The Tale of Rock Steady and the Perspex

This will be the new home for my blog, which has been inspired partly by the great Jonathan Oates and his move to fully published Blogiverse. I shall be no more punctual, no less insane, and probably just in exactly the same amount of nonsense, so avid readers will not be disappointed. However, this is not a guarantee.

So, this first post will be attentive with incredible detail and wonder about my Rock Steady Workings this weekend.

On Saturday I left the flat at the god awful time of 9.30am to get the train from Anniesland to Patrick, to catch the connecting Subway. I was trying to time it so that I was not going to be late, but also subsequently none too early either. Reason for this will become much clearer in due course. Of course, this plan failed. Upon arriving at Anniesland there was a train in waiting. And upon arriving at Patrick, I walked onto a subway train. Sometimes, public transport is just far, far too good.

The weather was looking at me and laughing with glee, as I had looked hard, high and indeed low for my football socks that can be pulled up to my knees to protect me from the sharp, east coast wind, but nope, they were alas missing in action. I arrived at Ibrox stadium, entering the Bromoloan stand to pick up my jacket, and thusly sign into work.

Here is where I did not want to be early. Some of the characters that work for this brilliant company are of the atypical style of a Glasgow bampot; the accent that penetrates the skull similar to a stroke, and the brazen, "gallus", and impolite stylings of the lower scum of the human species. One lovely conversation involved a person which shall remain nameless. This is for legal purposes, the fact I don't know his name is purely coincidence. He was asked "How hus yer week bin", to which he replied "Aye, no bad. Ahm due in court on Tuesday." "Whit fur?" the excitied reprobate asks, positively foaming with excitement. "Ah wis swung at by ma da's mate wi' a bit of perspex."

I will let you digest that, while you think about my reaction standing there, watching this cretin talk total pish.

Once on the bus, we were treated akin to a bunch of retarded school kids leaving the home to go on a trip to a knife factory by a blind and deaf teacher. "I want this bus to be CLEAN when we leave it, and i want you to look RESPECTABLE when we get to Murrayfield!".

I was situated onto one of the "Vomitories", which is the stairwell leading to the seating in the stand in layman's terms. This meant three things;

1 - I would have to do some work
2 - I will have to ask the patrons for their tickets and make sure they get to their seats as Murrayfield has a really fucked up seating system.
3 - I would get to watch all of the game.

The trip back was uneventful, apart from the massive accident on the M8 causing tail backs, and after our bus being an hour late leaving, some silly bitch asked to got to the toilet. Hence a stop off at Hermiston Gait Services was required. I was screaming inside.

On Sunday a similar concoction of historic fannies, horrific bastards, and the Rangers Support made for an eventful, but long and dreary day at Rugby Park, the worst stadia I have worked at yet. Upon arrival, I was assigned to an exit gate; basically I did nothing, until the 85th minute of the game, when I opened them.

Most notable about this post was that I got to see the jakeys that the Police were lifting out for singing sectarian songs and promptly arrested. One such jovial fellow shouted "FUCK GOD'S REPRESENTATION ON EARTH", which a bit wordy, and I took to mean Pope Benedict XVI. I did get two free Killie Pies, which I did say "Aye" to. They are every bit as great as the hype makes them seem. Yum.

The journey back was marred by the problem of battery operated portable media devices that has still to be eradicated - battery life. I sat on the bus, with my headphones in listening to nothing, just so nobody would turn and ask me "Whit dae ye do?". Answering Uni normally gets you a bunch of quizzical looks, and then telling them "Chemical Engineering" causes a crash in their brain system, requiring a reboot.

Luckily, I got to see none of the game.