"Looking at me like food"

 It's January:

If, like me, you loved Mackenzie Crook's The Detectorists, you might 'dig' (ho ho) this.

I'm reading this:

It's well written:

If you have the David Sedaris "Theft By Finding" diaries to hand, don't you think Burt (May 12, 1993) could sell his story to The Cohen Brothers?

I enjoyed Grigor Murray's "Space And Light" documentary about the now dilapidated St Peter's Seminary in Cardross.

And this was a nice wee chaser:

And I liked this episode of Soul Music about Sailing By.

Oh! Teenage Fanclub are coming to Brasil...

And on that bombshell - here comes some art:

(Christmas card design)

The Truth About Me, Hilda Ogden And Santa

A few years ago I was invited to write a Christmas song for a library album. I don't know that Noddy Holder, Shane MacGowan or George Michael would have been quaking in their boots. However an old PRS statement advised that it once popped up in the background on Coronation Street. 

Aw, cheers to you too, ladies.

So if it's good enough for Ena Sharples...Oh and I know that there were eight reindeer, not seven - but I forgot. Or seven scanned better. Or something. Anyway, here it is.

Still with me?

Ah, Paddington. I am v. glad this is back on the telly. I loved writing the music and helping to tell the story.

Thank you GFT (And Bill Forsyth) - this was a tonic:

And now the Wendy Cope challenge. Try reading this aloud slowly to someone you care about without your bottom lip wobbling:

And now...

One-line drawing (*Voice from the back: "Aye, we knew")

Adieu.

We've trod the bings together, in mony's the blyth stravaig...

Looks like I've I sold a picture:

Alright. Settle down.

I saw Skids at the QM courtesy of a pal from Dunfermline. It was FUN. And nice to get a wee hello with Mr. Jobson after the show. I told him his brother bought one of my portraits (of Sex Pistols-era Johnny Rotten).

I was v. glad to get the chance to see On Falling (released next year):

I saw David Sedaris read this in Edinburgh earlier this year.

I am getting slightly obsessed with a song written by the late John Watt. I was in a folk band at school in 1986 or thereabouts. We had some bookings in Scottish folk clubs including one in Glassford, Darkest Lanarkshire and, during the break between our two sets, Bill 'Somebody' who ran the club performed it, doing his best accidental-Norman-Collier-as-a-chicken impression on the recurring line "or I'll punch yer ticket twice!". In all the versions that I've found there's a line: "Ah says “Hey Mag, pit doon yer bag, And gie’s a wee bit kiss.” But that night "pit doon yer bag" had transmogrified to "nip yer fag" (Translation for whom it may be appreciated: "extinguish your cigarette"). 

Anyway, here it is:

Still here?

This was a powerful listen.

I just learned (here) that George Michael programmed the drums himself on Last Christmas. That stuttering, idiosyncratic snare makes the song, in my humble opinion.

More art?

Ocht.

OK...

One line drawing (*Voice from the back: Aye it looks like it*)

Right. Off you go.