Mulled Vine

Grossly overweight Buckie turf-cutter, 42 years old and 23 stone, Gemini, seeks nimble sexpot, preferably South American, for tango sessions, candlelit dinners and humid nights of screaming passion. Must have own car and be willing to travel. Box 09/08

Aberdeen man, 50, in desperate need of a ride. Anything considered. Box06/03

Heavy drinker, 35, Glasgow area, seeks gorgeous sex addict interested in pints, fags, Celtic football club and starting scraps on Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning. Box 73/82.

Bitter, disillusioned Dundonian lately rejected by longtime fiancée seeks decent, honest, reliable woman, if such a thing still exists in this cruel world of hatchet-faced bitches. Box /41

Ginger-haired Paisley troublemaker, gets slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, seeks attractive, wealthy lady for bail purposes, maybe more Box 84/87

Artistic Edinburgh woman, 53, petite, loves rainy walks on the beach, writing poetry, unusual sea-shells and interesting brown rice dishes, seeks mystic dreamer for companionship, back rubs and more as we bounce along like little tumbling clouds on life’s beautiful crazy journey. Strong stomach essential Box 12/32

Chartered accountant, 42, seeks female for marriage. Duties will include cooking, light cleaning and accompanying me to office social functions. References required. No timewasters. Box 3/45

Bad-tempered, foul-mouthed old b*stard living in a damp cottage in the ar*e end of Orkney seeks attractive 21-year old blonde lady with big chest. Box 40/27

Attractive brunette, Maryhill area, winner of Miss Wrangler competition at Frampton’s Nightclub, Maryhill, in September 1978, seeks nostalgic man who’s not afraid to cry, for long nights spent comfort-drinking and listening to old Abba records. Please, Please! Box 30/41

Govan man, 27, medium build, brown hair, blue eyes, seeks alibi for the night of February 27 between 8pm and 11.30pm….Box 35/55

Two Mexicans are stuck in the desert, wandering aimlessly and close to death.
They are close to just lying down and waiting for the inevitable, when all of a sudden…….

‘Hey Pepe, do you smell what I smell. Ees bacon I is sure of eet.’

‘Si, Luis eet smells like bacon to meee.’

So, with renewed strength, they struggle up the next sand dune, and there, in the distance, is a tree loaded with bacon.

There’s raw bacon, dripping with moisture, there’s fried bacon, back bacon, double smoked bacon… every imaginable kind of cured pig meat.

‘Pepe, Pepe, we is saved. ‘Eees a bacon tree.’

‘Luis, are you sure ees not a meerage? We ees in the Desert don’t forget.’

‘Pepe when deed you ever hear of a meerage that smell like bacon… ees no meerage, ees a bacon tree’.

And with that… Luis Races towards the tree. He gets to within 5 metres, Pepe following closely behind, when all of a sudden, a machine gun opens up,and Luis is cut down in his tracks. It is clear he is mortally wounded but, a true friend that he is, he manages to warn Pepe with his dying breath.

‘Pepe… go back man,you was right ees not a bacon tree.’

‘Luis Luis mi amigo… what ees it?

‘Pepe… ees not a bacon tree…

Ees

Ees

Ees

Eees a Ham Bush…

He stood outside the wooden cottage, listening to the silence interspersed with creaking trees and lone nightingales calling for mates. The pile of wood he had just chopped lay stacked high against the rough wooden wall of his timber lodge. It was going to be a tough winter, he could sense it, and was glad that their stores were full from the plentiful summer: cured meat, dried fruit, roots and even a bit of flour from their little patch of land. Every year the trees encroached on their space, and every year he hacked back the forest, using the wood to help them survive the increasingly harsh winters. He felt a gentle touch on his arm; his wife, done with her chores, joined him in contemplating the early evening sky, whispy clouds following the auburn setting sun. The forest watched the couple, waiting, patient – soon the axe would tire and the trees would return to their rightful place.

The little girl stood at the foot of the giant oak tree which for so many years had stood inaccessible, towering, beckoning at the bottom of the family garden.

For years she had stood like today, looking up at the manifold branches, the heavenly stairway of her dreams, but today was different – she could reach the bottom branch, and so she reached up, tentatively at first, before eagerly grabbing the branch firmly and pulling herself up.

She paused a moment, triumphantly, before she resumed her ascent, branch by branch, finally arriving at the top where she peered through the verdant curtain at her beloved world below and shouted with glee, “Look at me!”

The world however did not notice or applaud any of this, preferring to carry on with more important things like making money and wars.

She sighed and sat down, noticing for the first time the neighbours’ cat cowering on the branch besides her, claws embedded firmly in the bark. She stroked the cat who looked up at her hopefully, wondering what all the fuss was about and whether this person was there to feed her.

There is in Neanderingu an ancient tree standing on a hill. It has seen the passing of the ages, the progress of man, the laughter of children rolling in the autumn leaves, the love of couples beneath its sunlit branches. Lately not much of that has been heard, replaced by the venom of war screaming bitterly overhead. Now all are gone: the progress, the children, the couples, the wars. All that remains is silence, cold, cruel and radioactive. There is in Neanderingu an ancient tree standing on a hill, but despite all the progress, there will be no one to count its rings when it falls.

There is in Neanderingu an ancient tree standing on a hill. It has seen the passing of the ages, the progress of man, the laughter of children rolling in the autumn leaves, the love of couples beneath its sunlit branches. Lately not much of that has been heard, replaced by the venom of war screaming bitterly overhead. Now all are gone: the progress, the children, the couples, the wars. All that remains is silence, cold, cruel and radioactive. There is in Neanderingu an ancient tree standing on a hill, but despite all the progress, there will be no one to count its rings when it falls.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t baptize cats.
When your mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair.
If your sister hits you, don’t hit her back.
They always catch the second person.
Never ask your 3-year old brother to hold a tomato.
You can’t trust dogs to watch your food.
Reading what people write on desks can teach you a lot.
Don’t sneeze when someone is cutting your hair.
Puppies still have bad breath even after eating a tic tac.
Never hold a dustbuster and a cat at the same time.
School lunches stick to the wall.
You can’t hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.
Don’t wear polka-dot underwear under white shorts.
The best place to be when you are sad is in Grandma’s lap.
It’s hard to unlearn a bad word.
Ask Why until you understand.
It’s easier to see the mistakes on someone else’s paper.
A pencil without an eraser may as well just be a pen.
It’s only fun to play school when you’re the teacher.
Sometimes the best one in the play has the fewest lines.
Twelve is a lot older than eight.
Sometimes your best move is blocked by your own checkers.
Some nights it’s not worth fighting over who gets the top bunk.
Don’t expect your friends to be as excited about your “100″ as you are.
Don’t say that the “Last One is a Rotten Egg” unless you’re absolutely sure there’s a slow kid behind you.
If you don’t like the birthday girl, don’t go to the party.
Crawling still gets you there.
If you want a kitten, start out by asking for a horse.
Your room gets smaller as you get bigger.
You can’t start over just because you’re losing the game When you’re dressed up like a princess, it’s easier to act like one.
If a tree had apples last year, don’t expect pears this year.
One drop of black paint from the brush clouds the whole cup of water.
You can’t be everyone’s best friend.
A snow day is more fun than a vacation day.
All libraries smell the same.
Say grace.
If you want someone to listen to you, whisper it.
Sometimes you have to take the test before you’ve finished studying.
Silence can be an answer.
Ask where things come from.
If you throw a ball at someone, they’ll probably throw it back.
Don’t nod on the phone.

Knock Knock.

Who’s there?

Centipede.

Centipede who?

Centipede on the Christmas Tree!

Tree
Light
Cinnamon
Frost
Gift
Joy
Carol
Peace
Christ

I have just spent a week in India on business. Thankfully not Mumbai where the recent terror attacks took place, but Chennai (previously Madras).

If you’ve not been to India before then you will find it hard place to imagine. The stunning, romantic beauty of the Taj Mahal, the chaotic noisy driving, the filthy streets, the camels pulling haystacks the wrong way along the highway, the magnificent hotels, the modern sky scrapers, the abject poverty, the smell, the hope, the railway children, the smiles, the trafficking of women, the enthusiasm for business, and the genuine kindness.

Such a contrast to the orderly, and much colder West. There is something about prosperity and progress that ruins a people.