Iain Maciver writes …

POOR Madonna. I have had to write to her. Having had to boot out her husband, she will be looking for another companion now and I am prepared to help her out. When she thinks about it, she’ll agree it makes perfect sense.

A woman of Madge’s years and experience will have learned by now that the best things come in small packages. And when it comes to tiny packages, I’m her man.

My own beloved has taken to pitying Madge’s banished husband and seems to sympathise with his plight. Hey, that’s it. There will be no need for any unpleasantness when I skedaddle with the superstar. I’ll just set up my wife with my new squeeze’s millionaire ex. Sorted.

Will my new partner and I get on? The secret, of course, will be to do everything together. What I have in mind can only be done together, but if it means I have to move to London and take up jogging so I can trot behind her round Hyde Park every morning, fine. I can do that. I have a couple of pounds to lose myself.

A multimillionaire superstar and devoted mother will have her peculiar wee ways, I don’t doubt. The fondness for large, pointed brassieres would worry some men. Not me. On her hen night, my dear present companion and her pals nearly plunged headlong into roadworks in the centre of Stornoway. They hadn’t noticed the warning signs and the traffic cones. Then they did notice the cones and the chains.

Just how women of an age when they should have known better managed to attach heavy street furniture to their upper bodies while wielding these large inflatable body parts that girls on hen nights wave about is still a mystery. It took half a pound of butter and a boltcutter from Arnish to get them off.

Meanwhile, it is that time again. I have taken the family down to the city of my birth for the annual spree that is the Buying of the Pants in the dear green place. Far from green, Glasgow is certainly dear. We had a stark reminder on Friday that we were not in the Hebrides. We got caught in the aftermath of an armed robbery at a bank in Shawlands. An apparently gun-toting hoodlum suddenly appeared and held up a security van delivering cash to the branch. The masked robber made his getaway with a cool £20,000. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen in Stornoway. All the robbers back home own filling stations. Just a joke. Just because petrol down here is under £1 a litre and it was still £1.21 at home earlier this week is not necessarily the fault of the local retailers. We all know it is due to distribution costs, turnover, etc, etc.

To recover from the shock of missing a bank robbery by minutes we went for a nerve-steadying cool drink at a nearby drive-thru burger, chicken and juice joint. Drive-thru? The only drive-thru in Stornoway is Point Street. And you can’t even do that between 10.30am and 6pm without a fixed penalty.

Driving round Glasgow, we’ve been making up games. We devised one where you have to quickly think of a song title starting with, for instance C, then drop the C and say it quickly. Longest wins. Her own Rystal Handeliers was a fair effort, but I am currently in the lead with Hirpy Hirpy Heep Heep.

An 11-year-old daughter may seem at a slight disadvantage with this one. Good: that doesn’t happen often.

Hooking up with the Material Girl came to me while being dragged around St Enoch’s, Braehead or was it Sauchiehall Street, all shopping centres to be avoided, guys. Make the most of it, my dear. Any day now, I will get summoned to go and comfort the distraught and soon-to-be-ex-Mrs Ritchie.

When she responds, life will be so different. Ms Ciccone apparently needs constant strenuous exercise to maintain that toned torso. I’ll think of a way to help her with that. She also seems determined to increase her family again. I’m sure I’ll think of a way to help her with that, too.

If I am actually still with my present high-maintenance wife going back across the Minch, Road Equivalent Tariff will have slashed the cost of taking the ferry. Carefully planned to ensure the first discounts would not benefit the filthy-rich Gaelic-mafia types who follow the Royal National Mod, it is a first step to addressing the costs of crossing that stretch of water which blocks job creation and efforts to make the islands a great place to live.

Still, why should I worry? I will be off to London and Los Angeles soon enough.

.

Published in the Press and Journal on October 22, 2008