I nearly choked over my fine Fyne breakfast of free-range farm eggs, locally-produced butcher sausages and bacon, Stornoway black pudding, two rolls from the baker and some beans from a place called Heinz.
Mrs F was away for the day and so having earlier hungrily downed my approved allocation two Weetabix with semi-skimmed milk followed by a low-fat yoghurt and herbal tea, I hit the kitchen with a ferocity and pleasure akin to former England cricketer Ian Botham walloping a winning six against his personal nemesis, Australia.
Which is why I nearly choked. There, on the news, was the kenspeckle face of Sir Ian, now Lord Botham, having been appointed the UK’s trade envoy to Australia.
I checked the date to see if it was April 1.
No, it wasn’t. The ennobled English Brexiteer Botham really is to have an official government role in convincing Aussies to negotiate favourable deals with us, now we want to coorie-in to them having ditched favourable trade deals with our ex-European partners.
It’s like asking King Herod to take on a child protection role, singer Lady GaGa to head-up Damart, the Krankies to take over the Open University, Love Island winners Millie and Liam to teach at Sunday School or Dominic Raab to become foreign secretary.
Oh, wait, Dozy Dominic is foreign secretary and amazingly still is as I write this.
It’s incredible. Botham once said of the people he’s now hoping to woo that “Aussies are big and empty – just like the country”. Bet that went down well down under.
Still, it could be worse, he might have been appointed to a hotspot such as the sub-continent. He once remarked that “Pakistan is the sort of place every man should send his mother-in-law, for a month, with all expenses paid.”
A brilliant career in the diplomatic service, if not in the Equal Opportunities Commission, awaits him.
Imagine how we’d feel if Australia appointed Kylie Minogue as trade envoy to the UK. We should be so lucky, I suppose.
Still, Scotland couldn’t do better than immediately appoint amateur golfer Louise Duncan as a roving ambassador. The 21-year-old from West Kilbride took the sporting world by storm last weekend by securing a top-10 finish in the Women’s Open Championship held at the formidable Carnoustie course, finishing as the leading amateur. Simply brilliant.
I don’t play golf. I tried, briefly, aspiring to achieve WWII golf – out in 39, back in 45 – but after inadvertently hitting the memorial that occupies the middle of Nethy Bridge golf course, sending my ball catapulting on to the main road, almost decapitating a passing cyclist, I retired forthwith to spare further risk to passers-by or myself.
Not so Louise. Her poise, professionalism and charmingly unaffected honesty in interviews was a delight to watch.
That’s true of much women’s sport. From the days when females doing anything remotely sporty, or even being seen out of the kitchen, was considered, usually by men, to be an unnatural outrage, it has grown to become a popular must-watch component of world sport.
I wonder how former Dundee United goalkeeper Hamish McAlpine felt at the weekend watching his Swedish daughter-in-law, Anna Nordqvist, win the Carnoustie event, and a massive pay day, in front of thousands of spectators and probably millions more watching on live TV?
Incredibly, the first official football match played by a Scotland women’s team was only in 1972, when Hamish was at the height of his powers at Tannadice. In fact, the Scottish Football Association banned club grounds from being used for women’s games until 1974.
What’s the difference between Tyrannosaurus Rex and the SFA? One’s a huge, cumbersome, awkward, primitive beast facing extinction through an inability to adapt to changing climate, and the other’s a dinosaur.
Now, however, women’s football, cricket, rugby, golf, tennis and all other sports are being deservedly recognised as first class in every respect. It’s long overdue and very welcome progress.
More worryingly, though, will Mrs F be a good sport when she returns and finds the fridge suspiciously empty? Like His Lordship, I’m going to need some slick talking and convincing arguments to maintain any credibility with a formidable adversary.
She’s undoubtedly got more bite than Crocodile Dundee. Ouch.