And now - a short interlude ... or maybe not, this could become permanent. I could get to like this.
After long, weary weeks and months of journalist diligence, research, interviewing and creative writing, mixing with coarse and couthy rallying types, whose colourful language would make Frankie Boyle blush like a burst rasp, the author of this Blog page is in dire need of spiritual salvation and mental rejuvenation.
Hence he has taken himself off to Willieboakit Abbey, a remote and faraway place seeking solace and solitude, taking time out to seek inner peace and contemplate the more meaningful things of life.
What better way to cleanse the soul than cold porridge and an even colder monastic cell. Straw bedding and potty hole in the floor. Iron bars in place of glazing. Bracing showers in the waterfall fountain and freezing flagstones, bare feet and sackcloth cloak. Sheer bliss.
One lights one’s way by either the sun or the moon, or the frequent flash of lightning, and the only heat emanates from a spluttering pig fat candle. Musical entertainment is provided by the choral chanting in the cloisters and the rhythmic slap of bare feet on flags. Radio Clyde is nothing more than a bad memory. Was it ever anything else?
So farewell cruel world. A life of selfless devotion and the study of ancient scrolls does beckon far from the quaint and rudimentary civilisation of Brexit Britain.
Oh! Jist haud oan a minit, hit the brakes. There’s no pies in the kitchen and no bevvy in the building. Maybe this denial and flagellation lark isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.