Tiger Balm

impossible songs

impossible songs

The Smiling Angel of Divine Retribution: When she visits the children dance in the streets, bees buzz, the sun sneaks out and away from the thickest cloud, the rain dries and steams on grey pavements and buskers spontaneously sing a newly composed song and then combust. So glowing will your Universal Karma be at the time of the angelic visit that the area surrounding you will light up in a pale but warming radioactive-green and soul sanitising way. Meanwhile a small still voice inside will say to you “Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over, hey how, hey now, when the world closes in”. You’ll repeat this simple mantra 1001 times and then on completion allow your natural cynicism a few brief seconds of life before you crush it like a wasp with the latest copy of Hello magazine.

Thank you: Thanks be to all those who let the gypsy traveller in, who relinquish a space to a white van, to a family in their grubby, sticky people carrier, to a Tesco lorry delivering the bacon, to the football teams and stag weekends and sundry grim faced motorcyclists, the knights and ladies of the road who leave a gap to squeeze a desperate bumper into. Thanks a thousand fold more to the brainless, idle and blind politicians who have stalled and stammered at the prospect of a new crossing for the River Forth. Your lack of balls and action and interest in your fellow Scots has led to weekends, mornings and evenings of misery for your people (thankfully we are not in any decent sense yours!), punch ups, arguments, divorces, horn honking, over heated cars and time wasting on a grand scale while the Road Bridge rusts and it’s successor is still in an iron foundry somewhere in Poland or Germany. To our leaders and FETA thanks a banana bunch.

Tiger Balm is a smooth and spicy little number that contains no tiger components, or rodents or unnecessary quotients. I now have a little jar, a gift from Thailand afar, to rub upon my sore and tired out places, to resurrect and so it my strength replaces, to put heat into the coldest space. I’ll rub some in some day and eat a jelly baby and light a sacred candle to take all the pain away. Having said that I’m not a big fan of Eastern religion(s) or books that you have to read backwards.

Much pasta has been cooked, some even eaten with a rich meat and tomato sauce, but large cold, buttery yellow slabs of the material remain locked up in an open fridge. These then tempt the feeble-minded and hungry into adding into their metabolism some extra micro waved calories of hot, heavy pasta. So is it true that if you micro wave food for over three minutes, 25% of the calorific content is removed? I believe that researchers at the University of Pittsburgh & Pitreavie near Paisley gas works are working on the theory even as we eat, sleep, drink and read the Sunday papers.