Last year, Malcolm was driving one cold and crisp evening from Stornoway to Shawbost when he saw this big lorry ahead of him, also heading west, but slowly.
Then he realised its tailgate was undone, and it was losing its load onto the road.
He quickly wound down his passenger window and slowed to be alongside it, like they do in the movies. He shouted: “Oi, cove. You’re losing your load.” The driver just shook his head and shouted something which sounded a lot like: “Get lost.”
Ach, he didn’t understand. A few miles on, Malcolm tried again. He shouted to the driver to stop, as his load was falling off. He responded, in the most unmistakable Gaelic imaginable, to go very far away.
How could Malcolm convince him? He’d try one last time. The driver rolled his eyes in despair as Malcolm wound down the window and screamed: “You’ve lost half your load.” That was when the driver shouted back: “Look, just go away. Can’t you see I’m gritting?”
Gritting is so expensive. I saw a report the other day saying our islands could spend up to £8.7 million this coming winter. That’s a lot of spondulicks to just throw on the road.
Scotland is snow-free
In other news, Scotland is now snow-free. Is that really news? If it is, then I wish to announce that Scotland is also volcano-free, elephant-free and locust-free.
It seems the famous Sphinx patch of snow on the Cairngorms has gone. Now it’s the Sphinx not-so-famous wet patch. They’re not unusual. There’s a big one in our bathroom right now, after my daughter bathed the dog.
Expert Iain Cameron said the Sphinx patch had only melted nine times in the past three centuries, several of them in the last few years. Working with charts, thermometers and barometers, snowman Mr Cameron came to the conclusion that climate change could be a factor.
I came to the same conclusion myself. You see, I have an O-level in statistics. I knew it would come in handy one day.
Kwasi, not Quasi
Statistically, when I asked readers to write to me – unless they were Aberdonians complaining about me saying the old grey city was a bit grey and cold – I didn’t expect many to oblige. Yet, a letter or two flooded in. Some came with wild gags for me to use here. Most were unprintable, but a thousand thank yous, as we say in Gaeldom.
Thank you also to Murdoch in Fortrose for his note. It was another one addressed merely to Iain Maciver, P&J Columnist, Stornoway, but I still got it right away. Well done, posties.
Fortrose Murd was playing with words to try to confuse me, and he did for a while. He questioned the meaning of the word “quasi”. Isn’t it about an item or person having a resemblance to something or someone else by attributes, while not being that other thing?
Murdoch had cheekily substituted quasi for the first name of the chancellor, and suggested he may seem like someone making reasoned judgements, but is not quite that. Wow. Has nobody else thought of that?
I thought I had the topic for an entire column right there. Look, Mr Macphail, you got me for a minute, but the Right Honourable Mr Kwarteng MP’s first name is Kwasi, not Quasi. They do sound similar, though. I’ll give you that.
Nonsensical money-saving tips
Quasi-tips for saving cash in this cost-of-living crisis are everywhere. I’m not sure about some of them, though.
I always loved that cosy, warm cuddle I got when I put on underwear fresh out of the dryer
One I saw the other day was about what to do to save money if you do not want to use your costly tumble dryer and it’s raining outside. It says to hang up your wet clothes, after they’ve been spun in your washing machine, in the living room, but only if the sun is shining through your window. The article says your washing will dry in just 40 minutes.
Utter nonsense. If the sun is on your window, you’d be taking it outside to hang up.
There’s one thing I will miss about using a tumble dryer. I always loved that cosy, warm cuddle I got when I put on underwear fresh out of the dryer. And it was always fun to then look around the launderette and guess who they belonged to.
Anyway, tumble dryers are so last century. We now dry our clothes online.
My mate Malcolm had to dry his clothes a few days after his conversation with the gritting lorry driver. He was walking down Sandwick Road into Stornoway one chilly evening, when another gritter lorry came hurtling down the road. He got pelted in the face by grit, ice and snow.
“I’ll get you for that,” he shouted, through gritted teeth.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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