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Member Since 09 Aug 2008
Online Last Active Today, 11:16

Posts I've Made

In Topic: George Sq Tuesday 6Pm

Today, 10:36

I was going to go, but Flures attendance gives me the impression it may be too high brow for the likes of me.

In Topic: Emotional Rollercoaster

Today, 08:16

I'm in a totally weird place.  After trying off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on for about 18 months, Mrs Whistle is expecting our first in December.  Utilising the Johnny Walters close eyes and smash it down the middle penalty routine I figured one would hit the target eventually and thankfully it did. 


We had mechanical fornication at times the graph said to; exotic love making in foreign locations such as the spare room where the wife whispered seductively in my ear 'ceiling needs painting' and; even a time I took her by surprise, wearing nowt but my Optimus Prime helmet and socks, over the breakfast bar whilst enquiring if she knew as to the identity of her father in the Autobot Leader's melodious tones. 


Every single time as we reached the final stretch, even on the occasion I hadn't 'transformed' in to a Latin love god putting in a performance over the usual 7 out of 10,  the good lady would shout, scream or, even in a timorous whisper, expel 'Yes'.  Never 'No' because that's rape George and that's an even more serious crime than the Fudora.  Nor did she ever get to the moment of climax and suddenly suggest a third way involving something vague about jam to be given in a time somewhere between next week and doomsday, avoiding being pinned down on flavour, whilst in general sounding like a lot of bollocks any way.  It could end up being gooseberry jam and who in their right mind under 65 wants that?  'No' offers little in the way of opportunity and less to get excited about, and regarding the third way, I offered to keep taking it out 18 months ago so it was all in or nothing, shit or bust; no fudges now baby when she refused at that juncture!


We found out a month ago it's a girl and I sway from extreme excitement to being absolutely petrified between heartbeats.  I have a brother, all my cousins are male, so I have no scheme of reference.  I like football, Football Manager, Guinness and boobs and, even though I'm quite happy girls could be in to all four of those things these days quite openly, I worry how I'm possibly going to start from zero to progressing towards doing our gift justice.  I've lain sleepless worrying about it and that's before I think about what happens if: I lose my job; one of us takes ill; her first boyfriend is an Old Firm Fan who uses the 2030 equivalent of 'Chilax' in conversation etc.


What are the alternatives though?  Maybe the wife and I could have not bothered with kids and where would we be in 20 years?  Maybe we'd be cruising the world whilst at home Gillies furniture and a pristine lawn await; maybe we'd be roughly where we are now or; maybe we'd end up in a boring, pointless, lifeless marriage doing neither of us many favours.  In those scenarios there are varying levels of success but in none of them would we leave anything meaningful behind in all likelihood.  I don't want to be sitting in my conservatory amongst the ghosts of a couple of pets and an Open University degree in Theology, or alternatively, in an rundown house on a knackered settee eating Watsits from the crotch pouch of my favourite lounge trouser watching Soccer Saturday again, whilst wandering what just might have been.  The thought of that missed opportunity and the worry of constant regret over wasting my life to pursue living it in a presumed artificial security blanket makes me realise that having a baby is, without doubt, the most difficult and challenging route but by Christ it will hopefully be the most rewarding.  


A eureka moment hit me one night after hearing someone say 'Babies don't come with instruction manuals' though.  That is obviously true but it was the realisation that I will co-author our own specific instruction manual that made me realise how exciting this all is.  All I need to do is take the first step, assess where I am, look at role models around me for inspiration, take guidance from those who we wish to emulate, and maybe we can create a life that'll make us as parents proud; if we're really lucky maybe offer something back to society too.  It doesn't matter that we have argued about the colour of the nursery because allegedly certain colours raise certain character traits.  Exasperated at my previous knock backs a final suggestion of pink, purple, blue and green stripes got met with derision from an aesthetic perspective. This was followed with apoplectic rage when I concurred but noted at least the colours would help her grow up to be a cold, angry, ego maniacal, selfish witch just like her maw.  Of course we mediated and, even though previously my wife was adamant no pink and that I'd better come up with another option pronto, finally agreed on a nice pink after the crowd in B&Q died down. 


Maybe we nurture a scientist who cures cancer, a doctor who helps sick people in Africa, a secretary who ends up being a wonderful mum, an average Joe, the awkward family member you're compelled to invite for Christmas or duplicitous anchor for the BBC.  In any event we can look people in the eye with absolute pride at best or the consolation of having tried at worst. 


I can't help seeing similarities between this and the referendum whilst I know it is not a perfect metaphor by any stretch.  This is a journey for five million people and in the future we could be hugely proud of what we achieved in trying to break from the greed of this political norm or consoled in the fact that we stood up and gave it a real go.  Who could begrudge us that?  With the status quo I struggle to see Gillies Furniture on the horizon and jam seems equally forlorn; even gooseberry.  I can see us waking up in 20 years after another couple of oil paid wars under our belt, people still hungry, NHS fucked, Daily Mail readers still ok looking down on others whilst demanding help from society when their world tremors slightly, students indebted over their eyes, cats getting fatter.  The status quo aren't offering hope, chance, dreams other than the hope those who have gain further, chance they can get even more rotund and dream of taking the piss out of our subrogation.  I dread the day of looking my daughter in the eye and telling her that the Scottish people, after years to critically analyse the proposition with the world wide web at their fingertips, decided, or were coerced into believing, this grey, bleak path was the best for us to travel down.  All we can say then is 'We were scared' and we could easily be grudged that. 


What I'm really getting at I suppose is the first step is to strap your sex helmet on and enquire as to who David Cameron's father is by democratically screaming 'Yes' in an orgasmic cacophony of collective hope over fear.  Gees our jam back; you've wasted it for too long.     


I'm not sure whether to laugh at the hilarity of this :lol:...  Or weep because so much of it rings true :(  Of course substitute the Optimus Prime helmet for a Viking helmet.

In Topic: Emotional Rollercoaster

Today, 08:15


My local. No doubt we've been in there at the same time without knowing it. 


MAYBE you're his wife without knowing it?

In Topic: Emotional Rollercoaster

Yesterday, 16:07

I have gone beyond worrying about the real result it is the fix that worries me now.


A dear friend of mine, he's a communist but I don't hold it against him, is worried sick about a fix too...  Only for Yes.  He is convinced London capital seek a Yes vote to create a Tax haven in Scotland.


With the incompetence of the No campaign, you can occasionally buy into it.

In Topic: Calmac Man

Yesterday, 15:49

Calmac_Man is still very much at the front of the debate...