27 May 2017
It’s baking hot in the box room-cum-office today. I have thrown the windows wide to capture the breeze but the air is heavy and oppressive. My ears are filled with the squawks and screeches of unseen creatures more typically found in tropical climbs. Due to Scotland now being officially ‘rain forest’ I expect.
We have all found the last few days a challenge. On Tuesday the Domestic Manager was bitten by something. I told her it would probably not go septic and not to think about leishmaniasis, but it didn’t seem to help. Alice swears she saw an alligator in the river yesterday and is sleeping under a mosquito net just in case it manages to find it’s way up the stairs in the night.
Our garden has been transformed from an uninspiring patch of mossy lawn into a lush broad leaved jungle, with massive flowers that eat things. If I look closely through the rising mist I can just make out two baboon’s lurking in a tree at the end of the garden. Don’t know what the’re up to, but if they keep up that rhythmic shaking there will be no leaves left on the thing.
Summer has arrived in North East Scotland. Three days of cloudless skies and unaccustomed heat. Some love it, others hate it but everyone is talking about it. It is due to end in torrential rain today. Never mind. Mustn’t grumble.
On Wednesday I was back in Glasgow, sweltering under the relentless sun. I found myself weaving a path through crowds of topless, tattooed men using their 15 minute break to turn themselves a painful lobster red. When men go out in Scotland and the temperature is above 15 degrees C (60 degrees F) you HAVE to be topless. It’s the law.
For those not in the know Glaswegians live in a city with more health issues than most, mainly due to their appalling diet and total lack of exercise. I always found the latter rather surprising, as the city is built on the side of a hill.
On arrival I went into the kitchen to put my home-made chicken salad in the fridge. One co-worker – and who I know to be utterly charming – spotted me in the act.
I’ll call her Jamesina, which is the female version of the popular Scottish name James. Or so my Scottish friend Kimberley in Edinburgh tells me. And she knows stuff. Thanks Kim.
My co-workers permanent smile disappeared as she stared at my plastic bowl. Her face was a mixture of shock and dismay.
“What’s THAT?” she demanded, her wonderful Glaswegian accent suddenly full of menace.
“My salad… for lunch… made it myself….” I replied meekly, knowing this was a battle already lost.
“What? Cummon man! This is Glasgae! Get a pie and beans doon your neck!”
She walked away, shaking her head in disappointment.
Publicly disgraced I immediately left the office and went down the road to Greggs. There I purchased a roll with sausages and a chicken curry bake. I returned and consumed both in the hope I may regain a little local respect. Not sure it worked.
Some may have noticed we have one of those election thingies happening here in a few weeks. I have no intention of turning all political, other than to say I have always voted Monster Raving Loony when given the opportunity. If there was no MRL candidate standing I’d just let Alice do it. Even when she was tiny.
Half a century of listening to politicians talk nonsense has convinced me they are all a bunch of self-promoting, dishonest charlatans who would sell their own mother for a whiff of power.
This being the case it has been very interesting when local candidates have knocked on our door asking for our support.
It is also most unusual! Generally we just get a heap of leaflets through the letterbox, each of which bears a picture of a grinning buffoon who promises to feed the hungry, heal the sick and to give anyone that votes for them a million pounds. Alice takes pleasure in giving them moustaches, glasses and raging acne while waiting for her tea.
When they knocked on the door it was not for a discussion. It was so they could talk at us. They either told us how good things are, how bad things are or how the earth is in imminent danger of being destroyed by the giant invisible space lizards that are secretly using my shed as a land pad and my back garden as a camp from which they are planning their attack on civilised society.
Obviously this is wrong. No respectable space lizard would put up with the noise from the randy rutting baboons.
In truth the prospective candidate known as ‘Chief Wizard of the Earth’s Soul Army’ didn’t come to our door to warn of invisible space lizards but I really wish he had. He would have been much more entertaining than the bozo’s that did.
It is not only the heat that is giving me sleepless night this week. Today is the start of the two week Isle of Man TT. Roughly speaking they close 38 miles of public road, give it a bit of a sweep then race motorbikes along it at speeds in excess of 210mph (338kph). And that’s about it. No barriers or run-off areas. Spectators can sit where they like. And I look forward to every race.
I am now off to polish my crash helmet. I like to wear it while I am watching the racing. Once I have thrown a couple of stones at those baboons. Wish I had their stamina.
For those that remember Drop the Dead Donkey, two from Gus Hedges this week
1. “Jill, could you come for a brief scuba in my think tank?”
2. “Helen, if I could just park in your mental multi-story a moment…”
And finally a story from the dead tree press. That trusted bastion of truth and honesty The Sun printed this. Only in Britain:
Murrays Musings 