A Telling Typo by Fran Brady
As I write this on the 31st December, there is less than half a day left of 2016; as I type that, I mistakenly type 2106; and as I correct it, I think of the year 2106, ninety years from now. Hogmanay - as we Scots call it - is very much a time for looking back. Nostalgia is king. I could spend this blog relating lots of Hogmanay tales. Indeed, that's what I had in mind as I made myself a cup of coffee and settled down to my laptop: childhood reminiscences of 'first-footing'; parties that lasted all night; party pieces of songs, skits, poems, joke routines, piano and accordion 'turns', the same every year; specific Hogmanays when everything went very wrong, or even very right; maudlin memories of dear departed relations and friends . . . You get the picture - and aren't you glad I have changed my mind about this blog? If you are NOT glad and would actually like to hear about those long ago 'real' Scottish Hogmanays, can I risk a wee plug for my fir...