Profile for Rob Roy The Postie:
Name: Greig Alan Scott. NO male in my family is known as Greig or Alan. The old boy decided I would be called something neutral as not to cause trouble on either side of the family. Otherwise, I would have been called either Richard or Robert after one of my grandads but this could have caused hours of entertaining arguments.
Age: rapidly approaching 30. Well, 27. But time passes by when you look back at a lifetime of fuck-ups.
Aliases: Ging, Gingerman, Rob Roy, The Big Yin
Current residency: Stirling. Famous for its castle, Stirling Bridge and the fact that thousands of English were killed there and next door at Bannockburn. Result.
Why Rob Roy The Postie? Well, I deliver mail in Aberfoyle, which covers where Scottish legend Rob Roy McGregor lived. And having ginger hair and at times a beard meant it was an easy choice for fellow colleagues as a nickname. Of course I am called other names at times...
"'cos you're the only one thing I wanna know,
so won't you take me with you when you go?
and there's a million feelings I wanna show,
if you take me with you when you go" The Wildhearts, Sky Babies
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- a member for 17 years, 11 months and 16 days
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Name: Greig Alan Scott. NO male in my family is known as Greig or Alan. The old boy decided I would be called something neutral as not to cause trouble on either side of the family. Otherwise, I would have been called either Richard or Robert after one of my grandads but this could have caused hours of entertaining arguments.
Age: rapidly approaching 30. Well, 27. But time passes by when you look back at a lifetime of fuck-ups.
Aliases: Ging, Gingerman, Rob Roy, The Big Yin
Current residency: Stirling. Famous for its castle, Stirling Bridge and the fact that thousands of English were killed there and next door at Bannockburn. Result.
Why Rob Roy The Postie? Well, I deliver mail in Aberfoyle, which covers where Scottish legend Rob Roy McGregor lived. And having ginger hair and at times a beard meant it was an easy choice for fellow colleagues as a nickname. Of course I am called other names at times...
"'cos you're the only one thing I wanna know,
so won't you take me with you when you go?
and there's a million feelings I wanna show,
if you take me with you when you go" The Wildhearts, Sky Babies
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Going Too Far
Lamp-post Challenge
A few years ago me and some mates were at Riley's snooker in Dunfermline and missed the last bus home. So it was a six mile walk back. Along the way we passed East End Park, home to Dunfermline Athletic FC (c'mon The Pars), which was in the middle of having two new stands built. Somehow, two of the lads came across a workman's hard hat. And of course, one of them put it on. It was then that the best-ever alcohol fuelled idea came into our minds.
"Hey, Adie. Bet you can't run head first into every lamppost on the way home."
"Bet I can."
The challenge was on. And at first it was pleasantly amusing. Gentle runs at the lampposts were met with a soft thud and laughter all round as we moved onto the next lamppost. It was after the first ten or fifteen that the entertainment began. Encouraged by our "motivational musings", the run up become longer and more intense. The thud of head on metal become louder and the recoil from impact more exaggerated. Each walk from one lamppost became more and more unsteady, every word increasingly slurred from Adie's mouth. But the determination was now set in stone. This challenge would be completed, or so it would seem.
And there it was. After about forty or fifty lampposts, came a thing of beauty: a new bus shelter, which was only too enticing.
"Hey Adie, bet you can't add a few bus shelters along the way."
"IIIII bettt aaaa cannnn."
And with that, he turned, run across to the opposite side of the road and took on a full blooded (if woozy) run at the shelter and dived Klinsmann style with every last ounce of energy. Halfway through the dive the hard hat fell off. CRACK! Thick glass met unprotected head. Adie rebounded off the shelter into the middle of the road. As for us? Did we rush over and check he was OK? No, because we were pishing ourselves laughing on a grass verge. It took about a minute to regain our composure to check if he was still in the land of the living. To top it off we walked him home dismissing his complaints about having a sore head and needing to go to hospital. There was a hospital a few hundred yards from his last hurrah but we all called him a wuss, until he backed down and staggered home. His mum took him in next day.
(Sat 11th Nov 2006, 18:10, More)
Lamp-post Challenge
A few years ago me and some mates were at Riley's snooker in Dunfermline and missed the last bus home. So it was a six mile walk back. Along the way we passed East End Park, home to Dunfermline Athletic FC (c'mon The Pars), which was in the middle of having two new stands built. Somehow, two of the lads came across a workman's hard hat. And of course, one of them put it on. It was then that the best-ever alcohol fuelled idea came into our minds.
"Hey, Adie. Bet you can't run head first into every lamppost on the way home."
"Bet I can."
The challenge was on. And at first it was pleasantly amusing. Gentle runs at the lampposts were met with a soft thud and laughter all round as we moved onto the next lamppost. It was after the first ten or fifteen that the entertainment began. Encouraged by our "motivational musings", the run up become longer and more intense. The thud of head on metal become louder and the recoil from impact more exaggerated. Each walk from one lamppost became more and more unsteady, every word increasingly slurred from Adie's mouth. But the determination was now set in stone. This challenge would be completed, or so it would seem.
And there it was. After about forty or fifty lampposts, came a thing of beauty: a new bus shelter, which was only too enticing.
"Hey Adie, bet you can't add a few bus shelters along the way."
"IIIII bettt aaaa cannnn."
And with that, he turned, run across to the opposite side of the road and took on a full blooded (if woozy) run at the shelter and dived Klinsmann style with every last ounce of energy. Halfway through the dive the hard hat fell off. CRACK! Thick glass met unprotected head. Adie rebounded off the shelter into the middle of the road. As for us? Did we rush over and check he was OK? No, because we were pishing ourselves laughing on a grass verge. It took about a minute to regain our composure to check if he was still in the land of the living. To top it off we walked him home dismissing his complaints about having a sore head and needing to go to hospital. There was a hospital a few hundred yards from his last hurrah but we all called him a wuss, until he backed down and staggered home. His mum took him in next day.
(Sat 11th Nov 2006, 18:10, More)
» Lies I told on my CV
I can't lie
I can't lie on my CV, even though I would like to. My mum works for the Scottish Ambulance Service as a clerical office for East Central Division and reads CVs every day. She insists on reading mine before applying for any job. At 27, you would have thought I was old enough to apply for jobs without the need for parental assistance...
(Mon 10th Jul 2006, 21:26, More)
I can't lie
I can't lie on my CV, even though I would like to. My mum works for the Scottish Ambulance Service as a clerical office for East Central Division and reads CVs every day. She insists on reading mine before applying for any job. At 27, you would have thought I was old enough to apply for jobs without the need for parental assistance...
(Mon 10th Jul 2006, 21:26, More)
» Ignoring Instructions
Driving Instructions
Soon after I was assessed to drive vehicles for the Royal Mail, I was packed off to the wilderness to work, where I've been ever since. The sort of rural offices where I went bouncing in and was met with, "Here you. Are you from the big city?" "Aye, Stirling's a real sprawling metropolis lads."
Anyhow, on the rural duties, I got three days training: one day the established postie showing you the run and two days doing it yourself, but with the old postie in the passenger seat. First day in and I'm soaking all the information in no problem. About a quarter of the way in and we come to a cattle grid which has a dip in it, which had caused by an articulated lorry. So the old boy says: "Remember, SLOW DOWN here." "Nae bother old boy."
So, second day on the duty and we're approaching this cattle grid. Now, the problem with this was that it was at the end of an exceedingly long, flat straight which I found was quite easy to cruise along at a fair speed. "Remember the cattle grid?" "Sure do". And I start to lift off the accelerator. Not brake, but lift off. Surely, the dip can't be that bad? "You are remembering the cattle grid?" "Aye of course, there it is there."
And there it was there. At about 20mph, which doesn't sound at lot, we hit the cattle grid and found out that it WAS a lot. The dip was in the passengers side and as we clattered off this bump, the old boy was airborne and clattered his head off the ceiling of the van. Fuck. A day in and I've potentially injured the senior postman and fucked the van. As it transpired, he was alright and surprisingly, so was the van: the only thing I had damaged was the screen washer tank, as well as my reputation. Every postie in the sticks now knows about my cattle grid exploits, as well as the mechanics and use it whenever they can...I take it easy over that cattle grid nowadays, although the straight is still fun...
(Wed 10th May 2006, 19:12, More)
Driving Instructions
Soon after I was assessed to drive vehicles for the Royal Mail, I was packed off to the wilderness to work, where I've been ever since. The sort of rural offices where I went bouncing in and was met with, "Here you. Are you from the big city?" "Aye, Stirling's a real sprawling metropolis lads."
Anyhow, on the rural duties, I got three days training: one day the established postie showing you the run and two days doing it yourself, but with the old postie in the passenger seat. First day in and I'm soaking all the information in no problem. About a quarter of the way in and we come to a cattle grid which has a dip in it, which had caused by an articulated lorry. So the old boy says: "Remember, SLOW DOWN here." "Nae bother old boy."
So, second day on the duty and we're approaching this cattle grid. Now, the problem with this was that it was at the end of an exceedingly long, flat straight which I found was quite easy to cruise along at a fair speed. "Remember the cattle grid?" "Sure do". And I start to lift off the accelerator. Not brake, but lift off. Surely, the dip can't be that bad? "You are remembering the cattle grid?" "Aye of course, there it is there."
And there it was there. At about 20mph, which doesn't sound at lot, we hit the cattle grid and found out that it WAS a lot. The dip was in the passengers side and as we clattered off this bump, the old boy was airborne and clattered his head off the ceiling of the van. Fuck. A day in and I've potentially injured the senior postman and fucked the van. As it transpired, he was alright and surprisingly, so was the van: the only thing I had damaged was the screen washer tank, as well as my reputation. Every postie in the sticks now knows about my cattle grid exploits, as well as the mechanics and use it whenever they can...I take it easy over that cattle grid nowadays, although the straight is still fun...
(Wed 10th May 2006, 19:12, More)
» Useless advice
Couriers beware
Out in the sticks, it's not uncommon for parcel couriers to ask the trusted postmen for directions. Some refuse on the grounds that they're now the competition, but I consider myself a helpful chap and I'll tell them. But I bet this poor courier wished I didn't. Asking me where this house was, I told him and sent him on his merry way. It was only when driving on, did I realise I had misheard him and sent him to the wrong house (they were very similar in name, if not geographical location: about 10 miles apart). Not only that, but I had given him the wrong directions to the wrong house. Now there were one of two possibilities:
1). He would end up at an entirely different house altogether OR
2). He would spend miles going round in circles in the dense forest. A forest I might add was used for SAS training because of it's thick coverage and unrelenting terrain. Not very van friendly.
I never did see him again. Maybe the SAS got him.
(Sun 22nd Oct 2006, 20:53, More)
Couriers beware
Out in the sticks, it's not uncommon for parcel couriers to ask the trusted postmen for directions. Some refuse on the grounds that they're now the competition, but I consider myself a helpful chap and I'll tell them. But I bet this poor courier wished I didn't. Asking me where this house was, I told him and sent him on his merry way. It was only when driving on, did I realise I had misheard him and sent him to the wrong house (they were very similar in name, if not geographical location: about 10 miles apart). Not only that, but I had given him the wrong directions to the wrong house. Now there were one of two possibilities:
1). He would end up at an entirely different house altogether OR
2). He would spend miles going round in circles in the dense forest. A forest I might add was used for SAS training because of it's thick coverage and unrelenting terrain. Not very van friendly.
I never did see him again. Maybe the SAS got him.
(Sun 22nd Oct 2006, 20:53, More)
» My Greatest Regrets
Didn't see Faith No More in concert
Too many to mention: but forget (I'm trying to) arseing up relationships with women and making wrong career decisions (postman? after a degree? welcome to the club it seems this QOTW), that's lightweight stuff. Nah, my greatest regret is not going to see Faith No More in 1997. Was (and still is) a huge fan of them. Had the chance. Didn't go. Chose to spend my money on seeing the Prodigy with my mates. "Aah, they'll be back in a couple of years," was my reasoning. They split up the next year. Can't tell you how much I regretted choosing the Prodigy over FNM.
(Thu 5th Oct 2006, 20:02, More)
Didn't see Faith No More in concert
Too many to mention: but forget (I'm trying to) arseing up relationships with women and making wrong career decisions (postman? after a degree? welcome to the club it seems this QOTW), that's lightweight stuff. Nah, my greatest regret is not going to see Faith No More in 1997. Was (and still is) a huge fan of them. Had the chance. Didn't go. Chose to spend my money on seeing the Prodigy with my mates. "Aah, they'll be back in a couple of years," was my reasoning. They split up the next year. Can't tell you how much I regretted choosing the Prodigy over FNM.
(Thu 5th Oct 2006, 20:02, More)