Bah, forget the Downies. I walk past Purple Haze sandwich bar, of "you can totally smoke joints in here" infamy, on the way to work. Thought it had closed down? So did I - this morning I had a chat with Johnny, one of the filthy drug peddling owners, and he said that everything was running smoothly until the evil media started making a fuss, falsely claiming that the place was tantamount to a crack den and had been shut down. They've hardly made any money since - the regular customers appear to comprise two old men and me. At the time of the two arrests, worried that this kind of thing would begin to proliferate throughout Scotland, Glasgow Cathcart MP Tom Harris asked Tony Blair: "Will you agree with me that what Glasgow needs is more jobs, not more drugs?" Oh the irony - the wee lass who put tommy sauce on my breakfast will be out of a job soon, thanks to Lionel's evil cousin.
So they're selling up, for not very much money. Luckily they've found a lawyer that hates the BBC, so justice might get a look in. So next time you're in the area, elbow your way through the art students, coffin dodgers and Tasha Slappers on North Junction street and say hello. Or "NO VICTIM NO CRIME", or whatever these hippies are embroidering on their rissoles these days.
Emergency: Patient arriving with bloaty head.
In other news, Peter Molyneux is at it again. Please let it be better than Black And White.
My mate Katie works for Blue Box, so you should buy it just to keep her in mink lined knickers.
That and I used to have an incredible crush on her when I was a nipper.