Clutha

It's 05.30 and I'm still awake, a combination of insomnia and anxiety about what's happening 4 miles from my house at the Clutha, where a police helicopter has crashed on the roof of a packed pub.

In the 6 hours since the crash, it's become clear to me and sadly the families involved that the crew of three on the helicopter are probably dead. There may also be customers of the Clutha trapped in the partially collapsed building. I can only hope they get out alive. My MP Jim Murphy was one of the first at the Clutha after the crash and he has described eloquently and modestly what he found and what he did. Like the other people around, he ran towards the building - not away, as any sane person would do. The Fire Brigade spokesperson has described what they are doing to shore up the building and a spokesperson for Police Scotland has also described the situation the emergency services are dealing with.

So what's on twitter? Yes, there's recognition of what a difficult situation this is and of what has been done so far. But also there's - already - a bit of narking: Why haven't the police...? Why didn't the emergency services...? Someone should have...

So let's think of how most of us react in an emergency. I know how I am. Fkn useless. My elderly neighbour once rang my bell on a Sunday evening at teatime. She was blue round the lips and collapsed as I opened the door. The guy upstairs is a retired GP. Did I call for him? Did I take steps to make sure my neighbour's airway was clear. Not a bit of it. I rushed off to get the phone and dialled 999, leaving the neighbour lying on the steps. Got through to the ambulance people and listened while the operator tried to make me keep calm while we waited for the ambulance crew to arrive at our door. At one point, I tried to move the neighbour into a more comfortable position. By pure chance, that dislodged the bit of chicken that had got stuck in her throat. She later told me this happened a lot. Who knew?

That experience taught me one thing: emergency services people are a breed apart. The paramedics arrived at our house within 10 minutes expecting to find a heart attack victim and were kindness itself when they worked out this 80 year old had just choked on her dinner. They checked her out thoroughly and reassured me at the same time. Then they went off on another call.

I couldn't do their job. I like adventure in life but just imagine what it's like to set off in your ambulance not knowing what's waiting when you're called out. It is absolutely not acceptable for the public who have never done their job and have no idea what it consists of to bitch about how the emergency services do it.

Sadly, the case of the woman who was trapped in a mineshaft in Galston - the only case in recent years likely to become a scandal - risks overshadowing the work of emergency services. And, of course, the vast majority of emergency services personnel had no say in how that particular case was conducted. They just turn up day after day and do their job conscientiously and with sympathy for those of us who need their help.

Black Friday? I don't think so!

Okay, enough with the Black Friday stuff. Thanksgiving is an American holiday and I hope everyone there is having a good time, although it's doubtful if the turkeys are too happy.

But I'm not buying this consumerist nonsense about hitting the shops in the UK today in search of bargains.

Here this Friday is nothing more than 27 days before Christmas. We're in the middle of a recession and with astronomical levels of unemployment, especially among young people, it's irresponsible to encourage people to go out and spend. Plenty of people are going to struggle to give their kids a decent Christmas without this jamboree being added to the calendar.

This all started in the UK with an ad campaign by Asda. Asda is owned by Walmart, one of the worst employers in the USA. Walmart is famous for low pay ($6.83 an hour for most employees), inadequate health care, anti-union policies (sometimes using illegal tactics), sexual discrimination and high staff turnover - 70% of its employees leave in the first year. Walmart routinely moves into small towns, drives all the opposition out of business and then closes its stores because they don't make a big enough profit, leaving the community worse off.

Today is one of the days Walmart pressurises its employees to work, keeping the stores open out of sheer greed. So boycott Black Friday. And while we're about it, can we please boycott the Easter Bunny and Trick or Treat at Hallowe'en?

Moving - an update

I'm amazed at the number of you who read my recent post about selling my flat. Good grief, people! It's all fascinating to me but are you really that nosey?

Anyhow. The sale fell through. It turned out the nice couple who jumped to the head of the queue of buyers...Well, not to put too fine a point on it: they lied. They had assured me and the estate agent that they not only didn't have a mortgage, but had enough loose cash lying around to be able to buy my place without worrying about selling their place. Of course they got found out. When their offer came in in writing, a wee sneaky clause had been added: buying my place depended on them selling their own property. They were challenged. And continued to bluff. What was I making such a fuss about? Their house was near enough sold. No, they couldn't be sure their buyers weren't in a chain, although they could nearly guarantee I would be moved by Easter.

And, to my amazement, they weren't the only liars around. Two other potential buyers also lied - yes, dammit, just outright lied - about their ability to pay up. Neither had sold their own house as they'd told me, although one of them had had an informal offer and the other one had thought about it.

So I put the flat back on the market. And this time I seem to have an offer that stands up. It meant me borrowing a ramp so that the wifie could get her wheelchair in - which I did. And opening the flat up to the scrutiny of a patronising daughter. 'Well done, Dad', she told her father, 'Good choice.' I did wonder out loud what would happen if the daughter didn't like the place. From the looks Dad and I exchanged, probably nothing.

So here I am again looking for somewhere to live. There's nothing much for sale now - we're a month closer to Christmas than when I first advertised, thanks to the liars - so it'll be a rental. I've seen two and am already quite depressed. Two more to see this week coming. If they won't do, it's my sister's garage...

I just said no!

One of my neighbours collects round the doors for Christian Aid. In the past, I usually put a few quid in the envelope. He's a decent guy and I didn't want to offend him. Then he added Oxfam last year. I gave to that too, which was a bit daft, as I'll explain. Now he's added Marie Curie Cancer Care. And today I said no.

Thirty years ago, I was very ill. When I started to get better I decided to make a covenant with a charity and give to people worse off than I was. I picked Oxfam. I have given Oxfam £30 a month for 30 years. With tax relief, that's over £12,000. I wrote to Oxfam a few times when I was still working telling them now was the time to get me to increase my covenant because I was earning good money. They never got back to me. A lost opportunity on their part, eh?

In addition, I give to all the big emergency appeals. This month I donated to the Philippines appeal organised by the DEC. I've known quite a few Philippinos living and working all over the world and lovely people they are. And I know their country is poor and they need all the help they can get to recover from the recent typhoon.

From what I've read, my giving is not unusual: the Scots contribute massively to charity. Think of all the charities that have done so well here: Mary's Meals and SCIAF spring to mind, as well as the big charities like Childline and NSSPCC.

But now I reckon we've reached charity overload. Whole Foods allows a small group of charities to operate inside their store up the road. The first time I saw this, the folk were from the Guide Dogs for the Blind. My grandfather was blind and at the end of his life got good support from that group, so I offered a donation. But no, these people wanted me to commit to a monthly donation. In fact, they couldn't take cash.

Folks, we're in a recession, whatever the government may tell us about things getting better. I suspect the Mayor of Liverpool was right last week when he said on TV the recession was well and truly over in some part of the south-east - if it had ever existed there - but the rest of the country is still waiting to see the green shoots of recovery.

So those of us living in the real world have to prioritise our donations to charity. I've come up with new rules now:

Nothing for animal charities. They get plenty of donations via people's wills as it is. And if there was some way to cut the funding to the RSPB, I would do it.

Nothing to adventurers like Greenpeace, after their latest ridiculous Arctic escapade.

Nothing to veterans. I prefer to bombard my elected representatives with emails and letters asking for the creation of a Veterans' Administration because the war-wounded shouldn't have to rely on charity.

So in a nutshell my priorities go to: children here at home and people caught up in disasters in poor countries overseas.

2nd rant this week

I got back from the supermarket about half four today. It was nearly dark. I'd had lunch with my pal, we'd had a few laughs and even the madness that is Sainsbury's Darnley hadn't managed to dent my good mood. When I pulled up at my back door, I realised there was a car parked there. It was a soft-top and the top was down. The driver seemed to be youngish and was wearing a hoodie over a baseball cap. Beats me: why have the top down and then admit you're frozen and put on not one but two hats?

His car radio was blasting out something - you know, the doof-doof-doofa-doof-doof-noise you quite often hear from the cars of total eejits at the traffic lights. If there were words to this music, I couldn't have made them out over the base. I started taking the groceries in. The driver carried on nodding like the dog in the insurance advert on the telly in time to the music. I took in two loads of groceries and went to put the car in the lock-up 50 yards away.

As I returned to the back door, there was a pause in the music and then it started up again - if anything even louder. That's when I cracked. I went over to the car.

- Turn it off! I said.
- Whit? said the young man. Maybe wearing two hats was making him deaf.
- Turn. the. music. off!
- How? (You can tell he's a Glaswegian, can't you?)
- Because I want to talk to you.

He turned the music off and looked at me, frowning.

- What are you doing here? I asked.
- Whit?
I said it again.
- Um waitin fur sumdy, he said.
- Do you know this is a private car park? I asked.
- Whit?
- No lights, no road markings, said I. Private car park.

 And then he said it. The word that drives teachers - probably all adults - insane:

- So?

I've never been so tempted to land somebody with my big, heavy handbag. There was nobody around. It was nearly dark. I would have got away with it. I actually took a step towards him and he realised he'd gone too far because he flinched.

At that moment one of my neighbours appeared.

- Hi, she said brightly, This is my grandson. We're going to a family do and he offered to pick me up.

- Lovely, said I.

What a coward I am. I could have said: Tell your grandson to grow up. Tell him we don't all share his taste in 'music'. Tell him to put the top up on the car before you freeze to death. But no, I said nowt. Just smiled and said:

- Have a good night.

My Govan granny would be horrified. I can just hear her. She was normally a quiet woman who used a cluck of the tongue the way other women used a thousand words. She wouldn't have said: Have a good night. She would probably have started with: Get you tae f... oot o here. But then I doubt if she'd ever seen a convertible driven by an 18 year old wearing two hats, far less a convertible that was picking up his 85 year old granny.

Autres temps, autres moeurs.

And now for something completely...lame

How do you feel about Monty Python being revived as a theatre show? Here's my opinion:

Three guys in their 70s hamming it up onstage to make money, one to pay off his mortgage, another to pay his divorce settlement. As far as I can see, they're not planning new material, just using the old stuff. Haud me, as we say in Glasgow, back. Between this and the World Cup, July 2014 is going to be a doozy.

Being charitable (I know, it's not like me, but it's late) I admit there are plenty of folk who say they love Monty Python. Myself, I think they're either having the rest of us or themselves on - big time. The ministry of funny walks wasn't funny first time around. How will it be funny now that John Cleese has had a replacement hip and knee?

I can give you a list of comedians I think were funny from the same era as Monty Python: Billy Connelly, Dave Allen, Morecambe and Wise, Ronnie Barker, Tommy Cooper, Chic Murray, Dick van Dyke (yes, him!). They had wit, timing and great scripts. Not a dead parrot to be seen.

As the years have rolled on, I've got quite attached to American comics, like Seinfeld and Garrison Keillor. US TV series of the 90s were such a relief from the Hyacinth Bucket stuff. I particularly liked Spin City, Golden Girls, Mad About You and Third Rock from the Sun. Back in Scotland, Mrs Brown was and is still brilliant. I suspect nothing will ever be as funny as the original Chewing the Fat - but I'm prepared to let the team have a go at writing new scripts. As for Black Books, Bill Bailey and Dylan Moran on the same show - heaven!

These days I'm hooked on the Big Bang Theory and most things written by Armando Ianucci, like the Thick Of It. I see Michael J Fox has a show on US TV now and I hope it comes here soon.

I don't want remakes or revivals of anything from the past. There must be funny writers out there just waiting to be called on. Remakes are awful. I've seen superb and very funny European movies remade in Hollywood so badly they turn into disaster movies: La Cage aux Folles for a start. And to my absolute horror I see some bonehead is planning a sequel to It's a Wonderful Life. I won't be watching it and I hope every one of you will boycott it.

My motto for the day: keep watching Comedy Central.

Hello! (Be warned - major rant)

The woman in front of me and the guy on my left at the traffic lights a few minutes ago were both holding mobile phones to their ears and chatting away, not bothered that the police station is about 50 metres from the lights and there were two police officers waiting at the lights to cross towards it. Why did I not leap out of my car, point dramatically and shout to the cops: 'Here, look over here - they are both breaking the law!' Well, frankly, it's because I'm a coward. People don't take it well if you try and grass them up. In fact, I've decided there are people who believe human behaviour is not what's right or what's fair but whatever they can get away with - and they'll use violence to defend their right to do what they like if they have to. I do sometimes give children 'the look' (the teacher look, that is) and that tends to work up to about the early teens. After that, I worry about getting knifed.

Mobile phones are the bane of everyone's life in the UK and the US. I'm convinced people are more enslaved by phones in these two countries than anywhere else in the world. I once tried in a cafe counting how many people in the room were on their phone, even if they were with someone. I lost count when I got distracted by the fact that couples sitting together would often both be on their phones ignoring each other completely.

In supermarkets, I hear people standing at the ready meals counter asking someone on the phone: 'Do you want pasta or chili for your tea?' - and reading out the ingredients on the packaging. I really want to dig them in the ribs and say: 'Stop wasting time phoning about a microwave meal that will be high in fat and sugar and go home and cook something healthy from scratch, ya daft git! Oh, and buy a few vegetables on your way home, lard-ass.'

Between the ring tones and the idiotic phone chat, trains and buses are just about unbearable. One bit of advice might help: if you have to make or take a phonecall in public, LOWER YOUR VOICE! None of us care what's going on in your life. We're trying to read or just gaze out of the window and  ignore the smell of unwashed bodies. And frankly, from what I can make out, your life is pretty boring. If all you can do is phone, you've definitely got attention deficit disorder - either that or you're too stupid to learn to read.

And I'm sick of parents who say they bought little Torquil (aged 7) a mobile because they want him to be safe. How is he unsafe? He's either in school or at home or being ferried about by mummy and daddy. You think he needs a phone at school? Ask a teacher if phones are a valuable learning aid or just another bloody distraction from the work at hand. 

So where's my phone? Yes, I have one - not an android, just a wee old Samsung. I thought of updating to a Tesco android but got so much conflicting advice on Facebook I decided not to bother. The phone is next to me. It was in my bag till about 30 seconds ago but at least today it's switched on.

And I'll tell you this: the next one of my friends who says 'Sorry, I must take this' when their phone rings as they're having coffee or lunch with me - your phone is going in your coffee.

Oh and that brings me to my other major rant of the day: I was sitting in the car at traffic lights. Left hand lane is for turning left only. Right hand lane is for straight on or turning right. There's no right filter so motorists wanting to turn right usually go up to the next lights (200 metres away) where there is a right filter that lets through, oh, about 3 cars. (Well, this is Glasgow where the council hates motorists despite them providing an annual income of £8.5 million for parking in the Shawlands area alone.) A cyclist - female, young, nae helmet naturally! - overtakes all the cars in the right hand lane to sit at the head of the queue - and sticks her hand out to turn right. She nearly gets mown down by an oncoming car because she's over the white line and she curses the driver roundly. She can't understand why the drivers behind her are outraged at her bad manners. She's got as much right to be on the road as they have - as she tells them, with extra expletives.

Where's my phaser when I need it?