Drawing to and end

I'm a little tired today, as I was at a Burns Supper in Oban with the faither in law last night.

Normally, such an occasion would lead to my reaching an advanced stage of drunkeness - in fact, the last time I attended the Oban Burns Supper, I was so spectacularly drunk by the end of the meal that I had to return home before the speeches.

However, last night's enjoyment was curtailed by the fact that I have to work in Campbeltown today - 80-odd miles from Oban. As a result, I stayed disappointingly sober last night.

Still, these days are coming to an end - very soon, working weekends will be a thing of the past.

Roll on February 16th!

Rural affairs

It must take a special kind of person to join the Scottish Rural Women's Institute (SWRI).

I've just been sub-editing a few reports on meetings of local SWRIs, and it seems that they really are an unusual bunch.

For example, what sort of group of people makes such a thing as Red Onion Marmalade?

And then runs a competition to judge how good each batch of this vile-sounding product is?

This very same organistion simultaneously ran competitions for a crocheted blanket and for each member's favourite jug.

That's right, these women have favourite jugs.

I can't imagine ever reaching a stage where I care enough about jugs to have a favourite. Nor can I seriously ever see myself thinking: 'Hmmmm, I wonder if my friends also have favourite jugs? Perhaps we should run a favourite jug competition.'

I wonder upon what criteria the judging will be based? Are extra points awarded for intricate patterns, or is it design, craftmanship and functionality that wins the day in a jug-judging contest?

Wicked

I love Wikipedia. It's my new favourite thing to do at work when I should be working.

Today, I finally decided to answer a little question that has been niggling me for a while:

Is the wrestler Bonesaw McGraw in the film Spiderman played by Macho Man Randy Savage?

So, a quick search on Wikipedia revealed a plethora of information about the former WWE star.

And with each new morsel of information came a link to another hero of my childhood years. Memories of Hulk Hogan, Jimmy Hart and The Big Boss Man came flooding back.

And I found out there is a word 'kayfabe' and what it means.

But the best fact of all that I found in my afternoon trawling Wikipedia?

That Macho Man Randy Savage's real name is Randall Mario Poffo.

Which means that he is probably the only person for whom a name change to Randy Savage would be a notable improvement.

Big Eck's back

So Alex McLeish is to be the latest recipient of the poisoned chalice that is the Scotland manager's job.

It seems that the fact that Big Eck is currently unemployed has as much bearing on his appointment as his coaching expertise.

But, having said that, McLeish was probably the best-placed of all the shortlisted candidates. Gary McAllister has no experience of top level management, whilst Jim Jeffries has done well at Kilmarnock, but hasn't seriously contested major trophies since his Hearts days.

Tommy Burns' hissy fit put him out of the running, but he would never have been the SFA's first choice anyway.

McLeish, on the other hand, has very recent experience of managing at the top end of the SPL and in the Champions League. He pulled in a decent haul of trophies during his time at Ibrox, and has the benefit of having been a top player in the squad when at his prime.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the job was the number of potential candidates who weren't interested in the post - a veritable 'who's who' of success in the British game.

Sir Alex Ferguson, George Graham, Graeme Souness and Kenny Dalglish were all quick to distance themselves from the post. In the case of Ferguson, this is understandable - he's top of the Premiership with the biggest club in the world.

But none of the other three, all of them very experienced and successful managers and all unemployed, showed any real interest. Has the Scotland national side become so little regarded that these men aren't willing to contemplate leading their country?

Exhausted

What a day. I'm away from my usual office this week, working single-handedly to produce a newspaper in an area I don't know terribly much about.

It's hard enough work putting together a paper on your own, without having to do it in a strange town.

But it's almost finished - and the company must be fairly happy with my work, as they've agreed to extend my leaving date by a fortnight so that it ties in with my start date at my new job in Aberdeen.

Good things come in threes

You spend two years looking for a new job, then three come along at once.

Although I accepted the chance to join a newspaper in Fife just a few weeks ago, I've now been offered the opportunity to work as a reporter in the oil industry in Aberdeen.

It's funny how things work out - I wasn't relishing the prospect of a daily commute between Angus and Fife, and just when I thought that my finances were going to take a serious hit as a result, a golden opportunity lands right in my lap.

So all is good in the world of Groanin' Jock! (In fact, I may have to change the name of this website accordingly - Happy Jock doesn't really sound right though, does it?!)

Looking for Lust

A recent check of how Groanin' Jock's visitors have arrived at these hallowed pages showed up one interesting arrival in the past week.

Someone popped up here after searching on Google for "Bebo Campbeltown sex".

I don't know which is more worrying: that someone was searching for it, or that they were directed to this site.....

Under The Sea

Seeing as how it's the weekend, I'll share with you all a funny email I received today from my old friend Mike. Enjoy!

Children Writing About The Sea:

1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles. (Kelly age 6)

2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (James age 6)

3) If you are surrounded by sea you are an Island. If you don't have sea all round you, you are in continent. (Wayne age 7)

4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily Richardson. She's not my friend no more. (Kylie age 6)

5) A dolphin breathes through an asshole on the top of its head. (Billy age 8)

6) My uncle goes out in his boat with pots, and comes back with crabs. (Millie age 6)

7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes, when the wind didn't blow, the sailors would whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would be better off eating beans. (William age 7)

8) I like mermaids. They are beautiful, and I like their shiny tails. How do mermaids get pregnant? (Helen age 6)

9) I'm not going to write about the sea. My baby brother is always screaming and being sick, my Dad keeps shouting at my Mom, and my big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write. (Amy age 6)

10) Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting. Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I think they have to plug themselves into chargers. (Christopher age 7)

11) When you go swimming in the sea, it is very cold, and it makes my willy small. (Kevin age 6)

12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Two divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other. (Becky age 8)

13) On holiday my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water shot up her fanny. (Julie age 7)

Publish and be damned

Today's post has a conscience. The text underneath the photograph to the left makes for harrowing reading.

I was sent the photograph by email yesterday. I'd heard the story of Kevin Carter in the past, firstly through the Manic Street Preachers song of the same name.

But until yesterday, I'd never seen, nor especially wanted to see, the photograph.

However, when I saw it, it was hammered home just WHY Carter ended up taking his own life - how could anyone live with themselves having recorded that image, knowing they could have done something to save the child?

In an archive interview shortly after the image was published, Carter said: "My first instinct was to make the picture. After the child moved on, I felt completely devastated."

Such was the outpouring of interest in the child that after the photo ran, the New York Times was forced to run an editor's note to say that though Carter saw the emaciated girl resume her journey to the feeding center "it is not known whether she reached the center."

Carter said he chased away the vulture. Afterwards, he told an interviewer, he sat under a tree for a long time, "smoking cigarettes and crying". His father said: "Kevin always carried around the horror of the work he did."

As a journalist, this issue intrigues me; at what point should one's duty as an employee be superceded by one's duty as a human being?

Carter's photograph brought him the highest recognition in his field, but it also brought him unimaginable misery and in the end cost him his life.

So where do we draw the line? Was the New York Times right to publish the photograph? Or did it cross a line that should never have been crossed?

The old rhetoric of 'publish and be damned' still seems to hold fast. But should it?

Personally, I don't think I would have been able to take the photograph that Carter did, nor leave the girl to crawl onwards towards her potential saviours. But in different circumstances, such as the hanging of Saddam Hussain, I would probably have been primed and ready to capture the image.

Which I suppose means that in all situations, the person involved must weigh up their own thoughts on the issue and make the decision that sits best with them. Kevin Carter made that choice.

Straight A student

Whilst wandering the wild plains of the worldwide interweb this morning, I chanced upon Lisa's site at Lemons & Lollipops, where I read that she had scored A- in her online vocabulary test.

So I decided to test whether I was actually suited to being a journalist, or whether I am just taking the company's money without having a clue about the language I am writing.

Your Vocabulary Score: A

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

And it seems that all is well - I'm a veritable vocabulary swot! It's just as well for me that it wasn't a maths test....

250 million reasons why LA is best for Beckham

Some of you may remember me saying that I'm not the biggest fan of David Beckham.

In a previous post, when it looked as though he might stay at Real Madrid, I did admit that I think that, despite being the most over-rated professional footballer ever, Golden Balls has made the most of his limited but highly-honed attributes, and that he is very professional in everything he does.

I think that Beckham's decision to move to LA Galaxy in August is probably for the best. His powers are clearly on the wane, and none of the English Premier League's big hitters would be interested (at least on simply footballing terms). For a 'superstar' of Beckham's magnitude to slum it (relatively speaking) with one of the Premier League's second-string sides such as Newcastle or Spurs would be unimaginable, probably tainting the Beckham brand.

Part of his allure is that he has always plied his trade at the very top - in a Champions League winning Man Utd side and Real Madrid's infamous Galacticos team.

At least living in Hollywood will allow the Beckhams to continue their push for global celebrity, with David given the chance to curl free kicks into the net twice a week in return for 250 million dollars over five years.

For further musings on the future of Brand Beckham, check out the Guardian's sports blogs.

Stains

Whilst I was reading the Sunday papers yesterday, a little catalogue dropped out.

This paper emporium of delights purported to be 'everything you need to be safe around the house and garden'.

Idly flicking through the catalogue, I happened upon perhaps the most ludicrous invention of all the strange gizmos on offer - the adult bib.

Yep, an adult bib. A bib for adults.

This 'durable, wipe clean clothes protector' was three foot in length. Tied around the neck, it claimed that it would keep all ties and shirts stain-free.

I cannot imagine any adult in full charge of all their faculties wishing to purchase a bib for their own use.

Mrs Wife might disagree, as she is forever pointing out my food-based mishaps. Anything involving gravy, ketchup (or indeed sauce of any kind), ice cream, chocolate or custard tends to find itself, at some point between plate and mouth, down my front.

This very lunchtime, I struggled manfully with two soft-boiled eggs and toast soldiers (OK, I battled - there is no manful way to struggle with boiled eggs). Incredibly, my shirt and tie were blemish-free at the conclusion of my meal.

So, is there any market for the adult bib? Or should we march gleefully onwards, taking whatever stains eating too fast throws in our way? I know which gets my vote.

Rocky road

The Rocky films have never really done much for me. For a start, I'm not a fan of Sylvester Stallone - he's perhaps the most wooden actor ever to 'grace' the silver screen.

And the Rocky films are predictable, cliche-ridden ego trips for the diminutive star.

So, it was with no surprise that I heard recently that Stallone has reprised his most famous role 'one last time'.

It seems I'm not alone in wondering how anyone would believe that a short 60-year-old would be able to go ten rounds with the world heavyweight champion of the world.

Writing in this week's Guide magazine in The Guardian, Joe Queenan says: "Concerned about his legacy, not sure he is getting the respect from the boxing press that he is due, Rocky decides to come out of retirement for one last fight.

"This time, he will duke it out with Mason "The Line" Dixon, an undeafeted black man who, though prodigiously gifted, has never really been tested. That's because up until now he has only battled tough black men in their 20s, but has never had to face the ultimate test: a 10-round bout with a decrepit Caucasian restaurateur pushing 60."

I think I will be giving Rocky Balboa a wide body swerve when it is released in the UK next week.

Monkeys Aloud

Regular readers of this online catalogue of moans and groans will remember that I spoke of my new-found love for the music of Girls Aloud a few weeks ago.

And that I also named Arctic Monkeys as the winner of the Album of the Year at the inaugural Jock Awards.

Now, combining these two passions, here is my favourite cover version of the past year or so. Strangely, the Girls' pristine pop sounds natural when given the jingly-jangly Sheffield treatment by the Monkeys.

At a loose end

With Mrs Wife now working over on the east coast and Groanin' Jock stuck without the Jockmobile over in the wet west, I am alone this weekend and unsure how to fill what seems like my first work and commitment-free weekend in years.

The weather forecast isn't promising, which leads me to the conclusion that any activity I do undertake will be indoors.

Although Mrs Wife and I bought bikes last summer, and I have enough waterproof equipment to ensure I survive a day of physical cycle-based activity, the bikes are at the back of the shed, behind a mountain of possessions moved from indoors to help make Groanin' Towers appear less cluttered when potential purchasers visit.

Therefore, I am not inclined to delve into this gardening tools graveyard in an attempt to rescue the bike.

So I guess it's a weekend of computer games, music, football on the TV and DVDs for me.

It's a hard life....

Royal farce

One thing that I believe will set me apart from most of the readers of this esteemed electronic catalogue of moans is that I have been (mildly) threatened by royal security guards.

In the course of my work, I have on two occasions been sent to cover royal visits, once to snap the bumbling heir to the throne and once to secure some pictures of his sister.

On the latter occasion, I was the only member of the press there. Princess Ann arrived in a convoy of black vehicles and with a police escort - this despite the fact that the engagement was not an official public occasion.

I was primed and ready to fill a 96MB digital memory card with as many photographs as my fingers could take.

As I took the image to the left, standing barely two metres from the horse-faced horse rider, a member of the mysterious Special Branch stepped in front of me and stated that: 'You do not take a photograph of a lady when she is removing her jacket.'

Why?

Princess Ann is probably amongst the most photographed women in the history of publishing. The paparazzi have taken photographs of her on countless occasions. So why should a photograph of her removing her jacket (which was never going to see the light of day in any medium until now) be so taboo?

Granted, she is no stunner - but the camera doesn't lie.

Anyway, to avoid being drugged and dumped in a nearby loch by MI6, I agreed to take no more photographs until the Princess had removed her jacket. It just seemed a strange demand that I have never quite been able to fathom, although I think it may just have been a bored security guard exerting a little bit of misplaced authority.

Return of The Magic Tune Box

It's been quite a while since we delved into the darkest corners of the Magic Tune Box and joined its journey through my diverse music collection.

So, hold on folks, here goes.

1: Projects by Ash (from the album Nu-Clear Sounds): Nirvana-influenced rock from the Belfast boys. I've been a big fan of Ash since I was a teenager, and none of their albums has ever disappointed me. Nu-Clear Sounds moved their sound to a harder, grungier feel, and Projects is a throaty yell backed by Grohl-like drums.

2: Baby Get It On by Ike & Tina Turner (from the Nutbush City Limits box set): Soul-rock stomp featuring a full-bodied duet from the most turbulent couple in pop. Whilst most of Tina's solo career is middle of the road crap, her early work marked her out as one of the greatest singers of her time, infusing Aretha Franklin's soul with a shot of rock spirit.

3: Dolphin '99 by Shed Seven (from the greatest hits album Going For Gold): Shed Seven were amongst Britpop's finest magpies - able to knock out facsimile copies of Oasis, The Stone Roses or The Charlatans depending on the prevailing indie wind of the time. Dolphin '99 attempts to copy the Roses' loping drum beat, combining it with Rick Witter's enthusiastic vocals.

4: Conspicuously Leaving (Without Saying Goodbye) by AC Acoustics (from the album AC Acoustics): Fairly bland, warbling indie tune ideally suited to background music. Never likely to get the pulse racing.

5: Queen Of The Hours by Electric Light Orchestra (from the album First Light Series): ELO have been unfairly maligned in rock's history. Although claims that they were going to be the 1970s' answer to The Beatles may have been wide of the mark, they did at least attempt to inject a bit of creative energy into their songs. As with most of their output, this track incorporates an elaborate string backing, giving an eerie feeling.

6: New Pin by Oceansize (from the album Everyone Into Position): Earnest rock song that simultaneously evokes Nine Inch Nails, Radiohead and Metallica. By no means the highlight of a strong album, but a stirring listen nonetheless.

7: Squealer by AC/DC (from the album Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap): Boasting a false start before typical Angus lead guitar work, this is the sound of the young AC/DC beginning to find their own distinctive sound. Includes a minute-long song section where only Bon Scott and drums are audible, bar the occasional guitar chord. Then, two minutes in, the band begins to rawk. Bon Scott is Scotland's greatest ever frontman - born just down the road from Groanin' Jock in Kirriemuir.

8: People Take Pictures Of Each Other by The Kinks (from the album The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society): Ray Davies is undoutedly one of Britain's greatest songwriters. Having single-handedly invented the punk rock sound on You Really Got Me, he deserted his rock roots for explorations of life in a fast-fading traditional England. People Take Pictures Of Each Other is a typical Davies song of the period, combing 'la-la-la' backing vocals with intricate acoustic guitar work.

9: Oh My God by Kaiser Chiefs (from the album Employment): Whilst I think the Kaiser Chiefs are a great live act and that their debut album contains some great songs, they do occasionally have the feel of a novelty act unexpectedly turned massive. Oh My God is a definite highlight of the album, and as great a festival anthem as has been recorded in the past few years. Deserves kudos for the line: 'But you work in a shirt with your name tag on it, Drifting apart like a plate tectonic'.

10: Switching Off by Elbow (from the album Cast of Thousands): One of the greatest crimes in music today is that Elbow aren't as massive as Radiohead and Muse. As a creatively inventive band, they are matched today only by those bands and by Super Furry Animals. As with most of their output, Switching Off has an almost hymnal quality, led beautifully by Guy Garvey's voice.

Star Wars recreated

At various times during these first four months of online groanin', I have written about my love of Star Wars.

I was three years old when Return of the Jedi was released, and spent my formative years with thoughts of Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, Princess Leia and Han Solo taking up more space in my head than was probably healthy or useful.

And, to be honest, that love of the films has never really gone away.

Which is why I am delighted to present to you, dear readers, one of the most faithful recreations of the original motion picture I've ever seen.

To view, go to your Start menu on your computer, click on Run and copy this text into the box: telnet towel.blinkenlights.nl.

Hit Enter then sit back and enjoy the show!

Clean(ing) break

It may come as a surprise to you that I am not the tidiest of creatures.

Don't get me wrong, I abhor an untidy living space, but I am also chronically lazy. After the working day is done, I like nothing more than to stretch out on the sofa with my laptop on my lap, the TV and surround sound system cranked up, and a bottle of Coke and a bar of chocolate at my side.

And when I am in this state of repose, all thoughts of cleaning and tidying Groanin' Towers evaporates from my mind.

Now that Mrs Wife has departed for pastures new (or Angus at least), I am to be left to my own devices for the best part of a month. Under normal circumstances, the sitting room would quickly be enveloped by a blanket of magazines, books, CDs, DVDs, PlayStation games and the like.

But as we are attempting to sell the property, and could be visited by a potential purchaser at any point, I have to struggle to maintain some semblance of tidiness throughout the house.

I didn't realise just how untidy I am until yesterday, when we finally had it looking spotless. Just living in a house for one afternoon and evening served up ample opportunity for me to make a mess. Cooking dinner, having a shower, getting dressed - all of these activities offered up fresh debris which would normally be left where it landed.

But, one day into the challenge, I am persevering - Groanin' Towers retains that sheen of spit and polish (not literally, I am not prone to spitting whilst indoors).

But can I maintain this false state of affairs for the next few weeks?

Dan-Ger

Rangers' disastrous season continues to lurch on - today's performance against Dunfermline was horrific.

To concede three goals is shameful, but to do so against the SPL's worst side, who hadn't scored in five weeks, is utterly abominable.

We can only hope that the expected arrival of Walter Smith and Ally McCoist, and the integration of Andy Webster into the backline, will shore things up quickly.

If not, the UEFA Cup will become an embarrasment.

How do you get an elephant into a Mini.....

....Open the door.

Can't stop for long today folks - Mrs Wife leaves for Angus tomorrow, and we are attempting to load the contents of a two bedroom semi-detached house into a Renault Clio.

I have a feeling that this will be a fruitless endeavour.....

Sin City

Seeing as how I only have three weeks left in my current job, and seeing as how it is Friday, and seeing as how I can't be bothered working, I have spent most of today abusing my current employers' super-fast internet connection.

Which means pissing about on the web, where I stopped by my old friend Eric's site at Straight White Guy, where I was encouraged to find out how sinful I am.

It seems I'm greedy, lazy and have an eye for the ladies. Hey, tell me something I don't know...

Your Deadly Sins

Greed: 60%

Lust: 60%

Sloth: 60%

Envy: 40%

Gluttony: 40%

Pride: 40%

Wrath: 20%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 46%

You will die love and feared by many. And you'll be buried in a tomb.

How Sinful Are You?

But only a 46 per cent chance I'll go to Hell? I need to try a whole lot harder on that score.

Le Gone

The past 72 hours has probably been amongst the most exciting in the history of the famous Glasgow Rangers.

First Paul Le Guen stripped Barry Ferguson of the club captaincy and banished him from the first team, before presiding over a 1-0 win against Motherwell.

Then, the club announces that Le Guen is to leave 'by mutual consent' - yeah, right. Le Guen is a goner because Sir David Murray is fed up with unacceptable performances on the pitch, a team full of mis-firing foreigners and the fact that Le Guen had obviously lost the confidence of his players.

I'm surprised that Walter Smith is apparently the favourite to replace the Frenchman, as I always thought he'd have more sense than to risk damaging his Rangers reputation by attempting to repeat his former glories.

As soon as I heard that Le Guen was gone, Ally McCoist's name was the first I thought of, and he'd obviously be a popular choice amongst the supporters. However, there is perhaps the an element of risk involved, as Super Ally has no previous managerial experience.

But, with close friend Ian Durrant already heavily involved in the club as reserve team coach, I think that bringing back the club's record scorer could be the best choice.

Other names in the frame include Billy Davies, who again is Rangers through-and-through, and former captain Terry Butcher. Although both would be popular with the fans, none has the same appeal as McCoist.

So can Rangers' golden boy restore a bit of sparkle to the ailing Ibrox side? I certainly hope so.

Wheeling and dealing

When Mrs Wife and I bought Groanin' Towers 18 months ago, it seemed like the most stressful thing I had ever encountered.

But it seems that selling our abode and finding a new place could be just as traumatic. Dealing with solicitors, estate agents, banks and removal firms does not fill me with great joy, and I have a feeling that my rapidly greying hair will be white by the time we move into New Groanin' Towers, whenever that will be.

But hey, at least property prices are substantially cheaper on Scotland's east coast - cheap enough that we should be able to afford a larger residence with ample room for a troop of kids and dogs.

My gosh - didn't that post just sound VERY middle aged!

And now, the end is near....

....Groanin' Jock will be groanin' no more.

As of the end of this month, Mrs Wife and I will be leaving rain-soaked Argyll behind and returning to the Arctic shores of Scotland's east, where there are cinemas, good roads and Pizza Hut.

In fact, Mrs Wife heads off to a new life in Angus next week, to be followed by me at the start of February. The letters of resignation are in, and pastures new await.

Which will mean changes to this website. The little paragraph in the top left, which currently reads: 'Displaced from Scotland's east coast and settled in the west, where it rains too much, the roads are crap and there are no cinemas.' will need to be amended to take stock of the new situation.

Does anyone want to buy a two-bedroom house in Argyll?

Happy New Year

Short and to the point today - I feel the way Woody looks.

Happy New Year to all you strange people out there on the worldwide interweb. May your hangovers be light throughout the year!

The Queen's English

Yesterday, whilst watching television, I was subjected to an advertisement for a new movie.

I can't remember what the movie was, but at the very end of the commercial, the voice-over informed the viewers that it would be released on 'Jan Five'.

That's how he said it - Jan as in the woman's name and the number five.

When did January the Fifth become Jan Five? What advantage does the voiceover gain from shortening the date? Admittedly, it might make the commerical one second shorter, which could reduce its cost - but it's a slippery slope folks.

Any more of this shortening and our language will become unintelligable - text speak (not TXT SPK) is already creeping into print and conversation such as with the dreadful LOL, which I believe stands for 'laugh out loud'.

Make a stand people - start speaking your own language as it was intended to be spoken.

Get Me Out Of Here

Yesterday, whilst hunting for those post-Christmas bargains, Mrs Wife and I went our separate ways, she to find clothing bargains and me to seek out those audio-visual deals too good to miss.

Having had my fill of the crowds and the cold, I attempted to find Mrs Wife in a large department store.

So engrossed was I in this task that I wasn't paying too much attention to the departments in which I was wandering, until it was too late.

It seems that whilst attempting to locate the little lady, I had stumbled into the lingerie section of the store. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it).

Which begs the question: Is there a subtle way for a man in his mid 20s, wearing a leather jacket and jeans and absent-mindedly sending a text message to leave the ladies' underwear section of a large high street store?

Should one straighten one's back and stride purposefully out of the area without looking back? Or should one scurry out, casting furtive glances hither and yon, lest someone has seen you?

I think my retreat was a combination of the two - a purposeful stride whilst looking round to see if anyone had noticed.

Over The Counter Culture

The turkey has been stripped of edible meat, the trifle is but a memory and the mince pies are slowly disappearing.

I always find the days following Christmas a bit strange - you spend weeks or even months preparing for it, spend a whole day eating, and then just go back to life as normal.

Well, not quite normal. As early as 9am on boxing day, people were descending on the shops in the hunt for that once-in-a-year bargain.

Even in Brechin, a small town with little in the way of shops, the streets were pretty busy. Hordes of rampaging consumers stampeded from aisle to aisle, barging past their fellow man lest they miss out on that Little Britain DVD reduced in price for one month only.

I dread to think what bigger cities will be like. Mrs Wife and I are to venture to Dundee tomorrow in our own quest for Goods of Reduced Price (like the Holy Grail, only available from Next and HMV).

If there are no further posts to this site, it is because I have been lost in the Bargain Hunter War of 2006.

Merry Christmas!

As I am likely to spend the next few days in a stupor caused by excessive amounts of meat, chocolate, trifle, Christmas pudding, rubbish television and alcohol, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all of you a very happy Christmas.

World Tour

Never been to Paris? Desperate to see the world-famous Pinnacles in Western Australia? Want to get closer to a bunch of sad Star Wars fans queuing two months in advance to get tickets for Episode III?

If you answered yes to any of the above, check out this website. I don't know how they do it, but it's mighty impressive.

The reason I'm giving you the link to the Pinnacles site is that it is one of the places on the website that I have visited.

Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I arrived shortly before nightfall, in the part of the day known as the gloaming. With the light falling and the visitors leaving, I was inspired to dance around the Pinnacles in the style made famous by Billy Connolly.

For those unaware of the great man's work, Mr Connolly has been known to perform a merry dance in several famous world locations, not least the Arctic and at a stone circle on Orkney, as well as the Pinnacles.

The thing that makes Billy's dances so memorable is that he performs them naked. Which is what I did deep in the Australian desert one April evening.

Miss Girlfriend recorded video evidence, which I may be prepared to share with you weird and wonderful people if enough of you are disturbed enough to actually want to see it. And if you give me enough money.....

Festive funk

I love Christmas music - to me, Christmas is as much about Slade and Wizzard as it is Santa Claus and mince pies.

The growth of the worldwide interweb and the ability to download music now means that I have a sizeable stash of festive music on the magic tunebox.

So at work today I am sharing the delights of some of the best Christmas music with everyone in the office.

And I can't let all you good people miss out, so here is Bootsy Collins' take on Jingle Bellz.

Enjoy!

Groanin' Jock's Guide To Christmas

Further to my recent post calling on the government (whether in Britain or Scotland) to make the whole of December a holiday (I still haven't heard from Westminster or Holyrood - must be busy at Christmas parties), I am now proposing some broadcasting rules.

There should be no soap operas on television on Christmas Day. Who really wants to wallow in misery on Albert Square or Coronation Street on the biggest holiday of the year?

Christmas Day's television should be devoted entirely to blockbuster films, comedies, the Queen's speech and re-runs of festive Top Of The Pops.

Sadly, I think this appeal will fall on deaf ears, and that Mrs Wife and Mither will subject me to an afternoon with the soaps on Christmas Day.

Mystical ball(s)

The internet is a fantastic place people - where like-minded folks can get together and shoot the breeze about the important topics of the day. (It's also a place for people to find pictures of Britney Spears' front bottom, but that's another issue altogether.)

But the worldwide interweb is also a magical place, where true sorcerers can practise their dark arts in anonymity.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Mystical Ball - be amazed, and just a little afraid.

Christmas in Dundee

A little ditty from my friend Mike dropped onto my virtual doormat this morning by email.

Mistletoe and Wine
Christmas time, valium and wine,
Children indulging in petty crime,
Dad's on the heroin, Mum's oot her tree,
Christmas is great when you live in Dundee.

As I was born in Dundee, it makes me pine for home!

Firm favourites

It's very rare that an Old Firm match has meant so much and little as today's.

Rangers really need a win over Celtic to restore a bit of pride, but even a resounding victory would leave them 13 points adrift of the Bhoys.

If Celtic take the honours, they will be 19 points clear of the Gers before Christmas, a frankly embarrasing situation.

Admittedly, Rangers do have a further two matches against Celtic after today's, which, if all three were won, would reduce the gap to seven points - still needing Celtic to lose three times outwith the Old Firm encounters and Rangers to win all their matches.

But hey, let's just get on with restoring some pride.

Oh, and winning the UEFA Cup as well.

The Force is strong in this one

As this is the first weekend when neither Mrs Wife nor I are working, where we have no visitors and no plans to do anything, we will be testing the surround sound system to its limit, with all six Star Wars films back-to-back.

We've loaded up on popcorn, Irn Bru and crisps, the curtains are drawn and I'm all set to press play.

Speak to you all in 15 hours' time

Say no to sprouts

One thing I've never been able to stomach (literally) about Christmas is Brussel sprouts.

I remember reading once, possibly in FHM, that the sprouts were 'Satan's vomit in bite-sized packages' - I've never yet heard a better description.

With this in mind - and Mither, if you're reading this, no sprouts on my plate on the 25th please - I can recommend this little game.

Smash the sprouts!

Feeling festive?

I can scarcely believe that it is less than a fortnight until Christmas.

As I've grown older, all of the magical ritual associated with Christmas has been stripped away.

Who could forget the buillding excitement we experienced as children as the run-up to Christmas began? Adverts extolling the merits of the latest toys and games, kids TV programmes running Christmas specials and Slade and Wizzard blaring from every radio.

Probably the biggest factor was spending eight hours a day in school with other children, all whipping each other into a frenzy.

Even the little details, like sending Christmas cards, buying Advent calendars and putting up the tree seemed so exciting when we were young.

Now, they are just extra chores to tackle at the end of a long working day. Spending 40 hours a week in an office is no great way to build excitment for Christmas.

So, I am now proposing that December be declared a holiday. I realise that there may be impracticalities to this, but screw it, let the politicians figure out the fine details.

Just give me my month off.

Ginger at Christmas time

This is the greatest Irn Bru advert EVER!!! I love it - especially as I have always hated The Snowman with little gay Aled Jones warbling away. Listen carefully to the lyrics on this version - they're great!

Is this aloud?

I've always thought of myself as a pretty cool indie kid - my musical heroes are such bands as The Stone Roses, Oasis, The Beatles and so on.

So is it wrong that I think I'd quite like Girls Aloud's Greatest Hits?

Most of the songs seem to be pretty darn good - plus the girls are pretty easy on the eye (yes, even the ginger one isn't too bad).

Am I getting old? Or is my taste in music shrivelling? Or do Girls Aloud just make super-duper pop music?

Early Christmas present

Great news this morning - Rangers are said to be leading the chase to sign recently-released Hearts captain Steven Pressley.

I've been hoping that David Murray would open his cheque book to bring big Elvis back to Ibrox for a few years now, and it seems circumstances may work in the Gers' favour.

Rangers' defence has been flimsy this season, and Pressley would add a massive chunk of Scottish grit to the back line. He may not be the most gifted footballer in the world, or a replacement for the long-departed Richard Gough, but chances are he would be a damn sight better than the mish-mash of confused foreigners who have filled the centre back slots since the start of Rangers' ramshackle season.

Even if the big man does return to the club where he started as a teenager 15 years ago, he won't be eligible for the UEFA Cup.

But he's still well worth signing.

The 2006 Jock Awards

It's that time of year when every magazine, TV show, cable channel and blog reveals its top performers of the year.

So, ladies, gentlemen and those of you who are neither, I welcome you to the Jocks (like the Oscars, only on a slightly lower budget.)

The Stone Roses award for Album of The Year: (Nominees: Muse - Black Holes and Revelations; Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not; Bob Dylan - Modern Times; Dirty Pretty Things - Waterloo To Anywhere; Driveblind - Driveblind; Wolfmother - Wolfmother)
The first gong at this year's award, and one of the most highly-contested, goes to Arctic Monkeys. After the hype and all the publicity, when all the dust has settled, the Sheffield band's debut stands as a great record of our times. Punky, spunky and lyrically brilliant, this year's most eagerly-awaited album was also its best.

The Strawberry Fields Forever award for Single of The Year: (Nominees: Kasabian - Empire; Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor; Muse - Knights of Cydonia; The Fratellis - Chelsea Dagger; Amy Winehouse - Rehab; Gnarls Barkley - Crazy)
Living in an alternative universe where there is life on Mars and everything is painted in dayglo technicolor, Muse are the anti-Arctic Monkeys. Ridiculously over-the-top, Knights of Cydonia has continent-sized riffs and the tempo of a runaway juggernaut. The track that moved them into the stadium rock bracket.

The Rolling Stones award for Live Act of The Year: (Nominees: Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Who, Muse, Arctic Monkeys, The Cooper Temple Clause)
Picking up their second award, Muse beat off stiff competition to win the live act award. Groanin' Jock was fortunate to see the band at Meadowbank Stadium in Edinburgh in August, where they opened with Knights of Cydonia and never looked back. Very few three-piece bands could pull off a stdium gig - for Muse, it's just a day at the office.

The Goodfellas Award for Movie of the Year: This award has been declared null and void - the judging panel (AKA Groanin' Jock and Mrs Wife) lives too far from the cinema to be able to rule with any authority.

The Knight Rider award for TV Programme of The Year: (Nominees: Lost, Desperate Housewives, Dragons' Den, Hogan Knows Best)
An insane second series and fast-developing third series continues to keep Lost's viewers guessing. Yeah, it may be the biggest shaggy dog story ever told and mean absolutely nothing. Who cares - it's still great TV.

The Marilyn Monroe award for Babe of The Year: (Nominees: Mrs Wife, Evangeline Lily, Katie Holmes, Beyonce, Cameron Diaz, Kate Moss)
In the year that Groanin' Jock tied the knot, there could only be one winner of this award - Mrs Wife. Gorgeous in every way imaginable (she's not watching me write this, honest). Evangeline Lily, AKA Kate 'Freckles' Austin from Lost, is a distant second.

The Jet Set Willy Award for Computer Game of The Year: (Nominee: Football Manager 2007)
This is almost the only game I have played this year. Not so much a computer game (or pretty database) as a way of life. Once you start playing Football Manager 2007, you just can't stop.

The Godfather III award for Biggest Disappointment of The Year: (Nominees: Kasabian - Empire; Primal Scream - Riot City Blues; Razorlight - Razorlight)
Three bands attempting to follow superb albums, and none of them truly cutting the mustard. The biggest disappointment of the three is probably Primal Scream's pastiche of a rock'n'roll record, which came on the back of an unholy trinity of electro-punk noise classics. Most worrying of all, the band think it's great.

The Screamadelica award for Scottish Album of The Year: (Nominees: The Fratellis - Costello Music; Driveblind - Driveblind)
In a one-on-one stand-off, the boys from Aberdeen triumph over the Weegie lads. Drivelind's debut may have been recorded in LA and owe a big debt to classic American rock, but it was conceived in Scotland and recorded by the most exciting Scottish band in a long time.

New recruit to the Goon Platoon

Whilst over at Lisa W's site at Lemons and Lollipops, I decided to confirm once and for all that I am, as often told by Mrs Wife, a nerd.




Except it seems that I'm only a wannabe nerd.

Is that worse than actually being one?

Goo Goo Ga Joob

Today is the 26th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon.

Since I was in my mid-teens, The Beatles have been my favourite band, and Lennon my favourite songwriter.

The colour, imagination and inventiveness of Lennon's work have always intrigued me, especially the way he could go from writing She Loves You to Tomorrow Never Knows in the space of only five years. This is a man who was almost simultaneously working on Dear Prudence, Sexy Sadie and Revolution #9, during a two-year period in which he became the greatest songwriter ever to have lived.

From the end of 1966 until the start of 1969, Lennon and McCartney were simply unassailable - quite a boast when competing with Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Simon and Garfunkel and The Beach Boys. In this short period of time, in which most modern bands would struggle to complete a solitary album, The Beatles released Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Magical Mystery Tour and The White Album.

Lennon's contribution to the band's output in this period was frankly astonishing: Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Being For The Benefit of Mr Kite, I Am The Walrus, All You Need Is Love and The Beatles' two finest moments, A Day In The Life and Strawberry Fields Forever.

True, his solo work never truly recaptured the scope of that recorded with The Beatles - but whose could? Imagine, as an album, is strong, though Phil Spector's over-the-top production does take a little of the lustre away from the songs. A flick through his 'greatest hits', including Instant Karma!, God and Mind Games, shows a gifted songwriter simultaneously carving his own niche whilst attempting to escape his own legcay.

So what would a 66-year-old John Lennon be doing were he alive today? The easiest answer is that no-one knows. Given that he was riddled with contradictions throughout his life, I doubt whether he would have fitted neatly into any of the boxes which he is commonly placed in.

Yes, he may have been at the forefront of campaigns such as Live8 - but suggested wisdom is that he didn't really enjoy performing. Would he simply have lived a quiet life as a house husband, living off royalties from his halcyon days? Maybe, but chances are the simple life would grate after a while. Would he have continued to churn out solo albums as Paul McCartney has done? We will never know.

That Lennon's work continues to have signifigance more than a quarter of a century after his untimely death shows how much he is still missed to this day.

And the winner is....

....Somebody from Hungary who arrived at Groanin' Jock by searching on Blogger for 'the beatles love'.

So, if you were that Hungarian who stopped only for a second, congratulations, email me to get your prize for being the 2,000th visitor.

And to everyone else - Thank you for your entry. Unfortunately, you have not been successful on this occasion. Please try again later.

Love

I acquired a copy of the latest Beatles album, Love, at the weekend.

For those who don't know, it's a whole host of well-known Beatles classics mashed together - so we get Within You Without You over the top of the drum loop from Tomorrow Never Knows, and other such combinations.

I've been a massive fan of The Beatles since I was 16, and I had doubts over this latest project - could George Martin and his son Giles pull it off without destroying the originals or have the new album become sacriligeous?

In short - they did it. It's clear that a great deal of time and love has gone into Love and I think that the album can stand comfortably beside the rest of The Beatles' recorded output.

Aye - 2K

If traffic here at GJ continues at its usual rate, the 2,000th visitor should stop by within the next 24 hours.

There might be a prize in it for the person(?) who clicks at the right time!

D'ya wanna be a spaceman?

In previous posts, I have alluded to the fact that I like sci-fi. I'll elaborate - since the age of around four, I've wanted to be a spaceman.

So I'm delighted by the news that NASA is going to build a permanently-manned moonbase.

Yeah, so the base is going to 'serve as a science outpost as well as a testbed for technologies needed for future travel to planets'.

But what I want to know is - when can we start taking lunar holidays?

No-one's been to the moon since well before I was born, but hey, bring it on - I'm ready to volunteer.

At least it doesn't rain on the moon.

The Norse god of Lager vents his fury

Some of you may have noticed that there was no new post on this here website yesterday.

This is because I was ill - with one of those mysterious '24-hour bugs' that affect people who have consumed large quantities of lager the previous evening.

Yes, after about 18 months without a hangover, I finally pushed my body too far.

Thus, my day of rest was largely a washout. Except that I had to play football for my work's five-a-side team. Which meant driving through 80mph gales and horizontal rain for an hour, running around almost non-stop for 40 minutes with a splitting headache, enduring a 13-3 defeat, and driving back again through worsening conditions.

Let's just say I've had better days!

Elephant polo

I've never been to an elephant polo match, but I think it would be quite entertaining. I've ridden elephants in Thailand, and was surprised by how graceful and quiet they are, even when walking uphill through a jungle whilst carrying four passengers.

Anyway, Advocates for Animals is calling for Chivas Brothers to end its sponsorship of elephant polo.

I've met the Duke of Argyll on a few occasions, and my paper has run stories on his Elephant World Cup exploits. From the way he describes it, no harm comes to the elephants, they aren't mistreated, and all money raised goes to charities that care for elephants.

But blinkered do-gooders can't see the benefits, and simply decide that elephant polo must be wrong and that it should end.

In the words of Billy Connolly: "Every time I meet a vegan, I have an overwhelming urge to bite a live pig's arse".

Sound and vision

Yesterday, I drove for three hours to Dundee, where I exchanged the broken surround sound system for a new one (sorry if this seems to be a recurring theme).

I then drove for three hours back to deepest, darkest Argyll, where I unboxed the system and spent more than an hour feeding cables round furniture and through speaker stands.

Just as I finished this complex procedure, I realised something - I hadn't seen a remote control in amongst all the equipment.

There wasn't one.

So, I then had to strip it all back down and pack it back in its box, ready to be transported back to the store. So another long trip ensued this evening, two hours through driving rain to pick up the third surround sound system.

But it's all working fine now. Bring on the blockbusters!

Work in progress

Sorry folks, don't have time to stop tonight - I've got a surround sound system to wire up.

I'll be back tomorrow though, promise!

Is this thing on?

I love electronic gadgets - I always have. Ever since I was a little boy, I've been fascinated by anything that lights up, plays a tune or displays a picture. It's an affliction I inherited from Faither, who would always have the latest gizmo - from electronic ear defenders for shooting to a CD player and on to MP3 technology and various laptops.

Anyway, I love it when my hi-tech household runs like digital clockwork. Mrs Wife and I invested in a home cinema system earlier this year, which I think has been one of my best buys ever. I love being able to watch DVDs and hear the action explode all round me.

At least I did until the woofer stopped working this week. The rest of the speakers work just fine, but they are hampered by the lack of low frequency kick generated by the working woofer.

Several emails and phone calls later, the good people at Acoustic Solutions and Argos have decided that the best option is to exchange the system. Which is all well and good until it comes to unravelling almost 30 metres of cables and dismantling all the speaker stands, a task I have been engaged in for the past two evenings.

Still, it will all be worth it when I sit down to watch all six Star Wars movies back to back at some point in the next two weeks. Life doesn't get much better....

Love lost on me

What a day. Staff absences have meant that I have been the sole member of editorial staff in my office for almost three weeks now, which means single-handedly writing and producing a newspaper, including taking all the photographs and laying out all the copy.

But yet again I pulled it off and the paper is complete for another week. So I am now lounging on the couch, browsing the worldwide interweb and listening to Love's Forver Changes.

I've had the album for a few years, but have never really been able to get into it. Some people I know think it is the work of bona fide genii (which I believe is the plural of genius). It may well be, but something about it just never floated my boat in the same way that many albums from that same era have.

I'd much rather have the psychedelic wooziness of The Beatles at their most experimental, the all-out, good time, bluesy rock'n'roll of the Stones, the sheer ferocity of The Who, the English whimsy and tongue-in-cheek humour of The Kinks, the organ-backed howl of The Doors or the harmonic blend of Simon and Garfunkel.

In fact, when you throw Dylan, The Zombies and the Small Faces into the mix, Love struggle to make my top ten of bands from the 60s.

Don't get me wrong, it's a good album. It just doesn't strike that chord with me, and joins a list of other musical acts that I've never really been able to fathom, amongst them Springsteen, The Strokes and Captain Beefheart.

Paul McCartney's garage sale

As he is the one remaining genius Beatle still knocking around, it's maybe a bit harsh to have a laugh at Macca's expense, but I'm definitely on his side. I urge you all to support his garage sale this weekend:

Irresistible force and immovable object

Another weekend, another mouth-watering Premiership clash.

Chelsea may have spent three thousand gazillion pounds in the summer to hoover up a few more of the world's best players, but their squad hasn't gelled as well as Jose Mourinho would have hoped.

Meanwhile, Alex Ferguson seems to be getting the best from his previously mis-firing team, including a rejuvenated Rooney and revitalised Ronaldo.

If anyone had said at the the start of the season that a Man Ure squad missing Ruud Van Nistelrooy would be top of the Premiership, with the opportunity to go six points ahead of Chelsea before the end of November, I'd have laughed in their face.

But the Reds seem to have clicked, perhaps because they had been so completely written off beforehand. Ferguson has always excelled at building a siege mentality in his squads, from the beginnings of his success at Aberdeen onwards. That they are playing football with an artistic flair which is absent from Chelsea's play at the moment would no doubt make a Man Ure victory today all the sweeter - what better than to play the champions off the park?

That Chelsea's squad is now bursting at the seams with world-class players may be the root of their problems - how can you possibly accommodate Frank Lampard, Michael Ballack, Geremi, Jon Obi Mikel, Joe Cole, Arjen Robben, Didier Drogba, Michael Essien AND Andriy Shevchenko in the same team? Put simply, you can't, and it may be that the sheer weight of dented egos will drag Chelsea into second place in this year's Premiership.

Blast from the past

My current favourite advert on television is the following spot for Oatso Simple, starring Windy Miller of Camberwick Green.

What a wonderful way to bring back childhood memories (even if Windy has sold his soul for the advertising cash).

Look out for He-Man selling bleach and Huckleberry Hound peddling washing powder soon.

Hail to the geek

Praise be to the uber-geeks who invented the worldwide interweb. Without them I would be far less happy than I am at the moment.

The reason for my happiness? I have just completed my Christmas shopping from the comfort of my office chair.

I know that I moaned about people starting Christmas too early in this previous post, and that I demanded no-one mention the C-word until December 1.

But Mrs Wife has been driving herself, and as a result me, into a frenzy by demanding that we buy everyone's presents and write the cards so that we don't have to do it nearer the time.

So, leaving the purchasing of most of the gifts to the little lady, I have finished it off with just a click of my mouse and an assault on my credit card.

It must be the first stirrings of middle age - having my Christmas shopping completed by the end of November. If only other areas of my life were so organised....

Smokes 'n' drugs 'n' Rolling Rock

Well folks, it's all drink, smokes and drugs in the UK today, with a plethora of news stories doing the rounds as the government attempts to stop us gluggling, puffing and snorting ourselves to death.

First up, the Scottish Executive (the nice name given to Scotland's kiddy-on parliament) aims to raise the legal age of buying tobacco products from 16 to 18 within the next few months.

This announcement follows the ban on smoking in enclosed public places that was put in place in March. As a non-smoker, I have certainly seen the difference. Waking up the morning after a heavy sesh, it's much better to find that your hair and clothes don't reek of stale smoke.

But I don't know how much difference raising the legal age would make. Lots of people I went to high school with were smoking from the age of 10 or 11 - they were obviously able to get the cigarettes without too much difficulty, and I don't think the Executive's plans will change that in any great way. But hey, good luck to them.

Next, the Big Government down in London will be cheered by the news that the EU is not going to allow people to buy alcohol over the internet from other member states, thus circumventing taxation in their home country.

The UK stood to lose billions of pounds in lost revenue if the law had been changed. However nice it might have been to order a bottle of Polish vodka for a couple of quid over the worldwide interweb, or a nice Port direct from a Portuguese warehouse, at least Gordon Brown won't have to worry about making up those lost billions.

And finally, it seems that Britain's high rollers get through almost 60 million quid's worth of cocaine each week, and that we have the fastest-growing cocaine problem in the west.

So what does all this tell us about life in Little Britain? That we're a bunch of party-loving junkies? That we're so determined to have a good time that we're prepared to die in the process? Or that no matter how hard the government tries, they won't stop us drinking, smoking and taking drugs?

Where to begin?

I'm currently considering buying a new laptop, but the whole process of trying to find the best deal is so frustrating, I don't know where to begin.

Although, in a former life, I worked as an IT support technician, I've been away from it for long enough that I've lost touch with what's hot in the world of mobile PCs.

Which processors are fastest? Who makes the best RAM? Which manufacturers should be avoided?

Ideally, I'd like a mimimum of 1GB RAM and 60GB hard drive. In a perfect world, it would be a Dell, but go beyond their basic packages and they start getting pretty pricey.

So I'm throwing the question open to the floor - what's the best deal for the laptop I'm looking for? Preferably costing (substantially) less than 500 quid.

Divided disloyalties

Normally, deciding who to support when Celtic or Manchester United are in action isn't a difficult choice to make - it's the opposition.

But when the two evils clash, where do I put my loyalties?

One the one hand, we have Celtic, the sworn and bitter enemies of the Famous Glasgow Rangers. A club whose players and fans, their horrible green and white hooped shirts - even their stadium - call forth a great dislike from within me (I would say hate, but that's a bit too strong).

Then, on the other, we have Manchester United. A club with an arrogant manager, the club at which the loathsome Roy Keane reached the pinnacle of his abilities and the spawning ground for Real Madrid's overpaid ballerina David Beckham.

Should I be wishing for a Manchester United win at Parkhead tonight to show the Bhoys that they aren't as good as they think, even at home? Or should I back Scotland's only remaining representatives in European football's premier competition?

It's a no-brainer. Tonight, Matthew, I will be a Manchester United fan.

Magic Tune Box

It's Monday, it's wet and I'm still recovering from driving home from Perth in the dark during hurricane winds and torrential rain. So it feels like a good time to take a look through the Magic Tune Box and see where its mood takes us.

1: Sunshine Of Your Love by Cream (from the album Disraeli Gears): Clapton at his finest, matched by Ginger Baker's thunderous drums, both of which are anchored by Jack Bruce on bass. The only three-piece band ever to have matched the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

2: White Palms by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (from the album Black Rebel Motorcycle Club): Bass-driven punk squal taking a pro (or anti) religious stance, depending on your beliefs. "Jesus when you coming back, Jesus when you coming back, Jesus never coming back - Jesus I dare you to come back."

3: Mucho Mungo by John Lennon (from the Dakota disc of the Lennon Anthology box set): Downbeat acoustic lament in which it is possible to hear baby Sean screaming in the background. A little hint of the way Lennon's life was going before he died.

4: Mellow Doubt by Teenage Fanclub (from the album Grand Prix): A slice of acoustic beauty clocking in at less than three minutes long. Includes the Fannies' trademark layered harmonies and a whistled solo. Possibly their finest song.

5: Ode To Billy Joe by Bobby Gentry: A song that, despite its dark subject matter, always makes me smile. Gentry's vocals, whilst hardly in the soul diva category, are nonetheless highly evocative. I love songs that tell a story, and Ode To Billy Joe is a fine example.

6: Bad by Michael Jackson (from the album Bad): A song that, from those opening synth strings, transports me back to when I was seven and this album was released. I don't care what anyone says, at that age I thought Wacko was the coolest guy on Earth, dressed in shiny black leather and dancing like some futuristic spaceman. Pop as it should be done.

7: Desert Drought by Cast (from the album Beetroot): High-tempo, jaunty indie number driven by flutes and bongos, an interesting combo. Sounds nothing like anything Cast had done previously, which is probably a good thing. Typically nonsensical lyrics though: "The way some people operate, they spend their time promoting counterfeit that's fake".

8: A Bell (Of Love Rings Out For You) by AC Acoustics (from the album AC Acoustics): Inoffensive indie song that could have been written at any point between 1966 and 2006.

9: 138th Street by The Walkmen (from the album Bows + Arrows): Jingly-jangly guitars and almost Dylan-esque vocals. Reminds me of The Pogues' Fairytale In New York.

10: PS You Rock My World by Eels (from the album Electro-Shock Blues): Typically gloomy but oddly inspiring string-laden love song of sorts.

Hedging your bets

One of my favourite quotes of all time popped into my head the other day, and it still makes me smile a few years after I first heard it.

For the last 10 years of his life, Elvis wore both a Christian cross and a Jewish star on chains around his neck.

When asked why, the drug-addled, obese rock'n'roll legend replied:

"I don't want to get kept out of Heaven on a technicality."

Winter's here

It's snowing today in Jockshire, a sight that would normally fill my heart with joy.

However, it is not soft, white, fluffy snow that lends itself to snowballs and sledging, but cold, wet, horizontal snow that gets in your eyes, numbs your fingers and soaks you to the bone.

Rumour has it that we are to pay for enjoying the hottest summer on record earlier this year by having one of the coldest winters. If it's already snowing in mid November, in an area which doesn't tend to get the worst conditions, those predictions may be right.

We'll find out soon enough. Think I'll invest in a new sledge just in case.

I fought the law

Apologies for the lack of postage yesterday - Blogger was playing silly buggers when I got home and I couldn't be bothered to wait for it to fix itself.

I would have posted during the day, but I spent all day in court.

Fear not, dear surfers, for I was not in the dock, merely sitting through the day's business as a reporter.

It staggers me just how many people commit crimes in my small town. The public gallery was absolutely packed with people waiting for justice to decide their fate.

Most of these people, when appearing in front of the sheriff, chose appropriate clothing for the occasion. They wore white trainers, tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirts. Some had their headphones draped around their necks.

One gentleman (I use the term VERY loosely), when asked whether his name was John Smith, answered "sure am". Which went down really well with an already crabbit sheriff.

The crimes were, for the most part, drink driving offences and people who had been fighting in the street whilst drunk. One upstanding member of the community was brought before the sheriff for shouting at his wife and mother-in-law, telling them that they were "a pair of f***ing mongols".

If ever there was evidence to suggest that Darwin got things wrong, it's the 'people' in Scotland's criminal courts.

Am I a woman?

Man has sent hi-tech pieces of equipment, and humans, to the moon. He has successfully taken organs from one person and transplanted them into another. He has invented millions of life-changing gizmos including the television, the internal combustion engine, the computer and the Pot Noodle.

Yet man cannot make calorie-free food that tastes as good as the real thing. If we can observe the surface of Mars first hand, why can't we invent a jam doughnut that's as good for you as celery? How have the assembled scientific minds of the 21st century not yet stumbled upon the recipe for calorie-free Dairy Milk chocolate that tastes EXACTLY the same as the original product? Why aren't nutritional experts urging us to make sure that we drink two litres of Coke each day and ensure that we get our five daily portions of cheesecake?

I'm no scientist. I am to mathematics what Paris Hilton is to celebacy, and to physics what Courtney Love is to decency. But surely these dietary advances are possible?

The reason I ponder this problem is because I don't like healthy food. Quiches, salads, fish and most vegetables fail to register on my list of most palatable foods. I'd eat red meat every day if I could, would gorge on chocolate and guzzle fizzy drinks by the bottle.

But if I ate to satisfy my desires, I'd end up being removed from my house by a fire crew, watched by little children standing with mouths agape as the crane buckled under my bulk.

Anyway, that ends today's groanin'. I'm off for lunch. What am I having? Chicken soup....

A monumental quest

Last night, Mrs Wife, Mither and I settled down to watch the second installment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Two Towers.

Channel 4 was showing the film, but being clever, we decided to watch it on DVD instead, thinking that our viewing would be unsullied by adverting breaks and that we'd get the benefit of surround sound.

Whilst both these facts are true, what we forgot to take into account is that the DVD version is extended. It takes almost FOUR HOURS to watch this movie. That's half a working day.

The films are cinematic masterpieces, there can be no doubt of that. But at a combined length of something approaching 15 hours, they do require stamina if you're going to sit and watch them.

Which is why, at work today, I am bleary-eyed. Mrs Wife and I had harboured ambitions of watching the three back-to-back, a feat I previously managed with the original Star Wars trilogy.

I think, though, that those plans have now been shelved.

Living life to the full

As Mrs Wife and Mither watched reality pop programmes and rubbish films on TV last night, I caught up with my fellow bloggers on the worlwide interweb.

Whilst round at Ralphd00d's site 'Boobies and Beer', I decided to use a random series of binary digits to determine whether my life to date was worthwhile.

And guess what? I scored pretty high! It seems my body is the best bit about my life, closely followed by my love life (I think the two may be connected).

My lowest score was for friends and family - so screw you all, I'm going to use my aparently hot body and firm financial footing to buy new and better friends.

(I'm only joking folks, I love you all really....)

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	8.5
Mind:	7.7
Body:	9.4
Spirit:	7.6
Friends/Family:	6.8
Love:	9.1
Finance:	8.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Modern society

It seems that Groanin' Jock is spending too much time in the gutter.

Google searches that have brought visitors this way in the past 24 hours have included "absolute munter" and "Derek Riordan caught in a strip bar".

Who says high culture is dying?

Wrestlemania!

Tonight, 'professional' wrestlers descend on Argyll for a performance in the local sports centre.

Before anyone starts, I KNOW it's 'fake', and they aren't really getting hurt.

But surely no-one over the age of 12 watches wrestling because it's real. They watch it for the entertainment value.

And whether or not the bodyslams and piledrivers are real, these guys are still lifting and throwing other big guys, which is an impressive show of strength and coreography.

Baby brother (who is 22, but still my baby brother) was meant to come through to watch this feast of lycra shorts and ridiculous headgear (as modelled by RIP and the Masked Destroyer in the above photograph).

If he had been 10, his presence at the event would be have been guaranteed. I think he still secretly believes he will grow up to be Hulk Hogan's tag team partner, and his knowledge of WWF wrestling from the late 80s and early 90s is frankly disturbing (bearing in mind that he was only six in 1990).

But rather than spend the evening engrossed in the action, he has opted instead to go on a date.

How the times change!

Gallic flair?

What. A. Shambles.

For years, Rangers fans have enjoyed mocking their Celtic counterparts for the Hoops' infamous defeat at the hands of Inverness Caledonian Thistle during the reign of John Barnes.

Now Rangers have reached their own equally painful nadir.

For Rangers to lose is an affront. For Rangers to lose at Ibrox is shameful. For Rangers to lose at home to a team in the First Division is inexcusable.

Until now, I have been willing to give Paul Le Guen the benefit of the doubt. Expecting the man to work miracles was unfair.

But the indifferent performances he has presided over domestically cannot be allowed to continue.

Yes, Rangers have been impressive in Europe. Yes, the side occasionally looks exciting and full of flair, especially when Burke and Adam are firing on all cylinders.

But too many points have been dropped in the league and too many games which should have been guaranteed wins have ended in defeat.

The question now is whether David Murray will bite the bullet and sack a manager for the first time in nearly two decades at Ibrox.

Whatever the outcome, I'm sure the taunts from fans of Celtic (not to mention Hearts, Dundee Utd and now St Johnstone) will ring loud for years to come.

What a panic's in thy breastie

After a busy couple of days visiting relatives in Angus, and another mammoth journey, I'm back in less than sunny Argyll.

The most interesting visit of my time at home was when I went up to visit my Granny. She was looking at a photograph of her grandmother, taken she was 94.

This got us talking about our family history - a discussion which culminated with Granny telling me that her grandmother, and therefore both us, was related to Robert Burns.

Now, whether this is true or not, I don't know. But it is very intriguing.

The idea of being related to the most famous Scotsman EVER (I imagine some will make a case for Sean Connery or Billy Connolly, but until there is a Connery Day or I attend a Connolly Supper, it's Burns) is very exciting.

I have severe doubts as to whether Granny's claim is true, but I can't let it pass.

So, the next time I'm back home, sheand I are going to sit down and work on the family tree, Burns and all.

I shall report back.....

Lawmakers

It's good to see that politicians in the west have accepted the Iraqi court's decision to hang Saddam.

Whilst I don't personally approve of the death penalty, if the US and Britain have spent the last three years bleating on about Iraq 's need for self-governance, at least they've had the good sense to realise that the Iraqis' own decisions must be adhered to.

And whilst there is a risk of Saddam becoming a martyr, they are probably right in their belief that the country will be a lot safer without Saddam.

Home

The sun is shining and a cool breeze is coaxing the leaves from the Angus trees today. Mither's house looks out onto Brechin's public park, a vast green expanse that has probably been the one constant in my life over its first 26 years.

My grandparents first moved into this house in 1963, and it is the one place on earth which reminds me most of my childhood. Apparently I took my first tentative steps on the grass across the road from the house. I remember staying with my grandparents in the warm summer of 1990, watching Italy v Argentina in the World Cup semi-final before recreating the celebrations of Diego Maradona and Salvatore Schillachi using sapling trees as replacement goalposts.

This park has it all: a hill ideal for sledging in winter and rolling Easter eggs in spring; hedges which make ideal hiding places during marathon Man Hunt sessions; a BMX track and monkey bars that I spent a whole summer attempting to master to no avail.

There are relics of bygone days: a towering concrete war memorial, a band stand practically unused for its original purpose in the past 30 years and an elaborate lions head fountain that has long since run dry and been turned into a flower bed.

In my first quarter century, much has changed. I hope Brechin Public Park never does.

On the road

I'm just about to head back to the east coast to see the folks for a few days, a journey I'm to undertake by bus, as Mrs Wife needs the Jockmobile for work.

Incredibly, this journey from the west to the east is going to take SEVEN HOURS.

How can it be possible to travel for seven hours in a country as small as Scotland and only travel a couple of hundred miles? Seven-hour journies should at least be enough to take the traveller as far as England.

Just as well I have today's paper and an account of an intriguing Celtic v Hearts match to devour en route.

More random noises from the Magic Tune Box

Once again, I have failed to come up with a blog topic as witty, intelligent and thought-provoking as my usual standards, so I will set the Magic Tune Box to random and see where it takes us, as I did in a previous post.

1: Hawks & Doves by Magdalen Green (from the Magdalen Green EP): Bluesy Zep-like acoustic ballad tinged with harmonicas and bongos. From the young British band's debut single, which I recommend everyone check out as soon as possible.

2: Song of Life by Leftfield (from the album Leftism): A reminder of why Leftfield were so good at their peak. Coming from the same album that gave rise to Open Up, Song of Life starts slowly, combining Indian chanting with quiet drums, before accelerating to clubland in its final four minutes, including Leftfield's own trademark skull-crushing drums.

3: Sittin' Here In Silence (On My Own) by Oasis (B-side from the Let There Be Love single): Downbeat acoustic strum-along from the band's recent renaissance. Only two minutes long, the song hints that not everything in Noel Gallagher's world is rosy in the post-Britpop comedown.

4: Policeman Skank...(The Story of My Life) by Audioweb (from the album Fireworks City): Audioweb's lead singer Sugar was a strange creature - a six foot plus black guy who could sing like an angel and rap better than most of his contemporaries. This reggae-tinged pop romp tells, as the title suggests, the story of his life, arrest and time in jail.

5: Rain by Terence Trent D'Arby (from the album Introducing The Hardline According To Terence Trent D'Arby): A comparitively weak track from the 80s soul saviour's debut album. Doesn't come close to the greatness he enjoyed on Wishing Well and Sign Your Name. A statement that could also be made about the remainder of TTD's career after this album.

6: Safe In Mind (Please Take This Gun From Out My Face) by UNKLE (from the album Never, Never, Land): UNKLE's futuristic, string-drenched electro hip-hop brings in Queens of The Stone Age's Josh Homme on lead vocals, to brilliant effect. UNKLE are most definitely at their best when collaborating with guest vocalists, with key hook-ups including Richard Ashcroft, Thom Yorke, Ian Brown and Badly Drawn Boy. This track includes the lyric 'Life's a gun that's always pointing in my face.'

7: Strawberry Fields Forever (Take 1) by The Beatles (from the album Anthology 2): The original first studio take of the greatest song ever. Includes woozy acoustic slide guitar, deadened drums and John Lennon giving a heart-rending performance on acoustic guitar and lead vocals. Reveals that at the heart of the most wonderful piece of art ever created, lies a simple acoustic ballad. Beautiful.

8: Talk On by Ocean Colour Scene (from the album Ocean Colour Scene): Many people believe that Moseley Shoals, the album which included the singles The Riverboat Song, The Day We Caught The Train and The Circle, was Ocean Colour Scene's debut. In fact, it was this self-titled record, after which they were quickly dropped by their record company. OCS themselves largely ignore this album, feeling that the band and label's conflicting musical views led to a 'watered-down' debut which lacked the edge of OCS' live popularity. An inoffensive and un-inspiring track, a charge which could be levelled at most of those on the record. Cynically re-released in 1996 to captialise on the band's new-found popularity.

9: Central Reservation (The Then Again Version) by Beth Orton (from the album Central Reservation): Trip-hop influenced remix of the title track from Orton's second album. Although I own all of her albums, I don't think I've listened to one for a few years - which is a shame, as whenever one pops up on the Magic Tune Box, I remember how good she is. Then I go home, forget all about her and listen to Bob Dylan instead.

10: Half A Dream Away by Ocean Colour Scene (from the album Marchin' Already): Seems the Magic Tune Box has an OCS fixation today. Typically well-played, well-produced but terminally bland album track from the follow-up to Moseley Shoals. Includes a trombone solo and some bizarre couplets including: 'The fireman tried but the hose was frozen; The cupboard's bare but the door needs closing'. Does end with a 30-second spell of finger picking by Steve Craddock. Which is nice.

Christmas is coming

As a kid, I loved Christmas. Everything about it - the tree, the decorations, the holiday, the food and, of course, the presents.

As I've grown up, I've realised that you need to start saving VERY early if you're going to avoid seriously damaging your credit card and found the days running up to Christmas aren't a holiday, but hectic days at work on the coldest, darkest days of the year.

But Christmas day itself is still a good day to relax, eat too much and watch loads of television.

What really annoys me about Christmas nowadays though is that it seems to start in August.

Mrs Wife and I were in Glasgow at the weekend, and every shop was going into Christmas advertising meltdown, with selection boxes in Woolworths sitting beside the Hallowe'en sweets and the bookshops recommending festive stocking fillers for your mum, dad, aunties, brothers and neighbours' dog.

I am proposing that governments across the world unite and instigate a blanket ban on Christmas at any point prior to December 1st. No mention of 'the C word' is to be made until this date. How can you even begin to discuss Christmas when Hallowe'en, Guy Fawkes Day and St Andrew's Day are all still to come?

Aside from the crass and opportunistic retailers hoping to snatch your money, surely no-one would object to delaying Christmas until December? Kids can fill their days quite happily without having Christmas to think about four months in advance.

In fact, kids will whip themselves into a frenzy in the DAYS leading up to Christmas, they don't need additional weeks of making their parents' lives a misery, demanding the latest toys and video games.

I realise that by writing this very post, I am contravening my own law. So, as of THIS VERY SECOND, I don't want to hear anything about Christmas until December 1st at the very earliest.

Bah, Humbug.

Scare me, please

Well, that's Hallowe'en been and gone again.

We only had seven kids come to our door during the evening, which is just as well, as we were criminally under-prepared. As per usual, Mrs Wife and I neglected to buy any sweets beforehand, and the local store (a supermarket in ambition only) was sold out by the afternoon. So we picked up a couple of bags from elsewhere, which was thankfully enough to see us through.

But there were two disturbing factors I noted:

1) A poor standard of performance from the kids on the doorstep. One little girl of around six attempted Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and couldn't remember the words. I'm sorry, but how can you forget that? It's not a very difficult song.

2) Kids dressed as fairies and cowboys. Hallowe'en costumes should be ghosts, ghouls, vampires, mummies and other assorted scary creatures. Nothing else is acceptable.

I didn't argue with the kids though, and happily handed over the sweeties. Still, standards are slipping.