Who? Why? Where? When? Whatever.....
For the purposes of this diary/journal/ramble I will call
I am 46 years old. I am married to 'Angel' and have a
daughter aged 16 who is currently doing her Higher exams ,
before going on to College, a son who enters his teenage
years TODAY, a step-daughter aged 24,who in turn has her
daughter aged 9 months ( MY Grandaughter - although no
blood link from me to her) and a step-son aged 20, who is
embarking on his working life.
I live in the North-East corner of Scotland. I come from an
agricultural background, but never took to the land myself.
Cow shit didn't appeal to the Mott The Hoople influenced
younger me. Or relative poverty.
I work on an oil rig in the middle of the north sea, doing 2
weeks away at work and then having 2 weeks at home .
I consider myself Mr Average. I feel I have underachieved in
life in relation to the latent capabilities I possess. Then
I look at a few 'achievers' and reckon it isn't always a
negative thing to have your foot a wee bit off the pedal.
I enjoy beer. Especially 'real ale'. I enjoy it a lot. A lot
too much. I shudder to contemplate the percentage of my
earnings that have gone down Public House urinals. I know I
bevvy too much. But let's have another beer and not worry
about it today. Pub Culture is my social hub. And my biggest
handicap to True Life Progress.
My central passion in life is FOOTBALL. Proper Football. The
Beautiful Game. Known to Uncle Sam's Tribe as 'Soccer',
known affectionately to Scots as 'fitba' Must NEVER be
called Footie ( I can be scathingly sarcastic when I wish
and it is guaranteed when The Beautiful Game* is called
footie I get peeved and cranky)
*aka The Absolute Game. And if you know that reference, you
are on my wavelength.
I was far too incompetent to play the game, but have
devotedly followed the fortunes of Aberdeen Football Club
for over 30 years. I have witnessed the peak of the club's
successful years in the 1980s, and suffered sorely for the
past six years as the proud old club have fallen desperate
times and have become a laughing stock in the Scottish game.
My kids both support Aberdeen ( aka AFC or The Dons) and
may resent me in later life if things don't improve. The way
I look at it is that I have prepared them for life in the
big bad outside grown-up world.
If they can handle watching Aberdeen, they can deal with
Without frivolously claiming 'schizophrenia' ( a serious
medical condition) I must claim to suffer from what I can
only describe as Chronic Duality. I see both sides of an
argument. I argue with myself. I am happy and in despair at
the same situation. I count my blessings and curse my woes.
I am content with my lot, then scream in frustration
(inwardly, that is - North -East Scots don't go big on
emotional outpourings, prefering to keep it all internal)
I question my sanity, then get agitated with my normality
I suppose most people are the same.
Or is that an assumption I have no right to make?
This Diary/Journal/Pick'n'Mix Scibblings is an effort to
make sense of it all.
I have read many on-line journals since my work station got
hooked up to The Net and have always been tempted to try my
hand at it myself.
Journals can be any of the following
emotionally challenging, intense, wild,weird,whacky,
self-deprecating, penetrating, life-affirming and on on on.
Pick an adjective. It is in their somewhere.
Scotch Broth will NOT be very organised. Definitely NOT
sophisticated. It will be as random, harum-scarum,
half-baked, contradictory, illogigal,incoherent,
'Chronically Dual', probably dull sometimes, any ingredient
that come to hand will get thrown in the pot and stirred,
heated and served. Sentences could well be left incomp
It is guaranteed I will repeat myself.
It is guaranteed I will repeat myself. Often. Stay with
it.It may be worth it. Or not (Damned infernal Chronic
There could be anything in here. It might develop and
flourish. It may be a waste of space and shrivel and die.
I have kept a paper diary since 1977, but it is a fairly
botched effort. Someone once observed of diaries ..' a day
not recorded is like a day not lived' ( or something) Yeah,
well my diary is full of large gaps.
The gaps are where the more interesting bits should be. A
blank page from the summer of 1986 annoys me. Then I accept
that I was probably stoked up with Tennent'' Lager and
So, with this hyperspace anonimity, I hope I can confess to
the PC screen and then on to YOU.
Try not to laugh. I've got feelings you know.
10C.C. (70s nostalgia anyone?) had a hit song Life Is A
Minestrone is an exotic Mediterranean soup.
My life is Scotch Broth
Good Night, Friends