ARE you drookit? I expect you are, particularly if you've made the foolish mistake of stepping outdoors. Top meteorological observers have lashed out at the "unbelievable amount of rain" that has dribbled on to this moist land of Scotia during the course of an enjoyably grim summer.
The grey dampness has kept shorts-wearing to a minimum and has quashed the ebullience that normally accompanies the various Edinburgh festivals. So much for the positives. On the negative side, lack of vitamin D from sunshine will help us die you
ng and catch all those illnesses that see newspapers every day announcing that "Scots have the highest incidence of any disease you care to name in western Europe".
It's a sad fact that every cloud has a silver lining, in which case Scotland must be well lagged by now. Scotland is the anorak of the world, fiddling with her toggles while Rome burns. As the heat and sun mould the Italian character, making it warm and exuberant, so our climate makes us bitter and dour.
Dreichness forms us, gives us our unique pessimism, our penchant for misery. We are the mould on Britain's headstone, the leaking gutter at the top of Europe's house. Slowly, the rain is moulding southern English and Polish incomers into true Scots, instilling them with a "can't do" philosophy and a belief that all is for the worst in the worst of all possible worlds. Soon, they too will want others to run their affairs. They'll believe themselves incapable of doing anything. They'll become life's number twos, a nation of ghillies and NCOs. On the rare occasion when someone makes it to the top, he'll be found out, seen for what he is: someone who has grown in the shadows, but who wilts in the limelight. Vide Broon.
Often, citizens whose spirits have not yet been totally crushed look to our near neighbour Norway and say: "Why can't we be more like them?" But their climate is vastly different from ours. Their summers have sunshine and, while their winters are colder, they are different, drier, more cleansing and healthy. Their winters sparkle. Ours drip.
It's the same in central Europe, where temperatures are fearsome but rarely dank. Only Ireland shares Scotland's miserable climate, and it's no coincidence that citizens of both countries are treacherous and appallingly ugly. Yet, at the same time, both countries have a reputation for being friendly, in a violent sort of way, and for at least having a bit of life about them, unlike much of Europe and all of Scandinavia, where people aspire to be boring.
I hope I am not being controversial here. Many of these assertions are based on scientific fact and, where this is not the case, I have deployed lies as the next best thing to truth. Remember, a lie is only the truth waiting to be proved.
To prove my point that climate moulds national character, consider the grey reality of life in Loserland. If you look out your Scottish window first thing in the morning and see dull drizzle, your orientation to life will soon follow suit. Dullness is as dullness does. Your attitude will be grim and drizzly. You will micturate upon parades, pour cold water upon hope, pull your cap down against the world, and lower your eyes when confronted with bubbly, optimistic citizens from other climes.
One of the few downsides to this way of life is that one cannot even enjoy the miserable summer without some killjoy saying: "Aye, but it wiz worse last year." I cannot remember last summer, as I was drunk, but it can't have been worse than this. This is great. As I look out the window, I see a suggestion of sunlight threatening the hodden cityscape. But I'm confident the clouds will hold and that, somewhere out there, an event is being cancelled. Hooray!
Crunching in my undercrackersTHE credit crunch is proving an excellent source of self-discipline, resulting in crisis talks among leading hedonists. Urgent reports yesterday suggested citizens were now staying in on a Saturday night rather than going into town to smash something up. This is excellent news. Staying in drastically reduces immorality among the young and means the middle-aged can sit in their pants in front of the telly without catching syphilis. No one need remain sober. There are excellent supermarket lagers for 12p a gallon and, if you're lucky enough to live in an area not controlled by al-Qaeda, cucumber sandwiches may be eaten without embarrassment, even by women. In the house, no one can laugh at your cardigan or, with simian oafishness, spill your pint . It was the noted pugilist Elton John who said: "Saturday night's all right for fighting". In this, as with many other things, he was wrong. You cannot, for example, live your life like a candle in the wind. You'd be going oot all the time.
Is al-Qaeda's cucumber ban a recipe for disaster?I WAS sorry to read that al-Qaeda had banned cucumbers. To me, the main problem with the controversial group is that it goes too far. As a result, according to reports, it has lost the support of key parts of the Iraqi population, who didn't mind the terrorism, but drew the line at not being able to buy a cucumber.
To be fair, it was only women who were not allowed to purchase the controversial comestible. I read reports of the move in a respectable, middle-market newspaper, which fully explained the reason behind the ban. But I do not know how to tell it to you, the infinitely more squeamish Hootsmon reader, who faints at the sight of his or her own pants. Actually, I'm not going to tell you. Suffice to say, it involves suggestive shapes. And women. Yup, a reader in Edinburgh's Trinity area has fainted clean away.
Never mind. Forget cucumbers for a moment. Focus on the political situation in the Middle East. If al-Queda's leaders are serious about getting elected, they will need to chill out a little. Perhaps, they could issue an al-Qaeda recipe book. There are many interesting and exciting dishes that do not involve cucumbers, and it would be easy to leave a space in the index between crinkle-cut chips and curry. Now, which of you ladies ordered the banana?
The full article contains 1080 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
