Heather in the hills
Goatfell, Isle of Arran, Scotland
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.
Robbie Burns
“Would you look at the heather in the hills”
“She’s a bitch”
“What do you mean, she’s a bitch? It’s beautiful”
“I don’t think she’s beautiful, although some poor sap might think so”
“Well I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but don’t you like the look of heather? You think the yellow gorse covered hills of New Zealand are nicer?”
“Eh? What are you talking about? I wouldn’t compare her to a noxious Scottish weed like gorse, but look what she did to Paul”
“Paul who?”
“Who do you think? Don’t you read newspapers?”
“What shite are you spouting now, Kiwi?”
“Liverpool’s favourite son Paul, pretty boy, McCartney. You Scot’s are an insular bunch, but he did a pretty good job on ‘Mull of Kintyre’ That certainly put the place on the map, before that all you had was the Loch Ness Monster. I suppose you think she’s wonderful then. Is it because she has a connection to Scotland and it’s OK to take him for millions because he’s English? I thought we Kiwis were one-eyed, especially about the Rugby, women’s suffrage, first to climb Mount Everest, split the Atom and first to land on the moon”
“First to land on the Moon, that wasn’t New Zealand – that was the United States”
“I thought our history teacher was talking shit, anyway I think she’s a bitch”
“Who?”
“Heather”
“Heather who?”
“Geez mate, you brought up the subject, have you been smoking too much hash or something? You have serious short term memory loss”
“What shite are you talking now?”
“Heather – Heather Mills, I think she’s a bitch”
“Fook sake Mon. You Kiwis are a strange breed”
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Lawrence O'Grady