The Hostess

Frank McTaggart, landlord of The Pished As Fuck’ public house in Clerwood liked to dress up as people who were ‘vaguely familiar but no-one could quite put a finger on who they actually were’.

They’d say “who is that, they’re vaguely familiar?” and the response would always be “I’m not quite sure. Can’t quite bring the name to mind”

Another would say (cos Clerwood folk are aye on the look-out for famous folk) “is that no’ that David Dickenson aff the telly, old cheap as chips?” and another would tut and reply “don’t be stupit, that’s Ellen Bell’s lassie, Cheyenne. She’s jist back fae Tenerife”

Frank would torment his customers by appearing behind the bar looking a vagueness, a simulacrum of somebody that might or might not have been well known, and even if they were, they weren’t really all that well known in the first place.

Punters would be gaun daft “Did he play once with Nazareth?” “The lassie fae Niddrie that won the lottery?” “Cannae be Bible John!”

When, in fact, he’d dressed and made-up to look like a boy that had played twice for the Hibs first team in pre-season friendlies but had since drastically changed his hair stlyle. Plus, it was all 20 years ago.

Some man, the Frank…!