[Door Opens]
Hamish!
Dougal!
You’ve had your tea!
No…
As a matter of fact I’ve just finished mine!
Mine too, by the looks of it.
I’ll be looking forward to your company later on.
How will that be Dougal?
Hamish, I’m having a musical evening!
Ah…I’m the same after a baked bean supper
An entertainment! Jinks! What fun we’ll have!
There will be hijinks on the Glen as we speak!
I don’t doubt it!
I’m bursting to know, what on earth have you laid on?
I don’t know but it’s stained the back of my kilt
No….
No no. The entertainment.
Oh, a rare treat Hamish! Did you ever see the Edinburgh tattoo?
Oh, I glimsped it once when you were changing your sporran.
I am talking about the great national spectacle.
So am I!
Oh what am I thinking of.  Come away, man, rest your weary feet, pull up a chair, there is one in the celler.
[Sheep bleats.]
Glory be! What was that!
Oh, I’m in the middle of making a haggis.
That’s handy, I’ve just been to the bakers. Could you fancy a bannercake?
I could, old friend, but would I respect it in the morning?
That’s what you got to ask yourself.

“Listen to this,”
“On the face of it…”
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“Unnecessary verbiage. What’s wrong with ‘outwardly’, or ’superficially’?”
“‘Superficially, this ancient seat of learning…’”
“No! No! No! What is this? A heroic attempt to win the world cliche record? Just ‘Cambridge’.”
“Superficially, Cambridge looks as it always has…”
[undertone] “…a bastion of privilege.”
“A bastion of privilege. Ugh! Shut up and listen!”
“But as the colleges prepare for their carol services…”
“Oh no! OH NO! Spare us in my mercy! Don’t tell me – ‘truly this is a bleak mid-winter for higher education’.”
“…truly this is a bleak mid-winter for higher education.”
“Tell me, what first attract you to a career in journalism?”
“Alright, so I’ve just got a bit rusty.”
“Rusty?”
“Go on then, you do it.”
“‘Superficially Cambridge looks the same’, colon. You know what one of those are, don’t you?”
“Ha ha.”
“‘Majestic dons make pronouncements of great brilliance and quaff clarets of great vintage.’”
“A bit OTT.”
“SSsssh!”
“‘The picture is forced. As colleges prepare for their carol services, the hymm they intone: Money don’t get everything it’s true; What it don’t get i can’t use; I want money.’ How’s that?”
“Bit flurry. Bit over-written”

“They liked that story of yours about Graham Greene.”
“They usually do,” Jane replied with a slight air of complacency.
“I’ve always meant to ask you, is it true?”
“You know, I never worry about that any more. It fills a slot.”