…once the Celtic music’s in yer blood, it’s with yeez for life…

kilt 2

… the first time I ever wore a kilt was when I was sixteen years old… a newly arrived lad from the slums of Dockland Govan in Glasgow to the idyllic Hebridean Island of Mull, tucked in there just across from Oban in the Scottish Western Highlands… that first kilt was a helluva lot slimmer than the current version I sport nowadays, fifty years later… sum’where along the way back then, I’d been cajoled into learning how to sing in Gaelic (didn’t take much arm-twisting, truth be told), allocated a couple of LUVLY schoolteaching ma’ams, one for the Celtic music and one for the Gaelic language, in order to enter the annual local competition, singing in the tongue of the Gods, in what’s known as the Gaelic Mod Festival… I seemed to wear both the kilt and the singing of the language with relative ease, winning several of the local prizes on that virgin outing… the remarkable thing was that I had to compete against native speakers, but because I was actually studying the WURDS, the sentiment, the feelings, sum’how that came across as the winning renditions… no one was more surprised than myself, and even more shocked when told, that now, as the local flag-bearer, I had to go to the National Mod, held in Glasgow that year to compete against all the other local regional winners… it may only be understood by those who’ve been there and felt it, but the sense of occasion in what was the old St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow was awesome… I made it to the finals and sang as one of my test pieces a beautiful song called ‘Mo Mhathair’… translated it means , ‘My Mother’...

crofter lady

…it contains all the wonderful sentiment that the Celt carries in respect for his parents… I won and can honestly say it was one of the proudest moments of my life… we were obliged to sing, without musical accompaniment, into a hall filled with over two thousand people… the walls were clad in panelled wood, and the uncanny experience of hearing yer own voice reverberate back is a never-to-be-forgotten occasion (back then my tenor delivery was obviously much stronger, truer, and clearer than it sounds today)… sadly, for reasons we need not dwell on here, it was the only time my Mam and Da ever heard me sing live… a treasured moment… I don’t have a copy of my own singing of it, but attached below is a clip of the same song, sung by the renowned Mod Gold Medallist, Calum Kennedy whose fame among Scots is legendary… I hope yeez get a wee sense of the beauty in the music, even if the language is unfamiliar to yer ears… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…je talk Francais very bien, thank you beaucoup…


…I s’pose enuff water has passed under the proverbial bridge since the following true account, that merely changing the names to protect the guilty will suffice to ward off a lawsuit for my telling of it… in an early passage in my banking career in the Far East, my immediate boss was a Frenchman… and one of a certain breed of person who wouldn’t listen to what he was being advised …on anything!… (not confined, this, to my Gaul-ish associates, by the way)…


…yeez all know people like this… no matter what indisputable evidence yeez place in front of them, they know different… they know better…they just… just… know!… the kind that tell yeez  ‘when I want yer advice, I’ll give it to yeez’… well, the Peerless Pierre was down to make a business trip encompassing various parts of Scandinavia, principally in Norway and Sweden… his P.A., a remarkably intelligent lady, and one, it must be said, deserving of a long-serving-patience award, offered to draft an itinerary and to order the tickets accordingly… mais Non!… this homme would ‘ave none of it… ‘I ‘ave always ‘andled my own ‘oliday travel arrangements, and am quite capable of ‘andling theez business ‘ere…’ …the outcome eventually became the stuff of corporate legend… it’s not known where the ‘lost-in-translation’ element kicked in ’twixt Pierre’s priceless pummelling of pidgin English and his choice of linguistically-challenged Chinese travel agent… but… instead of a transit passage via Copenhagen, sum’how our latter-day French Marco Polo routed through Amsterdam, got a 15-hour fog delay… and shuttled off to Helsinki


The Case of The Missing Executive became the Talk of the Water Cooler as chasers started to arrive from concerned bankers in other institutions in Scandinavia who had been expecting him… his emulation of the Invisible Man caused not a few titters around the place and even into the Boardroom, where some wag hazarded a guess that the bold Pierre ‘didn’t know his Aarhus from his Oslo’… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…a trio of crime thriller gems by a 24-carat writer from the Emerald Isle… Authoress, Brid Wade…

…yeez all know by now, I’m inundated with gazillions of terrific pals on the internet… tons of quill-scrapers, and that most precious of breeds… readers… an Author pal, Brid Wade delights me by agreeing to render a Guest Blog piece… a glance through the reviews section on her Amazon-listed Matt Costello mysteries tells yeez I’m not the only one who  admires her WURK… have a peek at what she’s sent me…


I remember, as a very young girl, reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It terrified the living daylights out of me, and I loved it. Likewise with TV drama, movies, etc. Anything that shocked, I was there.

As time has passed, and I’ve experienced the ups and downs of life, I’ve discovered that there’s more absorbing drama in the real world than fiction could ever capture. It leaves its mark in sad eyes, angry frowns, dampened spirits and the reluctant acceptance that ‘s..t happens’. Most people have unresolved issues that colour their lives. What the world needs is an equaliser … like Matt Costello.

When I began the Matt Costello Mystery series of novels, I wanted to redress the image of Ireland as the drug-soaked, brutal culture depicted in hard core crime fiction. I don’t deny that this exists in pockets around the country, but it’s not my Ireland.

So, I created Matt Costello, a clean-cut, kind-hearted ex-cop turned PI. He’s a modern man, a separated father of two, a sneaky smoker and, naturally, fond of a pint of Guinness. His offices, in the Dublin suburb of Fairview, are managed by his daughter, Clare. But his cases often take him away from the capital into rural areas where, because he’s an outsider, he’s likely to meet resistance. However, Matt has a way about him. It manifests in an easy charm and the art of conversation.

In Watchers, the first book, Matt’s brief is simply to visit the site of recently-discovered human remains. The victim, a young woman, has been found in the grounds of a private estate in Kilkenny. Matt’s friend and colleague, solicitor, Dennis Hegarty, wants him to check for possible liability attached to the landowners – his clients, who have lived abroad for many years. Soon it becomes clear that the remains are those of a missing woman, last seen hitching a lift on the outskirts of Dublin. She is one of ten linked to a serial killer. who has eluded capture for many years – one Matt left behind when he resigned from the Force.

Watchers by Brid Wade - 200


This time, all he can do is watch from the sidelines as the investigation gets underway. But, a few question about the estate and its history arise. The answers open up other mysteries Matt’s inquisitive nature can’t ignore. Inevitably, he is drawn back into the hunt for the killer.

New Sleeping Dogs by Brid Wade - 200

Sleeping Dogs is the follow-up novel and continues Matt’s story, introducing new characters, who will re-appear in subsequent books. The third book, Wild Justice was released in October this year.

Wild Justice by Brid Wade - 200

Matt is an irresistibly endearing character. He’s not slick, nor does he have all the answers, but he’s a cool and clever detective who will go that extra mile to bring justice.

…thanks for this, Brid… and fabulous covers, m’Lady!……yeez can catch up with the LUVLY Brid here:



People In ProfileBríd Wade (8/9/2013) – KCLR 96FM


…see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…the Big Bid for Infant Freedom… and the dire consequences lurking thereby…

…from the outset, this ol’ Jurassic would like to make it clear that I’m not a strong advocate for needless wholesale corporate punishment… but there are times when the  administration of… of… well… just read on… it’s almost a ‘once-upon-a-time’ true story… over 60 years ago, when Master Gallacher was possessed of all the WURLD-ly knowledge available to a wee five-year-old lad from Dockland Govan in Glasgow… my even wee-er sister was all of three-and-a-half, going on forty… with money always scarce, Mam and Da rarely went out on a date together back then, but on one such blue-moon event, they went off to the cinema (I think it was after the silent movies era, but I couldn’t swear to it)… a very, very, very much older girl of around fourteen or fifteen was detailed to babysit the pair of us… the trouble started the minute the door closed on our parents’ over-the shoulder ‘goodbye…see yeez later’… it was only about 5 p.m., and we generally didn’t go to bed until at least 8 or 9 o’clock… we wanted to build a cardboard box fort around the legs of our tiny dining table… the sitter, Helen Foster by name, resisted all our efforts to construct our castle… we squealed, we screeched, we screamed… proper little brats, truth be known… eventually, when Ms Foster’s back was turned, we made it… the Big Bid for Freedom


…hand-in-hand, this infant Govan version of Bonnie and Clyde bolted through the door and off down the street… the budding Evil Mastermind in me had a plan… about four streets away the River Clyde presented a playground universe… particularly in the form of the free ferries that crossed from the Govan side across to the Partick side of Glasgow… the service shuttled forth and back every 8 minutes… a passengers-only fleet, and more attractive, the vehicular ferry

car ferry

…this was the craft of kids’ dreams… ‘coz it had an upstairs deck with railings from which to scan the length of the Govan shipyards… magic land indeed… we scampered aboard the big boat and stayed there for what seemed like hours, heedless of the panic we’d left behind with the Forlorn Foster Witch… about ten o’clock, we docked on the Govan side for the umpteenth time, and there waiting for us were Mam and Da, and the tearful Ms Foster… the editor should prob’ly draw a curtain over the punishment proceedings when we arrived home… suffice to say, my sister and I had hardly any skin left on our respective criminal backsides when we went to bed…


…did we suffer mental anguish for the rest of our lives from that?… not a bit of it!… if it had happened in these modern times, with all the P.C. nonsense that swills around, we could prob’ly have had Mam and Da locked up in jail for centuries… I reckon I’m the better respecter of proper authority nowadays… but I’m still a bit leary of boats… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…Happy 1,293rd Birthday, George, the piano-player!…

…this ol’ Jurassic is an absolute adoree of human ingenuity… and the simpler it’s manifested, the better… about thirty-plus years ago, when I lived in Hong Kong in the Far East, I did what tons of yer fellow expatriates did around holiday break time… headed off for the (then) relatively unknown Thai beach resort of Pattaya… only to find that all the people yeez were trying to have a vacation away from were billeted in the same Hotel as yerself… the particular place chosen to cradle my head each evening was the Royal Cliff Hotel… much activity back then spun around the absorption of impossibly-named cocktails and gallons of Tom Yum soup… I’ve never figured out which is more deadly to yer intestinal nethers… I have no idea whether or not the Hotel still exists, but we holiday-seekers used to ponder if the location on the cliff, a hundred metres above the beach, was  there to allow the German tourists (those muscle-ripped beach Adones…plural of ’Adonis’, Mabel) to throw their towels from their bedroom windows onto the reservable deck chairs below before any of the rest of yeez could get down there each morning… but back to the human ingenuity… most evenings, the entertainment consisted of continued imbibement, and perhaps a snack of scampi, in the Hotel’s lounge and piano-bar area… one of the fixtures was a wonderfully gregarious supper-lounge piano player from the Philippines… George


…an accomplished musician with funny lines of patter in between the tunes, some of which he played on request… these requests normally came with free drinks accompaniments from the Requestees… on the Wednesday evening, George told us he was gonna play ‘Happy Birthday’ for himselftoday was his birthday!… of course much applause and raucous joining in was de rigueur… and needless to say, a plentiful further supply of free drinks for George… as it turned out, my stay stretched into a second week at the Royal Cliff… most other folks usually only stayed there for a week… and it also coincided with my presence at the lounge bar the next Wednesday evening…. behold and lo, about ten o’clock, George announced that he was going to play ‘Happy Birthday’for himself!… I nearly choked on my plate of scampi and fell off my seat laughing… George noticed me and realised that I knew, that he knew, that I knew… a conspiratorial wink and another room full of patrons lifting the roof to my rapidly-ageing, ivories-tinkling friend saw the predictable pipeline of drinks ferried toward the piano top… so this coming Wednesday, please join me in a raised glass and a toast… Happy 1,293rd Birthday, George, the piano-player!…




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Man on the Run

Seumas Gallacher:

…food for thought for we ‘after-bus-sprinting-non-teenagers’ types… from my pal Mac Logan…

Originally posted on Mac Logan writes:

“Whenever I feel like exercise, I lie down until the feeling passes.” Robert M. Hutchins

I can sprint as fast as Usain Bolt. 

At least it felt that way the other day when I had an opportunity to put my legs through their paces.

When I damaged my medial ligament, a few weeks before, I discovered a new source of pain. The healing was slow, hurting like a toothache-of-the-knee any time it had a spot of exercise.

Ready… Steady…

On the day of my sprint I arrived at the big Park-and-Ride at the north of the Forth Bridge and spotted the express bus to Edinburgh coming in close behind me. For the first time ever, I found a parking space within fifty yards of the terminal. With it came the opportunity to catch the transport and get back on schedule. Only one hassle, walking wasn’t an option? …

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…(yet another) daft Amazon anti-Authors ROOL, #127(d), (amended)…

…this ol’ Jurassic may not be blessed with the monopoly of wee grey braincells in the publishing industry…. but I’ll bet yeez a pound to a penny my cranium houses more than the collective intelligence of the whizz-kid geniuses in the Amazon ROOLS and reg’lations division… fr’instance, about a year or so ago I threw some Collections of my Blogposts on to the Kindle wagon, and they attracted some pleasing downloads… until I received notice from Aunty Amazon’s legal beagles demanding their immediate withdrawal… the grounds?… some of the stuff in these publications was already in the public domain… well, of course they were, as each item in the collection had appeared at one time or another on my webpage as a blog post! duh!!… oh, that wasn’t so much the issue… more germane to their demand was that as these were already in the public domain, they constituted ‘free copies’‘so what?’ I hear yeez ask… their reply was the ‘so what’ constituted a price offering ‘elsewhere’ at lower than the cost of the collections, and Aunty Amazon would have to match that lower cost… i.e. zero!… following me so far?… plus, if I didn’t withdraw the collections, any royalties earned to date would be forfeited… and my entire Author relationship account could also be revoked!… needless to say, rather than go through the back-and-forth-debate on the subject, after about four exchanges to explain that it was all my own stuff, I reluctantly took the collections off the lists… never to be allowed to have them back on there again… daft, huh?… the reason for telling yeez this today is that it occurred to me earlier that it might be a neat idea to serialise little slices of my SELF-PUBLISHING STEPS TO SUCCESSFUL SALES as blog posts… huge no-no!… same deal… ‘freely available elsewhere on the web’… and here was me thinking that Amazon was in business to try to make money for itself and its Authors… silly Seumas!… maybe I’m missing sum’thing, sum’where, in all this… solutions please on the back of a hundred dollar bill to my usual address will suffice… meantime, the non-serialised version is available here (but yeez’ll have to  fork out a King’s Ransom price of around the cost of a Starbucks to download it)… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



UK: http://amzn.to/Qq2c3y

US: http://amzn.to/1lt6bcv



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