The Glorious Twelfth
Tony Cooper
It is August it is Scotland. I'm north of Hadrian's Wall and south of the Antonine one. I don't think the Roman Augustus got a wall named after him or perhaps he ditched it.
I should be in the Lallans grouse beating, but that's another story. Anyway, everyone knows I have alcoholic myopia - I can't see past the pub.
Just ask any bartender in Uisge Beatha, why only last night I was reminiscing there with a girl who used to work in the Oran Mor about their large grouse. This memory stuck to me waiting for the Flourish Times meeting to start; there was a hold-up with the banking. The brain wave was so good I had to come and type this up for you. I thought all my brain waves had said goodbye.
The clubhouse is part of an international movement to help the lives of those who may have been blighted with mental health problems. I think I've had mental health issues. Having spent a year and ten days of my life in psychiatric hospitals - I sure hope I have.
Anyway, Its August, it's warm, it's dreicht, there's a smir of drizzle in the air, and there's a dram to hand - that's Scotland for you, as I was saying to the Californian at 'Ishkys' the other evening. The American said he didn't like the heat; he could get that at home. You can't please all of the people all of the time.
The 12th of August is the official opening of the grouse-shooting season and is traditionally known as the Glorious Twelfth. Unless you're a red or black grouse that is.
On one occasion when I was an in-patient at Gartnavel during this month I went up for the lunchtime medication and the dispensing nurse was just back from her holiday in Marbella - she was a bit of a high flyer.
She greeted me with a sunny salutation of 'The Glorious Twelfth'. I said I was glad I wasn't a grouse. The young nurse assisting her had a bewildered expression as if he was wondering who should get the tablets. I got them. I always get them - DAY 12. I also got the mop later and cleaned the patient's kitchen so we could keep it open. The duty nurse made an offer everyone else refused. To get it cleaned up or have it closed. She was a good nurse, she made the grade to work in the Intensive Psychiatric Care Unit or locked ward, thankfully I haven't seen her since.
Though I must admit I have been seeing a bit more of the Bradford girl who worked in the Oran Mor since she got ajob bartending in 'Ishkys'.
We recalled last night about the Grouse whisky promotion at The Oran Mor one Saturday afternoon. The whisky hostesses were going round in tartan attire with tall glasses of iced Grouse drowned in ginger beer. An occasional fan of our 'Water of Life' I managed to resist the temptation of free booze. As part of the note-worthy event there, someone got into an 8-foot red grouse costume and gambolled around the place being comical.
I said to their company rep on the occasion:" No wonder they call them low flyers. Carrying all that weight they'd never get off the ground."
