well ive just returned to the big smoke(london),thats what my cousin calls it .im sh*t tired again and ready for another holiday.mind you i think its the holidays that are leaving me deflated.
winter vakashin kicked my emaciated, scurvied body so hard, i landed with grass burns in my white rugby shorts in scottish land ,the land which is loathed by the englishes. The scottishes think that cos they live 'uphill', all their shyte pollutes the thames, and thats how they seek thier revenge on the englishes.sick lil story, but one that a true scottiser revealed to me.
it was to edinburgh that i was to pitch my tent, in kay's place,ray bones would follow and a party would be had.
what a wee lil town.its like Disney Land with its lengthy Royale mile,-scattered with fake mel gibson lookalikes,a mile of sinuously extended branches leading to wee low-ceilinged pubs,stub-your-toe, (and gsus did i stub my toe)cobbled markets,and kotch filled corners. this artery,this mile connects itself on one end to her royal majesty's scottish home-its a palace and at the other upper outcrop to a west end massive castle, the Edinburgh Castle-if i were He-Man this is where i woulda eaten my corn flakes. the only mickey mouse i saw was probably in the haggis i wasnt about to attempt. the castle looms over its rough inhabitants keeping a watchful eye for any willfully conquering englishes. the city is pretty dark and gloomy,not much colour id say except for the emerald painted grassy knolls and parks scattered round.it is a rather beautiful.groovy lil city,its a quiet,and gentle lil city, its not gonna start a riot in a chinese noodle shop,no sirreee.it has carrot filled kotch stains in every wee crevice and it has scottishes running around like hairy backed heathen screaming,'i hate the english'.the streets are always soaked,is it beer or is it rain? it has whisky,i bought my bro a litre,although im not a fan, of the whisky that is. theres a peak, nestled in the city centre. i climebd its peak, arthurs seat, its the height that scares me.kids in gumboots, they dont give a shhyte, they just run.its not the sorta city that lurks in a sweaty alley, ready to pounce on some knitted jerseyed old grandma. its gentle in its demeanour, but lacked that killer blue velvet jacket effect. again i trudged this wee city like id never seen a city before. i didnt bleed, cos its so small.
i toured the highlands in a cheesy touristy bus.'ey son, sya wana check if youre on my bus?' i said,'shure', so whats yer 1st name,mr shure?', im like'uh, dan' okay mr shure climb on, boy'. the tour guide was militant.'strap yourselves in kids,and i only vanna hear one click,'click'.when he said coffee break,we drank coffee, caffeinated all the way,when he said 'buy curio',we purchased lil scottish scarf that lil vietnamese kid made, and short bread, twas so dried i turned into a raisin.when he said 'photo'.we got off that bus and we snapped, we snapped so much i think i got arc eye-it burned holes in my eyes.the highlands are enigmatic, william wallace cried 'freedom' there, rob roy farmed shaggy cows there.ewan mcgregor scrathced his ass there and harry went to pot as the philosopher got stoned.it's deadly lunar landscape stares at you with its eveel eye, its mind blazingly beautiful,but it could hurt you oh yes it can. it was a decent journey,i dont think ill do the tour bus again.
i saw glasgow,i always had it in my mind that it was this sorta crystalline ,glossy city-it could cut you if you droppped it., oh how wrong my scratchy mind was.its really dirty,its really grimey,it smells like shyte and its swimming in regurgitated aftermath,i should have been wearing rubber gloves.it has old buildings, quiet extra ordinary at least. and it has one after-dinner mint sort a building-flashy exterior,and groovily shlurpy interior. glasgow buzzes and it's throbbing,its grey but its electric.i do like it. charles rennie mackintosh, no he's not a brand name for a butterscotch sucking sweet, rather he's all that scotland have to celebrate, nudge nudge wink wink.he's a great architect, he's architectrual pen had itself a funny bone.and that lil pen splotched itself quiet nicely in his assymetrical, red stoned buildings. he's glasgows hero, fossilized in a building called the lighthouse.i climbed its turret,vertigo kicked in and i cried, i grasped that railling with both hands so hard i heard my knuckles captain crunch.i skirted the walls of that turret and tore holes in my shirt,i got to the bottom with legs so jellied, they woulda been great with ultramel custard. how can an action figurine have vertigo, i shall overcome.
there was a bus and on it was written in lcd letters, 'chaito man this way to st andrews'. and on that bus i found myself.i sat next to this chinese dude who had just bused from london, he hadnt kipped in ages and looked as though he'd been through a chinese wash shop, all dehydrated, and as bleached as a noodle. i rolled into st andrews freezing.i dunno my body doesnt know whether its hot or its cold-my fingers turned icy purple and then went dead on me.its a pity all that ER viewing taught me only to intibate, i obviously wasnt paying attention when dr Green was resuscitating.anyhoo the bus travelled for like 2 hours through frost tipped trees,and rolling icy hills-true scottisher land.and my firste ever views of a whitened frosted, snowy landscape
the town itself is teeny, you could probably stick it into your pocket and walk away, no-one would really know, except maybe the organisers of the British Open.it has this cathedral,its broken,but its beautiful.and then it snowed,and i didnt know what to do,so i stuck my tongue out and munched a crystal.its really cool,you should try it.it was all new to me.so i walked and i walked, all the while growing a massive west end white afro until i reached the great Old course,old cos its the oldest club in the world.ah i nearly shed a tear.i gazed yonder, i saw ernie and the tiger,the goose and the shark, it was zoo out there. i played the first, drove the ball with a gentle draw, photographed meself on the bridge,grazed my knee on the road hole.'psst dont tell anyone but i made a 'pat cash' in a bush on the 14th.so i walked the golf course and eventually ran onto the beach,the beach on which 'Chariots of fire' was filmed.great beach,id have taken a plunge except fro the -5 degree temps, and the lack of sun tan cream spf 30.
my quest for a pringle jersey had now begun.i was at the home of golf, surely a pringle is synanomous with the great game. so i stroll into a store,'ah sorry mate we dont do pringle anymore, its outta fashion, burberry is where its at.'. so i mosey up hill and into another store i did roll.'hi there, apparently pringles are hard to come by in these parts.the wee scottisher replies, 'ah i know, its shyte'.that didnt matter i found the pringle i was looking for in a charity store.this uber little hand crafted yellow gem is special, really special.
i ate fish and i ate chips, the grease was great for lubricating my arteries, i photographed, and i wandered.what a day compadres,what a day.
back in the 'burgh', the festivals began. there was a procession, a candle lit procession,i never had a candle so i watched,a march up to calton hill,and we burned, yeah baby we burned..a poor grassy cow and a ship.it was pagan i tell you pure unadultered, mind numbing paganism.,then there was a fire cracker.and then it was home.
ah new years eve in scottish land.they call it hogmany, it sounds simalar to 'hoch a loogy', and thats what everyone in these parts does.theres spit in evry step,i nearly got stuck.i managed to drink like cos i was thirsty,went to a house party with great shnacks, and then rolled onto the streets all numb and bulletproof.wihtin milliseconds i lost my mates, counted 5.4.3.2.1..by myself and felt me attacked by an irisher,texas played,i could see two of her and new years was but a blur.i think i saw a fire cracker,i did i did.what a vacation
and then a train ride home.i sat next to this scottisher,he said he was a reincarnation of jesus,and he was a wallace,so his clan thougth he was god, and i sat next to him on a local british carrier, in economy class with red seats.crazy huh.
i bid yooou adieu adiue until another day my far flung friends
from the scratchings of warm lad
the chaito man, russian bear hunter master swordsman and soon to be action figurine, with battery operated tree munching dog, batteries sold separatley
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