Bendy men, margaritas & broccoli.




Yup I am still doing the yoga – in case you are in any doubt this is not me, this is a bendy man. A very bendy man with small pants.

And the yoga had a hiatus as a night of margaritas took their toll. Even posting the photo of the cocktail is giving me an undulation of the belly. Yuk.

Unknown-5You see we had agreed to have just one wee cocktail and then received the lovely news my wee niece had had a baby – (Jack, 7lbs 8oz, mother and baby doing well). Well it is the first baby in our family since my now 20 year old son was born so of course we wet the baby’s head. Extensively.


The following morning was grim. Puckered mouth. Scaly skin. Road map eyes. In fact if you can imagine the polar opposite of any supermodel you can think of then you are still no where near the hideous state of poison we were sporting.

When I say “we” my dear friend is staying with me just now and she announced she had lost a good bit of weight juicing. So inhabiting the world of the clichéd middle aged woman once we found our discarded clothes we put them on and walked straight to an electrical shop and bought a juicer and then off to buy our body weight in vegetables.

Yoga and juicing. Have I been abducted by aliens? Well let’s see  Well…well… well….I am off to rest before taking the plunge. The shock might kill me. Raw broccoli in this body ? Help.

Social hand grenade goes off.

Oliver living it large with a large

After being locked in, snow, ice bound and sober for so long it was inevitable. I knew buzzing inside my rumbling tum was an urge to neck several large drinks and so why fight it? A literal social hand grenade I hit a small drinks party like Oliver Reed at opening time and took a weeks worth of units down in 3 minutes flat. Not big, not clever, just pissed and probably annoying.

You just have to sometimes. It’s as simple as that. The now infamous 2am wake up

This is a transvestite who has considerably better legs than me.Upsetting.

with tights on was followed by the dry mouth shuffle to the cold tap which I prized my mouth open to clamp onto for a few minutes. Now wide awake I returned to the bed and lay there with my head like a toyshop for 2 hours. Deciding I might as well get up I fell asleep again until 9am. Starving, the thought of a bowl of health giving cereal wasn’t going to cut the mustard so it was off to The Circle Cafe who in my humble opinion do the best eggs benedict in Edinburgh, Scotland, UK and possibly the world.

Vitamin C get it in there FAST

A glass of freshly squeezed orange, a delicious creamy latte and two perfectly poached eggs sitting atop fresh wilted spinach, drizzled in hollandaise sauce and a split warmed muffin brought tears of joy – well I did have a hangover – to my red piggy roadmap eyes. Thank you Circle Cafe. I love you and your muffins.

One happy Edinburgh housewife tackles Edinburgh pavements successfully.

Perked up, sated and happy I shuffled along the Cresta run aka the pavements in Edinburgh for a moment before deciding to walk home in the middle of the road. It was less dangerous to pretend to be a car and travel in the centre of the road, putting my arm out to indicate left or right than die on a icebound pavement. Though if I had been breathalysed they would have taken my license off me – oh not they wouldn’t I’m not a real car. I forgot for a moment. God my hangover must be worse than I thought.

Husband then finds me in favourite spot with a dry mouth, full tum in need of warmth.

Never mind Puff Daddy, meet Puffy Slapper.

Two people walk past Elaine and I after the pedalo incident

The unfortunate thing about getting a fake tan before you go on holiday is that you get whiter as the days go on. I would be getting browner if I could go out in the sun. But alas after our pals 50th birthday on Sunday, we had to lie low on Monday as the sun was torturing the head. So yesterday started very well, fresh, rested and raring to go. Then as we walked through bar yesterday at mid-day we hear this ‘Hello Dave and Alison is that you?’ Well yes it was, so we joined them and that’s where we stayed until 9.30pm last night.
The unfortunate thing about going to bed at 9.30pm is that you are awake at 4am, dry and in need of water. If you have been in a bar all day with your pals though you don’t have any water in your apartment cos you forgot to buy it. So it is now 7.20am I have been up since 6am and am about to rush off buy a gallon of water and pour it down my throat at speed.

This will not have any effect on my, getting whiter by the moment, face but it will sure as hell help my liver.

The photographic evidence show last nights shenanigans hit a crescendo as Elaine and I draped ourselves over a pedalo determined to get a photo in which we didn’t look hunched, drunk, double chinned or just old. As we posed, David clicked the camera and the strain of keeping us two hefters up, made the whole pedalo lurch making a sickening plastic snapping noise and throwing Elaine and I to the ground laughing. Ah the sophistication. I am expecting a call from David Coulthard any day now, we are just the sort of people he would love to have on his private yacht in Cannes, I am sure of it. Still at least I haven’t got a tattoo. Yet.

Thai me down and make me drink!

Not a good look

Our pals Eddie & emma arrived from doon sooth yesterday and we haven’t seen them in about 4 years so it wasn’t going to be quiet.Due at 6pm I nipped out at about 5pm to take the dogs for a walk and met two of my neighbours celebrating finishing exams with a bottle of wine so I joined them for a quick swig. Then as I joined in the chat I heard a ‘HEEELLLOOO!’ from across the communal garden yup Eddie & Emma had arrived so crack open another bottle why don’t you? OK if you insist.

Then we were off to the launch of a new book called The Greatest Game at Bonhams in Edinburgh . Sponsored by Bollinger it was a rip snorting book launch if ever I drank..oops… I mean saw one. The book is, as you will have detected from the title, a new entertaining tome about the joys, pain and history of the game that so many love and others find terminally boring. The illustrations by Hugh Dodd are brilliant, excellent but equally very funny indeed and  Prof. David Purdie has done the text which is a hoot describing the mannerisms and strange quirks of yer average golfer and the history of the game done is a very humorous way. It is the prefect gift for the golf lover in your life which is great as it’s Davids birthday on Monday.  So we left there full of Bollinger, a book each in our oxter and a signed one in my handbag for the boys birthday.

Best Thai in Edinburgh

Out we sloped into the Edinburgh night – and up to Thistle Street ready for a light snack. Ducit was the chosen spot – Thai food at the highest level – fantastic. SLURP. Eddie ordered everything

as he is a Thai food fanatic and we scoffed the lot. Really everything was top notch. I may go and live there – if we are allowed back. We got home and did we go to bed? Why no of course not! Straight into the wine for a last snorkle.

So a quiet night in Edinburgh…..NOT. And on we go..already looking 134 …Eddie and Em are here for another night…..the weekend is here..the sun is shining……wish me luck!

Scots + Sunshine = Carnage

Geeza straw

Popped out to the communal garden for a coffee at 11am. By 12 the clinking of glasses alerted our ears to the fact the neighbours were taking the plunge and having a glass. Fancy one ? I asked Fiona. Och go on then just the one.


Then another. Joined by neighbour David. Laugh? Slap on more suncream, have another? Och OK. More neighbours emerged from their respective flats and the table grew and grew. We better eat I thought as I scrabbled about in the kitchen and found a small bag of mini cheddars and a melon. That”ll do for a start I said producing the Cheddars which we wolfed. More wine. More neighbours. The kids rampaged in the sun with water pistols, footballs, rugby balls, games of rounders as friendships were forged, stories were told, clinking and guffawing adults joined more and more. Surely the whole street was now in the garden whooping it up. By 7pm all dogs had been unleashed, all kids were getting tired and the adults were swigging and telling secrets in loud voices to anyone who would listen.

A good impression of the light tanning my chops got

Cut to this morning. A warm, fermenting melon was unleashed from my bag with one empty bag of mini Cheddars as I dug about looking for Nurofen.  A strange mobile phone fell out too. It rang. I picked it up. Fiona had left it under a chair, when did you leave? I ask.

I have no idea.

The street is quiet today. A lot of shuffling, sunglasses and low key meanderings – knowing glances.  Stuart – one of the whooper uppers – clocked me and just smiled. Carnage he said. I nodded sagely. Carnage. Please God don’t make it a long hot summer my liver cannae take it.

Hello! Today is the day to meet Teenwolf and the Mongrels !

Living with Teenwolf – a joy for a mother to behold. I’ve written about him so many times I felt it was time to share a peek at the reality. Put it this way Kevin the teenager is no longer a comedy it is a documentary of our life. Proof is in this pudding.
Then of course I have to fess up I am not a perfect mother. I know, I know it’s a shocking admission call the police, but it’s true.

But I do get it together to feed the beasts – and no I’m not talking about Dave and Teenwolf but the hounds of the baskervilles, our two that’s  Sam our nice but dim labrador and Flora half dog half womble who are joined on this occasion by my Mothers big hairy nelly dog called well…eh..Nelly actually. By the way I am not housewife of the year but the reason there is newspaper on the floor is because we finally had to defrost the freezer as it was frozen shut it’s not usually quite so Wayne and Waynetta Slob – honest.

Of course the combination of teenagers, animals and a typical Scottish bloke husband does mean that occasionally under duress I am forced to drink wine  the consequences of which become more dire as time goes on. Gone are the days of leaping forth in a fragrant fashion to face the day after a a wild night and a few hours sleep. No sadly the morning after the day before now means many hours of shuffling around regretting the 3rd glass and wondering how on earth to start feeling human again. After the usual suspects a banana, a berocca, a yoghurt , a vat of water, a pint of coffee, some paracetamol and a full cooked haven’t worked there is nothing left for it but to go for a lie down which is exactly what I was doing when Dave snuck up with the camera and caught me at as you can see here.

Typical he can work my new video camera but he can’t set the video when I want the latest episode of how To Look Good Naked. So from The Sunday Mail, a flat one dimensional page to a confessional box as this is turning into. Technology is a strange thing.

From day-to-day on this here blog I have been spouting lots of stuff – its great being able to be so proactive  from being restricted to just a Sunday I have been running amock – is that how you spell amock?  So if my pal Fiona finding the best buy in an antique shop  near Callander , a nitwit trying to flog utility kilts and sex education for the deranged 1950’s housewife are of interest either scroll on down this page – it goes on for ages – or click on ‘Day to Day’ tab at the top of this page and have a look. Alternatively….come back any day you have a moment. Coming up over the next few days I will introduce Matthew, a  B&B proprietor from Kilmelfort who may well steal Keith Floyds crown as he produces a delicious chocolate pud with the help of a quantity of wine oh and me, his very able (to drink) assistant in fact here’s a photo to whet yer whistle…

Matthew fabulous Kilmelfort cook at home swigging wine & handling fondants. Form an orderly queue.

Get yer pen and paper ready for next time though as the pud he creates will hit all the right spots as well as possibly giving you one or two – but hey it’s worth it!

Don’t forget to subscribe to this on the right hand side by filling inyour e mail address  yup – it’s a free bottle fo champagne every week at stake – you’d be mad to miss it. Til next time! Have fun!   Alison x

Eyes like road maps.

Yes there was drink involved. Well what do you do when an old pal turns up from far far away and wants to go out on the lash.
‘No no I can’t I have to sit in and try and remember when I last detected tone in my thighs’ Aye right.
So off we went into the night. Well specifically The Balmoral Hotel, posh and not the sort of place we usually hang oot so slightly cowed by the grandeur we started in whispery voices. Cut to 4 hours later we were singing at reception. Sorry to the lovely staff.

When in the loo last night I thought my friend Anne was in the adjoining cubicle so I knelt down, put my hand under the door and grabbed her bag. The shriek that emanated from the cubicle made my blood run cold it wasn’t Anne but a complete stranger.  I apologised profusely in an Irish accent in case she was sitting next to us in the restaurant and recognised my voice and ran like the wind. Poor woman.

Made a pact with myself before going out drink water between every glass of booze. I did that – twice and then the ‘what the hell you’re only young once’ thing kicked in. Of course I’m not bloody young anymore which is why I now look like Marty Feldman after someone sat on his face all night and feel like someone has force fed me dung for a fortnight.

Christmas calorie intake 6000 an hour.


Monday 28th

Today is officially declared a non drinking day as the strain my zips and buttons are under is frankly cruelty to flab. There is a party this afternoon but I ask for a soft drink. A derisory snort is made as I am handed a luke warm glass of water. To hell with that. Geeza drink! Am soon giving it ‘Chestnuts roasting round an open fire’ at the top of my lungs whilst harassing the piano player to play Last Christmas by Wham. When he does the whole party stops and gathers round giving it laldy which is when Dynamite bursts into the room wearing a red puffy ski jacket to re-enact the video. Excellent.


Up at the crack to get my abandoned car. Arrive at 8.30am to find a ticket, the wardens were on yesterday – can’t believe it. There goes my Christmas money on a parking fine. Not pleased. Some heading into the sales today not me. The combination of empty purse, parking ticket and hangover assures the dogs get a decent walk. Half way through ice station zebra aka the park Flora, half womble half haggis stops dead in her tracks. Her feet are like icicles, she has balls of snow round her fat wee legs and can go no further. Taking pity I hoist her like a sack of tatties over my shoulder and stomp home.


Going off dogs. By means of thanking me for carrying her from the icy hell of the park yesterday Half womble half haggis savages my christmas present from Dave, a wart hog. You can see in this picture before it’s early demise it had the evil eye which all the dogs have been growling at since I opened it. Now my little warthog is in a bin liner off to meet its maker. Flora is in the bad books and spends the day staring at me pathetically with an apologetic look in her eye. Spend the evening with Dave making a monster casserole for tomorrows shenanigans.


Oh God here we go again.Fiona having a party and everyone is taking something.We head off carrying the giant casserole between us trying to walk smoothly.. I told you to put clingfilm on it I screech as my party coat is splooshed with gravy. I did he said taking off the lid revealing a huge ball of plastic in the middle of the stew. Very appetising. Despite it’s drainage problems it is wolfed down as people scramble for a hot lining before trudging up to Princes Street to see Madness. What a fabulous night! All walk back to Fiona in Madness style and carry on.


Home at 5am. Awake at 8am what’s that about? Age? Drink? Can’ sleep so get up, glug a resolve and wrap up to take Flora the evil warthog eater and her friend out for a stumble round the park. Exchange Happy New Years with a few people. Spot one guy obviously just home,steaming and trying in vain to fit the key into his front door. Ask if I can help and open the door for him. You’ve saved my life he slurs at me dramatically you’ve saved my life. Hardly I say modestly it was nothing. No he says honestly you have I’m absolutely dying for a s***e .Happy New Year.


Off to Murrayfield to watch Edinburgh V Glasgow. Round to pals Charles who live round the corner and always get descended on. As time goes on the boys head off wrapped up against the elements, soon after that the men follow on. The women? Well after a quick look outside we decide on one for the road and then as we snuggle up in front of the roaring fire gossiping wildly someone says what we were all thinking. Shall we just stay here? Deal done we turn on the telly ignore the match and have a lovely time for Monday the hell of new year new regime and reality kicks in big time. Yeuch.

Fidel Castros Teeth. Nice.


Cigarry teeth a la Fidel

After a wild night out I was woken very early Saturday by David stumbling and guddling round the bathroom. What are you doing? I asked from my sore headed bed. Trying to read the ingredients of your fake tan he answered. Even in my half asleep state I knew this was unusual . Why? I asked,.  It seems when we came in last night I brushed my teeth with it. Despite the heid I couldn’t help but laugh. How on earth did you manage that? The pump action he muttered the pump action is the same as the toothpaste. So you mean the only real difference then would be the big red Colgate branding versus the dark brown Brazilian tanning branding – hard to mix up even in the dark I thought but decided not to say as I glanced over at what I can only imagine Fidel Castros teeth after 5000 cigars would have resembled. Is it permanent? He asks as the tears fell down my face and I shook my head whilst commenting most people are trying to get their teeth to go whiter not stain them nut brown. Poor thing went off with his lips firmly sealed and the way he was looking at me I suspect he would quite like me join suit.


My car almost blew up today. I was driving it thru town – nowhere off-road or motorwayish and when I parked it there was a distinct smell of burning. Getting out of the car I had a sniff at the bonnet and then was wondering what to do when a girl came up and said ‘I read your column every week!’ Oh thanks I said, come and smell my car. She did and agreed that it was indeed potentially about to burst into flames. As we stood I was fumbling round around looking for change for the pay and display machine when she  held out her handful of coins and said ‘actually I’ve just been caught short this is my pals Dads wake money!’ We smirked at each other whilst taking a wide berth round my car and the smoky bonnet before saying farewell. Ah sometimes I don’t feel so alone.


Louis birthday and so what did I get succoured into this year? An – gulp – electric guitar. It’s called an Electric Elf and it’s a wee Les Paul look-a-like – I am half hoping if he doesn’t like it I will just spirit it off into my office. Luckily for everyone he loves it – well everyone except Dave and I and our lugs – he has mastered, as they do, the riff from Smoke On The Water which was reverberating round our home for the 3 hours before bed time. My bedtime not his – he was still up when I went to sink into a bath with earplugs in and a good book. ‘How not to Lose your Marbles in the face of an enthusiastic amplified guitar beginner’ Cover to cover and I am still clenched,


Have heard about this new system that test you for food intolerance. My pal Fiona had it done and was told she had to cut out wine. Naturally that brought on a deep depression potentially worse than the symptoms she was attempting to alleviate. Anyway,  off I went . It is a strange thing you sit on a chair and take off your shoe and the therapist clasps your foot. She then hands over a metal cylinder which is attached to this machine. In the machine there are lots of little slots and she has over 100 wee vials which contain the food stuff you are being tested for. She drops each vial into the machine she presses a probe against your foot and it give off a high pitched squeak – the machine not the foot! Occasionally the noise becomes a lot lower and makes a humming sound and those vials are the ones that contain stuff you should avoid. I had a few but the dramatic ones included chocolate – oh my God can I go on? – prawns – a staple for me I love them, yeast , that’s my 3 loaf a day habit over and saccharin. The most unusual ones were horse dander. Not only do I not know what the hell that is but  I have made it a lifes work  staying as far away from horses as possible since the day I sat astride a cute wee thing, named Orinoco after the Womble, who I was assured would just amble along next stop glue factory style – but one word from me and it took off like Russell Brand after a piece of skirt. Terrified I was so I have stayed away from horses and their dander ever since. So maybe Orinoco had an intolerance to me… I thank my toe prodder and leave ready for my new life as a health freak.


Big fund raising school party tonight I am not drinking as I have to take Louis and his clump of pals to a rugby match tomorrow and being responsible for all those boys with a thick head is not humanly possible. It will be hard enough clear eyed and calm


Did I say clear eyed and calm. The kids rugby was cancelled cos of the weather so by the time they arrived at our gaff they were high as kites. Dave and I took them to see Scotland V Romania and then on the way out of te ground they formed into a rolling maul and careered through the streets until they collapsed en masse 15 10/11& 12year olds for a mass pagar in the park. Muddy and hyper  I have locked myself in the living room to write them and will only come out if there’s blood shed. Get me a gin and fast!

Definition of a bad hangover – when even your moisturiser makes you feel sick.


SCHOOL holidays are here – seven weeks of… well, quite. Have to get organised as I’m off to Aberdeen on July 22 for three weeks to do the Tom Morton Show on Radio Scotland while he’s on holiday. The holidays are a finely- tuned military operation of school clubs, activity days, friends, childminders, grandparents, videos, computer games and generally praying for the sun to shine. Soon. Please. PLEASE.


OFF to get my eyes checked. Decided to get the full test as I reckon I could do with a thorough MOT. Very pleased that I don’t need to get any stronger glasses than I had last time. Brilliant eye test, though. The chap who does it is an opthalmic surgeon and with his equipment (ooh er missus

he can see right into your brain. I was pleased to have the fact I have one confirmed after all these years – although there was no mention of size. But I am a woman and I know size is not important.

IN Glasgow to do Playing For Time. This week we have Tony Higgins, boss of the Scottish Professional Footballers’ Association, who has played with some of the finest players in the world, including George Best during his spell with Hibs. Enjoyed lots of football legend stories and handed over the prize of a packet of Brazil nuts to celebrate Brazil’s World Cup victory then whizzed back to Edinburgh. Out to dinner with two of Dave’s chums. When we got home I said to Dave: “You were quiet tonight.” “Yes,” he said. “None of us could get a word in edge ways.” Oops.


FRIEND Fiona back from her holiday in Santorini. She arrived to say hello and just have a quick coffee, which predictably turned into loads of wine and about half a hundredweight of Doritos. She looks brown, healthy and relaxed whereas I sat hunched up, pot bellied and pale faced listening to her tales of fun in the sun. No wonder I drink.


DAVE’S 40th birthday. What do you get for the man who has everything? Well, I have to say I was stumped until my pal suggested a membership of the Classic Car Club. As Dave is a car fanatic it is the perfect gift as it allows you to drive a different car from their collection about 12 times a year. He was super chuffed – and so was I when I realised it’s a joint membership so I can drive them, too. Most of the cars, including the Ferrari and the E-type, were already booked out so we went for the Honda S2000 – the engine is based on a Formula 1 car. We pick it up tomorrow for the weekend. Normal birthday behaviour would be a wild night, but instead Dave is more tired and emotional. Is this the onset of an early middle- life crisis? We had an early night so he could be fresh as a daisy for picking up the car tomorrow to head north to see Bryan Ferry live. Dave thought he was Bryan Ferry when he was about 14 so we will get a chance to do a direct comparison tomorrow.


UP early and down to the classic car club where David picked up the Honda. It’s a soft- top, two-seater which goes like the wind. Obviously we only drove it at 69mph – with the roof up as it was pouring. But as we approached Banchory the skies cleared so we wheeched the roof down, put Sheryl Crow on the CD at 5000 decibels and by the time we arrived at my pal Tracy’s house we truly believed we were 18 again. Off to see Bryan Ferry at Crathes Castle There were only a few hundred people there so it was like a private party. Horse supported and Bryan was magnificent. We were right up at the front, shouting, dancing and singing. Yes, drink had been taken. After he finished the set we met some pals and rather than stop there – because we’d only been at it for nine hours – we got a taxi back to Tracy’s house and spotted the local hotel was still open. “Stop the cab,” we screeched and went in for more. Why?


I KNEW it was a spectacularly bad hangover when even the smell of my moisturiser made me feel sick. Padding round Tracy’s cottage hunting for water in my bare feet when I stood on something. At first glance I thought it was a tomato until closer inspection proved it was actually a severed bird’s foot and half a leg. The cat had had a midnight feast. Hopped into the kitchen and dangled my fat leg over the bucket and shook my foot until it fell off – the birds foot, not mine that is. Yuk

Graeme, Tracy’s boyfriend, couldn’t speak at all so he cooked a massive breakfast to send us on our way home in our groovy only this time the stereo was off, the roof was up and we had to stop intermittently as I needed fresh air. Apologies to the farmer in Edzell whose field I had to rather unexpectedly inhabit for 15 minutes. I hope I didn’t ruin his crop. Sophisticated woman of the millennium where are you?