The Sair Lug

On my way out for my Saturday writing session, I popped into one of my locals (since this is Glasgow, there are several; this is the one which shows All The Football) to catch the last half hour of my team’s struggle to muster enough enthusiasm to win the league sooner rather than later. The pub in question is a proper old school Glasgow pub. It caters mostly to one half of the Old Firm for choice, but will show the matches of the other and mostly leave the handful of souls that turn up to watch them in peace, save for the occasional non-targeted bout of good natured cajolery. But it’s not all friendly solitude. Sometimes you get a bit of banter, sometimes you get a chat. Sometimes you get a character.

Today’s character was John. A retired fellow who had worked in various sectors of the drinks industry over his career and, consequently, seemed to have spent most of his life driving around Scotland half-cut and having escapades. Highly entertaining  escapades they were too (especially the one with the prize bull), and the 35-40 minutes until the final whistle blew were among the most fun I’ve had watching my team this season. We almost missed the final minute penalty. Well, one of us did anyway.

And he left me with a writer’s gift. A Scots phrase I’d never heard before. Referring through the conversation to using the telephone as being on the sair lug.

Cheers, John. I’m having that. It’ll fit perfectly into the current WIP.

This is writers need to get out more.

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