So, who wants to help ... to cower in the cellar?



I am at St James and we are staying overnight in the city centre

Give me a call


Or ping me or 3W through Signal …


That Fish has gone out shopping. Naturally we have Rain.


Of course, Dunnock

Grey & damp here too




And 'ere. Not so much damp as stair-rods.

And to cap it all, this afternoon’s opera is bleedin’ Donizetti.


Lightly-curried vegetable soup is on offer here, Gus



Enough to drown a soprano, a brace of basses, two tenors, a mezzo and a contralto? That is a very timely offer, Dahlink, and thank you.
A bit over for me to consume would be lovely, if you can manage it.


\________/ <------There you are, Dahlink

There’s certainly enuff to drown a soprano or 2…



Doesn’t take much, really, if applied in the right place.


Wet fish. It is only natural, but still soggy.


My order has arrived!

happy tseep


Have you gone for the Shiny ones, Dunnock?


They look gorgeous

I have gone on strike with a pint of Dublin pale ale

The Bull is on Dublin stout

Someone HAS to see the beer is good enough to drink


Selfless devotion to public service, Twellers: that’s what we like to see.


Medium shiny, Carinthia. Wiv a bit of subtlety to them too, especially the grey - charcoal - black gradation. (Then there’s the gorgeous imperial purple… for when green ink doesn’t express me feelings strongly enough.)


How do I break this to a young Sparrer? Me dere wee Bird, green ink always expresses one’s feelings strongly enough.
Well, it works worked well enough for me…

Keep the purple for when you are feeling first-person-pluralish.


Have I ever told the story of being persuaded by the bigger boys to stuff a potato in the exhaust pipe of a Ford Anglia police car ? (This was in the 1960’s, I think it’s out of investigation time).

If not, then more info on request.

Meanwile I saw this picture which took me back to those days.

  1. Request for information, please
  2. That is rather lovely


I was brought up on a reasonably large council estate. Boys tended to hang out in ‘gangs’ of boys … without the connotations of the word ‘gang’ that exists today.

There were about 30 of us, though never all together at once. My brother, 3 years older was the eldest of our particular gang. I was the second youngest.

So I spent a lot of time being a hanger-on & so was always trying to prove my worth.

We’d been playing a lot of ‘knock-a-door, run’ (how that would irritate the grown me) and we gathered one evening to be told that there was a police car parked in a ginnel opposite a row we’d been plaguing.

A plan was hatched. It entailed messing these cops around a bit. THAT entailed someone stuffing a potato (there to be thrown on a bonfire, burnt & then eaten as we proclaimed it to be the World’s best fire-baked spud) up the Panda Car’s exhaust. It was explained that it would made “a bit of a bang !”.

So, the plan agreed, they looked for someone stupid enough to do it. My hand went up. The potato was proffered & off I went. Up the street, down the cobbled back street and, on my belly, sneaked up behing the unlit car containing two rozzers. I jammed the spud in, sneaked away & gave the thumbs up.

The gang emerged and a good dozen knocked, simultaneously, on house doors opposite the ginnel and then scarpered in a range of directions. The Panda car put its lights on, fired up the engine.

There was a rumble … then one Hell of a bang. The potato exited from the exhaust, wizzed past my head and hit a garage door at a heck of a pace. The World’s biggest spud gun.

I looked to the car & …
i. The two scuffers were sitting stock still inside.
ii. The interior of the vehicle was filled with blue smoke.
iii. The tail pipe had split in about 6 strands, a-la a cartoon picture.

I spent the next month waiting for a knock on the door which never came.

I had cemented my place in the gang for another month.

“The ASBO Kid”


I always wanted to know what really happened if one did that…