It gives me a nippy heidie just thinking about it.
A pucklie weeks will see the 30th anniversary of this column. It all came to pass in 1992, when I was Press & Journal assistant editor to editor Harry Roulston.
With my desk just outside his office, next to his secretary’s, he’d often come across, and lug into, me in full flight about something which had gone awry in my BW (between hubbies) life. Possibly hoping I’d get on with my job a bittie mair, Harry suggested I write a weekly column about my goings-on for the Friday Lifestyle page.
A fair skelp of space, enough to do the main piece and a few bitties aboot news items. That first column on November 6 was on the week before’s shenanigans, when my cousin from South Africa and her daughter were visiting.
Saturday night, to the Regency Casino, my keen-gambler guests excited to get to the tables. All dolled up, including my 83-year-old mum who (according to the column) was resplendent in a silver-trimmed black top and skirt, insisting she was only there for the free sandwiches.
As we trotted past the bow-tied bouncers, catastrophe. They barred the way for my cousin’s 23-year-old quine, dressed in stunning designer jeans because… denims were a no go. Even extortionately expensive ones.
However, the clever lassie came up with the solution. Outside, she wheeched off her jeans, then pranced past the shrugging bouncers wearing only the long johns she’d bought in Markies to combat the Neest chills.
Not much has changed in 30 years
Around that, I wrote about Charles and Di’s disastrous tour of South Korea, when I said they both looked heartbroken – only, now we know about Camilla, it’s clear one heart was more broken than the other.
I welcomed Bill Clinton as the US president-elect, saying he bore a striking resemblance to John F Kennedy, including his “sexual charm”. As if I’d a premonition of how he’d later “charm” Ms Lewinsky.
The column also urged 15-year-olds to start working hard for their upcoming mock Standard Grades (guess fa’ that was aimed at?). Finally, a dig at Scotrail, because its trolley service didn’t materialise until Leuchars. Nothing new in 30 years there then.
Moreen still Matters
All this time, talented artist Helen Hepburn has been by my side, her wonderfully witty drawings breathing special life into my words. Today’s cartoon is an exact reproduction of that first one, when we’d no colour.
I just describe a scene or person. As if by magic, she’s able to recreate as close to dammit what’s in my heid. Thirty years of thanks, Helen.
The column was originally called Moreen Matters, hopefully indicating a relevance to everyone’s lives
Of all the feedback I get, there’s one comment that really gets my back up. It’s the folk who say: “Of course it didn’t really happen. You just made it up.” What in the name of all that’s sensible would be the point of writing, week after week, makie-uppie stories?
The column was originally called Moreen Matters, hopefully indicating a relevance to everyone’s lives. If I have occasionally raised a titter ower the years, or a nod of identification, then I’m an affa happy quine.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press & Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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