David P.'s Blog
Sunday, 5 August 2012
I was chatting this morning via SKYPE with my aunt Pat and uncle Jim in Dumfries, Scotland. Jim and I were discussing weightlifting (we had a bit of personal background in that sport), and Jim mentioned that his grandson, Conan Lee McLaughlan, at age 11 years had achieved a gold medal in weightlifting in February! I couldn't believe that Scottish clubs had 11-year-olds competing in lifting! Too young for that has always been my opinion - training for developmental fitness and strength was OK, but . . . . . .
So, I Googled, and found an article in the Irvine Herald and Kilwinning Chronicle, of Ayrshire, Scotland. The following is an edited extract -
"A FANTASTIC record-breaking performance by Kilwinning Olympic Weightlifting Club's Nikki Hamilton has propelled her into the Scottish squad which is training for a place in the 2014 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow.
The 16-year-old was lifting as a guest at the Scottish Schools Championships at Easterhouse last weekend in an attempt to reach the qualification target for a place in the squad, and the determined teenager did it in brilliant fashion. . . . . . . . .
Club coach Bill Despard chose three boys to go to the East End of Glasgow to compete in the Scottish Schools Championships and another 12 boys and girls to take part in the Scottish Development Weightlifting Championships at the same venue and they didn't let him down, returning home to Kilwinning with a magnificent haul of 13 gold medals and two silvers from the two events. . . . . . .
In the Development Competition the lifters are not rated on what weight they lift but are instead judged on their technique, their age and their bodyweight and are awarded points accordingly.
But yet again Kilwinning were the club to watch as the youngsters stormed to one medal after another.
. . . . . . . .
Boys results.
Gold. Alexander Davidson (age 9) 142.31pts.
Gold. Conan Lee McLaughlan (age 11) 129.24pts.
Gold. Aiden Smith (age 11) 117.73pts.
Gold. David Walker (age 11) 48.06pts.
Gold. Ben Irvine (age 7) 56.71pts.
Gold. Ben Montgomery (age 9) 57.95pts.
Silver. Kyle Malone (age 9) 38.43pts.
Gold. Sean Howie (age 9) 45.85pts."
If you want to read the full article, you'll find it at
Wonderful news for the boy! I hope he now continues in the sport, and maybe enters in the Olympics in the future.
Also in discussion with uncle Jim, we talked about Latin and early Scottish history. So. I've dug out my written records of that history - I found some websites whose contents i have transcribed into large notebooks. I find it a good way to learn the history and also it allows me a hard copy in a book format.
I'm thinking of starting a page in this blog on Scottish history, and I hope to be able to abbrevriate what I've got into acceptable material for you, my reader. I'll give the website addresses for anyone who wants to go further with such reading, of course.
Well, that's today's entry. Let's see what tomorrow brings. Remember you can give me your comments at my Content page.
Monday, 6 August 2012
Thinking of what to enter here, I have had a lot of thoughts in the last 24 hours, as one does, and I decided to honour an old friend in Scotland by publishing here a chapter from a book I was writing about my proposed charity walk around Britain -
Chapter 12
A Night in a Taxi in Edinburgh
My friend Ian Kay who drives a taxi in Edinburgh sent me an email. I found it so funny that I want to share it with you all here. I produce it below just as it was sent -
"Let me tell you a story that happened Thursday night. I was having a poor night on the taxi and it then got worse. I got a call to pick up at Biblos, in Chambers St. and take a client to Victoria St off the Grassmarket, a journey of a quarter of a mile. I was to ask for Paddy and the manager pointed to a guy on a bar stool. He is a wee bit drunk he told me. (What he really meant was he was a wee drunk). “Could you bring your taxi right to the door?”
So I went out and drove it across the road just as the barman came out carrying a dwarf whom he dumped in the front seat. “He stays in
Victoria Street,” he says and walks off. I drove the quarter mile to Vicky St and asked the guy for his house number. Straight out of Faulty Towers the guy manages a drunken “Que?” and promptly falls asleep.
A chap from a nightclub further up the St was passing and says “O.K., mate?”.
“Well, no, not really,” I said, “Could you give me a hand to get the wee chappie out of the taxi?”. So we manhandled him out of the cab and sat him on the pavement with his wee legs just about touching the road. I was at his back holding him from toppling over and the bouncer said he would get a bottle of water. Back he comes and says “Get some off this into you, Big Man!”
Well, if he said big man once, he said it a dozen times. I said “You cannae call him big man”, but he kept on saying it. Meantime I had got him awake but with the perma grin and he said a few words which sounded Spanish. I asked about three or four couples who were passing whether they knew him, and finally I heard a “Si!” from a Spanish-looking guy and his good lady. “Ask him where he lives,” I said. No joy.
“Ask him if he is a diabetic,” I said. No.
“Ask him what his house number is.” Again no joy.
Further questioning, and we find out that he is an actor who has only arrived in Edinburgh that morning and is staying at a flat but does not know where it is. In the meantime I am still propping him up between my knees, as when I move away he falls over and I do not want the guy to hurt himself. We make a decision to call an ambulance which finally arrives and with the interpreter’s help they wheel him away to dry out.
As I was still due the fare of £4.50 I went back to the pub and got the money from them and suggested to them that next time the wee fellow was in they were not to sell him “shorts”. They most likely would get a bill from the Ambulance Service but serves them right.
The money is crap but the laughs are good.
And so passed another Thursday night straight out of Monty Python. And it’s all true.
I thought that you would enjoy the story. It had to be seen to be believed. The barman carried the dwarf from the back with his arms across his chest so I could see the wee man’s face as he came towards me with a big silly grin on his face and his wee legs dangling. Pure Monty Python material."