That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Gone to Tahiti.


The WI Investigates....porn in the local press

I recently took a call from the Women’s Institute.


“Who is this?” was the husky enquiry.
“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, darling.” I answered neutrally.
“Are you The Proprietor?”
“I am called many things.” I said, flicking through my cue cards to the “Ps”.



To let you know, I have a small interest in a premium phone service. It’s just a sideline to keep the wolf from the door you understand; beer money, nothing more, honestly.
I offer two services:
“Adrian, The Obliging Plumber” targeting the housewife demographic and
“Adrian, The Compliant Plumber” for the homosexualist brigade.
Do you see the difference? I am nothing if not PC., one has to be, in this game.
I use the same number for both services; it saves money.
But, but, I have found it is no good rambling on about cunnilingus to gay men, they hang up too soon, and vice versa. So, my immediate problem was to determine the sex of this caller.
And again, not for the first time, I heard a distinct sigh so I relaxed into my spiel.
I advertise in Scottish Motor Mart and the Perthshire Advertiser.

It's a far cry from my first steps into the world of adult chat lines.
For example, on Day One I had a very tricky woman. A maths teacher I think.
God, I still cringe. I was so unprofessional.


"Have you a big one?"
"Spanner?"
"No, dick. I mean dick, a big dick. Have you a big penis? Jesus H!"
"Sorry, sorry, yes it’s huge."
"How big is it?"
"Um, length or, oh, what’s the word?...Girth!"
"Girth?"
"Look, it’s fifteen inches long and it’s huge!"
"What’s that in centimetres?"
" er, 75"
"Fuck off!"
"No wait! My mistake, 35! Yes, it’s 35 centimetres long."
"God that IS big."
"Yeah. You better believe it Doll."
"Don’t call me Doll."
"Sorry."
"Is it 35 cm long just now? Right at this minute?"
"Oh yeah"
"Well, where is it?"
"What do you mean; ‘where is it?’ It’s right here."
"I mean, is it exposed or still in your trousers?"
"Um, "
"I knew it! It’s not 35 centimetres long at all, is it?"
"Well not right now..."
"No, I thought not."
"I can make it that long if you want me to."
"And just how would you do that? Surgery?"
"Look here, I am an honest businessman trying to scratch a living and I can do without you madam, carping on and on about my genitals, size thereof or not!"
"You sound just like my husband, I want my money back."
"Maroon Leisure SA regrets no refunds are available, terms and conditions apply, check press for details."

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Byron or Arnold Bennett?

My glasses, that is, spectacles, are the best in the shop. They are called Byron. A more inferior model would be the Arnold Bennett, or even Milton.
D’ye see the pattern?

I intend to open my own marketing service giving everyday items more exciting names.
For example, the top of the range ice-making machine is not called the Viking 3000 or even the Frostmaster Delux, no it is called The Scotsman!

Who would have thought?

As a start, I am looking around, and I see my little computer speakers, I shall call them the Cicero. Big sub woofer would be…the Churchill?

I dunno, I’m losing it a bit. Help me out.

Dishtowels! The Yasser, or the Mother Theresa, or top of the range, um, the Molly!

What you reckon?

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Blogger
Cleanliness is next to godliness & manners maketh the man.

Below, are the replies I lost to the ether. See? I’m not a total asshole.

Pat, you would think that those privileged enough to attend such tirribly, tirribly elite institutions as Trinity and the LSE would be fiscally independent by the time they were 45 wouldn’t you?
I mean the very idea that on the other hand one might stagger out of them into the real world at 26, desperately trying to remember one’s own name, having a half-assed mental breakdown at 27, then too quickly marrying an unsatisfactory wife, and then being honey-trapped by a Mossad agent at 49 (49 ferchristssakes) when one was on one’s uppers would be enough for any over-matched man, but apparently not.

Spies? I should live so long.

Savannah What happened to Syrup Sex? I’ll just tell you. I put the lid back on the tin when I wasn’t thinking , but guess what, I’ve got a new spoon, and I shall have my syrup, yes Sir, every day if I am spared.

Scarlet I knew it would be jazz number threes, I knew it in my marrow. And you are posh. Anyone says different gets a punch up the hooter.
Ax

Boyo! It is Popery. You are right! Ask three economists for a forecast, you get four answers. Badoom tish. Btw that bridge you shoed me, yeah that one…stay off it on the 25th , just sayin’ that’s all. Even that most tedious of heroes Welshmanman cannot save you.

Sarah, Inkspot, Pat Never trust a bank. Like, never. My word is my bond? Yeah, rightsville. They are run by the global anti-Semitic conspiracy.

Eryl Cheery is as cheery does.

Conan My bile is spent. (just like me money) Oish.


Conan Drumm said...

The only thing to pour on his grave would be a bottle of Milton.

11:24 AM, January 07, 2009

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Blogger Conan Drumm said...

...that's Friedman, not Keynes...

12:25 PM, January 07, 2009

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Blogger scarlet-blue said...

I'm rubbish at economics.
Apologies for my brief privatisation, I was wondering what it would be like to be proper posh... it was lonely.
Sx

12:38 PM, January 07, 2009

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Blogger Sarah said...

i've had Guinness in an English pub.. i prefer stella artois, even if this guy from Liverpool told me it was "cheap". lagers over stouts any day.. but that's probably my "yank" upbringing, with the beer that's like water. if i wanted a full on meal, i'd eat one.

11:06 PM, January 07, 2009

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Blogger Sarah said...

economics is best left to people who bother balancing their checkbooks.. i don't, not because i don't have to. but because i'm lazy.

11:08 PM, January 07, 2009

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12:32 PM, January 08, 2009

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Blogger inkspot said...

Sarah is spot on. Thank god for transatlantic insight. Balancing chequebooks is the bank's job. Of course, if you have two and a piece of stick, then they'll balance each other quite nicely.

3:49 PM, January 08, 2009

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Blogger PI said...

Inkspot and Sarah: you trust the banks to balance your cheque books?
Blimey!

4:04 PM, January 09, 2009

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Blogger Eryl Shields said...

It does seem awfully cheery Doc.

5:46 PM, January 09, 2009

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Blogger Sarah said...

PI: i didn't say i trusted them, you underestimate my laziness.

Maroon: "you have mail."

6:17 PM, January 09, 2009

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Blogger No Good Boyo said...

Economics is Popery. Your hocus-pocus comment is all the proof I need, Maroon.

The K Man, my legal advisor, also studied at the LSE. Not law, I hasten to add.

11:15 AM, January 10, 2009

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Blogger scarlet-blue said...

I play a Yamaha Alto, YAZ 52, Dr Maroon. I'm on Vandoren Jazz reeds - no.3. You'd best start on something weaker though.... you have to learn Dr.

Oh, sorry, I'm replying to your question on an earlier post.
Sx

10:58 PM, January 10, 2009

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Blogger savannah said...

three things:

online banking works.

maroon reads his email?

what happened to syrup sex?

xoxox

12:46 PM, January 12, 2009

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This post has been removed by the author.

11:10 PM, January 12, 2009

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Blogger PI said...

I used to think that everybody who went to the LSE ended up a revolutionary - rather like Cambridge and spies. Am I wrong?

3:30 PM, January 13, 2009

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Monday, January 12, 2009




Tamla Motown is 50 today!



Got my link up again. Sorry all for the delay. I will reply to my wonderful commenters forthwith.

Monday, January 05, 2009


You may be interested to know that among the many things thrown in my face recently, perhaps the most and yet least discouraging is my economic past.

If you have ever owned a BMW or drunk Guinness in an English pub, you will know what I'm talking about. Nobody but nobody can let it lie, they MUST comment.

"Guinness eh? Can't stand it meself."

"BMW. Not all they're cracked up to be. My brother-in-law had one, secondhand right enough, not a new one like this, but he said they were shite. He's a mechanic."

Same with economics.

I'm bringing it up because Walters has died.
Tell me where he is buried and I will piss on his grave.
In fact I will go to Liverpool and run a bus and we shall drink beer on the way and all of us shall piss on his grave.

Then I will move on to the West Midlands, East Midlands, Northumbria, Central Belt, Cumbria, Derbyshire, West Country, in fact, all the bits he shat on.

I'll be a millionaire in no time. It's an ill wind.


Thursday, January 01, 2009

A Guid New Year!

Remember when British TV was the best in the world?
I've just spent an improving hour watching some unknown naturalist climbing trees.
It used to be about the bugs and stuff up the tree, now it's about her climbing up a rope.
Why don't they just throw a bucket of shite over the screen and be done with it?

I think I shall bathe and change the bed linen whether it needs it or not.

I Know, Let's have a party. A summer one. Yay.

Rock on, me bredren.