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  • Working in a bar... Oh giddy God.

    Sometimes, working in a bar proves to me the utter bloody stupidity of most people. Take last Saturday; busy night as per usual. An older woman asks for 2 double OVDs and coke, which is duly dispensed. The woman sips her drink. Then a look of disgust crosses her face.

    "This isn't OVD!" she fairly screeches across the bar.
    "Yes, it is."
    "IT IS NOT! I've been drinking it for years (and constantly, by the looks of it you old hag) and this is definitely not OVD!"
    "You just watched me take it out of the OVD bottle."
    "You've put some other rum in there!"
    "Are you seriously suggesting that I bought inferior rum than bloody OVD and filled up the bottle with it?"
    "Yes!"
    "Leave the pub. Now."

    Yes, we're passing off paint thinner and food colouring as OVD. That's exactly what we're doing. And you, madam, with your abnormally acute tastebuds, are the only one who has worked it out. WELL DONE! Now go crawling back to your hovel in Torry and keep injecting the smack.

  • Aaand the prize for worst spam filter goes to...

    Tiscali. Seriously. What the fuck?

    Okay, so spam filters are never the best and some crazy kids can normally get through by cunningly entitling their email "Hi! I met you last week!" or some such. But when the bloody spam filter can't even recognise "want a bigger pecker?" or "VIAGRA AND CIALIS! MAN, YOU MUST HAVE PROBLEMS!" then there's something wrong.

    I don't want much from my Email. I just want to get the Emails that actually mean something to me. As much as it is a joy and delight to delete page after page of spam I have to admit I could actually live without it.

    So seriously, Tiscali. WHAT THE FUCK??

  • title-2545200

    So I am sat here. In my room. Thinking, after phoning the Samaratins.

    Is that even how you spell it? Like I care.

    I'm glad you're gone. But I miss you.

  • Soooo....

    I have decided to use this lovely space to share with all you lovely people some creative writing I've been doing. I warn you now. It's fantasy. It has freaky-deak powers in it. It's set in Aberdeen... RUN AWAAAAAY!!!

    Without further ado, I shall post the first chapter(ish). Let me know what you think! Or not. Whatever ;)

    I don’t often think about the night that I killed my father. Not because it’s overly painful for me you understand; just because it doesn’t feature too largely in my world or my sense of self.

    When a big, blue-eyed policeman strolled into my office, the subject of my father’s death wasn’t immediately what sprung to mind. Ha, I said “my office” as though I have a gorgeous, tastefully decorated room with a huge desk; not a crappy little cubicle with barely enough room to swing a cat. Not that I would swing a cat, I mean I might be bitchy sometimes but cruelty to animals is just wrong…. But that’s besides the point.

    “Alicia?” A crisp voice sounded behind me, “The, ah, police are here to see you.”

    I rolled my eyes at my computer screen, well aware that Lucy, Supervisor from the Nether Reaches of Hell (show name) could see my reflection and finding it more amusing than just about anything else in the world.

    “Miss McKellan?”

    I figured I’d better not do the satisfying yet admittedly juvenile eye-rolling trick for the benefit of Mr Tall, Dark and Sideburned; undoubtedly the police officer that Lucy had taken great delight in telling me about. I clocked his English accent before anything else; crisp and upper-class – not something that I heard that often living in Aberdeen. I turned my shabby swivel chair around, an act that took much longer than it should have to accomplish due to the fact that the swively bit had rusted a long time ago. I stood up, brushing the creases out of my pinstriped skirt, attempting to buy myself some time to think. Why in the name of God would a plainclothed police officer want to talk to me? Not that I hadn’t done anything to warrant the police’s attention, but more because I couldn’t figure out which one of my many nefarious schemes they could have traced back to me.

    “Miss McKellan?” Mr Sideburns repeated, sounding slightly irked. Maybe I’d overdone the thinking time.

    “Yes, I’m Alicia McKellan,” I replied, “what can I do for you?”

    Sideburns turned to Lucy, who was unashamedly listening in, “Is there a private room where I can talk to Miss McKellan?”

    Lucy nodded eagerly, well aware that she’d have a first-class story to gossip about over lunch. Right at that moment I’m betting she’d wished she’d invested in that water tower thingy just so she could head right there and begin the open season on my already shoddy reputation.

    “You can use my office,” she offered, looking for all the world as though we should swoon at her feet with gratitude and possibly shower her with roses. I glared at her and without a second thought I weaselled my way into her brain and sent a sharp little sting into her nerve receptors. Lucy clutched her head and stumbled slightly, face taking on a chalky cast. Heh.

    “You okay, Luce?” I asked innocently, not knowing what would piss her off more; me calling her Luce or her stumbling in front of Sidies.

    “Just a headache… Alicia will you take Detective, erm….”

    “Watt,” he supplied helpfully.

    “Watt to my office?” she continued with barely a pause, “I think I’ll go and find some paracetamol.” She smiled wanly at Detective Watt and scurried off down the corridor, one hand still pressed against her forehead. I’d only given her the equivalent of an ice-cream headache at best, and that bitch was milking it for all it was worth.

    “Shall we?” Watt asked, gesturing for me to lead the way. I shrugged and marched off to Lucy’s office, a route I could have walked blindfolded. The detective, naturally, seated himself in the large leather chair behind the desk. I had my suspicions about that chair; Lucy had said that the departmental budget wouldn’t stretch to new chairs for all of us and barely a week later she’d taken delivery of a brand new set of office furniture for herself. She’d left early with a migraine that day.

  • Something and nothing

    So. Almost a year since my brother took his own life.

    Hmm.

    I don't know how to be me without him.

    He defined me in so many ways. I was "McBey's Sister" for all of my life. Now it's like I'm nothing. Nothing without him defining me. Is that wrong? Can I live my life being defined by other people? I don't know. All I know is that I miss him every day. Without question. Without remorse. With love.

    Is that selfish? should I still wish him here in a world that made it so clear it didn't want him? He was my brother. My rock when things went shitty. I will always miss you Andrew, no matter what life throws at me. xx

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