Now is the time to decide if you're going to host a super summer party, and if you are, you should make sure that your guests RUE THE VERY DAY they ever showed up at your house.
And who better to give you tips to make yours the most unpleasant invitation in town, than Alison Weekend Cutlet, party organiser to the clinically depressed.
Here, exclusively for readers of peterburnett.info, the woman who designed Sir Elton John's wonderful 1997 suicide attempt, offers some original ideas guaranteed to create a fabulous whimper to highlight the summer gloom.
The Tesco lager was an almost translucent, yellow colour, with a good amount of carbonation and short-lived, white head. The immediate aroma was of floral hops with some grassy tones, followed by a little graininess, and some faint malt in the background. Shortly after that I was flinging CDs across the room at Tadg, who was trying to play the trombone.
This snippet concerns the origins of the Aikey Fair, or Aikey Brae Fair.
But on the event of the first Aikey fair, which must have been in the early 1800s, the tinker lady who brought her wares dropped them while crossing the Ugie, and laid them out on the grass to dry, thus offering the locals a chance to browse them. This led to the development of the fair as a venue for people to purchase trinkets, baskets, pegs and tinwares.
The Northern declivity of the hill of Parkhouse is called Aikey Brae or Yackie Brae. In the 1980s there was a play by The Invisible Bouncers, the theatre group of Alastair McDonald, called Pinky Brae, and it was an exceptional hit, at least in the North East. I'm trying to track down some stuff about the play at the present.
The name Aikey Brae is supposed to have derived from the aiks (oaks) of the area, which once clad the hill. Another idea is that the hill claims its name from Achaicus (or Yochock) a Pictish King.
Until the 20th century, the Aiky Fair was still held in the area, and marked with the removal of the relics of Achaicus’ brother, St Drostan, from Aberdour to Deer, on the third Wednesday in July.
On Aikey Brae, it is said one of the Earls of Buchan fell from his horse at hunting, and was killed. The facts of the case state that this happened because the earl had called Thomas the Rhymer, the great prognosticator, Thomas the Lyer.
Though Thomas the Lyar thou call’st me,
A sooth tale I shall tell to thee
By Aiky-side thy horse shall ride,
He shall stumble and thou shalt fa’;
Thy neck-bane shall break in twa,
And maugre all thy kin and thee,
Thy own belt thy bier shall be.
I sling from the waist with pawing, but I don't just sit here drawing. Next time I plan to release the beasts I'll give you a call first. But not this time because there'll be no warning. People flip, switch, some turn fake about some nonsense correspondence that I just can't relate to. Or they go mad in their cars. The word cashflow sounds funny to me but if you can watch money change hands then it doesn't matter what type or range of shit you talk cause you ain't got to prove that life twists and turns and makes you crazy to make it work. Flip people flip, take switch, some turn fake about their true and inner centre, when it's cows that have given them this dementia.
The content and purpose of dreams are not definitively understood, though they have been a topic of scientific speculation and a subject of philosophical and religious interest throughout recorded history:
Free cinema : in an open field we approached the screen, through rows of racked chairs. Close to the screen I met the lead actor, a real stiff-jaw, he stood way up above me. The actor was able to look over my head he was so tall. The field was filling with audience, and there were chunks of snow left on the ground. I turned to speak to some people I knew, the three most intelligent boys from school. The three boys sat on one seat and had their school blazers stuffed with library books. I walked further back; I had lost the friends I arrived with. Also, there were no safe seats left in the field, and this was out of many thousand. Most of the seats seemed to be sinking in the mud and melting snow. I left for the town, which was dark, and full of circular terraces, where one would descend and then reappear. I found that the best way to get back to the field was through a primary school, but I was escorted out of here, and taken to the seaside. Dawn, and the film was over. The snow even, was much melted, and I had missed everything. Passing up the opportunity for fried foods from a shack, I walked along the sea front, to look for my friends.
by Peter Burnett
Consumerism, passivity, apathy and distraction.
The internet is no place to attempt changing anything that matters.
A young Scottish Borderer, Alan Stewart, struggles to come of age in a world he knows only through the world wide web.
The downloads in the previous set of links include the ereader.version statement read by Private First Class Bradley E. Manning at the Providence Inquiry for his formal plea of guilty to one specification under Article 92 with a substituted time frame for the offense, and nine specifications for lesser included offenses under Article 134. The transcript was taken by journalist Alexa O'Brien at the Article 39(a) session of United States v. Pfc. Bradley Manning on February 28, 2013 at Fort Meade, MD, USA and published on March 1, 2013.
There is also at present a 99p or $1.50 version of the book on Amazon Kindle, but without the transcript.
It may be worth my while to note that the book reviewers of the last two decades ought to be included in my list of Biblioclasts and as the enemies of IRL books. Many books that lie in stacks in newspaper offices, due to the large amount delivered there, have had a few leaves removed, and in many others whole sections torn out.
I suppose it served the journalists’ purpose thus to use the wisdom of writers but books are delivered to newspapers unbidden and yet in good faith as perfect, and when they lie unreviewed in their hundreds, the editors are quick to cause damage if found defective or low in quality in their eyes, while the publisher has no redress. This way, books are destroyed in the thousands, each year.
PART TWO: The Nine of Diamonds remains the Curse of Scotland. The origin of this name is not certain but many explanations, some of which follow, are suggested. Lord Justice-Clerk Ormiston was called the Curse of Scotland and so the Nine of Diamonds (also commonly called the Curse of Scotland) was known to them as The Justice Clerk.
This is Downcome, a font designed by Eduardo Recife. In the spirit of the age and in line with other open source software, Eduardo Recife allows anybody to use his font, and all he asks is that he be acknowledged. As a bonus, if anyone can be bothered, Eduardo asks politely to be gifted any books, CDs etc that may make use of his font. That is the idea, but the practice is sadly lacking.
He came out of the North, sporting a batter caked moustache, and they called him the foot-warrior, for the immense damage he did with his professionally pedicured feet. He ate nought but pearl barley until Saturday came and then, strongly reminiscent of a torpedo leaving the tube of a submarine, he would shoot up the tunnel and make red minced meat of Celtic Football Club.
They called him Wullie, and with almost no adjectives at all, he would one day take control of the Scottish airwaves .... but back then .... he was a flash of red, the flame gun of the north as he trotted down Tommy McLean's balls and knocked them off for a throw in, bursting forth a gob of spit in the process, uttering hissing sounds, and establishing the status quo ante of what was then, the professional game.
They called him Wullie, and soon he was to open a pub, and a chipper, and with this wondrous empire, people feared he had captured the entire leisure market, but the substance of his business deals were as transparent as his game .... and with the weight gain of Harper threatening to crush him, Wullie made straight for Glasgow, causing a wedge shaped furrow to form through Scotland in his wake.
It was in Glasgow where Wullie was noticed by the sacred cow eyes of Craigie Brown, and it was also here that, due to his phlegmatic and unexcitable nature, he became the Big Man's next choice as the Leader of Scotland .... and so the foot-warrior, exempt from all obligations to BBC Scotland, contrived his way forward, and lead the boys on from interview to interview, until the people as a whole were all sick to death of the game, and turned instead to basketball, which at least had cheer-leaders after all ....
One night Peter drank so much that he farted in the car port. Standing in the Fettercairned remains of his once sober world .... holding the bottle by the neck .... and swaying in the shit-marracked ruin of his one time holy body .... he shouted out that he was syruped to bits .... at which he took his self back to bed, to finish what of the drink was left.
In bed Peter imagined all sorts of pish-caked beings who came at him from the alcoholic contents of the glass. These were snotty alkys and heavy breathing gyno-doctors, pod swallowers and several dog-headed male and female nurses.
A leading figure in Peter's imaginings however was the brewer Mr Jack Daniels who came to Peter through the covers, threatening to force yet more poison into the poor boy's mouth. "Go to Vegas," said Jack Daniels, "and there I will punish you by making wolves ride you til you are sick."
But Peter refused to go to Vegas and so Jack Daniels got larger and loomed over the bed and filled the Peter's view.
Jack Daniels was a big beardy American with a black bush frothing from his face and Peter quavered when Jack Daniels breathed on him. Smelling Jack's breath, Peter wished then truly that he'd opted for the Vegas option.
"You will drink of me and vomit spangled root parts," said Jack as his frontier style beard waved in the moonlight. "You are not fit for any more of my brew tonight, and so you must finish it in the morning."
And so Peter rose the next day and trailed through the cigarette ash remains of his ruined life, tripping on broken and smashed items as he did so. And reclaiming the bottle from the trash can, Peter sat at his barrels and relished once more, the wooden-mouthed flavour of the garse broth that had killed his daughter.
And it was little wonder that Peter himself died two days later after his final vision, which was of a rusted steel tank … and this was an image of the brewery itself from where steamed the mince like brew which had got him so pot-nastied in the first place. And it had Jack's name on it.
Ludwig Hatzer / Conrad Treger / Felicity / Blaurer / Clemet Ziegler / Micahel Sattler / Sebastian Franck / Capito / Wilsnack, where the three hosts Frau Wibrandis / Anna Sohmes
Palinarus stands for a certain will-to-failure, perhaps a repugnance to success, a desire to give up at the last moment, an urge towards loneliness, isolation and obscurity. Palinarus, in spite of his great ability and his conspicuous public position, deserted his post at the moment of victory, and opted for the unknown share …
In Byzantium, in the middle centuries of the First Millenium, the passion for chariot racing and the competition between (savour the irony!) the Blues and the Greens, ran so high that the Empire was decided on the predominance of Chariot Factions - jobs in the state, and ultimately with Justinian, the Emperor's position itself, being decided by the Colour of your favour. More than religion (itself, eventually split between the Blues and the Greens), racing filled the hearts of the populace with the necessary adrenalin to slaughter each other, to carve their slogans of hate on each other's chests, to rape and torture.
So omnivorous was the Racing Cancer that, on two occasions, The Empire almost fell to the Barbarians as the army was riven and useless to defend the city. Luck and bad weather alone saved it. Seeing at last the folly of the Racing Mania, after a particularly grueseome week of riots during which most of the faction leaders were murdered, this 'sport' was extirpated for once and for all. RENOUNCE SPORT AND ITS WAYS. Pull down this god of inanity, this art whose best creation is a tongue-tied teenage moron with an expensive haircut...