Posts scrieved bi Thomas Clark
Scots an the smit: a language unner lockdoun
Frae here at ma desk ah can see richt doun ontae Hawick high street. It’s ten weeks noo syne ah left the hoose for ony ither reason than tae tak the bins oot, but ah get ma vicarious kicks in ither weys. A single loun ploddin throu the rain wi a Kwik Save cairier bag is a mystery ye could scry intae for decades. Cyclists swerve tae the opposite sides …
Braw lads an soor plooms: on the mairch in Galashiels
Aboot the first thing that happens whan we get tae the mairch is that we get pit in chairge. Weel, kind o. Yin o the organisers comes joggin taewarts us across the gress, asks if we’ll be stewards. Me, ah cry aff; ah’m here tae write aboot the mairch, no tae rin it, an ah’m gey shuir ah’ll no hae onything positive tae say bi the fínish. Ah’v no been …
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…
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 …
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 …