Are You?

A fella goes to the supermarket and notices an attractive woman waving at him.

She says hello.

He's rather taken back because he can't place where he knows her from.

'Do I know you?'

'I think you're the father of one of my kids.' she replies.

Now his mind travels back to the only time he has ever been unfaithful to his wife.

Trembling somewhat he asks 'Are you the stripper from the bachelor party that I made love to on the pool table with all my mates watching while your partner whipped my backside with wet celery???'

She looks into his eyes and says calmly.........
















'No, I'm your son's teacher.




Thanks to June in Seattle!

A Mother's Love

To some love is just a word
To me it's a feeling
A feeling I get every time I look into your eyes
A feeling I get when I realise you're my mum
A mum who loves, shares,
A mum who inspires
Unconditionally
What's that?
That's love
A mothers love, but only you would know
And me
You returned that love time and time again
Possibly too much, nevertheless you did
Thank you
Thank you for being there when I needed you most
For being my rock when I should have been yours
Thank you for believing in me, even when I doubted myself
For being the one person I could trust
No matter what, no matter where
But most of all thank you for being you my mum...

Capital Gains?

A resolution has been reached in the Edinburgh tram dispute, which has seen track laying on the capital's main thoroughfare halted for four weeks. Following crunch talks, the work will begin on Princes Street next week. Project bosses Tie and their contractors Bilfinger Berger have been locked in a deadlock over disputed costs since 21 February. Edinburgh City Council leader Jenny Dawe said she was "delighted" with the outcome after "a frustrating period".

From the BBC News website

Nothing in our beloved capital city is ever straightforward. The much criticised trams project has been inevitably shunted into a siding for the past month while Edinburgh City Council and the project contractors argue over the financial cost of having what seems like half the city turned into a building site for what seems like an eternity. It's not the first time the consortium contracted to deliver the tram system by 2011 - and I'll believe this when I see it - has been involved in such a dispute. Some months ago it locked horns with Transport for London and the Tramtrack Croydon Ltd. TfL eventually lost patience. Edinburgh's city fathers were either unaware of the problems with the consortium or chose to ignore it.

However, it seems now that work can continue on the building site that used to be Princes Street. As if the destruction of Scotland's finest thoroughfare wasn't bad enough, those of us who enjoy ambling through its famous gardens are greeted with something akin to a ploughed field. The east end of Princes Street Gardens has suffered from the Christmas and New Year festivities - big wheel, ice rink, German Christmas Markets - and has had to be dug up. Like Princes Street itself right now, this part of the gardens is an eyesore. But the good old Cooncil says it will be restored to its former glory - by May...

As I write this, it's a gloriously sunny day in Scotland's capital city. The good people of Edinburgh will be heading out in droves to enjoy the long-awaited fine weather. But with Princes Street a building site, the gardens a muddy field, endless traffic diversions and queues of traffic - you can't go very far in the city without gas pipes being replaced or road resurfacing taking place - many of us will wonder if it's really worth it.

A bit like the Edinburgh Trams Project...

Guts or Balls?

Guts or balls? There is a medical distinction. We've all heard about people having guts or balls, but do you really know the difference between them?

Well, the definitions are listed below:

GUTS - Is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being met by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask 'Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?'

BALLS - Is coming home late after a night out with the guys, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the butt and having the balls to say: 'You're next, Chubby.'

I hope this helps clear up any confusion on the definitions. Medically speaking there is no difference in the outcome.

Both result in death.

Excuse for an Old Gag Part 94

The happiest days of my working life were spent with Lothian Regional Council's Social Work Department from 1990 for an all too short period until 1992. I worked in client finance and was involved in issuing accounts to social work clients who were in residential care and those who received the home care service.

I worked at Shrubhill House in Edinburgh's Leith Walk. Not the most attractive building ever erected in the capital but it was home to a great working environment in a different era.

I first met my good friend Rob Muir there. A couple of years ago Rob began a new life in Norway where he has become a father again. I have fond memories of old Shrubbers - that's why when I passed the building today to see it's been reduced to a shell I felt more than a pang of sadness. As the accompanying photo illustrates is this really progress?

It reminded me of the story of a mate I knew who was invited to a fancy dress party. Struggling for ideas he decided to go to the party dressed as normal but carrying his latest girlfriend on his back.

'Here' he was greeted on his arrival, 'did you not know this was a fancy dress do?'

'Aye' he replied.

'So what have you come as?'

'A tortoise' he replied.

'Eh? Who's that on your back?'

'Ah' he retorted, 'that's Michelle....'

It's Not Fair

My children, bless 'em, are never slow to point out what they call my advancing years - well to use their words 'auld yin'. So I added to their amusement when I headed to Glasgow last night for the Lily Allen gig (yes, children - gig) Lily was superb as she belted out songs from her latest album 'It's Not Me - It's You' as well as a couple of earlier hits that made her famous. But given the demographics of the audience at the O2 Academy last night - another sign of the political correctness of society these days in that it's no longer the Carling Academy - Laura and Michaela may well snigger at the near certainty I was the only grandfather there.

My feeling out of place started when I arrived to join the queue to get in to the venue. As the line of fans snaked round the corner of the adjacent street there were a handful of people handing out leaflets advertising forthcoming gigs in Glasgow.

For some reason they didn't feel any requirement give one to me. As the queue of fans entered the venue we were met by a line of brusque and burly venue officials. Now I didn't expect to be asked to show proof that I was over 18 years of age - that would be stretching things too far - but I appeared to be the only person who wasn't searched as we made our way through the entrance. I clearly don't look to be a threat to anyone.

The gig was brilliant. Lily Allen is a wonderful talent and I like her attitude to life. One misguided chap had the temerity to heckle her and she duly chewed him up and spat him out - much to the delight of the thronging masses.

My daughter Michaela very kindly offered to drive through to Glasgow and pick me up after the gig had ended. I showed my considerable gratitude by printing out a map of the venue with full postal address details including post code in order that she could utilise her satellite navigation system. Unfortunately she didn't bother with the map or the post code - and ended up sitting in a deserted car park at Glasgow's SECC...Mobile phones can be useful things sometimes so I phoned her to advise I would walk back into the centre of Glasgow and meet her outside Central Station. While waiting for her I was approached by a woman of the night who wondered if I was interested in 'doing some business'. After feeling my age somewhat at the O2 Academy I wasn't entirely ungrateful but I declined her offer...

Eventually Michaela picked me up. At least I think it was Michaela as it may well have been Lewis Hamilton given the fact that forty minutes later we were back in Dalkeith. Darling daughter seemed to think the M8 was, in fact, Brands Hatch...

But it was a good night. I like to think I can still show my daughters that, despite heading towards 50, I'm not totally out of touch with today's music.

I'm off now for a couple of paracetamol. After three hours standing last night, my back is killing me...

A Father's Plea

Apparently today is National Non-Smoking Day. I know for sure that today is 11 March. Twelve years ago this very day my father was taken from me suddenly and quite unexpectedly. Our family has a history of heart disease. My father's father died from a heart attack in his mid forties. My father fell to a similar fate on this day in 1997 alone in his flat in Paisley. He was found slumped in his armchair with a newspaper on his lap. His death, at just 58 years, stunned me. That he didn't suffer was merciful. However the shock of hearing he had died will live with me forever.

A couple of years earlier, I remember him telling me he had been to the doctor. He hadn't been feeling well, had a painful shoulder and was feeling breathless quite easily. He told me the doc scribbled something down on a prescription pad and pushed across the desk to him. It wasn't a prescription for medication. It read simply 'Stop Smoking'

Both my daughters smoke. despite my protestations. Laura, my eldest, remembers her Papa well and his funeral was the first such occasion she had been to. She was just eleven then. Michaela, my younger daughter, was just seven when my father died and we thought she was just a bit too young to be exposed to such emotional trauma. But they both remember their Papa and, of course, they will never forget him.

I have nothing against people who choose to smoke tobacco and, indeed, I feel they have been persecuted somewhat in today's politically correct, nanny state. I tried the odd cigarette many years ago but didn't enjoy it. My daughters know I'm immensely proud of them. But I wish they would seriously consider the damage smoking can cause to their health. There's every chance that my father may still be alive today if he hadn't smoked. And he would have lived to see his grand-daughters grow up to be two fine young women - and he would have doted on Jack and Hannah, my grandchildren.

The above photograph was the last one taken of my father and my girls. A few weeks later he was dead. If Laura and Michaela want to do something in honour of the memory of their Papa they can do one thing.

Give up smoking, girls. Please.