Bloody Bill from Broxburn

I drop the car off this morning at the garage to get the new sunroof, so after a quick and not so big breakfast at Mcdonalds, the breakfast of champions I get on the bus to Ocean Terminal.

Nothing unusual with this, it is an every day occurence for thousands of passengers in every major city in the country. Except, I get the bus driver that thinks that he is the Stig. This of course is impossible as I'm the Stig.

He is slinging the bus around and I fear that a traffic island has been obliterated as he accelerates out the apex of Gambon.

When Bus Stig, lets me off at Ocean Terrible (it is at this time of year), I am feeling particularly shaken, not from fear, but from being thrown around the back seat.

I am therefore unable to confirm whether or not the man that I saw wearing pink pyjamas underneath your classic brown flasher raincoat was a figment of my imagination or was actually real.

Erring on the side of caution, I would suggest that he was real as I am not prone to hallucinations without intervention from external substances.

I do some Christmas shopping and by my eldest daughter a mummy and baby panda, plus a panda book for her christmas as she has swapped her obsession with owls to pandas it would seem. I can safely say this in the journal as she stopped reading it somewhere around the time that I insulted my mother in law so terribly.

I get to the till in waterstones and the slightly balding man says with a stutter "kkkk, you juuuusssstttt neeed some bambooo t- ttttt go with ttthhhahhat"

I'm dying to go "G, G, G Granville".... but I settle instead for saying "right, a little book shop panda humour there mate, love what you did there, bamboo, funny"

Leaving the shop, I head back through the centre to where the nice ladies from the charity stall offer to wrap my presents for a donation. I think this is a great concept as clearly all men are incapable of wrapping unless they like soft furnishings and can't catch or throw.

The elderly lady says "oh my, what have you got in there, an elephant". I am amazed at the skills of her mind, as I was like "wow, you were close, its a panda". She replies that she knew that it was some sort of stuffed animal based on the shape of the bag.

Seriously, are you Yoday ? In fairness, she looked a bit Yoda-Esk, but hey don't all these old people just look the same.

We have some banter, I flirt unashamedly with the jaggy bonnet brigade, hit the gym for a mid day workout and then meet up with Connie for a chick flick that she wanted to see.

I send this text to my mate John, 4.06pm "J, Went to the movies with COnnie to see some chick flick, however I have a question. Is it wrong for a man to cry at the death of De-Niro". I have yet to get a reply.

After the new year film, I am desperate for a pee, except the man in the toilet is letting his small women child run about the mens and both the stalls are full. Does this look like a creche mate and for goodness sake how long does it take you to drain the main vane and get your slightly elder (and capable of looking after herself for five minutes OUTSIDE the gents) child out of my way so that I can pee. You always need a good pee after a bubble, well hypothetically of course, not that I would ever cry at a chick flick, well not since Titanic.

I get back on the bus to go and collect the car and luckily I now have Stig's fat american cousin as a driver which is lucky. We take a sedate tour of the city, before ending back at the pit of the known universe known as Gorgie to collect the car.

On the way however, I think that I may have accidently sung the lyric "banging on the bongo's like a chimpanzee" out loud. I have a txt conversation with Grant and ask him if he wants to meet up for lunch soon and who he was going to London with, he replies "Sound mate! Let's shoot for 19th! Just Anna's pals and Rents!G"

It took me the good part of a minute to realise that he hadn't gone all Trainspotting on me "we called him mother superior due to the length of his habit", before I realised that by Rents, he actually meant Parents.

Finally, I read in the Metro that Bill from Broxburn agrees that the Big Man from yesterday's update should be charged as he just can't go around assaulting people. Well Bill from Broxburn, you won't be saying that when a gang of neds are standing outside your driveway of your nice semi, setting your wheelie bin on fire, sticking their empty bags of glue and white lightninng in your hedge. No, then, Bill from Broxburn, you will be right down that local committee meeting demanding that action be taken, because you've called the police and they are far to busy arresting innocent Big Men on trains to attend to your trivial spirit crushing problem.

So Bill from Broxburn, how about you just go back to Countdown, feeding your twelve cats, wearing beige and concentrate on completing today's suduko.