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Tag: Bonafide

Reviews roundup – Teresa James vs. Damian Wilson vs. Holon vs. Snail vs. GloryDaze

Reviews roundup – Teresa James vs. Damian Wilson vs. Holon vs. Snail vs. GloryDaze TERESA JAMES & the Rhythm Tramps Bonafide Jesi-Lu Records Let’s start off the day with some blues courtesy of Teresa James & the Rhythm Tramps. They’re based in Los Angeles although Ms James is originally from Texas and this is their…

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I went to a soccerballs contest between The Blackpool Rockers & the Wimble Dons. I was on a ferry and a tram and in a pub and saw the luminations and a punch up and had some chips. And some shite footie. #blackpool #afcwimbledon #lancashire #seaside #pagger

English people in Engerland who suddenly spotted me and immediately cancelled all trains to Blackpool #england #preston #freeeedum!!!

See aw thay eejits that say "whit disnae kill ye maks ye stronger". Well here's scientifical proof they're talking utter keech as I present "Then And Now". Pre-shite and post-shite. Bastards.

The great thing about being in Glesgae bus station surrounded by weegies at midnight is how rerr Leith seems in comparison #glasgow #edinburgh #leith

It's starting to look a lot like Autumn. #edinburgh #leith

As it was my burfday yesterday I’d scheduled some pictures In Another Place. Here they are with blurb. #edinburgh #school #seventies “He seemed like such a nice boy”. How many times was that phrase used about me? There isnae a calculator big enough. But that’s what folk thought when I went off the rails. And the photographic evidence of my primary school years would seem to indicate that I was indeed, a nice boy. Surprisingly, colour had arrived while I was at primary school and here I am with my original nose. Before rugby, drink and scrapping arrived. Also known as the strawberry blonde years. This next one (from the pre-colour years) was the late Mrs H’s favourite picture of me as a wean as it displays me a fraction of a second before I had some kind of henner, as the petted lip attests. You’re furr it, pal. And proof that I wasn’t grown in an isolation tank as part of some Cold War experiment. It’s the primary school class photo from the days when childrens fashion involved whatever was left over at the church jumble. Remarkably, considering we didn’t do more than two genders back then, the very attractive girl next to me, is actually a boy. And he was a hard wee bugger as well. Not that way. This was the seventies when sex was a thing that arrived in third year at secondary.

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