Iain Maciver writes …

CHRISTMAS morning and after I had tuned into Angela MacKinnon and Terry Wogan for a bit, the little schnauzer nuzzled me and dragged me out for a Christmas morning walk on Melbost beach.

Contrary to islanders’ reputations, there were loads of healthy people running about with their pooches. Hector was chased off again by a great wee Rudhach dog that is always rushing pell-mell after balls along the beach. Mine tried to join in by trying to make off with one of them. Big mistake.

That is one heck of a lively mutt belonging, I think, to Iain the sparky in Garrabost. He is one dog that doesn’t like other ones playing with his balls. After getting a flash of those wee white fangs, Hector wisely decided instead to investigate the flotsam and jetsam with his master. That’s me.

We found a German beer bottle, a doll that turned out to be very chewy and some important-looking papers marked Human Resources – Private and Confidential. And then piddled on them. That was Hector, not me. Interesting letters, though. Can’t make out the address because Hector somehow smudged it. Just phone me if you think they are yours. Just tell me the words that come after “You are hereby dismissed because . . .”

Further along, we met Nick Cotton. He is looking well these days after getting out of prison, setting up his own plumbing business and returning to Walford to see his dear ol’ muvver, Dot Cotton. Of course, that is just in EastEnders. In real life, he is just like you and me and calls himself Ewen France.

When he gets back to Stornoway, he even has an ordinary day job so paparazzi types like Bill Lucas and Murdo Maclean won’t be sniffing around. For about 25 years he has been slipping back here to the island where he has been working between scenes as the manager of the Gael Force creel factory in Island Road.

After seeing him on the beach, I was surprised then to see him pop up on the telly in the evening. I didn’t know there were any flights on Christmas Day. Unless, maybe just maybe, they are two completely different people? No, don’t be silly. That would be uncanny.

After skirting nervously past the famous actor – or could it really have been the cuddly and loveable factory boss? – me and the schnauzer then met a beachcombing toff immaculately kitted out in a white suit and cravat and jumped all over him, leaving a big wet mark on the front of his trousers. Hector again, not me. Sorry, mister. Then, right down by the Eye Church, we came across two genteel ladies of Point district and jumped all over them and licked their faces. No, not Hector. That was me.

And for New Year’s Day tomorrow? We will go out for our constitutional somewhere. However, I have decided that I am going to start 2009 by drinking all day. But it will all be clear water from a hole in the ground. It’s true.

Months ago, I responded to an e-mail challenge from a charming young public relations practitioner who assured me that if I would try for a few weeks a certain celebrity beauty water, she would let me have a consignment free. It was full of minerals and vitamins and other things that ugly people obviously just aren’t interested in. Beauty water? Get off me. No way. Hold on, did you say free? I was up for that and e-mailed her right back. We buy water anyway. Why the heck not?

Then I heard nothing for ages. I felt foolish. It was obviously beauty-conscious, slinky women they wanted. Like Myleene Klass or Cathy Macdonald. Harrumph. Then one day these big boxes of Willow Spring Water arrived. What every great skincare regime needs, it said. Why drink any old water when you can have one that has naturally-occurring beautifying properties?

This water comes from the Holy Well of Cartmel in the Lake District where once stood a forest of white willow trees. It claims a unique blend of minerals like salicin and high levels of calcium that have supposedly worked wonders for some ugly people trying to look good. Aye right, but not from rubbery old rhinoceros hide like mine.

A few celebs including model Alex Curran, the Sugababes and TV chef Clarissa Dickson Wright say it works. Ah well, two out of three ain’t bad. They say it is also good for the boobs. I just hope that includes manboobs.

So I’m going to glug my way through seven boxes of it. And instead of knocking back dehydrating uisge beath tomorrow, I will instead swig pure Willow Water, eat no solids then wait to be transformed into the new and beautiful me. Slainte.