The Bobby Gillespie Bullshit game

Was putting a list together but Tom beat me to it... here are links for the episodes from this thread:

Episode 10
Episode 11
Episode 12
Episode 14
Episode 15
Episode 16
Episode 17
Episode 18
Episode 19

Tom D, you are a gent and a scholar! thank you!

I would try to call you big yin, but I'd fuck it up.

Bobby's tribute to Shane McGowan, which is free of bullshit and not all about himself. He does have his moments.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/dec/08/shane-macgowan-bobby-gillespie-primal-scream-pogues

I saw that and reflected that Bobby also called Martin Duffy his "soul brother" on Twitter when he died. I suspect he treated Shane MacGowan a little better though.

He couldn't resist though:

"I’d admired him as far back as Gabrielle, by The Nips."

LOL yes, spotted that.

xxp
Ah, ye see, when ye make someone an honorary family member, it's no' about the coin or the wage. It's about the bonds, the kinship, the ties that bind ye together

"Shane, lemme help ya oan tae the stage here...aye, just squeeze past Duffy and his organs. Wits that? Aye, ye'll get the 'enhanced' session players wage for singin' tonight that we talked aboot...no, no dinnae worry, ol' Duffy knows wits guid for haim, he's on the basic rate".

I missed this bit of Boaby news...

https://www.thefashionisto.com/hm-holiday-2023-campaign/

Bobby Gillespie and his sons Lux and Wolf have been chosen to star in clothing company H&M’s holiday 2023 campaign. They have just arrived at photographer Mikael Jansson's studio.

Boab: Fer fuck's sake, try an' be a bit mair... street... an' don't be comin' oot wi any o' yer toffee nosed patter, by the way.

Wolf: But papa, you and mama did pay for us to have a very expensive private education, you cannot expect us to converse like common street urchins.

Boab: Aye, well at least try an' look like common street urchins! Huv ye no' learned any'hin' fae yer auld man? Ah've been fuckin' dinin' oot fer years oan ma deprived childhood as a Tenement Kid despite comin' fae Mount Florida... here, did ye know ah wrote a book aboot it?

Photographer: Bobby! Come on in! And this must be...

Boab: This is Wolf and that yin hidin' at the back therr is Lux. Stupid fuckin' names ah know, ah wahnted tae ca' them Darren and Barry but the wife thoat different... any'hin' fer an easy life though, am ah right?

Photographer: Er, absolutely, I'll just let you get yourselves prepared while I carry on setting up.

Boab: Fire away, big yin, fire away!

Turning back to his sons.

Boab: Right, you two, afore we go any further, let's huv some ground rules. Nae "sayin' cheese", ye've goat tae look as crabbit and torn faced as me. Ah've goat ma image tae consider. Ma public expect me tae be mean, moody and magnificent and be kickin' aboot wi ma face permanently fuckin' trippin' me, no' grinnin' like a fuckin' jackass... and the same goes fer ma boeys, they've goat tae look like miserable cunts tae.

Wolf: Oh that'll be no problem, papa.

Lux (petulantly): We have actually modelled before, papa, we do know our way round a photographer's studio.

Boab (to Wolf): Here, hark it him! Thinks he's fuckin' Naomi Campbell aw o' a sudden!

Lux: I don't want to do this stupid photoshoot anyway, papa! I'm supposed to be meeting Rupert, Allegra and Piers for tiffin at three! It's all so dashed inconvenient!

Wolf: Yes, I'm expected at Ophelia, Persephone and Ferdinand's for five. This is awfully burdensome, papa.

Boab: Awfy burdensome? I'll awfy burdensome you in a minute, ya ungrateful wee cu...

Bobby's reprimand is cut off by his phone ringing.

Boab: Fuck... who's this... oh here it's yer Granda Gillespie, whit's the auld cunt efter noo?

Boab: Hullo?

*muffled voice on the other end of the phone*

Boab: Ah'm in the middle o' a fuckin' photoshoot wi' ma boeys, da!

*muffled voice*

Boab: Aye, ah've no' forgoatten.

*muffled voice*

Boab: Fer fuck sake da! Ah'm (looks around, covers phone and lowers voice) 62.

*muffled voice*

Boab: Awright... ah will... ah will...

*muffled voice*

Boab: Naw, ah don't wahnt tae hear aboot how your attempt tae win the Govan by-election in 1988 was sabotaged by Robert Maxwell, naeb'dy wahnt's tae hear that...

*muffled voice*

Boab: Listen da, let it go...

*louder muffled voice*

Boab: ... da... da... it never happened... (sotto voce) Christ, no' this again...

*even louder muffled voice*

Boab (rolling eyes): Aye, da, ye were a great candidate, it wisnae your fault ye loast wan o' the safest Labour seats in the country tae the SNP...

*muffled voice louder still*

Boab: Aye, right da, the Tartan Tories ah know, ah know, ah've fuckin' heard it a million times...

*and louder*

Boab: ... da... da... ah've goat tae go! Right? Tell maw we'll see her efter Hogmanay...

*muffled voice*

Boab: ... right ... right. See ye.

*muffled voice*

Boab (turning to his sons): See that fuckin' Granda o' yours? He's fuckin' delusional, so he is. Aw he does is make stuff up that didnae happen, or try an' make oot he wis at the centre o' every'hin' that ever happened in the world. He's constantly inflatin' his own importance and bummin' aboot his achievements and aw the fuckin'...

Suddenly notices that both his sons and the photographer have gone very quiet and are looking somewhat sheepish.

Boab: ... whit? (suddenly animated) Here, huv we goat a fuckin' photoshoot oan here or whit? We've goat some shite fuckin' claes tae sell, boeys!

Jansson: Er, yeah. Can we have all three of you over here.

Boab: Nae bother, big yin.

Jansson: Now can we have a little bit of a smile...

Boab: ... let me stoap ye right there.