Stewart was an amazing
person - A wonderful husband, a fantastic brother, a loving son and an
adored uncle. He was also a brilliant friend and colleague and will be
missed by so many people. His family are determined that his death will never
be in vain and are doing their part to beat bowel cancer for good. We are fundraising for the Bobby Moore Fund
which is part of Cancer Research UK and specialises in research into bowel
cancer. If you wish to donate to the
fund, you can via https://www.justgiving.com/Geraldine-Smith3
.
If you haven’t already
done so, please read the article which appeared in the Daily Record and learn
from Stewart’s story that you must never be complacent. It makes grim reading for us, his family,
even though we were beside him throughout his ordeal, or battle; call it what
you will. http://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/lifestyle/heartbroken-widow-geraldine-smith-raises-3452997
His wish was that The Grambler
should continue after his death and I have been happy to oblige. Welcome to The Grambler, the most
ill-informed blog you are ever likely to see. Read on and enjoy…
Well, hello to all you… what does the bloke what normally
writes this drivel call you?... gramblerinis out there in…where is it again? Gramblerland?
Where the blibbing heck is that?
The man’s mad. Anyway, him what
usually writes this tripe has buggered off on holiday and left me to write it
instead. Don’t let on that I forgot to
do it until now.
He did tell me where he was going…Ooh, where was it? Something to do with cake. Dundee ? That’s the comic place,
isn’t it? The Beano and the Darndy. Ooh I liked them when I was little. Desperate Darn, he was good. The things he got up to… all because he didn’t
have an toilet in his house. He had an
cat, I think, called Biffo. No, that’s
wrong. Not Biffo. Korky.
Korky had an cat called Biffo.
You get that paper from Dundee too. The Sunday Post. Which is unusual because you don’t normally
get an post on an Sunday. It’s got that
family that go everywhere together. The
Brooms. There’s hundreds of them. And only half of them have even got names. They
must have run out of ideas when the last three came along and didn’t even
bother. And that Maggie. She’s no better than she ought to be. Every week she’s off out with some bloke or
another. As long as he’s got a car. It’s all she’s blibbing well interested in. Mind you it never lasts. Soon as he finds out she’s got the whole
family in tow, he’s off. And there’s
that other story. The one about Siamese
cats. Not cats. Twins.
I meant twins. Only you can’t
call them Siamese, cause that’s racy.
You’ve got to call them double jointed nowadays. Ooh, shocking case it is. Terrible place to be joined up. It’s called Oor Wullie.
Hang on, it isn’t Dundee he went. Bakewell? Might be.
I like Bakewell. She was clever,
her. That’s why she was on BBC2. Only clever people get on BBC2. The thinking man’s crumpet she was
called. She’s an dame now. Dame Bakewell Tart.
Or was it Bath
No, it wasn’t Bath Chelsea
Maybe it was abroad or somewhere overseas he went. The Black Forest ? Battenburg? Ooh that’s that stuff with marzipan. I hate marsupials, me. If I get an box of chocolates with them, they
always get left. Them and coconut. That gets stuck under me plate. My denture plate. Not me dinner plate. That’d be daft. No, I’m more of your soft-censored type. I am particularly fond of orange fondues.
Perhaps it was America Mississippi Madeira ! I
knew it was something to do with cake!
I’m an bit late to do the grambling stuff. I suspose I could just tell you what happened
last week. Not much to tell,
really. It won, apparently.
The other bloke will be back next week. I hope.
I couldn’t be bothered writing this rubbish every week…
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