It’s no you, it’s me: or, sorry Gaelic, but Scots still haes issues tae wirk throu

Syne we’r aw on the subject nou o whit mis-uisses o the leid a Scots spikker is or isnae alloued tae feel affrontit bi — whither it’s sneistie Disney-Pixar memes or the Diet Scots on American telly programmes — can ah lat ye in on wan o ma ain wee wirry-carles? Ye’ll hiv heard it yersel, nae dout; yon thocht-terminatin cliché that signifies maximum woke wi minimum ettlin, thirls sympathy for the cause wi sweirtness tae hear anither wird aboot it, an it gangs like this:

“Oh, one of my friends is a Gaelic speaker, and he…”

Weel… ay. Yin o the tapmaist kenmerks o oor mansplainy times is that there’s naither need nor prerogative tae haud tae the maiter at haund, especially gin ye ken naething aboot it an hiv nae interest in learnin. We mebbes dinnae aw ken awfu muckle aboot the Scots leid, but we’v aw got a freend or twa that spiks Gaelic, or is ettlin tae — an sae maist o us hiv got a hale wheen o richt-on opinions on the subject. Hou important the leid is, hou necessar that we aw fecht tae preserve it an pass it ontae oor bairnfowk. Mun, juist staundin here sayin aw this maks ye feel like Martin Luther King oot on the steps o the Capitol…

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A dangerous thing wi style

Tae dae a dangerous thing wi style is whit ah caw airt — Charles Bukowski As a scriever ye’r no meant tae read ablo-the-line o yer ain airticles, gang gallus intae yon dour Apache laund o Unicode emoticons an racist GIFs an illiterate comments bi fowk wha micht mean wan thing an micht mean anither but naither thing maks ony sense. Ye’r no meant tae dae it, ah say, but …

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Toodily-doo, Flanderinos!

It stairts like this. Ye’r on yer traivels somewhaur — Malta, could be, or Spain. Weel, mebbe no Spain. But whauriver. Somewhaur warm. Touristy. Nice, but no too nice. Say, Turkey. An ye’r in a bar. This daurk wee howff for fowk wha cannae staund the heat. Weel, there’s a queue in this bar, an here’s you, staundin in it. Fower places back fae the front, an there’s nae twa …

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Billy Connolly broke ma hert

Gin ye grew up in a particular pairt o Scotland at a particular pynt in time — say the wast coast, say the Eighties — Billy Connolly wis the anely thing that maitered. Set by yer Sex Pistols, forget yer Clash — nane o that stuff iver got throu tae us. The C30s that we swapped aroond in cless warnae bootleg Bowie; they war taped fae dusty auld vinyls we …

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The First Minister’s Readin Challenge

Wha kent whit, an whan did they ken it? E’er syne they catcht auld Dick Nixon wi his lug tae the Watergate waw, oor politicians hae makkit a guid haundlin oot o the doctrine o plausible deniability, itherwise kent as the virtue o unexpectit ignorance. Knawledge, tae oor current crop o baby-kissers, is a volatile thing, ayeweys apt tae blaw up in yer face; an in fact is juist like …

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