I have returned to Rural Perthshire from a short trip south of the border. I can't possibly go into details, but my experiences whilst away included some prunes, a secret rendezvous in Penrith and meeting the Kendal Cairn Deconstruction Society (a one-woman crusade).
It was a bizarre weekend, even by my standards. In pursuit of some light relief, on Saturday night I switched on the Eurovision Song Contest.(Conversing with mine host was like trying to get a wet sock out of a milk bottle). The evening went from dull to dire. As if the ordeal of a two hour assault on the eyes, ears and psyche wasn't enough to bear, mine host insisted on commenting on each 'performer' (I use the word advisedly) in a crude and inappropriate manner. 'Hasn't she got a BIG ARSE' was a particularly well-used phrase, repeated - as it was - 35 times.
Mine Other Host was neither use nor ornament as he lay comatose on the kitchen floor having consumed a catering pack of lager. "It may have been your 50th birthday," I said, tetchily (on the Sunday morning), "but that doesn't make inebriation, coarse language and acute flatulence even remotely acceptable. Does it."
"I'd love you to come up to Rural Perthshire soon," I lied, as I threw my duffle coat into the car.
Driving off, I smiled and waved.
When hell freezes over.
