CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL CO-CONSPIRATOR - IN LITTERBUGGING...

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 litter-bugging 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 occasionally 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.)  However, the company which owned the shop also had quite a few 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 happened 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 Edinburgh 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!