Re: How I became Laird of Lochaber

On Wed, 29 Aug 2007 04:50:33 -0700, wateroleith@xxxxxxx wrote:

On Aug 29, 3:04 am, The Highlander <mich...@xxxxxxx> wrote:
On Tue, 28 Aug 2007 08:09:48 -0700, uwenoble <mikew...@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
wrote:



I am now the Laird of Lochaber. Henceforth, treat me with the respect
I deserve.

Read about it here:http://mikewadejournalist.blogspot.com/

Neat pieces, Mike. You have a nice slick style as they say (used to
say?) in the trade!

The Highlander
Tilgibh smucaid air do làmhan,
togaibh a' bhratach dhubh agus
toisichibh a' geàrradh na sgòrnanan!

I strive to serve. I hope the photos weren't too shocking.

I averted my eyes...

You can tell I've b*gger all to do - I just updated the site again.
That's the trouble - you wait 11 months in Edinburgh for some
international stories to turn up, and suddenly about 1,000 arrive in
the space of three weeks. And then it goes quiet as the grave again.

You should get over for the festival next year, old boy. A great time
to be in the city.

I daren't. The last time I was there I was so pissed I fell into the
Floral Clock. I was lucky to make it back to the Sally Ann without
being arrested.

I hope you didn't mind me giving your name to the cops. I don't know
what came over me - I think the thought of another night in the
slammer caused my trademark arrogant bravado to falter... Still, they
do a nice slice of toast slathered with margarine and a mug of tea
before they turn you loose on the streets again.

I still have fond memories of sleeping under the George IV bridge and
eating out of the North British Hotel's dustbins. All part of my
family's plan to bring me to heel.

If I win the lottery, I'll definitely come and terrorize my family by
showing up at their door. I've already got a "maybe" offer of fresh
straw to sleep on from a lady in Sutherland! Even my brother has moved
twice in anticipation of a visit from me!

One of the nastier sidelines I managed to develop in Canada was as
"The Roving Gourmet." (I know, please try not to barf on your monitor)
writing glowing, arse-licking reports about restaurants which really
should have been closed down by the Health Department.

In exchange I got petrol money, a Dickensian-era fee and a free meal,
each restaurant being featured by the magazine which employed me on
condition they bought a page of advertising. I've done some pretty
sleazy feature jobs in my life, but my wife was adamant that this one
was definitely the bottom of the barrel.

The best job was writing TV comedy skits. Hours of pissing oneself
with laughter and screaming abuse at the producer who invariably felt
felt that the scripts was a little "advanced" for the folks back home
on the Prairies and had no compunction about blue-pencilling anything
that mentioned sex, Christianity, Quebec or Baden-Powell - God's gift
to a script writer desperately trying to think of an idea.

For my pains I used to get blood-curdling telephone threats in the
night - the station gave my home number to anyone who asked.

It was all good, politically incorrect stuff and I managed to parley
it into a fat-cat job writing advertising and winning ego-massaging
awards. I also did columns and editorials for a newspaper; a task
fraught with danger as nobody ever agreed with my point of view, but
many had it in their power to harrass me remorselessly for my thoughts
about their activities.

I even saw the US Congress debate a column I wrote about the dangers
of the oil trade on the Pacific coast (I have to flash at least one
medal before I break into tears of self-pity.)

I know how you feel. I've been there. I should have taken my mother's
advice and become a scaffie, living like a lord's *** off the
bounty of the bins... (See! Alliteration; the last refuge of a hack.)

Now I'm writing a book with great potential if only it were being
written by someone who doesn't blanche at the thought of another 2,500
pages to go. I don't think I have the willpower to do it - and my
natural instinct to find good reasons for taking a break is not
helping.

I keep rereading John Master's Trilogy and Vikram Seth's "A Suitable
Boy" in the hope that the magic will rub off on me, but I suspect my
talents would be better employed writing classified ads and posting
bull*** to soc.culture.scottish.

My epitaph is not going to be "Whaur's yer Wullie Shakespeare noo?"

The Highlander
Tilgibh smucaid air do làmhan,
togaibh a' bhratach dhubh agus
toisichibh a' geàrradh na sgòrnanan!
.