You need a knowledgeable toastmaster to celebrate Scotland’s Bard in style, writes Iain Maciver.
You should try and learn one new thing every day, it says in my new self-improvement book.
I got rid of the old one because it said I should walk 10,000 steps every day and eat salads and vegetarian sausages every second day. Really, have you tried these veggie bangers? Grey, dry, and they taste of unseasoned cardboard with a hint of dishwater. I would rather scoff my old socks with my eggs and beans for breakfast.
If you don’t like diet advice given by someone, change the someone, not the diet. Get a second opinion, whether the advice is from a solicitor, a search engine or your spouse. Actually, that advice from me right there that might not apply in every case.
My new self-help tome is written by a Scot, so it says you can have a couple of drams, but not more than once a week, for some reason. It also says that if you are low on iron, you should have a green salad with a couple of slices of Stornoway Black Pudding. Yay.
A scandalous Gaelic drama
I have a second opinion about Gaelic TV drama, as well. It has always been so staid and predictable. Sorry, BBC Alba, but it has.
Now, the new series of An Clo Mor, set in a Harris Tweed mill, on BBC Alba (Mondays at 9pm) is packed with industry, business people, international deals, heart-wrenching social problems, and ladies who kiss.
So? They snog… each other. Faint. In the Western Isles? Yup, the scene last week where the ladies were, er, undercover together, caused ructions in several presbyteries.
They watch that sort of thing day in, day out on other channels, but two women exchanging sweet nothings in Gaelic is shocking, apparently. O mo chreach ’s a thainig, and other expressions of amazement are doing the rounds.
If you want to be shocked, give Naked Attraction a watch
One outraged islander announced on social media that she was disgusted. There was no prior on-screen warning, no pixelating of lip contact, and nothing in the pre-publicity to get her ready for this outrageous jolt to her existence, she raged.
Apparently, she’s never going to watch BBC Alba again. Good. The rest of us can start enjoying more realistic drama, then.
If you are going to boycott the Gaelic channel, my considered opinion is: go to Channel 4 and watch Naked Attraction. There will definitely be no Gaelic lurve talk on there. Thank me later.
Unfortunately, and unnecessarily, BBC Alba chiefs put a message in the end credits stating An Clo Mor was fiction, and that any similarities to any real snogging women or anyone else was entirely coincidental. Killjoys.
Meanwhile, I’m telling everybody that sort of thing has always gone on in every tweed mill on the island. I haven’t watched this week’s episode yet, but I gather things are getting hotter still.
Haggis, sneapan and tatties
It’s hot pudding time this week, too. That savoury pudding of sheep’s heart, liver and lungs, minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices and salt, mixed with stock, and all cooked in a parcel, made with the animal’s stomach. It’s Burns Night tonight – or on Friday or Saturday, if you’re at work in the morning.
I wonder if Mrs X remembered to get a haggis and the usual aperitifs that go with it, the mash and the “sneapan”? That’s where the word neeps comes from, you monoglots.
We have some regular guests who always come to celebrate the Bard, sing a few of his songs, have a wee drammie and fill our boots
By the way, did you know that turnips are known in America as rutabaga? That’s close to “rudan beaga”, Gaelic for small things. Learn something new every day? Tick.
We’ll make a night of it, as we have some regular guests who always come to celebrate the Bard, sing a few of his songs, have a wee drammie and fill our boots, pandemics permitting.
Murdo the Exorcist
The Exorcist, as I now call him, is the only one who knows the Address to the Haggis. We know “Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, great chieftain o’ the puddin’-race”, but what’s next? Da-di-da a da-di-da – as long as my arm, or something.
As well as being handy as toastmaster, the Exorcist – or Murdo, as some know him – will slice the haggis. Flailing at it with Mrs X’s best kitchen knife, he wrecks the Great Chieftain. We had to pick bits of intestine off the ceiling the last time. Yum.
I will then introduce Green Grow The Rashes, O, and make the usual joke: “You’d better get some ointment for that, Mr Burns.” Mrs X will become a royalist for the evening and sing Charlie Is My Darling, before crooner Annie warbles Ae Fond Kiss, tearfully, and we then pour Annie, Meg and Exorcist into a taxi.
Why do I now call Murdo the Exorcist? I learned something new about him the last time we had a Burns Supper here. He made the spirits disappear.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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