(At The Wedding Fair, Aberdeen)
Kylie spotted her betrothed, Dod, walking around the fair with his hands behind his back,
smiling benignly at everyone, like a vaguely interested spectator rather than a central
participant.
“Well? Have you seen anything on your travels?” she asked.
Dod had forgotten his reconnaissance mission already. His mind tried to snap into action.
What was it I was meant to check out again? he thought to himself. While his mind was mid-
snap, Kylie interrupted.
“Cars? Kilts? Cake?”
“Ah, yes, the three Ks.”
“Fit?”
“Just joking.”
“You’ve been roon Grumpy’s too long. You used to be funny. Talking of your father in law
to be, far is he?”
“Umm …”
“And you’re sticking up for him already? You’re nae even under contract yet.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a clue. He’s at one of the Ks.”
Mither grasped the clue first.
“Cakes.”
Dod went to walk ahead of them as Mither, Kylie and Dorothy started to move towards the
cakes stalls, when Kylie shouted after him.
“Dinna get any daft ideas about running aff to warn him.”
Grumphy stuck out from the crowd, being the only person in the hall with a Dons top on. He
was dutifully trying out every sample of wedding cake going. He must have eaten his way
through the equivalent of two tiers.
Mither groaned.
“George, your stomach!”
Grumphy looked round at them, piece of cake in hand, crumbs all over his Dons top and said,
“Yes, it is mine. What’s your point?”
Mither rolled her eyes. “Well, dinna come crying to me later. You know how cake affects
you.”
“Aye, it maks me happy.”
“Da, just be careful,” Dorothy backing Mither up.
“Why? Are these the hash-filled cakes you once told us you ate at that party in Kinneff?”
“That was mushrooms. And it was Laurencekirk. And it was 30 years ago!”
“Mushrooms? Oh, aye, I forgot. You’re vegetarian.”
Dorothy looked at Mither as if to say, over to you. But Kylie stepped in to the breach.
“Granda, if you shite yourself here, you’re on your own, right?”
Grumphy put the remains of the cake he’d held in his hand back onto the cake platter on the
cake stall. The cake wifie just looked at him. Grumphy looked back and said,
“Aye, nae bad, quine. A bitty mair rum and you’d hae something there.”
Dod tried to break the ice again as they walked off.
“Anyone want a hot dog?”
“Why?” asked Grumphy as they strolled along. “Have you won the lotto? Ken this? I could
work for a wik and still nae afford the prices here. And talk about bad for your stomach?
They’ll kill you, these things. Pure poison.”
“I’m paying.”
“I’ll hae een.”
The ladies had given up on telling Grumphy what was good for him. Dod went off to get
himself and Grumphy a hot dog.
“Granda,” said Kylie, “Here, look at these kilts.”
“Aye, quine, they’re affa bonnie. Fit tartan’s that, loon?”
The kilt manny at the kilt stall took Grumphy’s address of “loon” in good humour.
“That’s the Stewart Tartan, sir.”
“Nice. Div you hae the Aberdeen Football Club tartan?”
“Err, no, I don’t think so, sir. I’m not at all sure that they have a tartan, do they?”
“Getting sniffy, are we?”
“Not at all, sir. I really didn’t know they had one for a football club. And I’m not sure the
heritage would match that of the Stewart Tartan.”
“Is that right, loon? Tell me this, then. Where were the
Stewarts when the Dons were beating Bayern Munich 3-2 at Pittodrie?”
“What?”
“Nor did I see any Stewarts in Gothenburg in ’83.”
“Sir, I …”
“Heritage, that’s what you said wasn’t it? Well, that’s heritage, loon.”
During the conversation Grumphy was wrapping the Stewart Tartan kilt around him, just to
see how it looked. He pulled it tight against himself, then looked at Mither with a panicky
look on his face.
Mither whispered to Dod, “That’s his cake face.”
Grumphy looked around and saw the toilet sign. He moved as quickly as a 70-year-old
wrapped in a kilt could in the direction of the toilet, with the kilt many shouting after him,
“Sir, sir?!”
“Dinna worry, he’ll be back,” said Kylie to the kilt manny.
Then she turned to Dod, who’d just returned with two hotdogs and said,
“Fae noo on, yoos two are banned fae cake duty, ok?”
Dod nodded, and looked apologetically at the kilt manny, who was imagining the horror of
what his kilt sample was about to be used for. Dod hesitated, then offered him the now
superfluous hot-dog.
(EXCERPT FROM FITEVER! THE UPCOMING MARRIAGE OF THE WHINY QUINIE)