The Night Before Christmas: The Glasgow Edition

It was the twenty fourth of December and wind swept the streets, shoppers and workers retired with tired feet. The bars were all empty the streets were quite dead, mummy's and daddy's put children to bed.

A Gallant young woman who some would call "sturdy" left the candle shop at five and to a pub she did scurry. With her trusty companion Victoria in tow to Maggie Mays they did go, to meet up with Chae who called Ryan and the four were away. To Box they did travel on the Street called Sauchiehall, a bar keep called Scott made reasonably priced white Russian's for one and all.

The night did progress and Bobby came in...and a man with facial hair who's name I've forgotten. The clock struck eight on that hallowed night, and the Young Gallant lady's face got quite white.

"I need fresh air" she decried to the bar and she strode outside to look at the stars.

a fella approached, she heard him before she saw. His shell suite swished loudly he stopped and said "haw..." He looked at her from bushy head to bushy toe and nodded in approval.... she shook her head "no"

"I'm just oot the jail, I've been in for eight years," he licked his lips as he peered. The young woman smiled because it's nice to be nice, but secretly worried that she'd get prison lice.

"Is this is good bar?" he asked with a grin, the gash on his face only slightly gaping.

"It's only men inside." The gallant girl answered, the convict screwed his face as he pondered...

"Is this a gay bar?" he asked with incredulity "Awe NAW no again... This is always happening to me"

The girl bit her tongue in a very tight way to prevent her from asking "were you prison gay?"

"So are you some sort a lesbian? no that that's bad... I'm looking for my hole it's nearly been a decade since I've seen fanny and I'm feeling sad!"

"Lesbian!" she replied, "I'm very much in to minge" the girl declared but inwardly she cringed.

"Are you sure I cannae tempt you?" The convicted tried again. "I'm fucking good looking and I'm already pitching a tent."

"No you're quite alright" the girl squeaked out "Have a good Christmas" the convict did shout. As he swished down the street his quest quite clear.... to get his hole AND stay out of jail until next year.

Thus ends my true Christmas eve with a dash of crime, written like this cause fuck it... it's Christmas and Jesus love's a Rhyme

The Women Of the Advert Realm: The Rules

Have you eaten yoghurt today? If not why not? It cures your feminine bloating and that homosexual fella who’s really keen on getting middle aged women to strip down to their pants wants you to eat some yoghurt “girlfriend.”

Look at all these slim white women and their black friend, they've eaten yoghurt and they’re really happy. But remember to sit alone and eat your yoghurt; don’t be munching it in front of others for that would be shameful. Find a Chaise longue in a darkened boudoir and only then eat your milk inoculated with Streptococcus thermophilus and Lactobacillus bulgaricus.

If you feel you must digest a solid don’t bother with the meat that's for the family and the men. Find some Ryvita and two other women, sit in your kitchen or a field and “chew the fat” whilst not actually chewing any fat.

 Scold any of the women folk who dare to snatch a bite before the designated eating time then discuss the men folk, for nothing else matters, none of you have careers  or migraines only high powered business ladies and female coastguards get migraines.

On those special occasions when you feel like wearing red you will be permitted a bowl of the K which is special. Enjoy it well for although they say it’s low in calories, the actual portion you get is tiny. For those of you with a sweet tooth the rules are not as simple, many a woman has devoured a chocolate in our realm but be warned the experience is so overwhelming you may climax while taking a bath or painting in a poppy field.

 When eating chocolate at night it is mandatory that you do so after a long day, wrapped in silken duvets which compliment the shade of the confectionary… perhaps your friends will have eaten your bar and now you must delve into a trinket box filled with pictures of your dead relatives and that family sized bar of Galaxy you keep for emergencies.

When the inevitable constipation occurs do let us know by groaning in public places and clutching your gut, put all the foods we don’t allow you to eat into your ugly purse and march around a colour drained cityscape to help loosen that stool. When the natural herbal remedy and exercise from hauling a handbag full of wet pasta pays off and you defecate, colour will return to your surroundings and you will look 23% more attractive than you did when you couldn’t shit.

When you’re no longer young and vibrant enough to convince other women to drink tiny bottles of yoghurt that humans managed to thrive without for millennia, you will be relegated to JML infomercials and yoghurt machine demonstrations on QVC

The reality of being a girl with mainly guy friends!

There's a special breed of woman (usually in her early 20's) who likes to tell you how other women don't like her and she has "mainly guy friends". This girl is usually intoning that other women are "totes" threatened by how hot she is. There's this bizarre belief that if you've got mainly "Guy" friends then you've just got tonnes of Brothers who've "got your back". Buzzfeed posted a list :

"22 Things That Happen When You’re A Girl With Mostly Guy Friends"

This unrealistic, romcom, cancelled sitcom like list irritated me enough to write this. I am a female with mainly male friends and not in a "I'm just too pretty for other girls way" more in a "I was raised by wolves and make other women uncomfortable with my off colour jokes and my hatred of shopping" way. I have a best friend and she is a girl, but I work in a male dominated industry and I went to an all girls school... which means most of my formative experience with members of my own sex involved me being called a cow and locked in cupboards. Anyway here's my list of things that happen when you're a Girl with mostly Guy friends... the realistic list... not the "OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS TOTALLY LIKE NEW GIRL!" list (as much as we'd all like that to be true)

1)You'll have heard more stories about anal sex than you care to divulge 

2) their ever changing preferences re: pubic hair on "the ladies" will become something of a fun after dinner debate

3) they'll get girlfriends who you try to be friends with but fail... There's a reason your friends all have balls

4)they'll put on TV/Film that's heavy on the the full frontal nudity and be all like "it's not porn, it's game of thrones" and you'll be all like "I hate looking at boobs with you guys"

5) they'll give helpful advice when your nervous like "go for a shit"

6) your kinda glad they don't see you as a "girl" cause well... they're not exactly princes among men. And they tell you their conquest's sexual foibles making you never want to have sex again cause men are bigger gossips than any of the women you've encountered. 

7) their mothers really like you because they know you're a sort of mobile mothering unit. 

8) you find yourself saying things like "don't eat that rancid meat, you'll all die" and that's totally normal

9) if they all live in one place, their washing machine will constantly smell like spunk and you'll often find suspect tissues... That's just life. 

10) sometimes they've got your back... And sometimes they don't cause it's funnier to watch you struggle...

11) This is a weird universal truth, no matter their age, men will at some point become so excited or frustrated that they'll feel the need to pull their trousers up to the fullest extent making it nearly impossible to not look at the outline of their Balls and Peen... FACT 

12) One day they will get married and you won't be able to go round to theirs and talk about anal any more... And you'll miss it. 

Pan

My mother and I share a love of the internet, if we’re not looking at videos of cats falling off bookshelves we’re watching puppies trying to talk, I think it’s a symptom of our own lack of a domesticated animal, perhaps when you get an animal of your own watching video’s of them on YouTube becomes less of a priority in life. Our second favourite thing to watch on the internet falls under the category ‘grand romantic gesture’, proposals made in the form of a flash mob in a DIY store, declarations of love spelled out with thousands of fire breathers dancing on beaches while trained whales sing an orca song, the internet has ensured the bar is set pretty high for any man or woman deciding to propose to their significant other.

One such video doing the rounds is of Peter pan proposing marriage to Wendy during a massive stage play in the newly constructed flying saucer which is the HYDRO in Glasgow. I was convinced it was a swimming pool given its name, I was wrong. The teaming cast mid a stirring rendition of ‘you raise me up’ stop, Wendy looks perplexed and peter looks like a 30 year old lizard man with a plan. He speaks to the audience in a thick Dutch accent, starting is sentence with “so” as is the way of the Dutch. At this point it’s important to point out that a) my mother and I are watching this video clip on the main television in the living room b) my father is in the room and c) my father has Aspergers and is easily irritated by odd things… on with the tale.

Dutch, lizard man, Peter informs the audience what usually happens at the end of this play, my father’s interest is piqued

“Why’s that man saying what usually happens? Why’s he not just doing it?” he questions, his voice and eyebrows both rising only slightly.

“He’s going to propose dad!” I say dreamily, awed by the sheer scale and drama of such a public and ‘romantic’ proposition.

“And ruin the fucking play for people who’ve paid to see it?” Father says back, his tone and eyebrows rising further.

A good indication of my father’s mood is to measure the distance between his hairline and his eyebrows, I’m sure in the evolution of the human that’s why they were kept in, as a gauge to measure incredulity and rage in my father.

“It’s romantic dad!” I say hoping he’ll shut up so I can see the actual proposal. Father goes silent, I press play and it continues, Dutch Peter who looks like a middle-aged reptile continues, he points out Wendy’s Parents and that she’s from this city, he stumbles over his words.

“People who can’t speak shouldn’t fucking be allowed to” My father now squeals in a pitch only I and small dogs can hear… his eyebrows are now only a centimetre away from his hairline… we are in dangerous territory here.

“He’s just nervous papa.” I say placating him, using the name I called him as a small child in the knowledge that this usually calms him.

“He’s a fucking actor… he..” he stands up to clarify his point “he shouldn’t…” he’s gotten tangled in the wires of the Homedics massaging chair cover I got him for Christmas which has made him angrier “He shouldn’t be fucking nervous”

Father storms into the kitchen, mother is laughing she thinks this is hysterical. I hit play. Peter, an adult playing a small boy, talks of how he’s been in the play for years with Wendy and how he loves her, the over excited cast of dancers and stage school alumni scream and cheer excitedly, they know what’s coming.

“He’s been watching her for years? Is he a fucking Stalker?” Dad roars furiously re-entering the living room with a macaroon which he’s carefully sliced into strips to prolong the eating experience.

“No dad they’ve worked together for years, they’ve been dating… he’s not just asking…” I am interrupted, eyebrows are no longer visible, his face the colour of a plum and his voice so high if this was a slap stick movie from the 1950’s glasses would be smashing all over the place.

“How Do you know? How do you know he’s not just a stalker who’s asking her to marry him in front of all those people because he knows she’ll need to say yes… mmm?” his face is close to mine, macaroon pieces stuck to his beard “How do you know? Do you know these people?” he probes further, my eyebrows are now starting to rise… I am my father’s daughter, mother continues to laugh.

“I know cause it say’s so here in this interview” I point to the Buzz feed page with quotes from Wendy and Peter.

“How do you know internet’s not lying? The news lied to me the other day about Andy Murray!” Dad screams as if this odd comment has proven him right.

“When I get proposed to you better not be any where near me!” I shout pointing my stubby fingers in accusation… this statement actually makes him laugh “Maybe you should just talk about this in therapy” I conclude folding my arms and refusing to look at my plum faced eyebrow-less father

.

“I’m not wasting my good therapy session on FUCKING STALKY PETER PAN.” Father yells dropping the crunchy bit of macaroon, the bit he was saving for last, because as everyone knows that’s the best bit.

“For fucksake go to your bed” I groan shaking my head, wondering how we ever got in a fight about this.

“I’ll tell you one thing…” he takes a swig of milk leaving him with a white moustache “See if I was in that audience I’d have booed and demanded my money back, they’ve just ruined a magical experience for all those children. I hope you’re Dutch pal’s happy… Selfish Bastard.” He declares before slamming out of the living room and into his own sanctum, I hear him muttering through the wall.

“It’s your own fault” mum says tears rolling down her face from all the laughing, she’ll probably ‘tweet’ about this and folk I don’t know will favourite her condensed version and maybe even retweet.

I play the end of the video, Wendy cries happily and accepts the proposal, I study her face to see any sign of her being the victim of a psychopathic stalker who’s putting her in an awkward position, there is none, she seems in love. A giant dog dances happily on the stage as the couple embrace, drama students squeal, the audience applaud politely, I find myself irritated by the whole Brechtian display, my eyebrows creep up my forehead, my face grows redder… I am my father’s daughter.

He storms back In “That other Macaroon is for you, cut it up before you eat it, it makes it better.” 

An Open Letter to Morrissey

Dear Morrissey, 
                          
                        I’m going to be honest and say that I’ve never really liked the cut of your jib, you’re really self righteous and while you seem to be on the liberal “Free speech” end of the spectrum you’re incredibly fond of telling people how they “should” behave and seem to genuinely enjoy judging folk. This letter shall be a short one, as I’m not one for long winded pontificating unlike you. You recently said in an interview  

"I see no difference between eating animals and paedophilia. They are both rape, violence, murder. If I’m introduced to anyone who eats beings, I walk away.” 

here’s my question:

I am currently eating a steak (it’s rare with mustard and very yummy) my mother was repeatedly raped as a child by her uncle… am I just as bad as my great uncle Percy? 

I was a vegetarian for 11 years, mainly because my father’s an autistic man and enjoyed the attention having a vegetarian child brought him during air travel, does that make me better than the man who raped my mother when she was a young child because I abstained?

I’m sure you have answers, what with your massive intelligence… I don’t know if you have any experience of child abuse, surely you do or you wouldn’t have made such a massive statement about paedophilia and how it’s comparable to eating meat. 

Yours 
Ashley Storrie. 

P.S Here's a joke..

Why was the Vegan a vegan?

he wasn't getting enough attention being a vegetarian... 

P.P.S When I meet aged pop stars who compare child abuse to things not like child abuse I don't walk away... I call them Pricks... I hope we meet... or should I say MEAT (HA) one day.