I also mentioned that some of the attitudes displayed here are a little unfortunate, but he was equally dismissive.
It was the autumn of 1945 and I was relaxing at the Hall after being released from my war work (still hush hush, I am afraid) when there came a telephone call from Whitehall. It transpired that a strange orange hairy creature was haunting the Outer Hebrides and ravishing the local womenfolk. “That’s a Scotsman,” I replied shortly and replaced the receiver. However, they called back and when it became apparent that there was More To It, I undertook to travel to Lewis and Harris to investigate.
Upon reaching Stornoway I quickly deduced that the creature in question was an escaped orangutan. I also discovered that it had fathered a child with a local woman – an orange, wizened little thing with a strange shock of hair. The local church, which I found Rather Hard Work (all those elders) was taking a dim view. I did begin arrangements for the orangutan to be shipped to a zoo on the mainland, but the general view on the Long Island was that it was doing good work weaving tweed and should be allowed to stay.
As to the woman, I helped her travel to New York. I later heard she had married a tycoon with the unfortunate name of ‘Trump’, who adopted her child. I thought that would be the last of it, but by now you will all know what happened next.
I was dining with an American lawyer the other evening. He told me that there is no constitutional necessity for the President of the United States to be human on both sides, but if word gets out that he was born in the Outer Hebrides then it will cause An Awful Fuss.
Previously in Lord Bonkers' Diary...