Monday, May 25

autumn sky

From our Scottish TV Critic

I've given up watching all thae TV programmes about fat, bone-idle proletarians on benefits with massive flatscreens. And also those progs about compulsive clearners (mainly because I sympathised with them).

Now, I'm watching The Island

The Island is a tiny bit like I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, but without the celebrities

There are two islands. One island, they drop 14 lads onto. The other they drop 14 lassies onto. Beforehand they get two days of survival training. The islands are in the tropics.

In the laddish island, they mostly argue about who is the alpha male. But they also had to get their act together to kill the crocodile for something to eat.

Meanwhile, on the lassies' island, they mostly got completely lost and went round in circles for several days because, unbelievably, they all had worse directional skills than Crazy John.

I find the lassie island more interesting.

They don't seem very good at survival, but they bitch less than the lads. They were all wet and soggy and depressed and lost, but then one of them was featured, and she was calm, and still had a sense of humour, and was also gorgeous. And I thought...I could live with you on The Island. But then the next day I think the sand flies had been at her during the night, and her face had a million bites and was not so attractive.

Then they featured the Scottish lassie. Attractive, has a personality, is a bit lippy, but nice with it.

They (it is filmed by the participants) showed her walking along the beach after the previous night's storm, looking at the washed up debris including various plastic bottles. She picked up one of the bottles, and said, "Aye. Look at this wan. It's called [brand name deleted]. Disgusting, so it is. Tastes just like sperm!" 1

At this moment, all the male folk watching the program woke up from their slumbers. She'll have a lot to live down, when she gets back home. And I thought...I could live with you on The Island.

The lassies were on one beach where there were two young wild pigs. Really young hogs. And they left that beach for another beach where there was fresh water. The wee pigs followed them several miles to the new beach, for unknown reasons. The wee pigs became pets. They slept with the lassies at night. Several days later, when they've had nae food whatsoever, talk amongst the lassies gets round to the fact that there is suckling pig walking around the camp.

The sperm taster turns out to be a vegetarian (yes, explain that one to me), the others are nowhere to be seen, but saying things like "You can't kill a pet". One of them is a qualified doctor.

Then, up to the mark steps the gorgeous babe who previously attempted to row the Atlantic (or similar). This one is regarded by the others as 'the strongest amongs us'. She's gorgeous, also, and has sharp blue eyes and lips that suggest alliances.

So eventually the doctor, another one and the strongest one pick up the suckling pigs. The gorgeous one says "Don't get them stressed. Just hold them gently, but firmly, while I cut them. They won't feel pain."

Which she does. And I think, I totally want to live with you on The Island. It's wonderful TV. It's far better than Excessive Compulsive Cleaners.

1all opinions expressed are not necessarily etc....

Saturday, May 9

more from our Scottish political correspondent

You won't have seen the Scottish newspapers yesterday. The Sun,
which is owned by thon Ozzie fascist chap who gets his income from
those proletarians of low intelligence, had a full front page photo of
Ed Milliband eating his bacon sarnie from months ago, and looking
decidedly weird.

And I thought - how low can you get?

Then I looked over to the SNP newspaper, The National, and it had a
smaller copy of that same photo, along with photos of all the other
non-Nat Nutter leaders taken during episodes of severe flatulence and
all looking very weird. Yes, even Broonie suffers from flatulence
from time to time, which added to his glass een, can make him look
extremely weird. And I thought - so that's what it comes down to for
the too-dumb-to-be-able-to-count - i.e. don't vote for someone who six
months ago had a photo of themselves looking weird two hours after
eating a veggie burger.

But don't worry. 66.1% was the turnout in this general election.
84.5% was the turnout in the last Referendum. There are therefore
still hundreds of thousands of folk who, like me, didnae pitch up to
vote yesterday, but who will always, always, always pitch up to vote
No in any Scottish Referendum to defeat the fascist Nat Nutters, the
hopelessly romantic, the bone idle, and those who think Scotland can
nationalise BP.

And we feel secure in the fact that, though the good Nippy Sweetie
may repeatedly threaten to skelp Fat Eck's backside, the man with
verbal diarrhea himself has not only now been let loose on Westminster
and the press in that part of the country, but has also never been
properly potty trained and therefore will always completely and
utterly over-anticipate the ultimate outcome of a Highland Charge. I
would definitely have voted for him if I'd lived in the constituency
of Gordon, simply in order to get him to Westminster.