Press and Journal June 20, 2011
Sitting here laden with all my Fathers’ Day presents, I can’t help thinking how lucky I am. Who else gets a boxful? I’d better unwrap them and see what I’ve got from my wonderful loving family. What on earth’s this? It’s one of those ear hair trimmer things. Do I need one of them? Must have been on special offer. I know how my other half can’t resist a bargain. Bless.
Look, a book. Yay. What’s it called? How To Teach A Man To Cook. My family are so thoughtful. They know that I have been looking for one that’s got a bit on how to make the perfect sausage sandwich. And what’s this? I expected something a bit bigger and made of glass. A screwdriver? That’ll be another hint from Mrs X to fix that kitchen cupboard. Is that it?
The one day of the year when I should be spoiled, given expensive presents and served in bed with a sumptuous breakfast of caviar and hand-picked grapes dropped onto my tongue from the fair hand of a buxom wench, and what happens? My family, including the big wench, is still up there snoring away and I’ve come down to find a pile of the most useless presents a man has ever had. Oi, you up there, where’s my bottle of malt? And there’s no batteries in this strimmer.
No, it’s not the thought that counts. I was looking forward to a bottle of something fine and warming to enjoy within the fine and warm bosom of my family. Now I have to wait until next March to get my revenge.
Don’t you worry; I’ll remember to forget Mother’s Day.
One organisation that didn’t forget to help out someone else was Western Isles Council. They set themselves the task of finding ways to help BBC Alba, the Gaelic TV channel, now that every man and his dog can see Donald Macsween presenting the Gaelic version of One Man And His Dog because it’s all now on Freeview.
Our great councillors had been scratching their heads to think of ways to come with fresh and interesting content that does not impact on vital budgetary considerations and overall strategic objectives. That means something cheap or which costs nothing at all. They talked about the need to put on a Gaelic drama series; a soap with storylines that would grip the nation. Just one problem; the cost. Drama is hugely expensive. All these actors, producers and directors would want to be paid.
These TV people are so greedy, said one councillor who forgot to mention that he has not one, not two, but three jobs. Hmm, it’s a real problem. “By jove,” shouts one elected member, “I think I’ve got it. Why don’t we broadcast every council committee’s proceedings. People will see us working hard on their behalf and it’ll be very interesting. It’s all about openness.”
Openness? What he actually meant was that he considered himself a bit of an inspiring orator. He could see himself on his feet at the licensing board meetings proposing that the latest application for Sunday opening be thrown out for the health of the community. Our eloquent elected member would then look at the camera and raise a knowing eyebrow, à la Roger Moore, before resuming his seat to thunderous applause, foot stomping and whoops of “Way to go, a’ Thormoid,” from all the Free Church elders packed into the public gallery. Note to council: You will need more seats up there because the upcoming split in the Church of Scotland means there will be far more of those Wee Frees packed into licensing board meetings soon.
Hey, could be a good plan. Cheap too. The Beeb could just send Sweeny down with his camera. He could leave it switched on and go off to do a sheepdog programme as long as he remembers to come back last thing at night to switch it off. Not everyone was sure of the plan for a Live From The White House daily show. One member, diplomatically avoiding any suggestion that some councillors are extremely boring speakers, raised the possibility that wall-to-wall council meetings could be too much for many viewers and that it could just put them to sleep.
What? Ridiculous notion. They were all bemused by any such suggestion.
Donald Martin of BBC Alba is a wily Harrisman – and we all know how careful Hearachs are when it comes to spending money. He made it clear that these upstanding pillars of the community were far from being a dull shower while also doing away with any need to spend £10 million on a Gaelic soap. He looked the councillors straight in their 62 eyes and said: “We don’t need to spend money on drama. You already have it here.”
The bewildered members just looked at each other. They’re probably still wondering what he meant by that. See? It’s that kind of cunning wickedness of the pure-bred Hearach that Scotland needs. If Alex Salmond, just to take one example, had that lightness of touch so delightfully exemplified by Donald, he wouldn’t be at loggerheads with every eminent judge in the land or be in the slightly awkward position of having some of the best legal brains in the country threatening to sue the pants off him.
He would have been far better picking up the phone, calling Donald Martin and asking him what was the best way to call the judiciary a bunch of numpties without irking them enough to threaten reprisals. It’s not what you say but how you say it. For instance, I’m still mad with Mrs X for my rubbish Father’s Day. I won’t tell her directly, of course. However, if you see her, you could mention to her that when I was shopping recently, the checkout assistant saw me reaching for a plastic bag.
“Sir, would you like a bag for life?” she beamed, helpfully.
“No thanks,” I snapped. “I’m already married.”
58.216001
-6.385931
