30 January 2010

Painful memories of a flat-footed wean...

I got a phenomenal early education in a very small, rural, Scottish state primary school. Many of its virtues were attributable to teachers of above-average talent and intelligence who shepherded the school’s 30-odd students towards the elements of literacy, numeracy; creativity and learning.

My enthusiastic recollection of these women does not extend, however, to the vengeful harpy who thrust skipping ropes into our wee hands or goaded us across the scrub as fast as our little feet would carry us. She looked like a carrot subject to vengeful tanning procedures; her contorted, tyrannical features perennially set like a mummified scrotum. This beldam was not terrifically keen on yours truly, that melancholy fact owing to my persistent failure to dash fleetly, to skip, to forward roll – unforgivable sins in a child. Come the yearly suffering of Sports Day, my class stood to our marks – all four of us. Flat feet generated a flat pace – and I invariably lurched across the line at the rump of the column. My fellows would snag stickers proudly proclaiming them #1st ! #2nd ! #3rd ! … while my non-optimal performance was annually honoured by another rosette reading – I kid ye not – “Well done, you finished the race!

The position of #4th is, as a result, a comfortable and familiar one for me. And I’m cheerful to note that old familiar has recurred in the SNP/Cybernat category of the Scotsblogs Awards 2010.
My thanks to all and any who cast their votes for me. The full roll of nationalistic honour is as follows...

1. SNP Tactical Voting

2. J Arthur Macnumpty

3. Go Lassie Go

4. Lallands Peat Worrier

5= Indygal Goes to Holyrood

5= Subrosa

7. Ian Hamilton QC

8. The Universality of Cheese

9. Calum Cashley

10. Bella Caledonia


  1. As one of those who regularly sported a row of such gleaming distinction on his sports-shirt that it would embarrass a Chelsea Pensioner, I cannot empathise with your sporting mediocrity. Nor can I empathise with the sort of talent it takes to produce a blog of such elegance and wit.
    Keep on keeping on and I'm sure the next 'badge' will be unsettlingly unfamiliar.

  2. Voice of Our Own,

    I'm sure a more youthful version of myself would have shaken his fist at your kicking heels, disappearing into the dusty distance. Assuming, that is, that he had enough puff to hoist another limb while his legs were dangling inexpertly in the sportsfield.

    Thanks for your remarks, in any case!