Michty me, sic a muckle stushie at the clamjamphry in Embra! If that baffles you, do not be downcast; a lot of Scots would be hard put to translate - and the rest can't be bothered.
To put it in the language that is the common currency north of the border: "Good heavens, there has been such a fuss at the gathering in Edinburgh."
The "stushie" arose over whether such words can be used in written questions to Scottish Executive ministers. Those who think Scots talk either English (British, if you like) or Gaelic clearly dinna ken that 1.5 million regard a third language, the broad dialect spoken throughout Lowland Scotland, as their mother tongue.
Under Scottish Parliament standing orders, MSPs must table their questions "in English", and Scots or Gaelic translations are subordinate. On the parliament's procedures committee, Gil Paterson, a Scottish Nationalist, complained that the rule demeaned the "mither tongue": "One or two of us normally use words like 'dreich' or 'drookit', but if you follow the rules to the letter it would suggest that words like that need to be translated, and that would be silly.
"We say that the parliament is Scots-language- or Gaelic-friendly, but I find that when you have rules like this you're saying that the Scots language is sub-standard."
For those without a Scots-English dictionary, "dreich" is dry and "drookit" is drenched - not to be confused with "droothy", which is what members of the press gallery get before they adjourn to the Ensign Ewart pub next door.
The "stushie" - which, thankfully, did not degenerate into a stramash or a collieshangie - was seized upon by the Scottish Language Society (aka Scots Leid Associe) as evidence of discrimination.
The society, under the emotive nom de guerre Forgotten Folk, is campaigning for a question about the language to be included in the national census that is now under way. The forms ask about ethnicity and Gaelic, but not about knowledge and use of the Scots tongue, thus overlooking, the society argues, one-third of the population. The society's advice is "Tell them oniewey" through a write-in on the census forms, although this seems pointless because the census will be processed by a computer that speaks only English and, possibly, Cobol or Fortran, but not Scots.
The campaigners argue that the European Charter is a huge embarrassment for the Scottish Parliament because it says that signatory governments "shall base their policies, legislation and practice on . . . the recognition of regional or minority languages as an expression of cultural wealth".
The significance of a census question on language is that tens of millions of public pounds are poured into keeping the minority language of Gaelic alive, through education and endless hours of heavily subsidised television including children's programmes.
The Scots-speakers believe Scottish schoolchildren have a poor record of language acquisition because they speak broad Scots with their families and playmates but, from Primary One, they "hae the Inglis fystit on them" (are forced to use English).
In this Tom Brown's schooldays, this was known as "talking posh", but we had no difficulty making the switch between the language of home and school or, later, work. Over the course of 25 years in Fleet Street, I became bilingual to make myself understood, and lapsed into the Doric or Lallans in drink or on return visits.
But what is the "Scots" tongue? Is it Parliamo Glasgow, the Glesga patter? My sing-song Fife? The rolling burr of the Borders? Much so-called "Scots" is merely standard English, spoken with a Scottish accent, so that "join" becomes "jyne", "can't" is "cannae" and "sore head" is "sair heid".
The real Scots language is described in the Scottish National Dictionary as "Scandinavianised Northern English", which has been spoken throughout Scotland for 700 years. This has a rich vocabulary which must be preserved . . . words such as "scunner" for disgust or loathing, "besom" for a girl no better than she should be, "plook" for pimple, "thrawn" for obstinate, "skelp" for spanking.
There is no word in the English lan-guage equivalent to "jalouse", a process of deductive osmosis involving a mix-ture of calculation, guesswork and divination - a relic of the Auld Alliance, from the French "je luis".
Perhaps the MSPs are hoping to circumvent the Westminster code on parliamentary insults. The Presiding Officer may not allow "liar", but what about "bauchle", "numpty" or "nyaff", all of whom are worthless good-for-nothings who could also be "glaikit" (gormless)? Or "keech" (excrement, which can apply to the person or what they are saying)?
As my old grand-daddy used to say: "Keep yer ain seagurs fir yer ain sea-mews." Don't ask me what it means. I never asked him in case he thought I was going posh.
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