Friday, 30 September 2011


A copy of the finished artwork

I readily confess - it was me.  Yes, I'm the one you're looking
for.  How can I deny it?  After all, I put my name to it.

I sit here, consumed by guilt in my participation in the worst
ever spate of litterbugging that Scotland has ever seen.  "How can
this be?" I hear you ask, and, not wanting to disappoint your eager
expectations, I am only too ready and willing to tell you.

In a previous post, I alluded to a company for which I occasion-
ally did a bit of advertising work.  Amongst their diverse interests
were various food outlets, including that great Scottish stalwart
and home of the deep-fried MARS BAR - the humble chippie.

A copy of the original 'rough

No, nothing to do with building sites;  I of course refer to the
traditional fish and chip shop, that bastion of British (well, at least
Scottish) civilization as we know it.  (And I'm well-aware that there
are some amongst you who will gleefully proclaim that the words
'Scottish' and 'civilization' do not belong together in the same
sentence.  Youse are claimed!) 

Here's how it happened.  This particular fish and chip shop
needed a cartoon illustration for their bags - I provided it.  (The
'rough' and the finished article can be seen on this very page.)  How-
ever, the company which owned the shop also had other food outlets
in various parts of Scotland.  Whenever any of them were short of
bags, they were supplied from any excess stock of bags which
I had designed.  (This, of course, would sometimes happen
in reverse.)

Add to that the fact that one of these shops was right next
to a bus terminal to which hordes of hungry travellers called in
for fish suppers and the like on their way home, and you can well
understand the reasons as to how this humble little paper bag
managed to get around.  

The finished, printed result

This resulted in the situation that, no matter where I hap-
pened to be, at some stage I was likely to see a bag with my name
on it drifting down a high street or across a field, or stuck in a hedge
somewhere - not only in the remotest areas of my own home town, but
also in Hamilton, Rutherglen, Glasgow - and even as far afield as Edin-
burgh for goodness' sake!  That bloody bag got everywhere - I'm sure
it was haunting me.  I never dropped a bag myself, but I somehow
felt responsible.

Anyway, I feel better now.  Whoever it was who said that
confession is good for the soul was right, bless 'em.  Hopefully, I'll
now be able to sleep at nights, and face myself in the mirror with
an untroubled conscience.  Only time will tell.

Right now, however, I'm off down the chippie for
a fish supper and a deep-fried Mars Bar.  Braw!

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