Scawtland Pt I S 5
Well ho-hum and yes, what can one say about Scawtland that hasn’t already been said by someone else over the past few weeks. Not easy is it? No it’s not, thank you but, yes but, here’s a little known factette about Scawtland: deep fried Mars Bars. Uh-uh, yep, deep fried Mars Bars, ask anyone where this culinary delight originated and the almost immediate response will be the home of Shortbread, Irn Bru and Buckfast. Now, you see, you’d be wrong as deep fried Mars Bars, rather like the elderly racist bearing the name of Scawtland’s number one or number two city (dependent upon your own personal opinion or whim or love of trams or the underground, overground, Wombling free. There are other cities in Scawtland as well, don’t you know: Dundoo, Aberdoo, Ooban and Fort William to name a slack handful. And Sterling Hayden) are not Scawtish. For those of you who have followed this rather complicated route thus far, congratulations, have a pickled gherkin.
Where were we? Ah yes, deep fried Mars Bars and Phil the Greek (for those of you a little light in the locational skills department, Edinburgh has not been ceded by Corfu. Not at the of writing, you understand, but in these times of constant map revision anything is possible. And Town twinning, what’s that all about? Basildon twinned with Hades, yes well that works but then again even Mephistopheles himself would be a tad miffed if his Kingdom of Eternal Damnation was forced to clamber onto a motor coach every couple of years to crawl around the M25 in search of Dante’s vision of a true Hell). We digress.
Deep fried Mars Bars, if we can get back to subject in hand, are not Scawtish in origin. Oh no siree Bob, it is on good authority that this culinary delicacy, rather like American Chip Spice, emanated from South of yon wall. A lot south of yon wall. No not China. And no, before you even think it, not flipping Berlin. Hull, yes Hull. Twinned with somewhere equally err, Hull-like possibly Novobirisk or Parachute, Illinois or Medillin or somewhere else. So basically, what we’re saying here is get your facts right before you start slating somewhere because you might end up looking a bit silly. And how would you like it if some elderly racist was named after your town, well? Think on, Nigel Fartage is looking for a peerage.