I started drawing this fellow, and, well divine inspiration must have struck as he turned into 'The Minister's Cat'. It got me thinking about the game we used to play when we were up at my granny's farm in Skipness. You know when you are clapping your hands on your lap and saying "the minister's cat is an 'angry' cat....'boisterous' cat...'courteous' cat", as each person in turn has to give the cat an adjective to describe it. I used to love that wee game. It was usually followed by "I packed my bags and went to London, and took with me a - and then you had to name something and repeat the last persons on the list etc. Total innocence...and I suppose it was innocence that led me to the next wee story, concerning a Skipness Minister too.
Now, you have to remember that I was only a wee tiny boy, and had the face of an angel, and it was so long ago that i probably only remember bits of what happened.
My grannys farm was about a mile and a half's walk from Skipness village and its little shop, so it was a bit of a trek getting there, and I only had wee legs, but, if you were in desperate need of a sweetie...or in the adults case a cigarette, then trek to it you must.
It was on one such occasion that we had gone to the store, then dilly dallied about for a bit by the shoreline, before ambling back, Well, the local minister must have seen us all shambling along by the side of the road whilst he was in his car, and decided to give us a lift. The usual polite conversation must have ensued, and at one point, it must have been my turn to fill in any silences. With my wee angelic countenance I started to pipe up a little ditty that I had been taught...most likely by a bigger cousin, which went along the lines of -
"Yum, Yum, bubblegum
Stick it up a policeman's bum!"
As hands shot up to cover my mouth it only encouraged me to repeat the phrase like some out of control parakeet.
Stick it up a ...gnnaarrbbb,,,plfuffle..
Well, the sense of mortification near shot the windscreen oot the car, and i'm sure the minister was finally glad to decant us hooligans off at my granny's farm.
I wonder if it ever made it into his sermon on the following Sunday?
Wee horrors so we were. Anyway, have a creative day and i'll see ye tomorra!
Whit's he up tae noo?
The blog posts of David Brodie, a Scottish artist based near Glasgow.