught him doing a very un-rock-and-roll thing, like taking cash out of an ATM, but because of the contrasting un-rock-and-roll drunken man sat just along from him.

The other characters of Aberdeen city centre will just have to wait their turn for their moment in the sun (the sun brings the freaks out by the way).

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My Favourite Things: Part 1: Dog Air Surfing

2011-03-20T18:05:00.000Z

I haven't been blogging much but I have been Blipfoto-ing recently. I'm loving Blipfoto so much I think it's maybe started taking over as my main means of blogging. I can't have that; it's Misssives or die. So I'm linking the two up. This was my Blipfoto today and it's also going to be my blog theme for the week (or so).I've been meaning to do this series for a while about stuff that just floats my boat. Stuff that makes me laugh. Stuff that makes life worth living.

Here's No1: Dog Air Surfing

Sonny is one of my favourite things for sure, but you knew that. No, this photo represents that thing that dogs do when traveling in the car. Crack a window open and you'll see it- they like to ride shotgun and air surf. I don't know why they are compelled to do it, and I don't care- it's just ace and needs no reason.

I love this about dogs.

I love seeing other dogs doing it.

I love it when my own dog does it.

It never fails to make me smile.

I'm tempted to do it myself because if 100% of dogs do it and love it, what are we, as the human race possibly missing out on?

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Sandy Lovepole RIP

2011-03-04T11:05:00.009Z

Sandy Lovepole at the New Deer Adult Film Festival in 1982

The North East has woken up today to the sad and untimely death of prolific Doric Adult Filmmaker Sandy Lovepole.

Sandy was born Alexander Cruickshank in 1956 in Cullen and was the only son of Geordie and Margaret Cruickshank. He died unexpectedly, mysteriously and violently on Sunday night.

He was schooled at Cullen Primary and later Buckie Academy from which he was expelled after using the school’s AV equipment to make his first movie “Neep Throat”. He was lent the equipment by his art teacher who he cites as being his mentor, Mrs Trick who lost her teaching job as a result. Fans of Lovepole’s work will of course know that his teacher became his first muse and he coined her screen name Ma Strict. Ma Strict would star in many of Lovepole’s early films such as Debbie does Durris, StrathBoogie Nights, Swingin’ in Finzean, Nicky-Tam Nympho, Jizzom Bizzom and Mounting Hooly.

He would return to Cullen in his thirties to make his seminal film “The Misadventures of the Cullen Skank”, the film which later would see him nearly financially ruined when a former fishwife girlfriend, Kitty Brewster took him to court when she claimed he had used their relationship as the basis for the film. Lovepole settled out of court on the understanding that she would make no claims to his fortune in the future.

Brewster was to open a chain of chipshops with her settlement. Critics believe that his hardcore masterpiece “Foamin' at the Gashvale Chipper” was a response to the whole affair but Lovepole would neither confirm nor deny this although Gashvale’s lead actor Hugh Jass (and star of gay Doric porn classics “Holeburn Junction”, "Ken Fits", “A Scot's Queer” “RothienorManLove” and “ Sunset Schlong”) let slip in an interview with the Ellon Advertiser that Brewster’s lawyers had once turned up on set. Kitty Brewster and Lovepole did later bury the hatchet and he claimed he wrote the script for Methlick my Bum as a thinly veiled apology/love letter to her after caught e-coli from a rank white puddin’ and nearly died.

Lovepole’s career went into decline after the untimely death of his 3^rd wife and former Doric porn legend Rose Mount who he always claimed had choked on a buttery after one of their love making sessions. The P and J made his life hell with a series of reports with thinly veiled reports of sexual misadventure. He lost his libel suit against Aberdeen Journals which saw him pay costs and settle a counter suit. He set about rebuilding his empire with a string of ill judged films for the hardcore European market. He released a string of poorly received under the counter films “Fist Like?” “Bellabegs for It” , “Rita, Sue and the Turra Coo” , “Teabagging at Tyrebagger”, “In the Butt o’ Ben” and “Sheep Impact”.

He claimed his career was saved when he started collaborating with young Doric porn wunderkind Girth Dee. The two met at the premier of Girth’s student film, a Doric reimagining of Erica Jong’s feminist masterpiece, “Fear of Fly Cupping”. Lovepole was oft quoted calling Girth Dee “my natural successor” and “my young apprentice”. The two would go on to make Doric Porn classics “Yer MaCamerons!” and “Twa Quines ain Quaich”, both of which crossed into the international market and were translated from the Doric into 25 languages including Lallans and Gaelic. Garth Dee is reportedly scripting a Doric Porn Opera in tribute to the great man. He said yesterday, "Lovepole and I always talked about doing Madam Butterfly but setting it in The Broch. It's got everything, that opera. We were thinking some loon fae the Broch deflowers this wee Japanese lassie fae a trendy sushi bar in Toon then fucks off, like..."

Sandy is survived by umpteen weans throughout the Grampian area and his lovely 6^th wife and former muse Babs Oot-Firthelads (star of “Giving Peterheid” “Crude Bay” and “Fat Boddam Girl” which saw Peterhead dubbed The Blue Toon by Empire Magazine) and his mistress and most recent leading lady Helen Midden (Star of “The Cromarty Filth”, “The Quine” and “The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and her Funcy Piece”) who has been left a share of his considerable fortune.

Girth Dee inherits all of Lovepole’s film props and the secret recipe for Lovepole’s patented sexual lubricant which is effective in temperatures to a wind-chill factor of -25degrees.

Sandy Lovepole (7 August 1956-3^rd March 2011)

This post is for everyone who made me laugh on Tuesday night on twitter with the #doricporn theme. I've stolen all your stuff! (Follow them: @ABZQuine @GordonWright @andiabz @markrae @redbellyboy @BeefyLorelei @DaisyGlaisy @arricc @Mr_Paw_Broon @Jamsie @jenstar77 @bcnsco @Christeenie @renamuscanada @grahamecase @vambo @LuciusShitface @rxpell @roomitchell @BillySangster @SaorEcosse @clarkie1973 @weebesom @ColinWHutch @ajjohnstone @simebo @KirstenHay1971 @peelywallysnr @sabele26 @hopemanman @naechance @Hamespun @rabcgray @coachingabn @apexofthecurve @watty62 @BraeScotland @lenathehyena @alisonsdiary @brianjaffa and me @misssym

....and possibly more I've left out by mistake- let me know if you were involved and I'll add your tweetname to the roll call)

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My Big Fat Motherwell Wedding

2011-02-27T17:52:00.002Z

I've got a wedding this week. I'm sure it's going to be lovely but ever been to a nightmare wedding? Everyone has nightmare wedding stories. This is mine.

Meeester’s folks left Motherwell in the sixties when they got married, but the rest of the family still live there. Motherwell is well hard. In fact it should be called Motherwellhard.

It was 1995 and one of the cousins is getting wed. For some reason, the full extended Martini clan decided to attend this wedding.

It was a colourful day, to say the least.

The Bride

The Bride is tiny, brunette and pretty. We see her for the first time as she comes down the aisle.

Double take…there are five clones behind her in shiny aqua puffball dresses. Her five bridesmaids are clearly her sisters. They are exact copies of her except they range in size.

Her's is your typical East-End Glasgow Catholic family. Quite a few Glasgow Catholics still practice the no-contraception thing. I mean, even the Irish are ditching that one- there’s just South America, Africa and Glasgow making sure not a single spermatozoa is spilled.

Living proof of this practice is these six girls, all with barely nine months between them. The reason they all look exactly the same is because the poor mother’s body didn’t have time to reset and make a new template for the next kid as soon as the last one was out. It still thought it was making the last one.

Mother of the bride is probably only 33 but looks 70, and is probably expecting the next clone.

It gets Stephen King freakier when you see the sisters all lined up at the top table later on. They’re like Russian dolls, ‘cept in polyester, frosted lipstick and sovereign rings. They are named after dead nuns.

The Best Man
Cousin groom's best man is his elder brother. He is a known Motherwell hardman and has seen the inside of chokey on more than a few occasions. Meeester remembers him fondly as a cool older cousin. A cool older cousin who has morphed into a dangerous geezer involved in some dodgy rackets. What a difference a decade makes. His hard mates are around him throughout the day like he is some kind of Weegie Tony Soprano.

The Line Up

Oh! What to do in the line up? What’s that line in Four Weddings and a Funeral?

“I hate line-ups, I never know what to say”

“Just smile and say, ‘You must be very proud’.”

Good advice. Hugh and his posh pals might not have been so worried about social niceties in this line up situation. Their manners would be severely challenged if the best man were to grab their girlfriend bodily and effectively feel her up. On being introduced to the Best Man, my arse was squeezed and fondled and he grunted in my ear,

“C’mere darlin’”. Not that I could come any closer.

I’ve not been violated in a line up before or since.

Apart from the obvious embarrassment, I spent the next half hour worried that this faction of the family may yet accept their invitation to my own nuptials and I will be molested once again in my own line-up in a month's time.

The Wedding Feast

We’re in the Motherwell Miner’s Social Club for the reception; not featuring in Brides Magazine alongside Blenheim Palace any time soon. Staff come round for drinks orders and are immediately flummoxed by Meeester’s request,

Meeester: Which reds do you have?

Waiter: Eh?

Meeester: Red Wine? Is there a House Red?

Waiter: Hang on…(shouts the full length of the hall) Bernadette! Hiv we goat ony wine?”

Barmaid: Em, I dunno, there’s maybe a boattle in the back, Stevie.

Meeester is brought Co-Op Red Lambrusco, with dust on the bottle (must be vintage). I never knew there was such a thing. But there it was in all it’s sachharine sweet, pinky, fizzy 3% alc. £1.99 glory. Oz Clarke would have started a flippin’ riot.

All around us, it’s shorts, nips and pints. You can feel the disapproval of the guests at the uppity ways of the Martinis.

“ Wine? Wine? ….Fuckin’ poof. "

The Top Table

Meeester’s Mum has been asked to sing at the service, and to show their thanks, she is invited to sit at the top table with the Wedding Party.

There are about ten people she barely knows sat beside her. We look over and feel sorry for her.

We feel even sorrier for her when we realise that she is the only person at the top table not smoking. And I’m not talking lighting up after the meal; the full table all have fags on the go throughout the dinner. The Mother of the Bride has one wedged in her fingers as she holds her cutlery, king-ash threatening to sully her steak pie at every turn. Food is eaten in-between draws.

Meeester Gets a Dress Rehearsal
Meeester is the only one of the guests in a kilt.

He feels uneasy at first, since everyone else is in a suit. He feels more self-conscious when, after the dinner tables are cleared, the entire wedding party have gone and got changed into shirts and jeans, boob tubes and minge base skirts, like it was any other Saturday night at the Miner’s Social.

At one point the groom and best man go off with their mates to play pool in the other room!

As a result of this, drunken people at the club think Meeester’s the groom. All night he is being bought drinks by random strangers, and on several occasions he has to refuse money crushed into his hands as a wedding gift.

Red-faced broken veined certain heart attack victim: I didnae hae time to get you anything, but that’s for your honeymoon, son.

Meeester: Oh! I’m not the groom.

Heart attack: (Not hearing, or caring) You look aifter that wee lassie…she’s a fuckin’ diamond….

Heart attack drunkenly sways off…leaving Meeester clutching money.

As the night goes on, the reception turns into a drunken nightmare, with fights outside and sweating dipsomaniac uncles starting family arguments with other sweating dipsomaniac uncles.

Terrifyingly, more and more relatives I’ve never met start to make noises about organising mini buses and such to Aberdeen for our wedding.

Of course, they never came.

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The Tooth is Stranger than Fiction (sorry!)

2011-02-17T14:21:00.003Z

My glasses shoot off my face at today's headline

Last year I would visit our dentist, the Tooth Jockey, on a monthly basis. Sometimes more. I wrote about it all the time here, and I bored all my family and friends with my brace-face woes and snaggletooth sagas. I was having orthodontic treatment and sometimes it didn't go so smoothly, so in some months I was sat in that waiting room every week. When you spend a lot of time in a place, particularly one with the ratio of golf magazines to women's magazines around 10-1 you busy yourself with people watching.

One thing was a constant source of interest-I always wondered what the score was with the dentist's wife working there all of a sudden. I couldn't work out what it was that she did. She seemed just to be chatting whilst the receptionists dealt with everything. Hmmmm...

It was interesting to watch. Had she pestered him into letting her work there? All of a sudden they practice offered new cosmetic treatments like Botox and the like. Was she behind this diversification? She certainly seemed a fan of the injectible poison. In one conversation with her as I paid for my orthodontic treatment she told me she was trying to get her husband to train in a procedure where threads could be inserted into your face and pulled up giving you a face lift. I had just had metal fitted to my teeth, I wasn't into the mood for a face lift, but she clearly saw me as a potential candidate. After that conversation I kept a wee bit of an eye on her. "There's a story there," I said to myself.

They seemed like an odd couple- him really quiet and unassuming, and his wife loud, brash, with a permanent tan and a lot of makeup. What was the score there? Why am I so nosy? Why aren't there better magazines in this waiting room?

Turns out my Miss Marple sense was a- tingling. Today my glasses shot off my head cartoon like when I read the local paper. "Wife sues husband in pay row!" screams one local paper. "Couple set aside differences in unfair-dismissal battle!" shouted another. Front page both of them, the trashier rag having a series of photos of those involved- the one of the Tooth Jockey and his business partner taken unawares on the street, the one of the wife posed for with full makeup. Hmmm, guess who called the papers, eh?

My mum is my on the spot reporter for the Misssives and phones me with a down the line broadcast not quite from the dentist's chair but close enough. She's actually at the dentist today and there were apparently photographers outside when she went in. As she sat in the waiting room the local radio news blared out with the dentist and his wife the lead story as receptionists looked awkward and dentists cowered in their consulting rooms avoiding the press. It's all kicking off and she's like Jon Snow in the middle of the action except she's in a dentist waiting room and not downtown Cairo. (In saying that she will kill me for writing about this- she's got dentistry work ongoing).

And why wouldn't the press be interested? A couple who are still together and claim to be happily married took each other to court after the husband sacks wife? What the blazes? It's like a Coen Brother's film. But there you have it. The truth really is better than a woman's magazine after all.

I knew there was a story there! I knew it!

I am happy to report however that the scandal won't affect my teeth, but any plans I might have had for threads being inserted into my skull to cantilever my wrinkles heavenward might be scuppered.

Stop Press; Story picked up by Daily Mail and The Telegraph today. You read it here first folks!

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The Suburbs

2011-02-04T12:33:00.002Z

Us Taylor Kids

I’m a just a small town girl. “Livin’ in a lonnnnley world” etc. But as all small town girls know- there is no midnight train going anywhere. I lived in a village where the last bus from the nearest city left at 8.52pm, arriving comfortably back in suburban Nowheresville at 9.30pm, so as we country folk could be safely tucked into our beds well before the witching hour. No Satanic rituals for us! Oh no!

This effectively meant you had to make your own entertainment. I suppose for a few village teens that manifested itself as unplanned pregnancy, petty crime and alcoholism but for us it took the shape of plain utter stupidity. Say anything you like about The Taylor Kids (as we were, and still are really) but we knew how to entertain ourselves. We had to. I have tons of stories about us Taylor kids, but a lot of them are kind of “You had to be there” type stories, and anyway one day I plan to write something a lot longer about us, probably centering around the year we spent in Brazil, where for long periods of time, and without school friends particularly nearby we really were each other’s only friends. There is a book in it for sure. Even if only three people read it. One thing you should maybe know about us is that we find nothing funnier than our own jokes. It’s not fair to expect anyone else to.

Any book about the Taylor kids would certainly include the things our brother did to make us laugh. Last night I remembered one that when I messaged by siblings to remind them had my sister unable to go to sleep for laughing. It was how my brother, without fail, at 12.30 every Saturday afternoon would do his Grandstand Dance.

Kids of the eighties, please just take 30 seconds to remind yourself of the genius that is the opening titles of Grandstand with Des Lynam.

My brother had engineered a carefully choreographed dance the climax of which would be a swivel hipped pelvic movement right on the large timpani bong in the middle. Bong! And ending with a double pelvic thrust on the final "Duh!Duh!" bit. Ahhh.. I can see it now. I am laughing when I picture it- hahaha he’s got a quiff and is wearing a Fred Perry shirt, a 80s grey and green nylon mix cardigan and just his pants and some off white sports socks(probably). Wasn’t everyone’s brother rocking this look in 1984?

Now, given it was 12.30 on a Saturday afternoon, chances are that my parents were in the house. Yet I never remember them witnessing it. In fact, when I think of the whole list of things my brother did to entertain us, I never remember my parents being present. But they must have been. I can only conclude that they were hiding in the greenhouse wondering where it all went wrong, silently weeping in the kitchen over a cup of tea with a stiff brandy in it, were on the phone to a child psychologist or were just avoiding us for the years it took for us all to bugger off out of their nice house and get a life of our own.

I’m sorry if this post is a little bit “you had to be there” but I’m writing it for my brother and sister really. For their delight (my sister) and embarrassment (my brother, but who am I kidding he’s proud of his achievements). I’m also writing this to try and encourage my 39 year old brother to film himself re-enacting the Grandstand dance for our entertainment. C’mon son- get that cardigan on!

Whilst he’s making his mind up, now that he’s a mature and responsible member of society (ha!) with a wife that would like to maintain a degree of attractiveness towards, here are some of the things my brother did to have me and my sister crying with laughter without fail:

1.The Grandstand dance (bong! hahaha!)

2.Dressing up in pants (there’s those pants again) and my mother’s fox fur coat (her honeymoon “Going away outfit” no less) and a studded belt, painted on eyeliner moustache and pretending to be Freddie Mercury with one of the fire irons as a microphone. I have a photo of him doing this whilst outside on the kitchen extension roof somewhere. If it kills me I will track it down.

3.Freaking out at the mere mention of Marc Almond’s name. To the point of hysteria. To really drive him insane take your copy of Smash Hits with Soft Cell on the cover and place over your face and say the words, “Ewan, I love you” softly and Almondly to him. Possibly up it a gear by trying to kiss him with Marc Almond still on your face. Seriously I’d still like to arrange for Marc Almond to appear at my brother’s fortieth birthday this year. Marc, if you’re free give us a call. It’ll be funny, mate, trust me. I'll by you a pint. But not the pint of legend, you mucky git.

4. Miming to West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys as an unsmiling Neil Tennant when he was supposed to be filling the dishwasher whilst listening to the Top 40 countdown. My sister would be Chris Lowe but as the song went on Tennant would become increasingly more violent towards his bandmate, usually ending with him being kicked to death whilst lying on the floor. All with the same emotionless expression on his face and probably wearing a long black trench/wool coat of my Mums. (Mum, he was NEVER out of your wardrobe)

5. Filling his mouth with Alpen, milk and a munched up carrot and then running out to the back garden and pretending to be violently and uncontrollably sick against dad’s garden shed. We would probably make him do this about 10 times before we got bored. I don’t know if my mum and dad ever figured out what the mess was beside the shed. It’s possible they thought the dog had worms or something. No, it was just your son. Sorry if you spent any unnecessary money at the vets getting Sula checked out. Note: If anyone ever need a vomiting man double for a play or film or something I can honestly say you won’t find anyone more realistic than my brother. He is something of an artist.

So us small town kids, we know how to have a good time. This is a universally recognised fact. My current faves Arcade Fire knew this when they wrote their latest album The Suburbs. I’ve scanned those lyrics, I’ve found lots to relate to in them. Sadly dressing up in your mother’s clothes and miming to Queen isn’t in there; Win Butler and his brothers must have been doing something else. I’d like to think they dropped some tracks that were about the stuff that really made them laugh that when explained to other folks got them strange looks.

Ah, you had to be there.

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Men-Speak to Me!

2011-02-03T10:09:00.002Z

Off the back of my last post which you can read here, I've heard from a few guys that they've been uncomfortable with a sexist culture against women in their workplace. Maybe you've been invited to join in, maybe you've felt powerless in the face of bosses who expect all males to treat women in a disrespectful way. I want to hear from you.

I am currently writing an article on how a sexist culture affects men in the workplace. If you've a story get in touch.

Email me at gillianamartin(AT)hotmail(DOT)com. I won't use anyone's real name or mention any details you are not comfortable with- I just want a flavour for general feeling on this area which i think is overlooked when sexism in the workplace is being discussed.

And please pass the link on to your male friends. Thanks!

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Andy Gray and Richard Keys. They Do Not Walk Alone

2011-01-27T12:07:00.009Z

My dad is ace. He is sixty four. He is that generation. That generation for whom we seem to give a whole host of excuses for bad behaviour. The sort of behaviour exhibited by the likes of Sky Sports pundits Andy Gray and Richard Keys this week (see links here if you don't know the story). My father is not sexist. He is the sort of man that believes that woman can do anything they want. It wouldn't even occur to him to be sexist. He is a piper and always says that the best pipers are women. He encourages his daughters to do whatever they want. He makes no distinction between his daughters' potential or worth and that of his son.

Deborah Orr in the Guardian today tried, in the interest of debate, to give Andy Gray's dinosaur attitude a bit of perspective. (You can read Deborah's article here) She said that he came from that background where sexism and inequality of the sexes was the norm, 1950s Glasgow. Hmmm, my dad is a child of 1950s Glasgow. He doesn’t spend his nights down the pub, or refer to women as “it”. Same background as Andy Gray more or less. Hmmm, I like Deborah's columns but I think she is giving him too much slack. This is not a generational thing, this is simply a ignorant git thing. Andy Gray is an ignorant git. Lots of men of his generation and background are not. Let’s not go down that road. Let's not let any more ignorant gits off the hook.

So this week TV football pundit Andy Gray got sacked for the remarks below. I’ve added the You Tube clips for those who haven’t seen them at the bottom of this post and you can read this link if you want to see how the story broke. His onscreen partner Richard Keys whose remarks I would argue were even worse, resigned yesterday.

Was what they said banter? I think not. Banter doesn’t hurt anyone. We all love a bit of banter, especially in TV when the lulls and hanging around in between takes can be tedious. This was not banter because it hurt, demeaned and/or embarrassed people. Both men and women.

I, like many women, have been on the receiving end of hurtful and demeaning comments dressed as banter. I wish I could have had those remarks recorded and held up to speculation like Gray's and Keys's but like most folk, I just have to try and ignore them. I am still embarrassed by them. I am so embarrassed that I hesitate to tell the story here because my parents read this blog. But then since I didn’t make the comments, why should I be embarrassed?

About 15 years ago when I first started working in production I was the producer of a live TV show that ran throughout the Oil Show and was also broadcast on Aberdeen Cable. This industry event which takes place in Aberdeen every two years is a huge deal for the oil industry and for Aberdeen. Working on that show was my first shot at live telly. It was very exciting. And we broke the Shell Brent Spar story, a fact which I am still very proud of. I was a young woman in charge of a pretty large crew and I was also writing almost all of the content for the show with very little previous experience. This was a huge deal for me at the time.

At the last moment in our preparations for the show, our entertainment presenter had to drop out. My managing director decided I should fill in for her. No argument. I had never been on camera before. I was crapping myself.

As the week’s rehearsals went on I began to get more confident both on camera and behind it. By the time we went live I was actually looking forward to being on camera alongside my infinitely more experienced main host who had been on telly from the age of 20. We had a great first show and I felt elated. Nothing had gone wrong, and I felt a mixture of relief, extreme pride in our production team, and happiness that I was in the right job after all. That night after we’d all packed up I dropped one of the cameramen home. I was on a high, most probably gushing about the show.

My friend was a little quiet.

“If someone had said something out of order about you, would you want to know?” he said.

I assumed someone had been bitching about me. One or two of the guys in the crew with more miles hadn’t been chuffed that someone as inexperienced as I had been asked to produce the show.

“Who?” I asked.

“The MD. I wouldn’t say but I think you might want to know so that you can wear something different tomorrow. Maybe keep your jacket on.”

What??? He explained. In the outside broadcast van where all the camera feeds were mixed for the live programme the fifty something managing director and a couple of his board members had been hanging about watching the monitors whilst I was doing rehearsals. I had been rehearsing my links and had taken my jacket off. Probably because I had been running around arranging things just beforehand.

My friend had been in the van presumably adjusting camera levels and overheard the so called banter between the boss and his fellow board member behind him. The banter concerned my nipples. The prominence of them. And the assertion that I must have been in a state of sexual excitement during my links. This apparently went on for the whole of my rehearsal during which quite a few of my crew had been present in the van’s gallery whilst technical adjustments had been made. As a new person came in the OB van (all blokes) they were invited to give their opinion on the state of my nipples. Thankfully my friend told me that most of them were probably quite embarrassed and didn’t join in to any degree. Much like the embarrassment clearly displayed by Jamie Redknapp in that clip of him being encouraged to dish the dirt in that clip with Richard Keys below.

Remember that confidence that I mentioned I felt? Well, it just evaporated in that moment. My co-workers had been invited to ridicule me. My boss, the MD, who might have given me the opportunity to produce the show, was laughing at me along with other blokes in charge of my future at the company. For them I would forever be the girl with the nipples.

My colleague had obviously been thinking long and hard as to whether he should tell me. He was very embarrassed himself. But he did the right thing.

Needless to say the jacket stayed on throughout the week. And possibly two bras at a time.

When I read about Andy Gray and Richard Keys being the subject of all this news hysteria this week I knew the release of those tapes to the media were from folk that they had worked with that they had ridiculed, embarrassed and pissed off. Male and female.

It pays to remember that people have long memories and technicians and production assistants that you’ve pissed off have access to recording devices. And that most blokes feel as uncomfortable in the company of sexist pigs as women do.

Oh and by the way.....watch this Andy and Richard, now you've got all that free time on your hands:

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The Black Menace Speaks

2011-01-20T10:38:00.001Z

I've logged Sonny the Black Menace in. He's apparently written a blog post in reply to my earlier one. He's been working on it all week. Let me know what he says.

Misssy M

Hello fans!

It’s not often I speak up but I am concerned about Misssy M, my woman. Something is going on with her and I just can’t figure it out. She’s fine at home, doing her usual, pressing lots of buttons on things and shouting at the puppies- all her usual habits. No, it’s when we go outside that she starts behaving strangely. Normally, we go out and we’re off. She throws my ball for me, collects little my souvenirs, which I don’t mind, cos let’s face it- who doesn’t like a bit of poo? It’s the least I can do for her for giving me all that scran. Yes, normally the two of us are off and away. What a laugh we have! I come back ready for my bed and a good bum cleaning session and she goes back to pushing buttons on things and shouting at the puppies. I thought we were happy. I thought she was doing great. But no, it’s all changed.

Thing is, folks, she’s started doing weird stuff. Like, out of nowhere.  Here’s what’s been happening: as usual she gets all my toys together and her little souvenir bags in case I do something she might want to save for later, then she puts her steadying chain on to her hand and clips it to my collar for support (I often wonder how she manages when I’m not with her) and out we go. But instead of us quickly heading off to the playground, she keeps stopping. Is she in pain? Cos she keeps on making a sound that sounds like “Heeeeeeeel!!!” like she’s hurt herself. The shriek of pain comes after she stops so I’m thinking she’s having trouble walking. So I give her a hand,as you do. I pull her along to see if that will gee her up. And get this; she squeals even louder and jerks her arms about. Listen I’m not one to be down on a  woman who is clearly having physical and let’s face it, mental problems, but the  tugging and jerking thing is a bit annoying. I know that’s selfish of me, but I’m doing my best to get the woman moving here.

And it gets worse. I go out with my woman the other day and she takes my man with her too. Christ on a bike, I’ve got to pull them both along now!  As usual they are joined together so , you know, I’ve got to put that extra effort in. You're welcome! Listen I don’t mind, I can pull and steady them both, I’m a working strain, you know- the hard stuff comes easy to me. But then my woman was whelping even more. I think she’s taken a turn for the worse. I wonder if my man sees it too? he doesn't seem to. She even got rewarded with a glass of that clear yellow stuff she likes when we came back, so he must think she's doing ok. Oh I got NOTHING by the way. Not even a wee biscuit or a sniff of one of the cats' bums.

I don’t know, I’m at my wits end. Can anyone help. What could be wrong with her? Is it old age? Should I be worried that it might be "that time"? She hasn't had any new puppies lately, that could be it. I dunno. You know how bitches get...

Let me know in the comments box. Hope you like the latest photo of me at the top by the way. That’s me looking for a crisp if anyone’s got any spare.

Licks to you all, 

Sonny, The Black Menace 

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Old Dog, New Tricks

2011-01-16T19:00:00.001Z

You apparently can teach an old dog new tricks. That stuff about you not being able to is apparently rubbish, which is good news for old dogs and old dog owners everywhere. But can you teach a young dog tricks he never got the hang of when he was a pup, even though you paid for expensive one to one dog training and bought all her expensive harnesses and training accoutrements?

Sonny the Black Menace pulls me on the lead when we go for a walk. So much so that you can see his back and leg muscles rippling through his fur and he has the appearance of a mountain climber scaling a rock face even though he’s on horizontal tarmac. He looks like Tom Cruise in the opening sequence of Mission Impossible 2, but a tad taller and less excitable.

Horizontal Tom

I have tried for three years to get him out of this, but to be honest it’s exhausting. He’s so much better off the lead that I have opted for the easy life, and the continued use of my left arm. It’s easier for me to leave him off the lead or if needs must to slip a Halti on his head (think pony harness) and control the problem by dragging his face about than actually persevering and teaching him the correct way to walk with a human being attached. He seems to view me as the double decker bus that he, as a contestant of Britain’s Strongest Man, has to drag across a car park.

A dog in a Halti/My Little Pony

So this year I have vowed that I will teach Sonny the Black Menace to walk with me on a loose lead. If it kills me. Which it very well might.

We are on Day 4 of the new regime. It’s not going that well. I say that, but it went really well on Day 1. In fact we cracked it on Day 1. He was trotting beside me like a Lipizaner pony- you know the ones they used to get in to Blue Peter with Princess Anne?

See? He DID do it.

And then on Day 2 we did even better. On day 3 I was so chuffed that I decided to ask Meeester M to come out on a walk with the Black Menace and I to see us showcase our skills. I am confident that he will declare me the new Dog Whisperer and the Black Menace the greatest dog since that ace wee wiry one in Frasier.

Sadly that didn't happen. Once out on the street The Black Menace reverts back to Britain’s Strongest Man like his internal hard drive has been left too near an industrial magnet and the contents have been erased. “But you were doing it yesterday!!!!Heel! Heeel, Sonny!” (to Meeester) “he was doing it yesterday, honest he was...!” I shrieked as my arm is being wrenched out of its socket.

“He’s no Eddie from Frasier, is he?” says Meeester as my heels dig trenches into the road in an effort to stop the drag westward.

So all the books I’ve skim-read on dog training, all the videos I’ve searched through made by slightly mad doggy people on YouTube, all the Dog Whisperer episodes I’ve SkyPlussed- what use have they been? Surely some of these techniques must work? No, not on this mutt, they don't.

But I am not defeated. I have decided that the key is that I must fully understand the psychology of my dog in order for our work together to progress. Once I break into his little freakish mind and find out what makes him tick I will be on my way to success and dislocated shoulders will be a thing of the past. I have decided to give him my username and password to the Misssives so that maybe he could write about his perspective on the situation. Then maybe I can begin to understand the motivation behind the pulling and suss out where it went wrong.

This week the Black Menace speaks!

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Material

2011-01-11T13:31:00.004Z

Jay Kay's Uncle tries to take a snap

of him for the family album

I’ve never really classed myself as a Mummy blogger, although from time to time I post about my family. But I want all those Mummy bloggers out there to know, you’ve got a shelf life, ladies. The day is going to come, sooner than you think, where you will not be able to write about your kids. And sadly it is the point at which they start doing the most bloggable stuff- the teenage years. You can pretty much time it- they will no longer let you write about them as soon as you catch them spraying on deodorant or voluntarily brushing their hair. The day you hear them running a bath for themselves is the day you need to look elsewhere for material.

Think you can have a good laugh about their awkward attempts at adulthood? Think again. Think you can make fun of their personal hygiene issues for the enjoyment of your readers? Move on. Think you can take photos of the state of their bedroom floors and invite strangers to openly mock them? Don’t dare even try.

Indy is online. And Indy does not want me involved in his online life unless I am actively promoting his films like some kind of unpaid public relations flunky, or driving a stunt car for one of his films (uncredited I may add. Click here to see the film.), or giving him any money via Paypal for any reason. I have done nothing, I've barely even been on his pages, but I am banned nonetheless. As are his previous online buddies; his dad, his Uncles, his Aunties and his grandparents. We’ve all been given the cyber heave ho.

A month after asking to be my Facebook buddy the boy has dropped me like so many aging female TV presenters from long running shows. If anything he says or does comes up on my timeline due to a connection with mutual acquaintances he demands to know how I came by such top secret information as if I am actively hacking his account like a Wikileaks operative. He drew the line at raking up some misdemeanour I was involved with in Finland a couple of years ago, but thankfully common sense and the horror of losing access to my spaghetti bolognaise prevailed.

When my book was being published he issued me with a strong warning, which could be admissible in any Scottish court, “There better not be anything about me in there”. There isn’t, son, it’s all based on your Dad who is the blogger's equivalent of a performing seal. As long as he's in the room, you are safe.

So exploit the cute and hilarious antics of your kids for as long as possible, Mums and Dads, and keep an eye out for new material, because your kids will be turning into Indys soon enough. And knowing kids these days, some may even have blogs of their own to dish the dirt on you.

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Pet Shop Girl

2011-01-06T16:50:00.004Z

The Black Menace in a collar that is sooo last year

Twice in two weeks I have been accused of having bad manners. Both times by extremely rude people. Bizarrely, both occasions happened on two days of the year when folk are supposed to be nice to one another. The first was on Christmas Eve and the second was on Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve for those with puzzled looks). I’m not sure yet if I’m going to blog about No2. We’ll see.

Yet in my list of things that drive me insanely angry, bad manners is right up there. I mean littering is No1, but bad manners is easily is the top five, along with folk who kick dogs, being shouted at from another room and ketchup. I like to think my own personal manners are in tip top condition.

Incident 1: Pets at Home.

I am in pet shop superstore Pets at Home because like the sort of idiot that in later years will wear one of those fleeces with huskies on it and make her husband wear a matching one, I thought it was important that I buy my dog a Christmas present. Also in Pets at Home is every other person that owns a pet in the North East of Scotland. Some of them even have their dogs with them. Nobody has a cat with them, because as many of you will know, cats don’t celebrate Christmas.

My shopping list is simple:

Squeaky toy shaped like a small rugby ball
Chewy treats that also clean dog teeth
A new dog bowl, preferably in the same colour as my kitchen (don’t judge me!!!)
A new collar for the Black Menace to replace last year’s light blue polka dot one that only a dog secure in his masculinity can pull off.
Don’t buy a guinea pig.

I have managed to find all but the collar and have made it past the small animals without scooping one up, so I’m on target for getting out of shopping hell, getting home and starting Christmas proper....until I hear this noise coming in my direction.

“You could have said EXCUSE ME!”

I stop my search for the exact colour of collar that will bring out the deep hazel tones in a cocker spaniel’s eyes and look back. I assume that I am about to witness a barney of some kind. Indeed I am. But I am to be invited to take a key role in that barney.

“Aye, you heard me. You could have said EXCUSE ME. Have ye nae got ony manners?”

(Note: Are you all following my Scots dialect here? I assume you are since no-one’s said anything. Okay then, I’ll carry on).

“Me?” I say.

“Aye- you. You barged straight past us. Nae manners. You’re supposed to say ‘excuse me’ when you go past someone.”

She’s one of those bulldog chewing a wasp types. Hair straightened to within an inch of its lank life, one of those lassies who is delighted leggings are back in the shops as they are perfect for her for their slimming qualities. She’s wearing sports wear but is unaware of the irony involved in this act. She is very confrontational. Her skinny baseball cap wearing boyfriend/husband looks slightly weary. He’s seen her do this sort of thing many times before. He’s probably been ordered into battle on her behalf in many Saturday night takeaway joints, but this time he is sober enough to be embarrassed.

“Are you lecturing me on my manners?”

“Aye, cos ye’ve got none!”

Clearly I have walked past this couple and she feels that I have somehow invaded her personal space. I have no recollection of them being in my field of vision until I responded to her shouting at me.

“This is incredible. Only two folk are allowed to comment on my manners. And they are my parents and even then...”

“Aye well maybe they didnae teach ye ony manners. Cos you’ve got none!”

This is ridiculous. Even if I had gone right up to this woman’s face and burped right in it as I passed by her at the doggie treats, this reaction would be starting to get into overkill status.

“Get lost! You’re the one who’s rude.”

“I’ve goat manners!! It’s you fa hivnae!” (Needing a translation now? Just let me know...)

“So you’ve said...”

We are never going to resolve this. She's clearly been captain of the debating team at school AND I could be minutes from her producing her graduation certificate from the local Charm School to prove her point into the bargain. I could also be minutes away from what violent people in films refer to as the act of “teaching someone some manners”. I try to walk away casual-like without making it look like the run it is desperate to be.

I pay for my items, then I leave.

And one dog doesn’t get a new collar for Christmas...

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Christmas Massacre

2010-12-19T13:17:00.000Z

Not doing a huge amount of blogging at the moment but Merry Christmas to anyone and everyone who has read the Misssives this year. And a special Christmas firm handshake to anyone who has commented on any of the posts. I'll leave you with possibly the most Christmassy thing I have seen recently and that's my son Indy's video, Christmas Massacre.

I hope you don't have nightmares...and see you next year.

The Aventures of Alvin Part 1

2010-12-09T14:55:00.002Z

I've not been blogging this week. I've been working. However I have also been enjoying my new hobby, Blipping. Last Friday I notched up my 100th consecutive day of posting a photo a day on Blipfoto.So many of my family and my friends are also members of Blipfoto but I was reluctant to join them. I didn't think I would have anything interesting to take a photo of every day. Working from home a lot with only the dogs and cat for company I worried that my photos would only be of my keyboard and my pets. But it has been ace. It's like my friends and family have also started blogging. Check out DaisyGlaisy, Beefy Lorelei, Meesterfeature , Ben's View, It's A Dobb's Life, BillyTheKid and JannyLou my blip pals for heaps of ace pics. DaisyGlaisy and Beefy Lorelei who happen to be my sister and brother in law have even had their pics chosen to be on the National Museum of Scotland brochure through Blipfoto!

I'd recommend joining Blipfoto to anyone.

This week, with all the snow I got a little bored of taking photos of beautiful snowy landscapes like everyone else in Scotland, so I enlisted the help of Alvin to re-enact great scenes from film history which took place in snow. I'm going to keep going as long as the snow lasts. Here are this week's:

Can you guess which films the scenes are from without cheating and hopping over to Blip to check?

Day 1:Man it's treacherous out there.

For instance, look at his situation I encountered today. It could get tricky. On trying to climb one of South America's most dangerous mountains these lads have got themselves into a bit of bother. Lucas the dog (below) has lost his footing and has fallen over a precipice. Poor Alvin (top) is roped to his climbing mate but is being pulled down into the crevasse by his weight. Alvin, having had no reply from Lucas for nearly 20 minutes now assumes the fall has killed him and is debating whether, in order to save his own life, he should cut the body of Lucas free.

Day 2:Snow can be romantic.

Look at this nice couple who are hiding from the revolutionaries who would enslave them both. The winter is all they have. Holed up in an abandoned house in the Russian snowbound countryside they have a passionate affair. As soon as spring arrives Barbie here will be found by her evil master Komarovsky and Dr Alvin will return to his wife and their affair will be over.

Day 3:Alvin here thought he had landed the perfect seasonal job.

"Hotel caretaker wanted" read the ad.

"Just the thing for an aspiring writer," he thought, solitude in a mountaintop resort, free board and lodging, all the food you can eat, and time to write. the wife would love it- the kid would have a blast running around all those big old hallways.

Things didn't go according to plan. In short, Alvin went a wee bit mad, tried to slaughter his whole family with an axe and ended up here, as you see him, frozen overnight after chasing his wife and son around a maze in the hotel grounds.

Day 4: Look here at Alvin who is enroute from a rugby tour in South America.

Unfortunately Alvin and his team's aeroplane went down in the Andes leaving the survivors stranded and, crucially,short of food. Unless of course you discount the dead bodies of their teammates, like Roadkill Bunny here.

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Faces by The Lorelei

2010-11-29T15:51:00.005Z

Anyone who knows this blog well will know about my husband, Meeester M.

Meeester M is many things. If you want to find out about those things then simply click on the posts about him to see what kind of a beast you are dealing with. Meeester M is also in a band. They are called The Lorelei and they are pretty damned good. The people in the band are like our extended family. I’d like to introduce you to them individually.

This is Beefy Lorelei. Yes, Beefy that’s what we call him- don’t ask me why- no one quite remembers. Beefy also happens to be my brother in law, but I just call him my brother. It’s nice when your sister marries someone you’ve known and loved for over twenty years. Beefy is the lead guitarist in The Lorelei. Beefy also has the Misssives moniker of “The Bearded liar”. Again, we can’t quite remember why- but it’s maybe because he’s a lyin’ bearded git.

This is Diane Lorelei. Diane is my Goth friend and we go and see any Goth bands that none of the rest of our friends like. Diane plays viola, and sings backing vocals. She has a lovely voice, but is one of the best people at colourful swearing I have ever known. She is widely accepted to be The Lorelei’s eye candy, but is easily the cleverest member of the band being a doctor who fixes folk’s heads. She is pretty much my favourite Lorelei. yes, I am remembering my actual husband is also in the band. What of it?

This is Keith Lorelei. Keith likes to think of himself as a silent enigmatic character, but really he’s just asleep most of the time. Except when he is drumming, that is. He drums so energetically that you sometimes wonder if it’s the same guy. Keith has such biting wit that most people actually wonder if they should punch him first before laughing. This is pretty much his trademark.

This is Flossie Lorelei. In possibly the hairiest band in the UK, Flossie is the hairiest. Fans of the band’s live shows come from miles around just to witness the moment when Flossie takes his shirt off to reveal his coveted man pelt. Nestled securely in this downy forest is Flossie’s mandolin. Flossie also plays violin, sings backing vocals and has all the tools anyone would ever need when anything breaks down as he is a Scouting legend.

This is Jonny P Lorelei. Jonny P is my unofficial little brother, as I have known him since he was fifteen. Johnny used to appear at each of our homes and stay there until we kicked him out and he’d move along the road to stay for an extended period at another friend’s home. Jonny plays bass guitar and is now a respectable and fully functioning member of society, despite previous indications to the contrary.

Finally this is John Lorelei, also known as Meeester M on the Misssives. Back off ladies; he’s mine. John is the lead singer of The Lorelei and also plays guitar and banjo when he remembers. You know enough about him already and if you don’t this post should give you a flavour of the man.

Why am I showing you the lovely faces of the Lorelei? Because they want to see your faces, and it seemed only fair to show you theirs' first. The Lorelei are currently finishing their third studio album and the album cover design is a montage of hundreds of faces. The idea is that faces from all over the world will be included. We need hundreds. Yes, including yours, Not only will these faces be on the album sleeve, they will form the video to the first single released and will appear on the website and all other promotion. They currently have over 500 faces but need many many more.

If you want your face to be on their album then it’s simple:

1. Send me a jpeg colour pic of your face (closeup/ face on to camera)

2. Email it to gillian(at)spontaneousproduction(dot)co(dot)uk

Mark your email "Lorelei" and I'll then pass it onto the designer.

Alternatively if your avatar is of your face, you could simply give me permission to pinch it in the comments box or paste a link to a photo of you on your blog that you'd like to give us.

The album, called “Faces” (of course) is released in May and if you send your photo in, it will doubtless be on there. We want as many face photos as possible, so pass on the word and get involved.

See The Lorelei’s website here and on their YouTube channel here. And listen to a wee sample of their music here.

And yes, that is Miles Hunt of The Wonderstuff....

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The Chiropractor Story

2010-11-26T11:48:00.001Z