Colcam

So there we have it. The new Freedom Tower to be built in New York is going to be the safest skyscraper in the world. Why? Because it has been "hurriedly redesigned". Well, that should fill everybody with confidence!

Remember what they said about the Titanic?

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I have spent a couple of nights browsing on BlogExplosion, and I found an enormous number of political blogs from the United States listed, with the neo-conservative ones far outnumbering (in my opinion) the more liberal offerings.

Reading some entries from both camps, I was struck by the sheer venom expressed, in both posts and comments, mainly (again in my opinion) from the extreme right wing, pro-war, so called Christian faction, who seem convinced that anyone who is not politically and religiously of their persuasion hates their country and wishes to see its downfall. The bile and hostility expressed, the sheer malevolence that seems to exist in some of these people, is truly shocking to me.

I know that there are huge numbers of American citizens who do not hold these extreme views, and are equally disturbed and disgusted by these fanatics. Really, I am not really sure I should be commenting.

The UK people, thankfully, although also divided on matters of war, and the rights and wrongs of whether we should be in Iraq or not, and many other issues, manage to disagree without the same degree of hate for the opposing view, and seldom invoke religion as a factor.

On a more light hearted note, I couldn't resist posting THIS rather amusing piece from Utterpants, and would suggest that our Glorious Queen Liz has taken an appropriate form of action.

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This Link to G8 Summit : "Beware the 4th of July", in the Daily Record, 24 June '05. And this to The Scotsman, "Fears as Anarchist Groups Threaten to Disrupt March", 24 June '05.

Jeremy Butler wants a girlfriend, and has come up with this idea. Form an orderly queue ladies. I hope he's successful and doesn't get knocked over in the rush.

The kids at Coloma Convent Girls' School in Croydon, London, meanwhile, are outraged by the Playboy symbol. With prudish attitudes like this, when they decide the time has come for a serious relationship, marriage and all that stuff, I would think that the only way they will succeed is by setting up a stall in the market and offering to PAY some poor guy to take them out.

Or marry a celibate priest.

The teaching staff in this case don't seem to understand what the pupils are making a fuss about, and have not objected to the offending items, such as pencil cases, rubbers and notebooks bearing the Playboy logo, being brought to school.

A more normal situation exists in Dorset. The head teacher at a school there has been affected by the heat and has come over all Victorian and modest, imposing a ban on the wearing of skirts to school. A few short years ago other teachers were banning trousers.

Crazy teachers I am used to hearing about - I personally know quite a few, and even have an occasional pint with them just to be amused at some of their weird views, but when kids start taking on Taleban-like symptoms things are just getting too topsy-turvy for me.

While Bush and Rumsfeld up the propaganda briefings, looking more desperate by the day, more grim news that proves the lie.

Not surprisingly, the rabble-rouser has popped up again where he is assured of a considerable dose of cheap publicity. George Galloway always crawls out of the woodwork when the "self seek" alarm goes off in his head.

His latest outburst, proclaiming the right to march at the G8 summit at Gleneagles Hotel, is clever. Close to the bone, but not quite enough to be called "incitement." It doesn't take much reading between the lines to see what he is hoping for.

The protests will go ahead with or without Galloway hijacking and capitalizing on them for his own ends. He should shut up and take care of his constituents in the East End of London - but that doesn't bring him publicity.

More chance, Michael, of Saddam Hussein becoming the next Pope.

Is it not about time for this plonker Henman to retire and give us all a break? Especially those of us in Scotland who don't give a toss about Wimbledon, and especially him, but never hear the end of how this year or that year is going to be the big breakthrough for him.

OK, I agree he gave us a laugh this time with his little tantrums. I bet all the half baked snobs watching were delighted at being cursed as he headed towards defeat. Seriously though, the girl who brought him his Coke really should have kicked him hard in the tennis balls.

G-Force 3.0 for Mac
from Soundspectrum

the Iraq war, honest, really. Everything's fine. It is, it is.

Steal it then sell it on E-Bay. I am constantly amazed by the sheer dumbness of small time criminals. It would be hilarious if it wasn't for the misery they cause to the victim. This guy is probably still wondering how they managed to catch him. Duh!

It's late, my tiny brain has been frazzled all day, and I am too bloody tired to think. Under the circumstances, another foto of Kaspy the Collie, sleeping therefore behaving.

G'nite.



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The price of not having a republic Britain has just been published. Apparently it costs the public 61 pence a year to keep the Queen and her family and all the assorted hangers on who surround her. It doesn't sound much, but I would rather put my contribution in my piggy bank.

A 73 year old grandfather describes how he killed the leopard which attacked him.

Get over it, Tom, it was water, not sulphuric acid. A few years ago you would have been thanking someone up above for the free publicity.

If I were in his shoes, I would be more upset at the recent comment from Brooke Shields, who is starring in the musical Chicago, while talking about Tom Cruise (42) dating Katie Holmes (26). "If he wants to see Chicago I've left him two tickets - one adult, one child".

Ouch!
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The lawyer involved in the "Saucy Tale" has resigned, somewhat embarrassed at the stooshie caused by his dry cleaning bill. Not very fair. With the poor chap only earning £150,000 a year, you can certainly understand him needing the four quid.

Idiot!
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Kaspy the Collie.

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Jack McConnell, First Minister of the Scottish Parliament, visited Malawi last month and pledged up to £3m a year in aid to that country and others in the region. The money would come from the executive's international development fund. The public have raised more than £20,000 since McConnell launched a public appeal.

Commendable? Perhaps. More likely another foolish act from Jack. Opposition leaders in Malawi have asked that the pledge be withdrawn, pointing out that President Bingu wa Mutharika is spending nearly £900,000 on three Mercedes Maybach sedans with 21 speaker DVD systems for himself and his family, while a million of his people are starving.

In a report by Amnesty International which overshadowed the visit by McConnell, Malawi stands accused of serious human rights abuses, and just last week it came to light that Malawi spent £500,000 on tear gas, some of which was sold on to Mugabe's Zimbabwe.

Because of state corruption, Malawi is not included in the deal made by Gordon Brown, British Chancellor of the Exchequor, to have third world debts written off.

Whether McConnell heeds the the advice given to him over this remains to be seen. The trouble with Jack is simple. He is a small time politician trying desperately to be a big time statesman. Unfortunately he has neither the intellect or the experience to dabble in the world of the G8 big hitters like Blair, Brown and Bush (and no one can accuse Bush of being big on intellect).

McConnell would be perfectly adequate, I have no doubt, as a backbench MP or town councilor, but a world player he will never be. The leader of the Scottish Parliament should not be allowing the planned visit to Scotland later this year by the President of Malawi. I don't believe Scots people want their leaders issuing invitations to corrupt heads of state.

And Jack, in case your grannie never told you,"money is like the midden; it does nae guid till spread", meaning "money and manure are only useful when used properly".

of the secret security plans for the G8 summit at Gleneagles?

Good!
...........................

Fishermen who found a yellow submarine off the coast of Islay the other week are still waiting to see if the Ministry of Defence are going to fork out salvage fees for its return.

It is now a week since I last contacted Peter and Jeanette, the parents of Jim McBeth, the Australian Vulture, who conned an old age pensioner in Scotland for every last penny he had over nearly two years, ate all his food and the food others gave the old man, and ran up his phone bill after stealing the money he was given to pay it.

McBeth's family have seen this weblog, and have read the entries about their son. I have invited them to comment on more than one occasion, with the hope they might be decent enough to express some sympathy for an old man who has been robbed blind by their son. I even hoped they might offer some help to alleviate the plight of my friend, the plight caused by Jim McBeth. I thought they might like to tell me if they are still (a quote from one of their letters to him), "proud of his achievements in Scotland".

Evidently they do not wish to respond to my invitation. Perhaps they were already aware of the activities of their son, and that is what they are so proud of. Or could it be they already knew what a sleazy creep they had spawned? Either way I guess it is easier for them to sit in Mayfield, Newcastle in New South Wales and hide their heads in the sand.


Part 1. James McBeth Australian Vulture
Part 2. Catching Up
Part 3. Another McBeth Update
Part 4. British Telecom/Jim McBeth
Part 5. Jim McBeth Update 11 June
Part 6. McBeth Family - No Response

Yes, it's Bush. I can't be bothered to comment further on global warming and the American position, except to hope the police presence at Gleneagles G8 conference is insufficient to prevent a good riot or three, close enough for Dubya to get the message loud and clear that he is not liked this side of the Atlantic except by, perhaps, his lapdog Blair.

This little story from the island of Islay, famous for its malt whisky. Now a new and unique blend has been produced.

And a "Saucy Tale" involving a British lawyer, his secretary, and a bottle of tomato sauce. Knowing just how hard these guys work for little or no reward, my heart bleeds for him.

So, the "naked rambler" is heading our way again. This time he's bringing his girlfriend, which should add a bit of human interest to the whole exercise.

However, I am puzzled. Is this guy a complete dork? While I have no objection to anyone walking from Land's End to John O'Groats, the complete length of Britain, stark naked, I cannot for the life of me comprehend his desire to go anywhere near Inverness. I cannot comprehend ANYONES desire to go near Inverness. Last time he visited, the authorities gave him free board and lodgings for some months in Inverness Jail, which was probably preferable to wandering round the town looking for somewhere to sleep and something to eat without getting ripped off for every last penny in his.......Erm........Pocket?

Comment on the jailing of Steve Gough in Inverness from West Highland Free Press

I have just loaded Tiger onto the Mac. I'm downloading and playing with widgets, most of which are completely useless.

Should be posting something remotely interesting, but I haven't even thought about it yet.

Back shortly, soon as I tire of Tiger widgetry.

Red squirrel numbers in Scotland have dwindled over the years as the grey squirrel, a non-native species from North America, has pushed the red out of its natural habitat. A virus spread by the grey and fatal to the red has now spread into Scotland from Cumbria in England, and could wipe out the species completely.

We see red squirrels frequently up around our area, and have threatened the survival of several ourselves when they have darted across the road in front of the car. The Mongrel has nearly wiped herself out to avoid flattening the wee things. One road near us which is lined with trees on both sides has heavy ropes suspended high over the road for the squirrels to cross safely, but they seem to prefer taking a chance at ground level, often with tragic results.

Part of the phone bill which James McBeth from Australia is responsible for, leaving the old man whose phone it was without the use of it when it was disconnected. McBeth stole the money given to him on trust to pay the bill, then continued running up the charges.



The family of this despicable scumbag have been made aware of the situation, and despite my invitation for them to respond they have, as yet, declined to do so. Perhaps they already knew he was a thief and a sponger, and expect no more of him, or perhaps they are proud of his exploits and cannot understand what the fuss is about? Could it be that they don't give a kangaroos toss what suffering and expense their son is causing the old age pensioner he ripped off so heartlessly?

My stats for this site confirm that the McBeths in New South Wales have checked out the site on more than one occasion. Why do they not respond?

Part 1. James McBeth Australian Vulture
Part 2. Catching Up
Part 3. Another McBeth Update
Part 4. British Telecom/Jim McBeth
Part 5. Jim McBeth Update 11 June

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From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.
This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.
We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.
The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.
Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.
Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.

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Villanelle For Our Time.
By
Leonard Cohen, Dear Heather.

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Fifteen interesting questions for supporters of George Galloway.

McBeths family were e-mailed about his activities. They spent some time logged on to this site yesterday. As yet they have not followed up my invitation to respond.

When my friends telephone was disconnected after Jim McBeth stole the money to pay the bill, the mongrel and I went downtown to the BT office hoping to discuss the situation with someone. Impossible. We were told by a doorman that there was nobody in BT to talk to anyone about anything. Anywhere. All BT shops and outlets for paying bills, making enquiries, etc. have been shut down. Everything must be dealt with by phone.

With no other option open to us, we went off to find a public payphone. It took us nearly an hour. British Telecom appear to have removed most of their phone boxes too. When we finally got one, we phoned the given number and, yes, you guessed right, a call center in India or somewhere.

We spoke to a charming and extremely helpful man, who was sympathetic but could tell us nothing until he had put us on hold three times while he, yes, you guessed right again, phoned BT in the UK. Clever, huh? Finally he was able to assure us that, under the circumstances, if the original bill of £94.50 was paid, the phone could be reconnected, and my friend could arrange a direct debit to pay off the other £140.00 or so.

Simple. The Mongrel went back up North that night, I stayed over. Next day, a whip-round among friends, plus £45 out of the old mans pension gave us enough to pay the £94.50 stolen by McBeth. The other £140 or so made up of calls by McBeth to a mobile phone number, could be paid up.

I was ready to go down to the Post Office to pay (that's where you pay British Telecom bills, the Post Office. BT don't have anywhere of their own to pay bills) but phoned the Mongrel first. The Mongrel works for the Post Office, so knows what BT are like. She phoned BT to tell them that the bill would be paid in the next ten minutes, and asked them to confirm that the phone would be reconnected.

The reply? Yes. My, you are good at guessing. The phone cannot be reconnected because the line and number have just been permanently terminated. Pay the £200 odd pounds that McBeth stole, and reapply to have a new account with British Telecom.

Now that's what I call service - with a nasty smirk.

to look at this on Tropical Blues. And while you are there check out the Begonia. Lots of other good stuff on this site too.

Another example of lawlessness by the "yoof" of yesterday.
Lock 'em up, throw away the key, make an example of 'em.

The fax machine is pretty outdated technology nowadays. These little moggies sound quite innovative. They could get jobs with Apple when they grow up, peeing on Windozy computers.

I have just finished a couple of e-mails to the family of Jim McBeth in Australia. I would be happy to hear their comments regarding an old, partly blind man with a heart condition being deprived of any link to emergency help thanks to Jim McBeth's criminal activities.

In my opinion Sainsbury's sucks, and it doesn't say much for the intelligence of this spider choosing Wales as a destination, because Wales sucks too.

Ouch! It would have to be a Hell of a love, with a lifetime guarantee!

Another four days or so with no posts - SORREEEE. I was back in Dundee, and only arrived back home at 1.30am after a miserable 130 mile trip up the A9 on a borrowed motor bike. The new X8 has a serious fault and I wont get it back till God knows when. Actually I wont get it back at all, because I want a new one to replace it, and there is some doubt about whether there is one in the UK at all. It may have to come from Italy!

An update on the McBeth saga. He has not shown up at my friends since his sudden departure. News came back that he was seen on a coach heading for Edinburgh several days ago. My friend is OK. He has his pension to himself this week, and has been eating properly. He is putting a brave face on things, but is pretty upset and a bit confused at times. The Mongrel spent Monday and most of Tuesday cleaning up the house. She had a spare fridge freezer which we took down to replace the broken one, and she stormed off down to Tesco for a new microwave after trying to clean the existing one and finding it rusted to death and full of holes. The cooker in my friends kitchen was broken, and a hazard to the planet, never mind health. Heather at the Grampian Hotel replaced it and is arranging for a new lock to be fitted on the front door of the house. Thanks Heather.

British Telecom and the outstanding phone bill deserve a chapter to themselves. That will follow.

My task today is to make sure that the family of Jim McBeth are made aware of his exploits in this country, and the documents in my possession are a rich source of links to the people who are apparently so proud of him. Any response from them would be both welcome and interesting.

My friend, unfortunately, is a stubborn old bugger who will not learn from his mistakes and who is something of an expert at being his own worst enemy. We aint gonna change him now. He has already announced he would like another lodger and, despite everyones best efforts to dissuade him, I fear the worst.

Once more, a lamentable gap in posts. Sorry to all who have been looking in.

I have been running back and forward to Dundee, where a very old friend of mine (old in amount of time I have known him and old in years, 76 of them) has been getting conned and fleeced by his lodger. I, and others, have had suspicions about this guy, a 26 year old Australian called Jim McBeth, for a long time, but could do little as my friend would not admit there was anything wrong, and liked the man because he was polite and presentable. Friends of my friend gradually stopped coming to the house because they couldn't stand McBeth, and gradually things got out of hand.

Finally, my friend admitted to me that things were bad, and that he was keeping McBeth and himself off his state pension. I persuaded him at this time that I should talk to the guy, but when I phoned to arrange to go down to do that, I couldn't get through because the number was unobtainable. Nothing else for it, the Mongrel and me got in the car and off to Dundee, spoke to my friend, who insisted the phone had a fault and that the bill had been paid. A wee bit pushing disclosed that McBeth had been given the money to pay the bill, and my friend wasn't so sure if it was a fault on the line after all. The Mongrel and I nipped off down to British Telecom and, of course, found out what we already knew. She has Irish blood in her, does the Mongrel, definitely scary when she gets going.

As McBeth found out when we got back to the house and confronted him (my friend had been packed off to the pub for an afternoon dram by this time) with the information we had got from BT. He tried to talk to us and give us a story. Big mistake when the Mongrel is riled, I really thought she was going to beat the crap out of the guy. Anyway, to cut a long story short, it all took about four minutes for MacBeth to be out the front door with no key and only the clothes he was wearing.

The phone bill was £210. 20 - all calls made by McBeth, and we found all the bills and threatening letters in his sock drawer. For the first time in his life, my friends food cupboard and fridge were completely empty.
McBeth had previously been into his bank account. He had told my friend he had been made redundant from his last job, but letters we found show he was fired for not turning up for work. He had been going out of the house at work time and coming back in at home time till he was dismissed.

Even when he was being paid, MacBeth was giving my friend £30 per week and buying no food. His room was full of designer label clothes, with a cupboard full of the sort of carrier bags and shoe boxes we couldn't afford, even without the goods inside. Piles of receipts showed he had been spending a fortune while my friend kept him off his pension and felt sorry for him. We found around a dozen pairs of designer jeans, all over £80 per pair, fancy floral shirts (mostly rather bad taste stuff) all around £80-£100 each, shoes £90-£125 per pair. I could go on but I get more and more angry just thinking about it. The receipts went into four figures anyway.

We have packed all the stuff up and it has been removed to a safe location and will be returned if McBeth ever comes up with enough to repay my friend. Meanwhile the Mongrel and I are running up and down between the Highlands and here like blue-arsed flies and keeping the oil giants in business all by ourselves, but that really is no hardship because I love being in Dundee, and my friend is a real friend.

Some people just don't know what a word like that means, which is incredibly sad.

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ADDITIONS AS MORE INFORMATION EMERGES.

Friends frequently brought in food for my friend, pots of home made soup and suchlike. McBeth was eating most of it.

Any food my friend bought was eaten at night after my friend went to bed. The cupboards and fridge were always empty in the morning.

McBeth cleared my friends bank account on at least one occasion when he was given the cashcard to withdraw money to pay a bill. The bank staff later described it as "a police matter", but my friend did not want to get him into trouble. (McBeth later repaid £40).

In a letter from Australia, McBeths mother describes how proud she is of him "achieving it all on his own" in Scotland.

Whether by enormous coincidence or design, McBeth's girlfriend, or possibly ex-girlfriend, turned up at my friends house within hours of him being ejected. She was put in the picture by several people, and seemed genuinely shocked. I hope so. She is obviously an intelligent girl, and we find it hard to understand how she could have been so obviously taken in by such an obnoxious character. We suspect she has been giving him money in the past as well.

People like her seem to believe McBeth is undertaking a university education. His only achievements in this field appear to be his success in obtaining regular student loans, and avoiding any repayments.

To date, McBeth has not turned up at my friends to try to retrieve his belongings. Perhaps he knows what Dundee folks think of guys like him, who prey on the elderly. Certainly there are quite a few close friends of my friend who would love to run into him soon.