Volumes Away

She hated it, his love for letters, presented there in keys
Scrunched up sheets, rejected reams, ink defied and squeezed
Telling tales on one another, in whose version could she trust?
Tapping rhythms, shout out louder, in the silence, readjust

Fallen graces, murder, intrigue, part of elementary hype
Letting fingers do the walking, inky bloodline as you type.
Sets and rises, days a muddled, corner sighs in high defence
Particles of skin in chinked light, resting on it's own pretence.


Journey down a road in solace, accompanied by mind's own eye
Words that read the same to others, but pictures always will defy.
Time is held in low abandon, a dungeon that his will adores
Remind him of her own existence, in bold barbaric underscores.........


She left a note in crimson, pleading, on the last page of his book
Volumes on but not exceeding, some day he may take a look
Reminding him that life is something else, to which he should assign
Will he begin another chapter as she signs along the dotted line.

Get To ''Halloween'' (23) Here Too....!

   I've heard of being pea-brained but this is ridic......!

This week's F-ing entry is to archive Halloween also.  I've added a nice little song (audio) by the much loved and missed Kirsty McColl. It is played every Halloween in our house as a tribute. It's a beautiful little number and goes perfect with my 'Bits Down The Side' blog entry too.....................


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Versus You

The city sighs and cars collide and
    I take it in all in manic stride.
Pent up hating, gross debating
  run or spend a minute waiting.


 Traffic lures me, lights assure me,
 time for madness   to endure me
  Gridlock, trying, by and bying
someone's crying loud but surely



  Put the foot down, sidles around,
can't the motion hurry on town
 I'll twist the tries, nurse my black eyes
green says go but red defies......

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No Need To Pay Up

My younger son's band No Need For Idols launched their new EP on iTunes yesterday and received this fabulous review:

 It goes without saying that the cities of Glasgow and Edinburgh have both contributed largely to the canon of great Scottish music, both having produced several bands over the years who achieved worldwide success. Even smaller areas have had bands who have had a significant impact in recent years with long haired Kilmarnock rockers, Biffy Clyro enjoying mainstream success with their last two albums reaching the Top 10. Falkirk has yet to produce a band that can measure up to Dunfermline's Big Country; Dundee's The View or East Kilbride's Jesus and Mary Chain. The last blip on the radar here was Arab Strap's 1996 single The First Big Weekend which was lauded by Radio 1's Steve Lamacq.

Nevertheless it looks like times are set to change with the emergence of No Need For Idols, a band formed out of 5 school friends.They've worked solidly for the last few years building up a fanbase and recording original material, culminating in the release of their eponymous debut EP released today on iTunes (Fri, Oct 21).

Opening track What's Become Of Me? opens with a bassline similar to a distant stampede of elephants and what follows is the aural equivalent of being trampled by said elephants. The chorus is written specifically for the volume level to be abused on whatever device you listen to it on.

These boys are not your average indie rockers - because they aren't an indie band. They go for the jugular with massive riffs, howling vocals and drumming not unlike the sounds of war. Walk Away, a staple of NNFI's live shows also appears here and the tempo does not relent for a second. Held together with an almost tribal drumbeat, the song is catchy, muscular and performed with a great collaborative flair.

For All I've Done is the point where the tempo drops slightly but the intensity is not compromised. The refrain is anthemic and the verses are dripping with ghostly harmonies. This is all composed around a cinematic guitar solo that kicks in at the halfway mark.

It's easy to spot the influence of Foo Fighters on the closing track, Truth, which is delivered with a post-punk edge. The circling riff-age on this track will certainly have listeners holding an air guitar of their own and banging their heads. It sounds as if it should be played alongside footage of a riot, or an epic battle in a film. And with the clever title of  Idle To Idol, topping the planned album, it gives us a taster of future good things to come.

In an era where insipid and vacuous pop seems to be dominating the charts, it's heartening to hear rock music being played, and being played right. Expect big things from this group in the future who look certain to help put Falkirk firmly on the musical map.

By Owen O'Donnell

Just google the band name for options of purchase.

You can visit iTunes directly if your computer has it available (this old wreck don't and I ain't downloading it!) where the tasters are longer.  The EP is also cut into 4 single tracks if you prefer just to buy one!

Of course I'm happy enough with anyone having a simple listen at the tasters, (No Need To Purchase!) as my fanciful notions of what fame and fortune may bring my son to luxuriate me with haven't quite left the box of chocolates mark. Oh, and what with a sought after recent local rag interview released next week, and the lads having to turn gigs down, methinks NorseGod's band has the upper edge of getting in the limer-light (spelling intentional) before his older brother's does. God, that'd be a bugger and a beauty at the same time!

Many Hammy Whammies....

Tomorrow (20th),  The Cheaper Half and I will be *celebrating*  22 years of wedded bliss. Ahh! And they said it wouldn't last.....well, the ex-fiancee I nicked him from did anyhow........Happy Anniversary, darling. Mine's a large one!
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    * passing the day in the usual manner, just a bit pissed up, that's all*               

Chinatown DaddyDown

A cultural weekend, in song and in flavour
Delibes for the ears, and the taste buds to savour:
Food from far off Asia, prepared in the way
We multi-task time-savers never obey

Orient calling in one stretch of town
Under the smoke clouds of caramel brown
Lights, shouts and beckoning, should I bring myself near?
Not speaking the language yet the message quite clear

The smoke and the powders both making me sneezy
Old men playing Pipas, girls on the Dizi
The lanterns and lights, and dragons displayed
Music delightful as the colours cascade


The sound of crackling and sizzling took over
Fattened up carcass well fed from the stover
Nostrils a-flaring, at every new smell
A Heaven to Daddy, for me it was Hell


The Opera's heroine's fate in my head
So quickly displaced in this market of dread
The ugliest fish, catching you in a stare
With red blood eyes bulging and warning 'Beware'

Yuk! I saw them all hanging, head and feet clipped
Some bird or other, with plumage all stripped
Doused in some seeded oil, crispy of skin
And bunged in a basket of horrors within


At the next stall there stood a man, toothless and grinning
Skewering bugs down a pole that was spinning
Glazed them in sticky stuff, poked through a wire
Yup, my dad brought a stalk from the nodding old fryer

Dogs zigged-zagged in and out everyone's legs
Getting thrown little tit-bits, if valently begged
Then my father said ' dogs made a nice evening meal.
In a burger it's similar to eating veal!'


Further up there were tanks filled with variant fish
You could CHOOSE ones you wanted to eat in your dish!
Before he had the chance to -  I pulled him away!
I'd had enough roastings of creatures that day!


We left but my dad felt, to make up to me
He'd buy a nice Orient ice-cream for tea
The wafer was normal, the cream tasted sweet
The best thing that Chinatown had here to eat!


Till I got to the bottom, curled up in a ball
In the wafer - the creepiest slug of them all
I screamed and I dropped it and stomped on it's head
Asked no forgiveness for the sweary-word said!


So, the next time Dad takes me to Opera's or shows
I'll not sit there next to him, with huffs and with ho's.
I'll take my bit sanity once curtains fall down
To that nice fish and chip shop on the Upside of town!
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Get To 'F' (22)

Still coming down from Wednesday's Mannor Ball, so I'm rounding this week's 'Get To F(riday)' pic off in style. I want one:

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Willow Mannor Ball 2011

The prestigious ball is upon us once again, and with great delight (it's the only night of the year I'm out in style) and huge bucket loads of champagne, I'll dance the night away.

I attend this year again, with gorgeous Australian, Simon Baker, star of the big screen and my naughty dreams. My husband may have thought that I was listening intently to his recent fishing tales, but my mind was focused solely on the ball.  It is the only night of the year where Simon and I say 'stuff the spouses', give them some fib about the car breaking down or a kitten drowning or something and meet up for our October tryst.

Anyhow, this year I chose a black, daring dress - to match my soul - while Simon chose to go a bit more casual.....well, it's a nightmare trying to rip that dickie and sash off him after midnight. I'm looking forward to a couple of classical dances. I'll request the orchestra play 'The Blue Danube' for our first dance as he's likely to neck more champagne after a long twirl and the more sozzled the better! Anyhow - I'll no doubt bump into (literally!) you at the ball, so Simon and I look forward to meeting you and your partners and of course, to exchange compliments of the ball gowns  (if anyone wears the same outfit as me there'll be fireworks!) See you there.....don't be late!

My date:

My shoes:         

My earrings:   

My evening purse: 

Our entrance:

And to end the ball, my son's band CASINO, will play their classic finishing song.....# won't close my eyes Until Sunrise #  . If only the ball could last forever......!


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Right Royal Reduction

The King was a smarty, who threw a big party,
to show off his riches and stuff.
A conceited old guy, with a twitch in one eye,
as the other one pictured you buff!

His aunt twice removed, brought guests unapproved,
one a beauty with long golden hair.
The King downing rums, kept patting her bum 'twas
enough from this fat debonair!

You just couldn't tell, from her sight and her smell,
that she practiced the way's of the witch.
While he guzzled his wine, giving tales quite sublime,
she had popped in a potion to which:

For each boast that he made, or fib that he said,
he'd lose inches the very next day.
To shrink in his sleep, this royal bopeep,
would party his good self away.

So the beauty just smiled, as the fat king beguiled,
reminding the guests of his riches
This silly old fool, with his useless crown jewels,
was no match for beautiful witches.

So she danced when he asked, this Dead Hand of the Past,
was groping the flesh of his fate.
His big sweaty hands, and his roaring commands,
wouldn't strike up the strength to berate!

So the morning broke in, with a sunnier grin,
his majesty rubbing his face.
Sat up with sheer dread on this huge, endless bed,
as he struggled in brocade and lace!


No holler, no shouting, brought one in or outing,
the place was as quiet as church.
What a whole-hearted nightmare, he slid down his side chair,
- abandonned and left in the lurch.

In his tiny white nightie, he took off fair and flighty,
crawling himself under doors.
Ran into the kitchen, with hardly a stitch on, 
where the maids started cleaning the floors!


'Eeeh! Where'll the King be, kidnapped in his nightie,
...how much will the robbers demand?"
They say grace alone, won't get him back his throne,
could cost us well over a grand!"

Though he screamed at them loud, jumped and made a dust cloud,
at over an inch just, he reigned.
He was too small a guy, to hear or espy,
would he ever feel wholesome again?


The maid left her mop, near the marble work top,
took a break from her hard morning toil.
So up the King climbed,  in an act so well timed,
for back came the servants and royals.

But the silly old flip, took a turning and slipped,
fell off into water below.
In the bowls of the hounds, who thirst showed no bounds,
for their searching of Master McLow.


His favourite mutt, with the low-hanging gut,
swallowed him down with one slurp.
Seems the King of all grace, disappeared without trace
(and was not even pardoned by burp!).


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McVicar

Prettyboy attended a recent wedding. His gorgeous girlfriend Stacey's brother was getting married. Apparently, the Vicar was a funny old guy. The bride was a little late and to fill the awkwardness he started to sing the notes from the Wedding March,  'Da-da-da-da'....(everyone stood up) which he then backed up with 'da-da-da-da-da-da-da' (notes 4-10)...from the Funeral March. Bridey turned up and during the course of the ceremony he kept pausing to feel the groom's head and going, 'he's okay, he's okay'. Later on Bridey nervously got the ring hand wrong, to which he remarked 'pillock' to her. Then he was first up to the bar after the 'I Do's'.  With these being just a few of his hilarious antics, I want to book him in now for my funeral. 

                              The Pretty One With The Even Prettier One
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Mistress Of The Mind

In the corners of the city
through the rages, over fences
You can catch the smirk of Keres
pulverising precious senses

Breathing in diseases
that we live under and loathe
Gathers fruit for us to tempt with,
if you're the bearer of a troth

Perfect symmetry will scare her
as will the beauty of the piece
A flawless soul, a neat provider
never match her soul caprice

Is it in the way we panic
making fuss as schedules juggle?
Sitting back's her one requirement
getting off on how we struggle

Is it not the path of duty
that she boldly tampers with?
Not determining the balance
but backing up the myth

She's devises little snippets
of the weirdest, weirdest kind
Holes them up for later usage
in the back streets of your mind

Watch elephants soar skywards
with a graceful tilt of wings
And water rising gradually 
from colour tainted springs

Softening the winter layer
with an over-zealous sun
Nightmares stacked in single file
less able now to shun

Hallucination is her forte,
seize your mind before your pride
Nothing make sense any more
convincing visions - bona fide

Can't the sun just simply melt her,
or the route lose her her way?
Let her taste self satisfaction 
with a different sauce today

The carnage of your thoughts
lost among the strange debris
Won't return to render mind games
but to pass you on to me.


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