Burns' Night, chicklit, e-book, Elvis, Flower of Scotland tartan, ghillie brogues, Heath and Safety Officer, Heavyweight kilt, Izaak Walton, Juniper, Pele Tower, Phytophora, Presleys of Aberdeenshire, Prince Charlie jacket, PTA, skean dhu, trout fishing
I mustn’t look back now that I have re-located to Suttonford. I can
hardly believe that it is almost Burns’ Night. Wonder what my ex,
Murgatroyd, is doing? Probably having a ceilidh in his converted Pele
Tower in the Borders. No, don’t go there..
Called in to meet another of Sonia’s friends last night. She was quite
an eccentric old lady in her nineties and, although it was very early in
the evening, she insisted on pouring us very large measures of
something hideously like fire-water, which she referred to as Dewlap’s
Gin for the Discerning Grandmother. There was very little tonic in it.
There followed a monologue about the decline in juniper plants in the
South of England. Apparently rabbits are eating them and No. 3
London Gin is subsidising the protection of the few remaining bushes in
Sussex. They seem to be succumbing to a disease called Phytophora
austro-something or other- the plants, not the rabbits. The old dear
was quite distraught at the thought of her little tipple being affected.
Not so little, actually!
We were talking about the PTA Burns’ Supper and Ginevra, for that
was the old biddy’s name, was surprisingly informative about where
Gus could hire a kilt and all the gear. She used to live in Scotland too,
nearly a century ago.
Apparently there is a place in Southampton that sends the whole outfit
out, if you book it on-line.
The Health and Safety Officer at school has vetoed the skean dhus,
though. Says they could be construed as dangerous and menacing
I e-mailed Gus later from Ginevra’s, to pass on the information and to
say that I would come along as his guest. Ginevra is quite au fait with
the internet and so on and even showed me her latest e-book! It
seemed fairly racy.
She called it Broilerlit and, when I queried the term, she explained that after
chicklit came henlit, and finally, broilerlit, written by authors of the Third Age.
Much later, when we finally dragged ourselves away, so that Magda, the old
lady’s carer could put her to bed, Gus actually phoned me on my mobile.
He told me that there is to be a band and caller and the School Secretary has
organised an auction, with prizes, such as a day’s trout fishing with tuition
which will tickle the gills of any budding Izaak Walton.
She- The School Secretary-I don’t recall her name-had already ordered
ghillie brogues, a Prince Charlie jacket and Heavyweight kilt in the Presley
tartan for him, seeing as Gus has no clan connections. So, she must be
quite efficient, after all.
However, he didn’t fancy the Elvis theme, in spite of the Presleys being
genuinely originally from Aberdeenshire. So she swapped the cloth to
Flower of Scotland, which certainly sounds more traditional, though it may
be universally worn, with no affiliation required.
Sonia is going to lend me her long, bottle green satin dress and a tartan
stole, if the moths haven’t got into it.
I’m a little worried about Gus’ legs and I can’t bear to speculate as to
whether he will, or won’t be wearing anything underneath.
Let’s just hope that it is not a windy night, in any sense of the adjective.
I’m glad he opted for the Heavyweight!
Cheerio for now, as they say!