Ever since I was a wee girl I’ve loved the fairground. Dodgems, ‘The Sticky Wall’, eating candyfloss, making (as yet un-mascarad) eyes at the greasy but exotic man on the waltzers to ensure he pushed you round the fastest.

School trips to Butlins, squashed ‘quartered’ chopped pork sandwiches and wee plastic bottles of Irn Bru gently warming at the bottom of my school bag under the spare set of clothes my mammy would pack for me in case I fell in water(and I always did).

My memories of fairgrounds and holiday camps consist of the non-stop fun of Pontins in Morcombe, the Mexican hat in Ayr and the town that never sleeps….Burntisland. We had no foreign holidays, spent the summer holidays at our Uncle John’s in Ardrossan and thought that Newcastle was the most exotic place in the world…….they didn’t sound like us and we liked it!

This weekend, the Pirate and I decided to relive these glorious moments of our youth, in the days when he was young and I was good looking….Yes, we went to Disney!

For four days we stuffed our (now chubby) little faces with hot dogs, wine, freshly baked croissants, cakes that resembled works of art(I suspect very few come to the UK and take pictures of the jaffa cake donuts in Greggs) and ate our body weight several times over in goats cheese.
We went on so many roller coasters that I think my vital organs now look like a game of ‘Operation’ with my hair acquiring a bouffant that Nancy Reagan would have been envious of.

It was amazing.  Despite being surrounded by more children that I have ever seen accumulatively through my entire life, we didn’t let that stop us. Being an adult in a child’s world has it’s advantages.

You make a horrible face, they get frightened and move out of the way, this results in you getting further and further up the queue to meet Mickey Mouse. Also, because they have short legs, they can’t run very fast so you always get to the rides first. They are smaller than we are and don’t reach the counter in shops, this means the assistants can’t see them and always serve you first….. What’s not to love.

Whilst taking a picture of the Pirate in front of the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ ride, a wee girl came up and naturally assumed that the UP with his untamed locks was part of the attraction.   A child has now gone home with a picture of the big yin in her Disney album….poor wean.

To those who shudder at the thought of spending a weekend away from the real world surrounded by 80,000 children, men trussed up as Chipmunks and a woman in a Minnie Mouse suit constantly warbling “it’s just like we dreamed it”…I say go….I beg you to go and give your inner child an airing.
Jacqx

Pontins Holiday Camp sometime in the early 80's

AAhh….so it’s Mothers Day this weekend….Time to show our mammy’s how much they mean to us. A time to shower them with affection, with daffodils stolen from the park and a box of soft centered chocs. A time to reflect on everything they have done for us over the year.

In the case of the Pirate and I, we are more than a little spoiled on the mammy front. Shamefully we still have an arrangement with my wee mammy Jinty to do our laundry every week.

It’s not laziness you understand, but in addition to the fact that we are very busy people, the Pirate (as those of you who have met him will know) is practically a giant. I challenge any of you to try drying several pairs of 6ft 6” trousers on a standard domestic clothes horse….no matter how tough, they all eventually surrender under the weight of his mighty breeks.

Jinty on the other hand is a professional, a laundry expert..She knows how to approach challenges such as giant trousers, that my friends is why she’s the mammy and that is why Hallmark named a day after her.

She’s a wonderful woman, she’s small, not much taller than Willie Carson actually but she makes a mean pot of soup.
She can tell a story whilst laughing hysterically at the same time and when Caroline Quentin comes on Telly, she declares how much she hates “that Victoria Wood”.

She once threatened to divorce my father if he didn’t stop watching CSI Miami which she refers to as “ that CIS rubbish” “ full of lassies who go aboot flicking their long hair and picking up bits of fluff in corridors” You, like me have probably never heard forensic science described in this way.

She still does football warmup exercises despite never having been a footballer and thinks I’m the “cheekiest woman on earth”.

She’s probably right. According to close family members, I’ve been a nightmare since age 5. I suspect that all those evenings when she claimed to be working back shift in a sausage factory she was taking special forces training at the local community centre…all in preparation for when I hit puberty and actual hormone madness.

You may think me brave for revealing such things but fear not…whilst she still thinks CEEFAX is king, this blog will remain a mystical thing never to be read.

So that’s my mammy….the original and the best and I wouldn’t swap her for anything..not even a signed Wham album.

Happy Mothers Day to my wee Jinty xx

Banksy Rap Rat

I wont even pretend that this blog is anything other than a shameless promotion for The Real Mary Kings Close in Edinburgh.
To those who have never wandered those dimly lit history steeped corridors,….get there, it’s awesome.

The Urban Pirate massive (ie Dave and I!) visited Auld Reekie last night for a wee soiree at the Close which was thoroughly lovely (thankyou Lucy, Nigel and Co for the invite !).

We were treated to an incredible tour led by the fabulous Robert, who took us down through the dark dungeon like areas. Once housing thousands of people and now built over and hidden away under the unsuspecting feet of the thousands of passing folks on the Royal Mile.

In the days before Detol and Dustin Hoffman, It was once home to many of those poor folk who had succumbed to the plague and was a sort of ghetto if you like to try and contain the epidemic. Not exactly a youth club really.

The close is said to be haunted by many among which the ghost of a young plague victim Annie who has appeared in one of the rooms.

Thankfully the scariest sight I had to behold last night was the sight of the Pirate making his way awkwardly in the almost darkness and imagining his pitiful wounded cries when smacking his head on the extremely low ceilings….Some call it 17th Century Architecture…I like to call it Karma.

The tour has been awarded five starts from Visit Scotland as a visitor attraction and trust me it doesn’t disappoint. I’ve been to a number of so called “tourist attractions” in Scotland, some sadly more like the Craggy Island Gala Day than I care to remember, however this isn’t one of them AND it’s worth the 3 million pound peak train fare through to Edinburgh to get there!

www.realmarykingsclose.com

Jennifer Jason Leigh was victim to it, Jennifer Aniston’s hair suffered it and Petre Andre will never fall foul of it.

What is it? The copy cat scoundrel. This month I’ve come across some of the most blatant rip offs of people’s ideas that I felt I had to write about it.
To those of you out there, who are cultural, creative, inspiring, the idea of ripping off the work or concept of another artist or designer (and calling it your own), not only wouldn’t occur to you, but is something that you would probably find abhorrent.

Alas, this is not the case for the dunder-heids that I’ve come across in the last month. These scumbags come across someone who has a good idea, has perhaps had some success with it and boom they they are ON IT like a tramp on chips.

Speaking as someone who is an illustrator’s widow(metaphorically speaking of course, he’s not deid!). I spend days, sometimes weeks being ignored as the Pirate, draws, and redraws, and redraws and redraws antlers or occasionally sheep skulls (don’t ask).  Although admittedly he’s not the biggest conversationalist, chit chat during these times comes to a complete standstill.

“What would you like for dinner darling?”, no response.

“Hi Dave, I thought I would come back into the living room naked except for a hairclip!” no eye movement.

“Dearest, I seem to have caught fire whilst trying to prepare you a tasty an nutrionally balanced meal, could you pass me a wet tea towel please”, nothing.

If it’s wasn’t for his wee hand skittering quickly aboot a sketchpad and the remnants of erasure particles all over the couch, I would be concerned there was no visible output.

Back to my point. To those of you out there who think that you can trace, Photoshop, WordArt, “rip stuff off from the web” think that unlicensed IStock images are your personal photo album,  we are aware of you and we think you stink. This also applies to concept grifters…..you are the lowest of the low, you are the moral equivalent of a houserobber and have as much authenticity as Jordan’s Bits.

Oooh…..that feels much better!……jacq x

Bad Pirate

So, it’s that time of year again. Time for obligatory legwarmers, big knickers(not obligatory, but heh, it’s cold out there), pate for breakfast, lunch and dinner, pine needles up yer feet, chilled prosecco on tap but best of all, searching for presents.

I LOVE presents. Don’t care what occasion it is, don’t really mind what people buy me, but I love presents,

I’m not one of those people who when asked what they want for Christmas, says, “Auch I don’t really need anything, don’t waste your money on me”. I WANT you to waste your money on me, as much of your money as you can bear to spend. At any given time during the calendar year I have a list as long as Bruce Forsyths chin with things I would like. You don’t even need to worry about choosing something; I will supply you with three different price bracketed gifts to suit your budget.

I also hate surprises so historically since we met, I have forced/tricked/manipulated the Pirate into handing my goodies over early…sometimes as much as two weeks early… Yes I know…I’m brilliant.

This year however something has changed. Being in business has hardened the Pirate. There is a new maturity, a sternness to his glare and nothing, and I mean nothing is making him hand over the gifts. He’s acting like an adult and I don’t like it.

After much nagging, persuading and shin kicking, I have managed to gleam that I have ten gifts, yes ten, but that is where the story ends. Packages have mysteriously arrived at the flat, but where they then go, I do not know. It’s driving me nuts. I don’t know what else I can do to change his mind, he laughs at my dancing, I apparently look constipated when trying to look sexy and I already feed him too much.

But, I will not give in, I will not give up. I will have those gifts before the fat guy in the red suit arrives….just you wait and see.

Merry Christmas x

Halloween has always been an interesting holiday. An excuse for people to wander around wearing what they like (or in some cases what you wear in the bedroom…..) and I have always enjoyed it. Bobbing for apples, eating jammed up toast dangling from a piece of string, toffee apples. Strangely I never really got into the “dressing up” thing until a few years ago, where I decided to got at it hard. (I worked in a night club and its always good to make an effort.) My first year I dressed up as a musketeer, which worked as I had the full tash, sole-patch curly hair that would go with it. A year later I decided to go as Thor…..so I was ahead of my time. My piece-de-resistance was last years, I decided to go scary….I couldnt be bothered with all that make up so zombies were out. I wanted something that would strike fear into the hearts of those who seen me (it was that kinda night club) there was only one character I could be, and with my stature I managed to pull it off. Michael Myres…

copyright ©Sean Anderson

To keep in the spirit of things I’ve had a wee look about the internets for some amazing pumpkin carvings. (I can only take credit for the one at the top….) I think next year I may do a limited edition Halloween t-shirt? Enjoy!!

As I stood there I was approached by a young American woman from a neighbouring faith group( I was in the faith area of the hall you understand…there were also fire eating groups to even things out) who said “don’t move….but do you know that you have the front of your skirt tucked into your pants”. I slowly made myself look down…and yup…there it was, my rara skirt(shuttup..they never left fashion)…tucked into my slightly worn, (couldn’t find any better) looking knickers.

This would not have been so catastrophic were it not for the fact that I had a big hole in my tights and worse still, that I had paraded by two catholic friars, a priest, a minister and the local medical practice on the way in there.
In a nutshell I was fair ashamed and have gone right off my ra ra.
My second dalliance with northern exposure was in the port –a-loo at the Blairgowrie Highland Games. Having forgotten to lock the door, the door was yanked open to reveal the visiting crowd and a very confused wee local barking “did you no loak the door hen!” Thankfully I was mid handwash and my modesty and his eyesight were spared.
This morning going to work I checked and double checked that all of my extremities were covered… Best put a long cardigan on……… just in case.

You hear people talk of NEDS, Hoodies, Sunday Post Readers(steady, kidding!) as being the social groups relentlessly attacking our society.
Dragging us down, inciting such inner rage that we resort on occasion to vigilantism.
People, you are being deceived. There is a single venomous home grown threat, which continually tries to assault our civil liberties and that my friends is the Scottish Midge.

For my whole life I have served as the equivalent as fish and chips to these evil, pain inflicting, nasty little blood suckers……well I say……NO MORE MR MIDGE.
For friends…..I have found the answer.
SMIDGE

After spending 3 weekends in midge infested territory, I came home with the grand total of 4, yes 4 bites. To put this into perspective, I historically would have 4 bites on one eyelid. The rest of my freckled and now pink blotchy bitten self(I’m not getting a date after this I know) resembling John Merrick’s cousin Nelly, with around 100 bites per limb.

I’ve tried everything known to man, and I mean everything, from smearing hair gel on my peely walley pins, to trying to outrun them(read something in a novel once about going faster than 15 mph)…it doesn’t work.
So today, I would like to raise my hat to the geniuses from The Scottish Midge Forecast www.midgeforecast.co.uk who created Smidge.
Please let it be known Sirs and Madams that we at Urban Pirate heart you.

Smidge……buy it.

Oban-Craignure Ferry

Have you ever had one of those weeks when life feels like an episode of the generation game… like everyday someone is repeatedly throwing a bucket of water in your face, whilst you run on a treadmill backwards with your shoelaces tied together.

Well myself and the pirate starred with Larry Grayson in one of those episodes last week.
Some people call it summer break, their vacation, taking it easy. We in the Urban Pirate household call it the week during the summer when something goes wrong.

Having had a busy start to 2011 we decided to give ourselves some time off, a wee trip to Mull…lovely.

Thermal y-fronts packed, we set off to Oban for our ferry. Using David’s crimbo present of Sat Nav, we typed in our destination and headed West ,safe in the knowledge that our route would be dictated to us by a wee wifie that lives in the little box stuck to the dashboard.

Many things happened on the road to Mull, but what follows is the abridged version.

We went the wrong way ( note we ALWAYS go the wrong way, this is an common element of the Pirates approach to driving).

We crashed. Yip that’s right, crashed. All thanks to a horrid little man who shall remain nameless who did an emergency stop coz he saw a tea room sign..

Imagine major bleeped out swearing at this point.

We called the AA who sent a local mechanic, and the car was unofficially declared a “right off”. However, apparently, it was still fit to drive.

So, outcame the parcel tape which was not so lovingly placed around the broken headlamps which set off nicely the now ripped apart front grill and somewhat crushed bonnet. The Pirate was nearly greetin’, I however stuck with barking expletives.

We finally got to Oban and caught our ferry

We arrived, found campsite unpacked.  Discovered that a mould spore the size of Australia had developed on Airbed.  Turned airbed around. Found that batteries were dead so slept on bumpy ground…Not good when one already has their own bumps if you get my drift.

However……we did despite all odds, we had a fabulous week off, more so because our phones, internet and the rest failed miserably.

All we were left with was the view and what a view it was. Regardless of how many times I holiday in Scotland, it never dissapoints.

Who needs the Algarve when you have Calgary Beach eh.
.

View of Calgary Beach

Croft, Isle of Ulva

Our lodgings for the week