Friday, 26 April 2013
They are a weede awa
For over half a century I have sat at the top of more columns than Simeon the Stylite, so many, indeed, that I am known in my inky trade as The Parthenon Kid. I have been throwing down handfuls of words since VE Day on the green baize of printers' 'stones'.
I was Chiel Amang Ye Gathering Notes in the 'Hairdressers, Wigmakers and Perfumers Gazette'; Man About Town in the 'Drapers Record'; Yorkshireman in the 'Yorkshire Evening News';Thea Paige on the Showbiz page of the 'Manchester City News'; Mr Midnight in the 'Sunday Pictorial'; and I have thrown my chamois bag of glittering words at the heads of more editors than you could throw a stick at.
I just wish there had been time left over to learn how to write shorthand, spell, understand about commas and laying out columns. The truth is that even from my office desk I used to phone my copy to the copy takers at the other end of the newsroom. My radio and TV work meant I only had to speak, never to write down.
Alas, I have gone too far. I apologise to my readers for the Holy Mess I made of last week's blog. The truth is I have had a lot on my mind. I am tended a team of doctors who have nothing better to do than to make up improbable diseases. Wandering leg syndrome was one, you may recall. Failing heart was something of a relief . But Soggy Lung Syndrome? Too much by far.
Fortunately help is at hand. One of my oldest chums - in every sense of the words - and former publisher Neil Marr rang. Paraphrasing one of the great men of our trade, he offered: "I will attend to the format and the spelling errors. You confine yourself to the word artistry."
I have just returned from the Pier's Head of Skidmore's Island where I have been welcoming him to the main shores of Skidlandia. What a stirring figure he made as, preceded by his hereditary piper and dressed in full Highland Regalia, he has inspected the Island Yeomen.
I have hurried home to pour the Glenfiddich for his arrival. Yet stay. I fancy I hear the tread of him iambic feet
The happy mood in which this was written was made of fools gold. Neill tried manfully but I have made such a mess of blogger technicalities I cannot survive.
So iyts good bte and thanks lovely people. I have fallen foul of wandering leg, soggy liver,and all those perils my unhappy flesh is heir to and the Giftie has taven back the gifts he gie us.
This is my last weekly blog. There will be more but not as otfte. Thanks for listening you lovely people