A few years ago I played the arrogant, irascible, sarcastic character of George (typecast you say, madam) in the classic American play, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee at Irvine's Harbour Arts Centre.

As I'm getting on a bit - according to her indoors - I thought it might be my swansong after half-a-century as an amateur thespian as, of course, live theatre was under threat owing to 'social' distancing, bearing in mind that in most dressing rooms you couldn't swing the proverbial Puss'n'Boots.

However, I was drafted in to be the arrogant, irascible, sarcastic Lazar Wolf (do you sense a theme here?) in Largs Operatic Society's production of Fiddler On The Roof last year at the third attempt after the plague.

So, perhaps, it's because I'm out of practice as an 'actor', darling, that I failed a telephone test recently.

It was an emergency. Water was dripping out of the gas boiler and I, eventually, found the emergency contacts for Scottish Gas in a chest of drawers.  The document you're looking for is always the last one in the file....erm, pile, isn't it?

Office staff are obviously still on furlough as my frantic call was answered by the ubiquitous automated voice which, bizarrely and annoyingly, quizzes you to check that you're a real person. After much pressing of numbers on the keypad of my iphone the voice requested my insurance policy number.

"Oh, come on, who knows their policy number, especially in an emergency." I still struggle to remember my car registration and I've had the old banger for 13 years. Give me a voluminous script to memorise and I'm your man but don't ask me to recall a telephone number.

Anyhow, after the voice (sounding menacingly like Liz Truss) went through a tedious litany of do's and don'ts about coronavirus I had to provide yet more proof of identity. I could have been overcome by carbon monoxide or the house blown up by now!

"Please speak your postcode." I did. "Sorry, I did not understand. Please try again." I did, mustering the brusque tones of Brian Cox, or was it Alan Cummings? Again, the voice didn't get it. And this is SCOTTISH Gas remember.

This time I articulated in what I considered to be educated Largs projection (the kind you hear at community council meetings). It still wasn't comprehensible enough!

I was about to fling the phone at the wall when, enter stage right, Her Indoors who said "let me try."

What? A lassie from Borrheid? If they can't understand an old Stevenstonian like moi - and I've met the Queen at Buckingham Palace - how are they going to decipher a postcode from a Borrheid broad?

(Editor's note: Methinks he's referring to that quaint Renfrewshire resort of Barrhead).

You can guess what happened. She was understood first time - and she cannae act for toffee.  My flabber was gasted, I can tell you.

We were given an appointment two days later to repair the boiler leak.

Anyone know someone who gives elocution lessons?

 

My Thought for the Week: Old age can't get you if you just keep on moving.

That's it. Saltcoats no more. If I want a relatively cheap ice cream or fish supper I should stay in Largs.

Considering that my old stomping ground of Saltcoats resembles the bombed out bit of Beirut you would have thought that it would be a more economical 'resort' than posh Largs. But not so, according to a new survey of British seaside destinations.

Apparently our Scottish Riviera of Largs is rated the second best value resort in Bonnie Scotia, beaten only by yonder East coast location of Portobello where the Edinburghers promenade.

According to the survey by Independent Cottages (don't ask, madam) we have places like Ayr, Oban, North Berwick and Helensburgh trailing behind when it comes to providing a value day out for a family of four.

It is calculated on the average price of a fish supper, a scoop of ice cream and, wait for it, the cost of a rental property.

I don't wish to rain on our holiday parade but when I searched the Independent Cottages website I didn't actually find a rental property in Largs.  There was one in Fairlie, advertised as Largs and another in "the hills" four miles from the town and Seamill Hydro.

Ah well, as I always tell everyone we are the daytripper capital of the West of Scotland.