Sic Transit...

The crown Prince of Japan, an extremely erudite man, spent some time at Oxford.

The story goes that when he went for his interview, which mostly consisted of having dinner with the Master of Balliol, the following exchange took place.

Now Balliol regards itself as rather grand, a bit like the second regiment of the Gurkhas, or just about any Guards regiment.

At dinner, which was proceeding most smoothly, as you would imagine, the Master was making conversation and said to HRH " I've always been fascinated with Japan and it's culture and spiritual life. How exactly does the Royal Family fit into that?"

" Well," said the prince," There are, for instance, two sides to my position."

" How interesting, and what would they be?"

" Naturally, there is the temporal, which clearly defines my position as next in line to the throne."

" Of course, " said the Master, with an unctious smile." And the other?"

" The other is the spiritual, which, from my point of view, means I am a god."

" Ah, yes, I see, " said the Master." In that case, I'm sure you will feel very at home at Balliol."

A fairytale romance..?

Back to Glasgow and some better weather.
Things here in the underworld are getting a little sticky.
Glasgow has always been known for it's "gangs" but of course these are just the footmen for the knights, lords, earls,dukes and kings behind them.
Sometimes a footman gets the better of himself and then things become somewhat hairy.
Jimmy, for it is he, many years ago did some odd things in Ireland, and to this day frequents a pub called the Crystal Bells on Glasgow's Gallowgate. It is entirely untrue to suggest it is an IRA drinking den.
Now Jimmy had a lady-love ( Senga - in case you don't know this is Agnes backwards. It's like houses and pubs that are called NIA ROO. This is OUR AIN backwards. Got that?)
Senga, like many a lass, had her head turned by the wealth and power of Sean, and dropped Jimmy for greener pastures.
But inside Senga's breast her attachment to Jimmy never left her, and after yet another enormous row, she dumped Sean.
Now Sean is one of the high ups in charge of various taxi firms in the town and connected to the Crystal Bells ( you need to keep up and make the connections yourself.)
Senga phones Jimmy, begs forgiveness, tells him she is finished with Sean, and can they meet - in another pub which shall remain nameless. Jimmy goes along, and he and Senga start chatting and canoodling - and then Sean walks in, alerted by just about everyone in Glasgow who he had told to let him know where Senga was.
Sean slaps Jimmy about the face a couple of times and tells him to leave Senga alone, or Sean will set about Jimmy in no uncertain terms. In order to save Jimmy from a worse fate, Senga tells him to go. Jimmy agrees, and goes to the loo to tidy up a bit.
Only he bursts out ten seconds later brandishing the knife he had down the inside of his sock, and stabs Sean 53 times, all the time shouting " Set aboot me? I'll show ya set aboot me, ya ***@@^!"
In the ensuing mayhem Jimmy escapes, leaving behind the knife sticking out of Sean.
When the police arrive,they are able to get half a dozen witnesses, DNA and fingerprints off the knife, and promptly put an APB arrest warrant for Jimmy.
That was six weeks ago. Jimmy discussed with his lawyer trying for self defence (even to lawyers and criminals with flexible minds, 53 stabs is a bit much for self defence - 8 or ten yes, but not 53...)but the lawyer said the best bet was to turn himself in.
Jimmy, of course, is heartbroken - not that he killed Sean but that Senga will now have nothing to do with him.
So the for the last 6 weeks he has been wandering around Glasgow from house to house as various relatives go away for a few days, but blind drunk most of the time.
It hasn't stopped him drinking in a large number of pubs causing problems,nor ending up in the Crystal Bells shouting he could batter any one present.
He even turned up at a police station one night when he had forgotten which house he was supposed to be hiding in and asked them to put him up for the night. As he was clearly totally drunk, the police refused to take him in,so he sat on the pavement outside and went to sleep - from which the police roused him about 7am.
But here's the thing - why are none of Sean's associates after Jimmy, and why are the police ( who would appear to be taking urgent and stringent steps to arrest him) not got him yet?
Could it be connected with various taxis being set alight in the night and the police being very grateful for Sean's death?
As Bubble would say in AbFab " Who can say..?"

Is anybody listening out there?

Far be it for me to suggest the NHS is not quite as good as it might be, but then, I am only a humble user of it.
I have a thingy growing above my lip ( no, its not a mustache) and I have had a couple of similar " lesions" removed before now ( chin, earlobe) because they get in the way and eventually start getting nicked when shaving and bleed everywhere.
So I popped along for my appointment at the brand spanking new Victoria Hospital in Glasgow this morning.
It's a fantastic building. The only problem was they forgot to connect the drains which set it back a few months...
At the appointed hour ( 08:50) at Clinic B there was no one to be seen. I nipped next door to Clinic C, and when I said there was nobody about, I was met with a shrug of the shoulders.
About 09:10 a wee wumin asked if I was waiting for anyone. I showed her my appointment letter. She looked at me. She went behind the desk got a file out, read it, then pointed at a cubicle.
" In there and take your top off - Doctor will be along shortly"
Now I did think it a bit strange that I had to take my top off, but hey, they are the professionals.
After another 10 minutes or so, a very dapper gent arrived with a file, opened it, read a line or two, shut it, then prodded me in the ribs.
" Hm can't see anything there. Where is it.?"
" Where's what?"
" The growth on your rib - is it internal?"
Now there were three possibilities that leapt to mind. Either there was someone else needing a lump cut out of their rib ( and I was damned sure I wasn't going to let them do that to me) or my own doctor had sent other details.
Or the person who had taken the details from my own doctor was deaf - they are forced to employ people with various disabilities nowadays to meet their PC quota.
" Er actually it's not me with the rib problem. Mine's on my LIP."
" Nothing like a rib. Wait here."
He came back with the wee wumin who turned out to be his nurse.
A general discussion ensued which established
a) I was the patient they were supposed to see.
b) It was definitely my rib that was the problem - as per their paperwork.
I kept pointing at my lip, but the doc went on about the exploratory operation I would need before he could be sure about the lump ( what lump?) and how to deal with it.
" Look," I eventually said," There's nothing wrong with my rib. Are you going to look at my lip or not?"
" NO," they said in unison. " That's not in our targets"
" Right, I will go away and start all over again."
" Well that means you will have refused treatment," said the wee wumin, severely, " and when you ask again to get your lumpy rib taken care of we will be within our rights to refuse treatment."
As I left, I heard the doc say " Well that's our target for lumpy ribs met anyway."
My only worry now is that if I ever DO have a problem with my rib, I may die of it before they will deal with it.