Ignoring the horrible industrial stuff at the forefront of the picture, Glasgow can be a pretty nice place to be when the sun decides to pop out for a bit. This was taken in Kirkintilloch, a few minutes drive from the city centre.

Today has been a busy day – I gutted my flat from top to bottom.

All the activity seems to have taken it out of Charlie too, although all he did was chase the bloody mop around.

Most of the mess was his fur too, you’d think he might have helped more, harrumph.

I pretend I’m a DJ every once in a while, usually when one of my DJ mates goes to the toilet, but I have been known to play a few tunes (badly) by myself on occasion.

There’s nothing quite like the butterflies in your stomach feeling as you watch the seconds tick down on the track that’s already playing, knowing that if you don’t play the next one in time, or you play it too early resulting in some horrible sound clashes, 1000 drunk people will either point and laugh at you or they’ll riot.

Despite having more opportunities to become a ‘proper’ DJ (i.e. one that works in clubs rather than one that sits in their bedroom mixing tracks for their ears only) than most, it’s something I’ve never aspired to be. I often wonder why – it’s good money, it appeals to my night-owl tendancies and it’s quite a ‘cool’ job. I think I’m just a coward – no matter how many times I’m faced with the “shall I play it now? now? Arrgh, I’ve missed it! Silence! Bugger!” situation, it doesn’t get any easier. I just don’t think I can deal with the pressure. Or the punters for that matter.

Here’s the mixing desk I used last night to play my one and only track of the night last night during my bathroom break duty for the real DJ, Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon.

Taking photos while driving – shocking. I was at a red light, not that you’d know since the one in the photo is broken.

This was taken in Paisley and I think it sums up how I feel about the place – some very beautiful buildings but surrounded by a sad and depressingly decomposing town.

After my slip up for day eight, you’d have thought I’d have made a real effort with day nine.

I didn’t.

This a pub near where I live called The Belle. A cool, hip, trendy (and a variety of other words that are presumably quite out of date and wouldn’t be used by most of the people that go there) pub filled with students and people from the ‘bohemian’ west end, it’s the greatest transformation of a place I’ve ever seen first hand.

The first time I was in there, it was called The Western and I was offered some bacon off the back of a lorry (“This morning love, don’t worry!”), a kiss from a man fifty years my senior and a job. It was a proper local pub, and while my I love it now, I really miss the ‘proper’ folk that used to drink there. I wonder where they drink now, after being punted unceremoniously from their local?