Talking Point, with Ron Harris

AFORE heidin’ for work each morn ah make the beds, dae the ironing, dusting and hoovering, prepare that night’s tea and remember tae pick up the shopping list left for me by mah Good Lady Wife.

Oan reaching the Gazzy’s plush Wellgate offices there is, awaiting me, another list, this wan in email form, o’ various stories, tasks, chores and sundry suicide missions I’m expected tae undertake that day from mah Good Lady Editor.

It’s aboot this point ah spontaneously burst intae a rousing chorus of ‘It’s a Man’s World’ and think sympathetic thoughts aboot the life and times o’ Mr Denis Thatcher.

Truth tae tell, baith the Good Ladies mentioned above have lang since got the measure o’ me and ken fine weel that nothing massages this auld ego mair than tae set me a challenge they con me intae thinking I’m the only human being alive capable o’ meeting.

Here’s a prime example: amang the many emailed missives the Gazzy received this week there was wan frae, wait for it, the Welsh Lamb Marketing Board.

Now this is obviously of hee-haw interest tae Gazzy readers and so, naturally, the Boss immediately forwards it tae me tae magically convert intae a world-shattering news exclusive.

Now, as the last big scoop ah got was the kingsize pokey-hat cone oot the Biggar ice cream shop, this was, as oor American cousins say, a big ask.

However, as ah read through the press release mah interest was roused and mah Easily Scunnered Scotsman instincts started tae kick in.

Y’see, this mob were crowing aboot their success in winning Welsh Lamb yon special European Union status which protects it frae ony inferior imitator frae elsewhere in the world.

Y’ken whit ah mean; Melton Mowbray Pies have tae come frae Melton Mowbray, Kendal Mint Cake frae Kendal and Pontefract Cakes frae Pontefract. As the wee meerkat says, simples!

Presumably, this mob got Brussels (exclusive hame o’ the sprout, nae doot) tae agree that lamb isnae Welsh Lamb unless it sings Tom Jones songs in a male voice choir, wears a rugby shirt and mining helmet and regularly attends Methodist chapel.

I throw they stereotypes back at them because they suggest that haggis, neeps and tatties would be Scotland’s natural equivalent for protected favourite national dish status.

Awa’ and bile your (Welsh sheep’s) heid!

At least they didnae go for the auld deep fried Mars Bar slur but, honestly, how totally oot o’ touch wae reality can you get withoot being Chancellor of the Exchequer?

Ah mean, how mony families in Scotland tonight will be getting tore intae chicken tikka masala as compared to the fu’ monty Burns Supper above?

Ah’ll take a guess oan a thoosand tae wan ratio.

And should we feel ony less patriotic for it? Naw.

Y’see chicken tikka masala IS a Scottish dish, invented in yon weel kent Pakistani suburb called Glescae.

And what aboot protected species status for local food stuffs like yon Biggar Ice Cream and Clyde Valley Tomatoes.

Oh, and, as ony Lanarkian will tell you, there’s nae balls like Carluke Balls...