Something for the Weekend – No 244

by duncanr

I was 19 yr old – a long, long time ago now – when I fell in love with Melanie

her voice sent shivers down my spine – I still reckon her cover of the Rolling Stones “Ruby Tuesday” is far better than the original !

if you want to listen again to previous weekend songs, go to the ‘category filter’ on the side bar and select ‘something for weekend’ from the drop down list

feel free, too, to sharr a sample of wha you are listening to this weekend in a comment to this post


21 Comments to “Something for the Weekend – No 244”

  1. One of my all-time favourite songs, Duncan.

    But, I admit to preferring the original – even if Mick Jagger does look like a cross between Rowan Atkinson and Doc Martin in the video !


  2. At least there’s someone prettier than Mick in this one


  3. ratty is a man of his word . . .


  4. here’s Melanie with one of her own compositions . . .


  5. This week’s Indian offering . . . but, in a first for MH, with dance moves explained.


    • What a thoroughly bizarre programme that was.


      • certainly was!

        can’t believe BBC would commission such a ‘comedy’ show these days

        apart from offending the welsh, the scots, asians, and gays with it’s pantomime like, stereotype portrayal of characters that would be hard to defend against charge of racism and homophobia, it was an absolute shite programme – school boy humour masquerading as comedy, that seldom raised a smile, never mind a laugh, when I unfortunately watched an episode!


        • Unfortunately, that summed up a lot of the half-hour comedy TV of the time – ‘Are you being served?’ is another prime example of lazy, formulaic script-writing masquerading as comedy, in order to fill TV airtime.

          Equally unfortunately; add a sprinkling of PC awareness, and the same is true of a lot of so-called comedy these days. Have you ever tried watching ‘Citizen Khan’? Fuck me! It puts ‘Keeping up appearances’ to shame for being mindless drivel.

          I don’t get too bothered about the stereotyping angle of such ancient shows – they were a product of their time, and things have moved on. There were plenty of shows of that era that managed to portay Scots, Blacks, Gays, Upper class twits etc. to humourous effect without resorting to school playground sniggering humour. ‘Porridge’ is a prime example.


  6. ratty supported himself as best he could. He found that by taking his weight on both his backside and his ankles, he could avoid the skinless backs of his badly slapped legs from making contact with the cold steel of the Correctional Centre’s rehabilitation table.

    It had been some hours now since answering that midnight knock on the door, where he was confronted by two men, one wearing a white beard, the other of a shortish stature who reached only to door knob level. Both men were attired in jackboots and wore riot gear complete with plastc visored helmets. The breast of their tunics bore the dreaded, gold-braided letters BEGAHD (British Enforcement of Government Approved Humour – spelt-rite-with-a-fucking-u-in-it – Department).

    ratty was stripped and placed in white, baggy, elastic-waisted trousers and a strait jacket was firmly tied in place. In a further humiliation he became aware that his personal identity nad been removed and had been replaced by the number R80.

    Hanging upside down from a ceiling hook in the re-education room, he had been informed that he was in custody for contravening protocol on a politically correct blog and would be detained until he fell in line with the thoughts and principles dictated by “those who knew better.”

    Now, footsteps could be heard approaching the table. -ratty- R80 felt the electrodes being attached to his temples. Before even the first mind-numbing shock ran through his brain, ratty had resolved to not conform to their enforced political correctness – and would continue to post whatever he fucking liked.

    “Hear, hear,” said a dead Japanese tramp, on the next trolley, clutching a half-eaten burger.


  7. oooh!

    Get you, dear!

    Face it, mate. It was shite!

    Along with Terry and June, Man about the House, the Cuckoo Waltz, Love thy Neighbour (spelt-rite-with-a-fucking-u-in-it), On the Buses and a host of others.


    Irrespective of whether or not they offend modern-day poseurs; from a comedy point of view, they were . . .

    . . . wait for it . . .

    . . . wait for it . . .

    . . . wait for it . . .


    Now get changed out of those baggy white pants and into something decent, steal a tenner from Dunc’s wallet and let’s go to the pub – it’s your round.


  8. “Chek ya ha bit lata on bruvers,” said r80, waving to the automaton, expressionless, Correctional Facility guards.

    Then, nursing the deep burns to his temples, took tentative steps on his weak and wobbly legs in the direction of the gates situated in the barbed-wire perimiter fence.

    “Fanks fe showin me da east side path an’ transformin me into da nondescript, British citizun and condescendin memba hof society wiv no individuality, fer I iz cured now hof any individual fought,” he contimued, in his newly acquired, PC correct, tongue.

    Once the gates closed behind him, ratty’s features contorted into a Clockwork Orange grin . . .


  9. “We’ll have to watch that one” said the small(ish) but perfectly formed correctional operative to his Caledonian counterpart.

    “Aye! Ye dinnae need tae remind me. The wee bastard had it awa wi a tenner oot ma wallet!” came the indignant reply.

    “an’ the fooken alarm on it was set! An’ the bluidy combination lock!”

    The (slightly) smaller man’s eyes narrowed. There was a small(ish) sound, followed by the sound of sniffing and a slight (but perfectly formed) odour.

    His eyes un-narrowed again.

    “Release the surveillance drone, and programme it to follow him” he said, shortly.

    “Ah cannae. The bastard’s nicked that as well.” . . .

    Liked by 1 person

    • ratty peered through the false lashes of his left eye (his other, lazy eye, was fast asleep) to ensure he was not being observed. He raised his white bowler hat and extracted from it a fly-on-the-wall camera attached to a helium filled condom, the both of which he had previously wrapped in a moth-eaten, pre-war ten pound note that had recently come into his posession . . .


  10. You people still watch television? What in the name of Satan’s spicy anus for?


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