IF YOU are reading this, then I am probably still very unwell. Or at least so unwell that I have been unable to write my column this week.
So who wrote this, then? Well, I did, but not this week. All these fine words were chosen carefully by me and then finely crafted together at the weekend before I went into hospital on Monday.
You really don’t want to know the details, but I was due to have an operation two days ago. So I wrote this in advance just in case I was not fit enough to write on Tuesday. Now I am really worried because I have no control over how relevant what I write will be by the time the middle of the week comes around. I know, is it ever?
But what if something of great importance happens between the weekend and Tuesday, or yesterday if you are reading this on Wednesday?
What if that lady from the Free Church (Continuing) begins to panic when she realises that I am not at our usual Monday meeting place? Will she find someone else to tut loudly at?
What if the next great credit-crunch-busting project to create jobs on Lewis is announced while I languish under the cold steel? I needn’t worry about that. The majority of people on the island are now so comfortable that they will oppose any job creation, especially if it doesn’t all shut down on Sundays for reasons of tradition and amenity.
Apparently, it is nothing to do with faith or religion or even Sabbath observance any more, because that could affect the human rights and no one wants that.
This is the way we have always done it, so it must be right, goes the, er, new thinking.
It is now even being argued that there is a tourist spin-off to this sabbatarianism that isn’t. A certain well-kent person has been lecturing me that visitors are flocking to the island so they can see how Stornoway is a shining example of how every town should be resisting any changes on the seventh day.
He tells me how Christians everywhere envy our packed pews and deserted streets and want to come and see it for themselves and be part of it. He seems to genuinely believe this.
Puzzlingly, he forgets to acknowledge that the real Stornoway Sabbath is, in fact, very different. Our streets are, indeed, empty. However, that is because the pubs are full. And the pubs are full because all our sports halls are empty.
Who says we Hebrideans are not forward-looking? I don’t know why island doctors were ever allowed to use antiseptics. There was a day when wounds were cauterised with the use of a red-hot poker. It worked fine. It was the way we always did it. There was always a poker to be found. Tradition and amenity. Why change the way our fathers did it, and their fathers before them?
There, that’s done it. Having a go at the coterie of rabid traditionalists who impose their will on the freethinkers of these islands will still be very relevant by the middle of the week. I feel better already.
So what was it that put me in hospital? It’s none of your business, you cheeky beggar. That’s between me and my new best friend, Sharath Shetty. However, since you do ask, it was not a big operation at all. Or at least that is what he said beforehand. I am having a procedure done which is the term for being sliced open by a skilled scalpel-wielder like Mr Shetty, being poked around in, having running repairs done in there before being stitched back up. That was the plan. Whether it worked will become obvious if this column appears next week.
By the time you read this, I should be out and making the most of the TLC that I will so richly deserve for being so dreadfully incapacitated. But I will still be very, very sore. Hopefully, er, I mean probably.
Actually, I am looking forward to some pain – as long as it is not excruciating. The nurses pay far more attention to you if you are moaning and wailing. It’s a bit of a waste of time if you get better too soon. No one talks to you. You might as well just go home.
Oh heck, what if I get better a lot quicker than I thought? I’ve spent so long writing this, but I would then have to write another, more up-to-date piece.
Still, I really don’t think I’ll be too well at all on Tuesday. I am getting these funny twinges already.
Cards, grapes and bottles of anything to the usual address, please.
