I haven't ever been in Union Square.
Don't suppose I'll start now.
On the contrary, I think it's the worst own goal we've potentially scored since Suez in 1956, or the one I scored for our opponents Blackthorn (I think) in a cup-tie (possibly) in 1981 (maybe). We elect politicians whose first priority is to keep citizens safe, secure and healthy, and the next priority to manage the economy to ensure citizens' prosperity. That's that fuucked.
I have already told my employer that I'm retiring a year from now. Some plans for that are already in doubt, and the financial ducks I have lined up look a bit thinner, their quack a bit weaker, and their plumage a tad tawdrier than when I made the decision. If you see me playing guitar in the freezing caul dystopian inner-city concrete desert of pish-stinking crime hotspot that will be Union Square, throw me a leaf aff yer weekly cabbage, eh? There's a good loon.
Fuucking tax-avoiding tory baastards and their racist slopey-foreheaded stormtroopers.
I haven't ever been in Union Square.
Don't suppose I'll start now.
http://seoi.net/penint/
This will help. They can make all their notes on this.
From today's Scottish Review's erm... review of 2018/hopes for 2019:
Keith Aitken:
1. To précis a year is to confront an immediate dilemma: public memoir, or personal? For example, the nightmare year of 2016 (EU referendum, Trump, a pandemic of dead entertainers) was also a year of joy in my family, with the arrival of our first grandchild. However, 2018 resolves all too homogenously. The year of Britain's Brexit degradation was also the year we upped-sticks to France to pre-empt, and escape, Brexit Britain. So public and personal perceptions were indivisible in 2018. I've been distracted from the pleasures of embracing a new culture by despair at the pratfalls of the old one. To observe the British government's negotiating performance from elsewhere in the EU was consistently entertaining and often hilarious, yet always tinged with melancholy. It's been like watching a drunk trying to get out of a revolving door. French acquaintances, I notice, feel that same bemused pity. Far from crowing at Britain's humiliation, they keep politely quiet, aside from assuring us that they know this wasn't Scotland's doing. Still, it's forestalled any homesickness. When a second gorgeous granddaughter appeared in June, it was in a country that's never seemed further away.
2. A third granddaughter having been ruled out by the co-proprietors of the first two, I look elsewhere for beacons of hope in 2019. It's not easy. No matter how many wheels fall off Brexit, its apologists still think that a dislike of foreigners justifies maiming your own country for decades to come. Yet every action has a reaction. Perhaps the inevitable backlash to the current politics of petulance will begin in 2019. If so, I have two hopes. The first is that the public agenda returns at least partly to the hands of grown-ups. This means infusing a public debate that prizes ignorance, bluster and prejudice, with such forgotten qualities as evidence, experience, learning and reason. It also means curbing the infantilisation of society: the documentaries scripted like 'Blue Peter' assignments; the 'adult' fiction infested by comic-book superheroes and fairy tales; inanimate objects given Christian names; a generation still playing on skateboards in its 30s, an NHS that uses the word 'poo' in its bowel cancer literature. Second, however weary Scots (like everyone else) are of constitutional politics, I hope all the talk of rule-makers versus rule-takers finally rings some bells closer to home. Big hopes, for sure. But smaller won't cut it.
Dear Stewarty,
I refer to my previous post, attached for ease of reference,
dated 12 December 2018 (10:28) and note I am yet to receive a response. Can you get back to me by close of play today as I'd prefer to have this question answered before I stop for the festive period?
Yours sincerely
StandfreeFM
Last edited by StandfreeFM; 20-12-2018 at 08:38 AM.