Sunday, July 11, 2010

Bits n Pieces and gold sovereigns by the knuckle

Car boot sale

Good evening Reekers,

Music festivals, I hate them.

I hate them because I am so old and out of it, if I went, I would be mistaken for a plain clothes policeman, all be it, a very drunk one, or some sad old roadie touting for work.

They are happening all up and down the country, Glastos here, V-festivals, there, missed those? Don’t worry T in the Park will be along in a minute. Like a branch of Waterstones though, or Wagamamas, they are so generic. If you were helicoptered blindfold into one of them, you would have no idea what one you were in, or what end of the country you were at. It’ll be the same stage, the same security men, the same hotdogs and portaloos probably. Well, on reflection, that is of course a load of bollocks, because you would have about 100,000 standing beside you that might give you a clue, if it was T in the Park anyway.

The real reason I hate them is that there was no such thing when I was young and up for it and there is zero chance now of me experiencing it for real. I have to watch it on TV, like I’m an old hobo, pressing my nose up against the window of a trendy happening club, and watching all the fun inside, as I stand out in the rain, with my toe-less boots, the lid half off my crooked top hat, and my little red spotted handkerchief, empty on the end of my cane.

We had The Radio 1 Roadshow, Smiley bloody Miley and Bits’n’Pieces from a pier near you. It was shit but it was all we had and when Limahl or somebody came on and mimed his way through some long forgotten bubbly composition, it must have been awesome judging by the audience reaction, of course, on the radio, it sounded exactly the same as always, because he was only lip-syncing over the top of his record anyway. No headline acts or alternative stages, no supergroup get togethers we had Mike Reid and that other Mike, the one that married Sarah somebody from Blue Peter.

I ended up having a browse through a car boot sale this weekend. It was a big one too, with maybe over a hundred hopeful hawkers, optimistically seeking someone as misguided as them to pass some of their crap onto. Which lets face it, is likely if you put all those types of people in one field. I’ve had a walk around these things before, but small ones, with expectant young ladies selling the contents of the loft before they get it converted into a nursery, or kids off loading toys they have grown out of. This one though was totally full of professionals . A kind of gypsy underclass by the looks of them. And what trumpeting tat they had to sell, they say one mans trash, is another mans treasure,well, If that is true, today I strode across what must appear to them to be a mountainous pile of gold sovereigns, with a golden fountain on top, pouring out diamonds, and all the little gypsy kids, dipping ruby marshmallows into the golden fondue and…well, you get the picture. Of course to me, without the benefit of any er... gold tinted glasses, it was still very much trashy trash.

There were many things that defy normal market forces of supply and demand. I’m presuming there is no demand anyway, for a spirit level with no spirit, tins of shaving foam that look like they have just been dug up along with an IRA weapons cache, ugly shoes by the skip load and huge bulbous TVs that weigh the same as a car. The one little shining pearl in the septic tank, was a funky electric heater that was very collectable, for a heater. It was a Sofono, from the 50s, all sci-fi and When Aliens Attack. I even asked the price, appearing as blokey and gypsy as I could, and he wanted £50, “its from the 30s mate” as if to quote some electric heater price guide. I should have corrected him like David Prickinson, but I didn’t want to appear like an authority on 1950s electric heaters, which I’m not by the way.

Have Libya discovered the cure for cancer, and just not telling us infidels in the West?

I had another discussion this week, where I defended the Scottish Parliaments decision last year to free the Libyan that was doing time for blowing up the Pan-Am flight over Lockerbie, all those years ago. Its getting harder to defend that decision the longer the man lives I’m afraid.

When they announced it at the time, I was proud of the decision, it showed courage, compassion and a faith in God to give ultimate judgement, and if your religious, and I’m not at all, but if you were, considering a central tenet of it is forgiveness, I couldn’t understand the flak and outrage that was aimed from all quarters, especially the USA who are always going on about Christ and God and how bloody holier than thou they all are. However, saying all that, he was given 3 months to live with his terminal cancer on release, then he would be up in front of, if you believe in all that, the most senior judge, with no chance of appeal. That was almost a year ago, it doesn’t matter how noble a gesture, or worthy a sentiment to offer justice always with compassion, but its looking more and more like that has been taken advantage of, and that is very very sad.

Lang may yer lum reek.

No comments:

Post a Comment