Tag Archives: I

I, Writer …. # 25

I, Writer …. # 25


I seem to remember telling you that I now have a new cat.
Her name is Kitty. She is almost 4 months old and her favourite food is Felix tuna flavour. She sleeps just about anywhere and has recently taken quite a fancy to the wooden fruit crate in which I keep some of my old writing files.

I also have a new desk. It is quite small and fits in nicely by the window. Try as I might it is stubbornly refusing to eat. I asked in the pet-shop if they had any tasty desk nibbles. This was just before they threw me out.



I, Writer … # 24

A couple of days ago I reblogged a post from Kate over at 4AM Writer. She’s called 4AM Writer because she does precisely that. Highly recommended.

Anyway, I woke up really early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked at the clock. It was a little after 4.AM.
Freaky or what. I lay awake and got to thinking – 4AM Writer lives in America and is 5 hours behind British time which means she’s 9AM Writer as far as I’m concerned, me being over in Scotland and all. So I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Back to my dream about drinking beer on the Moon. Time-zones are for wimps.

I, Writer … # 23

I, Writer … # 23


A short dialogue I overheard when my ear was pressed close to a bowl of salad at a friend’s birthday party.

Your eyes are like limpid pools of starlight. Your skin is as soft as a kitten’s fur.

What about my hair. Do you like my hair ?

You’re a cucumber. You don’t have any hair.

And you’re a tomato. You’re not exactly hairy yourself.

Well no, but …

You’re just jealous.

Jealous ?

Yes. You’re jealous of me and salmon.

No I’m not.

Yes you are!

Look … what you two get up to in a sandwich is non of my business.

Anyway, lettuce told me that you were getting very friendly with a courgette.

Yes. We were at Eton together.

You mean you were eaten together ?

No. We were at Eton together. He was in the year above me.




In order to keep in with the spooky spirit of Halloween, I have dug up an I,Writer post from 2016 …


I, Writer … #22

I, Writer … #22

I, Writer has a new furry addition to the family …



I, Writer … #18

I, Writer … #18

Total Global Nuclear War in a Waste-Paper Basket …

Many years ago, before Twitter was an egg and trolls were just annoying creatures with nothing better to do than scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting travellers, I wrote to several well-known British daily newspapers. I was trying to sell them articles about all manner of things from the price of fish to the likely consequences of total global nuclear war. I didn’t hold out too much hope of getting anything published but these things must always be attempted in any event.

Anyway, just in case my efforts weren’t accepted (and believe you me, they weren’t) I had adopted a face-saving ploy. This ploy was absurdly simple and centred on the subject of waste disposal.

I told them – “If, in the unlikely event you choose not to snap this article up and prefer instead to dispose of it in the time honoured fashion, then the very least you can do is to tell me what colour waste paper bins you have in your editorial offices.”

I thought this to be a perfectly reasonable request.
Did they take me up on this ? Did they hell!  No replies. Nothing. 

Well, except the dear old Daily Telegraph. They actually wrote back to me. “Thank you for your article. Unfortunately we are unable to accept non-commissioned pieces at this time. As to your request. The waste bins in our offices are a nice shiny blue. We have also recently acquired several new paper shredders. We wish you every success for the future.”

Well at least they bothered.

I, Writer … #17

I, Writer … #17

Much of a dayness (Part Two)

(Click here for Part 1 in case you missed it)

So here I am back at the table tapping this post on to my Kindle notepad. It’s almost 2 pm. and the wind sounds pretty wild out there. I always seem to hit a tiredness barrier at this time of day. Sometimes I just go and lie down for an hour in graceful surrender. Or I may go out for a walk and try to blow the cobwebs away.

Our cottage is situated in the beautiful village of Turnberry on the west coast of Scotland. It’s only a few minutes walk from the beach. Tell you what. I’m going for a stroll. Why don’t you come along and I’ll show you around.

This is the view from just outside the cottage. There’s usually cows and sheep grazing in the field opposite. Just cows today though. Beyond the dunes is the beach. Maybe the sheep have gone in for a quick dip.

This little path leads to the sea. I feel a poem coming on.

I must go down to the loo again
To the lonely loo and the flush
And all I ask is a nice warm seat
And a spikey toilet brush

Ah, they don’t write ’em like that anymore.

Half way down the path we are always greeted by a horse. So we give him a pat and a few handfuls of grass. He is very friendly. We don’t know his name as yet. But, if I had to go through the desert on a horse with no name, I would definitely choose this delightful fellow. I am reliably informed that ‘grass’ is actually drug slang for cannabis and ‘horse’ is a term for heroin. But, for the avoidance of doubt, in this particular neck of the woods, grass is grass and a horse is a horse. And a tax return is something you rip up and throw in a bin.

This is Turnberry Beach. Mainly folk walking their dogs come here plus some tourists. We’re heading for the lighthouse in the distance.

Here I am adopting my favourite windswept and philosophical pose. My wife has another name for it. Scruffy.

This is my favourite part of the beach. The island on the left is called Ailsa Craig. It is volcanic in origin. It has a long and fascinating history and  I really must tell you about it one day.

A little climb up and we can see Turnberry Point Lighthouse. It was designed in 1873 by brothers Thomas & David Stevenson. They designed over thirty lighthouses in and around Scotland. Thomas Stevenson also had a son, Robert Louis Stevenson who was the author of Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Close by the lighthouse are the fragmentary ruins of Turnberry Castle, birthplace and childhood home of Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland.

During both World Wars, an aerodrome was constructed at Turnberry and used  to train pilots in the arts of aerial gunnery and combat. I love this picture of a squadron of Sopwith Camels flying past Turnberry Point Lighthouse in 1917.

Turnberry is also very famous for its golf courses and many world-class tournaments have been held here. Personally, I really can’t see the point of the game. Maybe I should give it a go, but not at £350 a round, which is what they currently charge here.

Legend has it that, in the Summer of 1297, Robert the Bruce played a round of golf here on this very course with his good friend Sir William Wallace. They were about to tee off when, without warning, the English King Edward arrived with his army. He ordered his archers to release a hail of arrows before sending in his heavy cavalry which chewed up the playing surface something awful. History doesn’t record what happened next. Probably something like …

BRUCE: Hey Edward. Bugger off back to England ye big hairy jessie.
EDWARD: No. I am going to take over your entire porridge factory.
WALLACE: You and whose army!
EDWARD: Well, my army actually.
WALLACE: Fair point.
EDWARD: Look. I feel a bit bad about disturbing your game. So can I suggest we have a battle somewhere.
BRUCE: That’s a great idea Ed. Let’s meet at Bannockburn in June 1314.
EDWARD: I’ll just have a look in my diary. Yes, that’s good for me.
BRUCE: Excellent. I’ll get my people to talk to your people and they can iron out the details.
EDWARD: Well, I’ll be off then. Cheery bye.
BRUCE: Hey Wallace! Did you just kick your ball closer to the hole while I was chatting to Ed ?
WALLACE: Er … No. Are you suggesting that I was cheating.
WALLACE: You’re asking for a hammering ya wee scunner.
BRUCE: Go boil yer arse ya glakit bastard.

It is said that the Bruce’s ghost haunts Turnberry golf course to this very day. So anyway. I cut across the green behind a crowd of lunatics and head for home. Ah, I have one more treat for you.

Yes, Turnberry is also the location of the Trump Turnberry Hotel & Golf Resort. It is a magnificent building dating back to 1906. I haven’t seen our Donald here recently. We are saving up to go and buy a glass of tonic water and a packet of pork scratchings  in the bar.

Well, that’s us back at our wee cottage safe and sound. Hope very much you enjoyed the stroll. I bid you a fond farewell and hope to see you again very soon.