Tales of Wigtownshire and Beyond

What I’ve been thinking about this week:

1. My weak will. 
2. Not telling tales. 

Last week, Ivie and I were in Glasgow for a couple of nights. He’s just turned 28 (I know, I’m such a cradle snatcher) so we had a wee jaunt with some very vague plans, mostly revolving around food. 

We had booked a Japanese restaurant for Friday night where we had to reign in our enthusiasm and not order one of everything. We were fairly smug about our chopsticks technique, even under the influence and went back to our hotel merry and with full stomachs.

Teppanyaki drama

 Our plan for Saturday was to pop into Kelvingrove on the way to watching Newton Stewart play Glasgow Accies then head for Thai food in the evening. 

• Kelvingrove – yep, walked in just as an organ recital was beginning, which included some Very Serious Music. And Star Wars. 
• Rugby – yep, although we got stuck in the bar before the match as the after-lunch speaker was blocking the doorway WHILE SLAGGING OFF SELKIRK WOMEN! 
• Thai food – not a chance. 

It turns out I’m very easily led. By which I mean, the conversation at kick-off (and every conversation thereafter) went something like this:

Lorna/Jo/Lorraine/Ivie/Russell/everyone else: “Would you like a drink?”

Me: “No thanks, I’m a lightweight.”

“One won’t do you any harm.”

“Oh, go on then.”

Evil

The wine and conversation both flowed pretty well and there was a wee chat about my blog. It’s always nice to get a compliment (thank you) and I did my best to reassure the travelling support that I won’t share everything they say or do. The blog mainly exists to take the mick out of Ivie and me, to be fair, and I’m not into throwing anyone else under the bus. Unless they’ve slagged off Selkirk women, obviously. 

Turns out John McNeillie wasn’t quite as concerned about throwing people under the bus. Or Clydesdale. I’ve just finished reading his book, Wigtown Ploughman, which upset folk in the Machars when it was published in the 30s. He didn’t shy away from the harsh realities of rural life or concern himself with changing the names of the farms or the families that ran them. No-one escapes the violent temper of the main character and there was little heed of the notion of consent, although it did lead to changes in the law to protect agricultural labourers. So, not all bad then….

Bit of light reading

Thankfully, my own modern(ish) ploughman has very little in common with Andy Walker, except perhaps his love of the land and satisfaction in a job well done. 

And I doubt I’ll have 40 books under my belt unless I do nothing else but write from now until eternity. But at least most folk in the Machars will still be talking to me.