It’s been a while. Sorry. Much has happened. Most troubling of which has been my failure to progress any further in the British Short Screenplay Competition. Thought I had a wee winner on my hands, there, too. But do you know what I’ve just done? I need to confess. I’ve crossed the line into sheer, Mad Old Bat-dom by emailing the organisers asking them whether perhaps there has been some mistake…

I know, I know. I feel like a cross between David Brent and that guy who couldn’t accept that he got four thumbs-downs on the X-Factor and told Simon Cowell he’d regret that decision till his dying day then swore and cussed all the way out the building.

 Oh, I tried to sound all friendly and agreeable and un-stalkerly but the deed is done. Wonder if they’ve stopped laughing at Competition HQ yet?

Please, stop it!  If you don’t like what I’ve sent you I don’t want your email to read like you did, only you have been on a course in effective communication upskilling solutions, so you’re not going to tell me just yet. You’re going to spin it out a bit, you are the human holding the ball of wool, and I am the cat.

Do not start with ‘First of all, let me say how much I enjoyed…..’ This is when I know that you did not.  Let’s all skip straight down to the ‘However…’ on the third paragraph, shall we? That way you haven’t debased yourself with insincere platitudes, and I know where I stand. I am big and ugly, I can take it.

These messages are known as **** sandwiches (the asterisks rhyme with ‘git’ which is what I shall think you are if you ever send one of ‘em to me) and are intended to make the writer feel better, not the recipient. If I want to make myself feel better I will read to my son or go for a run or nip my husband’s head until he manfully shoulders the brunt of whatever it is…but I don’t send messages saying ‘like-this bit -don’t-like-these-bits-like this bit…

…aaannnnd…breeeeeeaaathhhhe…..

As someone whose Gaelic knowledge stops after ‘Cheers!’, ‘Shut that door!’ and ‘Put your finger on your nose’, today ought to be interesting. I’m off to compile a pitch document for the proposed new Gaelic soap opera. Apparently many, many Earth pounds are being invested in the Gaelic channel and one of their goals is to start producing the next ‘Corrie’. After the dismal failure of the first one, ‘Machair’, confidence, and expectations, are low. Surely ripe pickings for my team of keen young things? Anna’s coming up from Dundee, David’s coming in from Argyll and Amanda, in the chair, will be hammering her flip chart - sadly not a euphemism. I expect to see Roses Lime Cordial and Fox’s Glacier fruits on the Highlands & Islands Enterprise table, at the very least. It’s hard not to think of Gaelic storylines without lapsing into cliche. Shall we have an old minister who’s dead set against change? But then, turning cliche on its head - the obvious alternative, and putting out a young hip (female?) minister is, in many ways, even more dull. Maybe we should take it a step further. Okay guys, listen up. It’s November. It’s cold. Even the minister has left town…