Hail! Felicitations! Tag!
Salutations from Ecosse, North Britain. Ah, dear Alba; her hills and glens and steep braes: Hasten the greenery of spring when the rain in Scotia becomes a tad warmer. Good graces and a wee bonny tartan comity to all – especially our new kindred connisseurs of one of the most useless promontory's you are ever likely to read! High 5 !!!
From a wee doakin' doaris point of view it was a great week for Scotch folk everywhere who are celebrating the news that Fred Godwin, Chief Executive of the Royal (Gawd Bless 'Er) Bank of Scotchland worked so hard last year that he paid himself £3.9 million in salary. Fred must have put in a lot of overtime.
Your noble labyrinth's generosity in giving of my time is well known and last Wednesday night I sedulously sacrificed a Coronation St bumper double-edition to attend My daughter Estell's new boyfriend's opening night show at Chucklethut Community Service. Bill Pettywillie is his name, but Estell calls him "wee Willie". He is an alternative stage hypnotist (you know, in the same way as there are alternative comedians). It was a night with a difference allright. The chamber was packed. Mrs Whitefeather and all our 13 children joined me as we took our place. Mrs Paisley, my trusted soubrette was present, alas she did not see us. Elmer jnr attempted to catch her attention by skateboarding up the side of the wall; alas she seemed more interested in keeping the strong lights off her by pulling her coat up over her head. As hypnotist Willie took to the stage there was but polite applause, giving us Whitefeathers an opportunity to whoop and whistle like the audience do on Rikki Lake.
Willie is unlike those charlatans who only hypnotise 1 or 2 people in their audience. Willie hypnotises every single person present. The lights dimmed and he produced a pocket watch on a chain. He explained how the timepiece was irreplacable and had been in his family for 7 or 8 generations. He instructed everyone to stare at the watch. He began swinging the watch in a penduluem fashion chanting, "Follow the watch…Follow the watch…Follow the watch". The whole room was under his magical spell – including me – but I do have low serotorin levels. Suddenly the watch flew off the chain, smashing into a million pieces. "SHIT !" screamed Willie. The council are still cleaning the community centre.
Last weekend Mrs Whitefeather caught my eye. Not literally of course because I need it myself – It's one of a set! She convinced me to drive her and 9 of the weans into town for the weekly shoplifting. It was a difficult journey. The younger one's were fighting all the way there and you know how hard it is to concentrate on the road in such circumstances. Anyway, once I parked the Motability shopping scooter, I saw old Chester Drawers approaching. "I thought it was you," said Chester. I was a bit confused at first – then I remembered leaving the house. So I said, "Oh it's me allright". I could hardly deny it. "It's a small world," Chester remarked. "It is, but I wouldn't like to have to paint it," I replied.
First stop was the butchers, Chop & Change. I perpended the meat counter with some care. "Is that Scotch lamb?" I asked. "Why, you gonnae eat it or talk to it?" replied the butcher. I asked if he had wild duck and he said,"I've got one in the freezer I could annoy for you." We managed to locate lots of bargains. In fact, as we loaded the groceries in, we were delighted to find we hadn't spent any money at all. That meant Mrs Whitefeather could afford a beauty treatment. The results were astonishing. She looked gorgeous. Then the mud pack fell off… Sunday morning saw Elmer jnr and myself in pellucid mood. He is having some "issues". He's got so many fiddles going his pals call him Mantovanni. And lazy! He is so lazy he got himself a girlfriend who's already pregnant. He wanted to know if he had gone on honeymoon with his mother and I. Well. I told him he had gone with me but came back with his mother. I have every sympathy with the boy. I'm undergoing regression treatment – as opposed to agression treatment I get here at Whitefeather Cottage. As a result, I've pursued a calculated traverse into my own upbringing. Please don't misunderstand dear ones, I had a very enjoyable childhood. I was 35 when it finished. My parents were so miserly they used to rent my pram out while I was being fed. Later, they became so forlorn with me that they paid someone to push the pram – and I've been pushed for money ever since.
That evening we gathered round the piano and sang "The World's a Circle, But We're So Square" with Mrs Whitefeather accompanying us on the mouthorgan. At least that's what we thought until her face went blue and she collapsed. We managed to retrieve a Tunnock's Caramel Log which had lodged in her throat – horizontally! Her normally pursed mouth was like a skate's arse for a week.
Comrades, friends. Your sprightly sage's sporran is in need of some sponson and so is this missive of utter disjunction. As always beloved, I close by imparting some ineffectual claptrap as a matter of course. Only a mediocre person is at the top of their game all the time.