Ruby! Ruby! Ruby! Ruby! Aaa..aaa.aa.aaa..aa..aaaaah!
My parents got married forty years ago yesterday. They didn’t want a fuss. Fair dos.
However, in their honour, I am going to have a day doing all the stuff they wouldn’t let me do when I was a kid. I feel the occasion on them lasting that long needs some kind of commemoration, and it’s all the better if it involves me in someway.
Because…. it just is. Okay?
I am going to watch the following TV shows they wouldn’t let me watch:
OTT with Chris Tarrant.
Yes, all my mates got to stay up watching this early eighties shite and then would spend the whole day screaming about how actually OTT it was next day at school. Hah-haha! Who’s laughing now? Eh? I’m going to get it on betamax and lap it up 25 years on! Even though it’ll probably be dogshit.
The Professionals.
It isn’t too violent. I’m not too young. I am old enough to fancy Lewis Collins and Martin Shaw. Thank God it’s on UK Gold; I’m taping it all and going back to the Seventies. And after that I’m mainlining the Sweeney which no way they’d let me even have a sniff at! It was the late eighties before I even knew there was such a programme.
I’m going to wear the following:
Bay City Rollers trousers.
But all my friends had them! Why not me?
Well, read it and weep. I’ll have those trews! They’ll be white, they will be bordered with red tartan. I will also have a tartan scarf round my wrist and a black velvet slutty choker. I’ll maybe not bother with marrying Les McKeown though. Have you seen him these days? Jesus!
A crucifix.
But Madonna wears one! Yes, yes, I know we’re not Catholic. Jesus, you West coasters, get over the whole religious thing, we’re in godless Aberdeen now! Who cares about religious symbolism? All I know is: I want one!!! Now! They look goooood! Specially with fingerless lace gloves.
A permanent nose piercing.
And this time I won’t get it done and the proceed to take it out every time I go back home for fear of making mum cry. A piercing should be allowed to settle in for six weeks uninterrupted. If relentlessly taken out and put back in again to avoid a vigilant mother it will go septic and make your nostril flare unattractively. A nostrillectomy could be necessary and this would not be good thing.
I am going to:
Hang round the bus shelter.
No, I don’t smoke! I am holding it for my mate. Why if it’s ok to hang round the telephone box, is it not okay to also hang around the bus shelter? Concrete is not a corrupting force!
Go on the back of a motorbike.
Being on the back of motorbike is the only way I can get home after the last bus at EIGHT THIRTY has left the nearest town. Would you rather I slept rough? It does not mean I am a devil-worshipping crack whore Hell’s Angel. I just need a lift!
All this I am tenuously linking to my parents achievement of staying together for forty years. It has nothing to do with the fact that my mum has phoned me twice today to tell me what to do.
Nothing whatsoever.
