It’s official – the most dastardly defection to the East since Ronnie Gallagher of nefarious memory joined Carnethy (boo! hiss!). To chasten the renegade, and hasten him on his way, a motley crowd of Westies of venerable vintage (speak for yerself! I do!) gathered in the Westy Baths, where wetting of whistles rather than torsos was the disorder of the day. Dave kindly provided a polyglot buffet, which I think should get double Curry League points for sheer diversity. A post-pigout disco was the next hazard – actually the best wigging-out jigging I’ve managed for a while! – punctuated by a fine serving of a farewell Ode by Big Al, and the presentation of a customised Westy vest bearing a most rude slogan in Calder-Cantonese. Sorry I missed the singing of the Westies Flag: was I flagging?!

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