Aunty Margaret

YOU KNOW when you’re Scottish that not only can ye no shove yer Granny aff a bus, she also always lets you away wi pure murder. It doesn’t matter to her how many grandchildren she has, she loves each and every one the same, compares and contrasts their conduct, foibles and failings against those of her own children, and her children invariably lose, because she’s not such a besom as to believe that her own creations might be the best who ever walked this earth. Her bairns were a trial run, and what she really perfected were the grandchildren, those who didn’t wear hand knitted jerseys, tackety hand me down boots and home darned socks. There’s a magical place in her heart always for the grandbairns who made things, went places, saw the world, travelled, learned, taught, laughed and sang with fellow fishermen on Canadian ice floes, Sioux warriors and bagpipers, great grandchildren who became advisers at Number 10 and emigrated to California.