Mindless

I've just heard that veritable bottomless well of film knowledge and chief Shadowplayer David Cairns has been assaulted by some mindless little shits. I hear he's OK, but what a shitty thing to happen. Wishing my best to him and hope they catch the little fuckers. If there's something I hate with every fibre of my being, it's a bully.

I used to live in Leith, near to David, and heard and saw some unpleasant doings (more often heard in the middle of the night) and know how ropey Leith can be. It's still a great place but is also inhabited by the weird and sometimes downright bastardish lower forms of Scottish life. Some friends and I were once witness to some girls screaming obscenities at a couple of teenage lads as we went to the shops after a late beer. We emerged from the shop to see two of them across the road in full view of Leith Walk in a bus shelter, definitely no longer shouting at each other. She certainly couldn't shout with her mouth full, anyway.

Nice. Sunshine on Leith? I don't fucking think so.

There are things I love and miss about Leith. And then I'm reminded all too often about the things I hated about the place. It was once twinned with Rio de Janeiro, you know. There was a sign as you drove down Leith Walk. My wife and I couldn't help but wipe away tears of laughter away when we saw it. Delusion seems to be an important part of some sections of the Scottish psyche. Not to say that it's not a beautiful place, but priorities usually seem askew.

Again, good wishes to David but don't let this incident tempt you to the works of Michael Winner (unless it's a repeat viewing of his Chris Rea opus, Parting Shots).

Ticker Update and My Own Stupidity

I got a few nice messages from some friends when I posted about my experience with a 24 hour heart monitor back in November. Well, by default, I can now say that I'm fine. I say default as a letter wasn't sent to me by my doctor as there was nothing to tell me. Except that I'm fine. So, for two months of worry and stress about the possibility of heart disease, turns out I'm fine and it's likely down to stress. My local practice told me that they don't send out letters to patients as they'd be doing it all day and it's the hospital's job. The hospital say it's the practice's responsibility. Somewhere, there are patients wandering about in a confused daze.

Idiots.

I got a few more details when I contacted my local GP and the receptionist read out the letter, or mumbled it to me. It might have been a Ventricular Ectopic beat, where the heart's lower chamber can jump sometimes. For folks with heart disease, it's a harbinger of doom. For folks without heart disease, cut down on the stress and caffeine. And booze. I fall into the latter category, thankfully. Due my family history, I get my blood pressure checked regularly and all is well.

Relieving to know. I might also cut down on the booze as I had a few extra at the weekend and wound up leaving my bag in a taxi, containing my notebook (pretty fucking necessary for a writer, don't you think?), DVDs bought in the January sales (No Country for Old Men and another Cagney box set), my glasses and my digital camera which cost me £130 a year ago. Was I angry at myself? Yer right I was. Fuckybaws. But entirely my own fault. This Saturday's trip to Glasgow might be a sober one. I've not made my mind up avout that yet.

The Cagney viewings will continue, however, as the lost box set was cheap enough to buy again. I'm also going to be following David Cairns' new weekly Hitchcock blogs, watching as many Hitch flicks as I can on a weekly basis. If you love films, I can't recommend David's blog enough. Go and check it out.

So, time to forget about material loss - there are far worse things which can happen. Onwards with the writing, film watching and film making.