Today’s Clerihew

Tags

Alex Salmond, clerihew, Philip Hammond

 

(Rt Hon Alex Salmond

The Scottish Government)

 

 

Alex Salmond,

what if you could swap heads with Philip Hammond?

You’d definitely look a lot more suave-

less like a ‘have not’ and more like a ‘have.’

 

 

(Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rt Hon Philip Hammond

http://www.gov.uk/government/people/Philip-Hammond)

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Simple Simon

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Alex Salmond, Ed Milliband, pieman, Simple Simon, thistle

Simple Simon met a pieman,

Going to the fair;

Says Simple Simon to the pieman,

Let me taste your ware.

Says the pieman to Simple Simon,

Show me first your penny;

Says Simple Simon to the pieman,

Indeed I have not any.

Simple Simon went to look

If plums grew on a thistle;

He pricked his fingers very much,

Which made poor Simon whistle.^[1]

White Gold

Tags

Alex Salmond, Aljaz, androstenol, Anton de Beke, Boar's Head Carol, Ferraro Rochers, Limousin cattle, Pasha, Perthshire, pig in a poke, Plutarch, poo, Strictly male professionals, there's brass, Thornton truffles, truffles, tuber maculatum, where there's muck

Murgatroyd was becoming over-enthusiastic.  He had just purchased

some hazel saplings which were impregnated with truffle sporelings.

He had been assured that the spores originated from the hooves of

Limousin cattle which had come from a truffe-producing region.  Ca

marche, surely?

There was something magical about truffles.  Even Plutarch had

postulated that, though made of muck, they had been formed when

a lightning bolt had hit the ground.  And Murgatroyd had had a coup

de foudre idea when he had suddenly surmised that where there was

muck, there might be brass. He seemed to remember having read

about some schoolchildren in Perthshire who had discovered white gold,

or tuber maculatum, in their playground.  Children loved anything that

resembled poo, but they loved hard cash even more.  Apparently, they

were unbelievably, but altruistically donating the proceeds to their school

funds, to build a new kitchen.

Children seemed to be different nowadays.

But, at £2,800 per kilo it seemed a brilliant idea to seek

them out- the truffles, not the children, especially as he now had a

pig that he could train.

Diana dampened his enthusiasm.

It has to be a female pig, darling, she advised. The scent comes from

androstenol, a sex pheromeme found in boar saliva, so The Emperor

would not be attracted to the smell, unless he bats for the other team.

But we can get a sow, Murgatroyd pointed out.  I want to breed for

sausage production anyway.

Yes, well, I read that you’d hardly harvest any, as the beast eats most of

them and, if you try to take them from her, you will fall into the category

of truffle hunters who do not have a full complement of digits.  Also, I

seem to recall that someone said that even if you did find truffles in

Scotland, they wouldn’t taste of much.

That wouldn’t have been Alex Salmond then, he quipped.

Murgatroyd looked crestfallen. He had hoped to supply that canteen-

style restaurant that Dru had been harping on about- the one owned

by that Hugo Frondley-Whittingstall chap.

Have you told Aunt Augusta that The Emperor is male? Diana asked.

She’ll be so disappointed.

I’ll send her one of our Photoshop-ed calendars for 2015, said

Murgatroyd.  The Emperor looks so noble in December, with his crown

of mistletoe, surrounded by carol singers with the Boar’s Head Carol

on their music stand.  It was such fun producing it.  I hope we sell

loads.  The roof funding is really coming on nicely.

Well, she might not want a reminder of Time’s Winged Chariot and all

that, Diana said firmly.  After all, she might not get the full use of a

calendar.  I suspect she’d rather have a semi-naked portfolio of ‘Strictly’

male professionals.  However, I don’t want to raise her blood pressure, so

I’ll send her a box of Ferraro Rochers, or Thornton truffles instead.  I

expect they would be to her liking, unless you can source any truffle-

infused vodka.

As you wish, Murgatroyd conceded.  But I’m still going to get a sow.

Whatever, Diana replied. I just hope that it won’t be a pig in a poke, like

a lot of your ideas.

What do you mean by that? asked Murgatroyd.  It was going to be one

of their first arguments for a long time.

Nothing, she muttered enigmatically.  Nothing at all.

But she knew what he was like- of old.

Now, where could she buy some of those calendars with Pasha,

or Aljaz?

Tastier than some mouldy old lump of…She wished Dru could get a hold of some

of his spores.  Even Anton’s would do.  It was time that she was a

grandmother.

Midge Repellent

Tags

Abbotsford Sketchbook, Alex Salmond, booze cruise, Borthwick Castle, clarsach, David Dickinson, Eriskay Love Lilt, G&S, Jacobite, James II, Jamie Come Try me, Joseph Mallord Turner, Maggie MacInnes, midge repellent, Pele Tower, Ruddigore, Samye Ling, Skye Boat Song, Tate, The Real Deal, Tibetan Centre

Murgatroyd? Hi, it’s Dru.

Lovely to hear from you.  Still coming on the 18th?

Yes, Nigel too.  Emm, you know you said Mum..

I thought you said she was going on a cruise?

She was.  They were.  I’ll explain later.  She and

Sonia..

Bring her-eh, them.  They’re welcome.  I’ve had

confirmation from Gus and Virginia too.

Listen, mum and Sonia are going to stay at The

Tibetan Centre and will come over for the concert.  Is

that okay?

At Samye Ling?  Brilliant.  I’ve printed the tickets and

wanted to make some flyers and posters.  Let me know

when you have finalised the programme.  After all, I know

nothing about the musical side of things, in spite of sharing

a name with the eight ghosts in ‘Ruddigore’, or ‘Ruddy Bore’ as

we always called it.

Don’t be unfair to G&S, Murgatroyd.

I wouldn’t dream of it.

Nigel wasn’t confident about pronouncing Gaelic, so we

concentrated on boat songs in the first half.  A lot of them seem

to have a Jacobite flavour.-the Skye Boat Song, the Arran one

and a Loch Tay version about unrequited love for a red-haired girl.

There’s even a Seedboat one which tells of a young man who sails

to Co. Down to buy whiskey for his wedding in the Hebrides.

Ha!  A kind of booze cruise!

Then we though about ‘It was a’ for our rightfu’ king’ as a finale.

It might attract the Salmond groupies.

I’m not sure we want those, faltered Murgatroyd.  What about ‘Ye

Banks and Braes?’

Maybe. ‘The Eriskay Love Lilt’ is a good one and ‘Jamie Come Try Me’

is popular too.

Isn’t that a girl’s song?

No.  It’s about loyalty and a commitment to take up arms on behalf of

James II.  We have drawn shamelessly on Maggie MacInnes’ albums for

ideas.

Hmm…Well, I’ll leave it to your discretion.

You might raise enough to fix the roof!

Good news.  I might be well on the way already.

Really?  How?

I’ve just taken in a little sketch of the pele tower, which everyone thought

was of Borthwick Castle.  It bears a striking resemblance to the one in The

Abbotsford Sketchbook in the Tate.  Bendor Grosvenor said he’d get one

of his contacts to take a look.  It could be by Joseph..

Mallard Turner, shrieked Dru.  How exciting.  I hope it is The Real Deal.

Murgatroyd winced.  He hated that programme.  And he wasn’t a big fan

of David Dickinson either.  Don’t forget the William.  And it is Mallord.  He

wasn’t a duck, or, indeed a drake.  The point is, we’ll just have to wait and

see, he replied.  Anyway, great that you are all coming.  Remember to

bring some..

..midge repellent, concluded Dru.  Yeah, I heard they were bad this year.

Every year, sighed Murgatroyd.  Anyway, ciao!

Gardy Loo!

Tags

affrontee gules, Alex Salmond, Auchentoshan, Bannockburn House, bauchle, beeswax, Bohemia, Bonnie Prince Charlie, chamber candlestick, chatelaine, Clementina Walkinshaw, dexter and sinister, Faberge egg, Game of Thrones, Gardy Loo!, King of Cumbria, lion sejant, Lost Middlelands, manflu, mizmaze, Nemo Me Impune Lacessit, Pele Tower, reivers, Rory Stewart, The National Trust, The Proclaimers, The Young Pretender, Tindall, Tyndale, Walter Scott, Wyvern Mote

Drusilla and Murgatroyd sipped their Auchentoshans simultaneously

and gazed at the faux Faberge egg sitting on the coffee table.

Sorry to have disappointed you, said Murgatroyd.  It isn’t one of the missing

ones.  Bless Aunt Augusta.  She was trying to bestow something on you,

but it is practically worthless.

The Tindall Jewell, on the other hand is priceless. I wonder if it had any

connection to either of the Tyndales who turned down the throne of

Bohemia?  I must do some research.  But I suppose it is earlier than

that.  Looks medieval.

The strange coincidence is, as we discussed earlier, that a branch of the

Tindalls owned this pele tower at one time.  So, in a sense, you might be

coming home.  I’ll dig out the charters tomorrow.  I was going to frame one

or two for the Great Hall.

I’m not going to drag Gus through a lengthy process of establishing rights.

The insurance on the jewel would be a liability and a nightmare.  It should

remain with The National Trust at Wyvern Mote, Dru stated firmly.

I think you are right, Murgatroyd nodded sagely.  I get in a tizzy over the

security of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s communion chalice.  I hated getting it

marked by ultraviolet, but it is alarmed in that niche by the fireplace.  One

day it will be yours, my girl.  Come to think of it, you do resemble

Clementina Walkinshaw a tad.

Well, thanks for that.  I have no intention of escaping to a convent just

yet.  Do you think it came from Bannockburn House when Clementina was

nursing The Young Pretender from a nasty bout of Manflu?  He probably was

demanding the Last Rites histrionically- you know- the way all you guys do

when you catch a cold!

So the story goes, but Walter Scott and his ilk tended to embellish things

as you can imagine.  It does come from the Rebellion period and has a very

good maker.  I won’t take it out now, but it bears the motto: Nemo Me

Impune Lacessit and the lion sejant affrontee gules, crowned, holding in

dexter paw a sword and an erect sceptre, proper..

Whae dare meddle wi’ me?  A motto I would gladly adopt as my own ,

smiled Dru.  Well, I must go up the spiral stair to bed.  My head is

spinning with all this history, the Auchentoshan, or losing myself in the

mizmaze this afternoon. 

I’m sure it is a combination of all three, speculated Murgatroyd, handing

her a beeswax taper in a pewter chamber candlestick.  The hive has

been busy to light you on your way.  I’ve only been stung twice.  You can

taste the honey at breakfast, my sweet. 

She felt a renewal of filial affection which wasn’t diluted by being shared

with her biological pater.

The embers were dying, so Murgatroyd placed the fire-guard in front of the

glow and rolled back the rug, lest a spark should catch.  He was turning into

a fussy old chatelaine.  Dru left the egg on the table.  If there should be a

raid by the reivers, they were welcome to it.  The egg, not the table!

She dreamt of Border tussles: mafia bosses fuelled by proxy wars, with

visages remarkably like Rory Stewart.  She briefly counted sheep in Cumbric,

that language, Stewart claimed, of The Lost Middlelands.  She thought she

saw the face of the last independent King of Cumbria who vanished in the

11th century and screamed as it morphed into the heavy-browed, jowly

phizzog of Alex Salmond.  Clearly she had watched too many Game of Thrones

episodes.  Or he had.

Thank goodness the tower was fortified!  Any snatch of The Proclaimers

which might herald the approach of The First Minister and penetrate the foot

thick walls and she would be tipping the contents of her chamber pot out of

the window.  If Alex was stationed below with his troops and that wee

bauchle, the standard bearer, who shall remain nameless, Dru would not even

give them the warning:  Gardy Loo!

Head of Cosmic Intelligence

Tags

Alex Salmond, Bake-Off!, Billy Connolly, boutique gin, DeborahMeaden, fallaid, Ginevra, James Bond, Michaelmas, quern, reeve, Sean Connery, sloe, South Sea Island cotton, spaewife, struan

Carrie dropped in on her mother-in-law, the gin-swigging nonagenarian,

Ginevra Brewer-Mead.

So, what is my son up to at the moment?

Your son, Gyles?

Is that his name?  Ah, yes, him.

He’s filling out some tax forms.  He said he feels like a reeve.

Reeves used to have to do the accounts before Michaelmas Day

and, if there was a shortfall, they had to make it up from their own

resources.

I expect no one wanted that job, pronounced the sharp old lady.

I didn’t want this job, muttered Magda.

Candia sent you some sloes, for your boutique gin, said Carrie,

handing a bag to Magda, Ginevra’s Eastern European carer, along

with a pot of Michaelmas daisies.

How you do? said Magda.

I think we’ve met, Magda, Carrie replied, puzzled.  She thought the

girl’s English had improved recently, but..

No.  How you make?

Ah- thirds.  One third gin, one third sugar, one third sloes.

You’re supposed to wait until the first frost before you pick them,

complained Ginevra.

Oh, I didn’t know that, Carrie sighed.

Weel, ye ken noo, as the Scots Worthy famously said.  Sit ye doon,

commanded the old curmudgeon, patting the sofa beside her.

Carrie connected with something hard and cold which had been secreted

under a cushion.

Candia and I were discussing folklore to do with St Michael, Carrie began

as a conversational opener.  I used to think that he was the patron saint of

underwear, as his label was on the back of my vest and South Sea Island

cotton knickers when I was at school.

Ach no.  He’s the Head of Cosmic Intelligence, stated Ginevra.  A kind of

angelic James Bond.  The Real One. Sean Connolly.

Sean Connery; Billy Connolly.

Aye, well don’t get me started on him.  He needed a good haircut.

I bet you don’t know some of the Scottish versions of the folktales, Ginevra

cackled, like an old spaewife.  Your grandmother- Jean Waddell, as she was

before she married into the Pomodoro family, could reel all the old tales off,

nae bother, as she used to say.  God rest her soul!

She shifted the tartan blanket over her knees and tried to conceal the

aluminium hip flask under it.

Is that a new tartan? Carrie asked.

Trust you to notice.  Magda got it for me on that Internet thing. It’s ‘Made in

China’ actually.  It’s the same tartan as that fishy guy, Alex Salmon, ordered

at the taxpayers’ expense when he forgot his trews, or breeks, as your granny

would have called them, for some function over there.  He had them made

up.

Like his policies, Carrie thought, but did not continue the metaphor, rich

though the ore of satire might have been.

Magda came in with a wee cuppa, as she had learned to call refreshments

other than the alcoholic ones.

Your grandmother was a dab hand at making the struan, Ginevra continued,

her eyes searching for shortbread.

Struan- what was that? Carrie was intrigued.

It was a cake which had to be ground in a quern-

Quern? asked Magda.

I’ll tell you later-in three equal parts-of bere, oats and rye.  The eldest

daughter had to make it and woe betide her if it broke in the baking.

Quite a responsibility then? sympathised Carrie.

More than in yon Bake-Off rubbish, said Ginevra.  This could be Life and

Death.

Changing the subject and getting back to reeves, directed Carrie, did you watch

Strictly?

How does that link to reeves?

Well, I was thinking of financial wizards and wondered if you liked Deborah

Meaden?

Not as much as Robbie, her partner, Ginevra pronounced.  I suppose he’s like

St Michael.  He’s taming the old Dragon!

And yet again, Carrie was impressed at the old biddy’s mental acuity.

Have you seen my winter fuel allowance? Ginevra asked.

She means this, said Magda, holding the hip flask out of reach.

It isn’t winter yet, said Carrie firmly.

But the nights are drawing in, protested Ginevra.

I’d better be off, Carrie said decidedly.  I’m meeting Candia in

Costamuchamoulah, for a coffee quite soon.

Cheerio! Ginevra trilled, quite happy as Magda had handed over the flask.

I’ll tell you all about fallaid next time.

I can’t wait, replied Carrie, exiting right, but thankfully not pursued by a

bear.

Digging Up The Past

Tags

Alex Salmond, dermo-abrasion, Dogtanian, Dundee University, hirsutism, Plymouth Brethren, Shakers

You can’t find a seat at certain times in Costamuchamoulah must-seen cafe,

in spite of the recession.  As I waited to pounce on a spare seat, I observed

the lovely Citronella, proud owner of the newly-entitled Beauty and

the Beast, once named Pride Knows No Pain, gassing away with her bosomy

buddy and colleague, Melinda, the masseuse, or Mimi as she self-

styles.  Ella was unaware of the frothy moustache on her upper lip

until Mimi indicated it.  Strange, since the lemony one is known to

spot any hint of hirsutism at fifty paces.  She licked the tide mark off

with a tongue that was surprisingly not forked.

Do you know, she addressed her sidekick, they are going to create  

500 new-builds on brown sites in the town, and that small patch of

land behind us is the first to be excavated.  That’s where we put our

cars, so goodness knows how we are all going to survive, unless we

become Amish, or Shakers and Movers and return to horsepower,

like those zipless people in America that took in some UK

students for a steep learning curve in what was supposed to be

a boot camp.

Weren’t they Plymouth Brethren?

No, they’re our locals, but they don’t come into the shop.

You meant the people on that programme where the brats loved

discipline, chastity classes and hankered after rules? queried Mimi.

I quite liked their clothes, actually .

(I was somewhat surprised at this remark from one who

sheds outer garments like a disinhibited chrysalis.)

Yes, that’s the people I meant, Ella explained.  I sympathised with

their moral code, but their no make-up policy would be a killer for

our livelihoods….Getting back to the council, though, it definitely

shouldn’t be digging up car parks.  It’ll ruin everyone’s business.

 But digging up the past’s the latest craze now, Mimi elucidated. 

Councils all over the country are hoping to unearth some celebrity

skeletal remains, so they can attract tourists…

who would have nowhere to park when they arrived, Ella clarified.

I agree, Mimi hastened to positively stroke her employer, in the

metaphorical sense only. But- you know what? – I don’t see anyone

wanting to build on that little plot. 

Hmm, Ella interjected, but, supposing Sonia’s Phantom Cavalier’s bones

were to be unearthed, he could be laid to rest in sanctified ground and she

might get some peace from his paranormal activity in Royalist House.

Mimi looked thoughtful. I don’t suppose Sonia would agree to selling

that plot, though.  She has some rights over it, surely? Access over it is

the only way she can have her bins emptied.

What do you think of those facial reconstructions, Mimi?  Ella changed

the subject. I saw that someone from Dundee University made a model of

that Scottish poet’s face, but it just looked like Alex Salmond with a pony tail.

Mimi had never heard of Scotland’s First Minister and so she

affected an even greater confidence:

Facial reconstruction is what you do every day, Ella.  These people

are amateurs.  You know all there is about peels and dermo-abrasion. 

You didn’t need to go to university for those skills.

Well, it’s nice to have your vote of confidence, Mimi.  I suppose

that if we have hundreds of new-builds, we’ll have plenty of new

clients. And if the Council uncovers The Phantom Cavalier, there will

be plenty more tourists.  Unless Suttonford has a huge feud with

Suttonfield over who gets to keep the bones. It’ll be just like the

Battle of Suttonford all over again.

Oh, breathed Mimi.  All those Dogtanian-types will probably require

quite a bit of massage.  I know they’re tactile: they wore velvet,

didn’t they?

Ella couldn’t understand the non-sequitur but she humoured Mimi

nevertheless:

It’ll be all for one and one for all! laughed Ella.

And all out for themselves, I thought. They’d even hogged the spare chairs

by strewing their coats and carriers over them.

I wasn’t going to wait any longer.  I went next door to the opposition.

Their attitude to customers is less cavalier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ash Dieback

Tags

Alex Salmond, Anne Lorne Gillies, ash dieback, Cutty Sark, devolution, Fraxinus, mountain ash, Nicola Sturgeon, rowan tree, Scottish Assembly, Scottish Referendum, sorbus aucuparia, Tam O' Shanter, Tree of Life, Tricia Marwick

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I was a little girl, I lived in a row of terraced houses, which was elevated above street level, with grassy slopes which led to the pavement- and all cordoned off by neat privet hedging at the bottom.

A path ran in front of the block of four dwellings.  At either end there was a flight of stone steps, with a double cast iron handrail- ideal for childish acrobatics.  And, to protect the whole block from witches, there was a rowan tree in the small garden patches of the end houses.

So, when I heard about dieback among ash trees, or Chalara fraxinea, to be precise, my first concern was whether rowan, or mountain ash was of the same susceptible genus.

I Googled and somehow found myself on a site about Alex Salmond.  What possible connection could there be between the First Minister and Pest Risk Analysis?

Apparently he had recorded a duet with Caledonia’s own Anne Lorne Gillies.  They sang a version of The Rowan Tree.  Could it be that Eck could transmit crown dieback on the Tree of Life, as sorbus aucuparia is sometimes known?

By giving them the vote prematurely, young saplings could suffer particular destruction and be infected in their nurseries with devolutionary disease.

Dinna fash yersel’!  Haud yer horses!  One of the nation’s- and I mean the UK’s favourite trees is thankfully immune to his kiss of death.  Just as well, as we don’t want to be exposed to any witchcraft from Nicola Sturgeon, Nanny, or Cutty Sarks in general. (see Burns’ Tam O’ Shanter for a clarification! Nothing to do with sailing ships built on the River Leven.)

So, nae sweat!  The rowan seems to be safe for the moment.  And The Scottish Assembly is safe from any more musical experiments, as The Presiding Officer, Tricia Marwick has banned singing in Holyrood.

 

 

The Cramond Lioness

Tags

Alex Salmond, Cramond Lioness, Lion Rampant, Pliny, Scottish Independance

Here’s one for Alex Salmond!

THE CRAMOND LIONESS

(a Roman artefact discovered in Jan., 1997 in the River Almond,

near Cramond)

 

 

Celtic prey, you’re about to be ravaged

in the savage amphitheatre method.

Bored tyrants only have to drop their thumbs.

Your arms are back-stretched, yet it does not bite.

II

Native populations felt such talons-

and teeth.  Yet Pliny once remarked that lions,

alone of wild beasts, show mercy to those

who will prostrate themselves as conquered foes.

III

A Roman carved it, shaped sandstone to beast.

Why do the snakes on its plinth crawl away?

Are they deserting Caledonia?

Will our ancestral spirits leave us too?

IV

Ferryman, your sighting of this statue

caused its salvage, as the Lion Rampant

tosses its wild mane, unsheaths its claws,

unscathed by its submersion in Time’s silt.

V

Will Scotland’s lion be merciful to those

who kept it as a leisure ornament;

stained it with iron salts of industry;

chucked it down the river when the time came?

VI

Both inefficient walls have crumbled now;

tides and tables eventually been turned.

Iron has entered the lion’s soul.

Puissant once more, pray it licks those who bow.

English: Cramond Lion – an exhibit in the Royal Museum, Chambers Street. The statue, actually a lioness, was found in the mud of the River Almond by ferryman Robert Graham in 1997, close to the site of a Roman fort, established around 140 AD. Graham received a £50,000 reward for recovering one of the most important Roman finds in Scotland. It took two years under controlled conditions before it was dried out and could be displayed. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Muzzard Magic

Tags

Alex Salmond, Andy Murray, Angela Tilby, Bacon, Church of the Holy Rude, Dunblane Cathedral, Educating Essex, Flushing Meadows, galaxyzoo, James Bond, Macbeth, Montaigne, Rowan Williams, Sean Connery, Shakespeare, Sir Alex Ferguson, Stephen Drew, Stirling, US Open, Zen

So, a new star in the firmament then?  Let’s look at galaxyzoo.org.  We may be dazzled by the reflected effulgence from a great big rock on Kim Sear’s left hand, or it might not be too many light years before we get its blue shift.  I mean the girl has sat through so many cosmic matches and had to put up with a boyfriend who watches Wedding Crashes rather than wedding planner videos.  She hangs out with the near eponymous Too good to hurry mint.  Muzzard’s mum lit up like Venus when squeezed by Sean Connery, so there could be feeling somewhere out there in the dark matter of their tennis universe.

Or is there?  Andy did express some emotion at misplacing his sponsored watch after the game, but even though this triumph was one giant leap for Murraykind, he limited himself to a fairly Zen-like self-appraisal about being happy on the inside, if not exhibiting it on the outside.  If ever there was a time for a burst of: If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands, then this was it.  Sir Alex nearly choked on his chewing gum, for Goodness sake.   At least he didn’t hug anyone.

Philosophy was topical, with Canon Angela Tilby on Thought for the Day recounting the Zen reaction of a falsely accused monk, who only reacted by reiterating, Is that so?   This was a reaction also much favoured by Stephen Drew, Deputy Headmaster, who failed to respond prematurely to teenage angst in Passmores School, as shown on the programme Educating Essex.   Clearly it is a successful modus operandi.

Rowan Williams appeared to be a Zen master, as well as a bardic Druid, when he neither excused nor justified himself over his past record, but merely made the low key comment : I don’t think I cracked it.

However, understatement is different from dissimulation, which is pretence and projection of a false self.  So, when an interviewer asked Andy to comment on his 2.30 am victory-..if you could dissimulate that..  my ears could not fail to detect this crass lexical choice with all of its Macbeth, or even Malcolm connotations:

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

or the advice not to be

as a book in where man may read strange matters.

Andy roared like a rutting stag when he was taking control, so I do not see that he is guilty of equivocation.  It is more a feature of Lendl to restrain himself.  Maybe the latter has been making a study of Machiavelli, Bacon or Montaigne, in order to advise his young prince.  Malcolm was the character who adopted the strategy of dissimulation to engineer his claim to the Scottish throne.  Now there’s an over-reaching step to set oneself after the Flushing Meadows novelty has worn off.

So, maybe the Church of the Holy Rude at Stirling, a coronation site, could prepare itself for a nuptial celebration, or an elevation to the Salmond hierarchy for the boy who done us proud {sic}

Dunblane butchers are already promoting their Grand Slam sausages and burgers, so the wedding breakfast could be served with a bit of black pudding and some deep fried Mars Bars, to continue our astral theme, and if the Hydro could be considered too windy a venue for an outdoor barbecue, at least it would deter Culicoides impunctatus, Meanbh-chuileag, or the biting midgie.  The males are benign; it is the female who are the deadlier of the species.  However, a little touch of OO7 appeared to cure the Queen’s Evil and Judy seemed a lot less scrofulous after that wee cuddle.  She got the real Bond, whereas Her Majesty only got Daniel Craig.

Aye, Sean, I’d put my kilt in the cleaners pdq and check the pleats for moth damage because I think you’ll be giving it an airing pretty soon.  Let’s hope you are not double booked for October 5^th. (Global Bond Day)

Mind you, Dunblane Cathedral would make a pretty backdrop for such a ceremony, with its plaques to three poisoned sisters who aspired too high for the nobles of the day- a fitting reminder to Kim to keep her nose clean?

If she can bear to keep playing Scrabble without winning and can avoid words like dissimulate, she is probably on to a high word score.

Lo he comes with clouds descending is a brilliant rallying hymn for a conquering hero, so they might choose that as an antiphon or introit.  Mummy could give him away (not really) and the floral wreathed Border terriers could be attendants.

See yez all at Scone!

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012