It’s the poor wot gets the blame, and not much else. The trickle-down effect at work, if that’s not a misnomer. Just desserts indeed.

From The Boardroom Table.

Thanks for your two percent, which I’ll gladly take,
Your two bits worth I cannot afford to forsake,
A crumb of comfort rather than a slice of the rich cake,
This grateful fulsome smile I genuinely couldn’t fake.

There’s one feeling this poor blue-collar worker can’t shake;
Its that the bottom tier see sod-all profit in what we make.

Your gift hands us an empty feeling and a growling stomach ache
Plus your handful of cut-price excuses, but not an even break,
My bitterness over this pay round my Bitter cannot slake,                                                                    As Upstairs rowdily celebrate, Downstairs retains the air of a wake.


Random thoughts from a trip to Scotland that put a few stereotypes in their place. Then again…

Three Verses.

Old Angus.

‘I’ll not pay two pounds,
I’ll pay one pound fifty;
Mean as it sounds
I’m keen on bein’ thrifty.’


Talk Of The Stockbridge Tap.

They say the Scots are very tight
But that’s not what I found,
They thanked me generously last night
And all I did was stand a round.


Some See The Stars/Half Empty?

Is auld Dunfermline not an intoxicating sight?
The impact of these ancient walls, so profound,
Old stained windows remain a dark architectural delight,
The rusty crusty iron-barred door indominatably solid and sound-
I’m still pounding the old bars at dawns first light,
Dunfermline not forgotten despite all the pints I downed.



On Christmas Eve we stepped out in anticipation of fine fare
Hot foot to Scallies on a chill still Stockbridge night,
We hied along at a fair old clip, anticipation in the air
With red noses and white faces the inn was a warm and welcome sight.

There we raised our glasses, said our cheers,
It was grand to have our far flung family together,
Who’s to know what’s held in the coming years?
Let’s now enjoy the fruits of the fair weather.

We toasted one, we toasted all,
We were very toasty, I recall,
When good cheer becomes hard to constrain
How easy it becomes to say ‘same again’.

We left lateish, wife clinging to my arm, tightly,
Some blurry photos show these magic moments preserved;
Pity the shaky images don’t show Comely Bank Road, weaving slightly-
Proof positive that warm Scotch hospitality has been well served.