That’s me, I’m off.
(What’s that I hear – a growing chorus of ‘aye, and not a moment too soon Broon’ ringing out?)
It’s more a sabbatical than sayonara though, after the chance to see a different wee part of the world, engage with a new audience and – truth be told – have a bit of a break from the rough and tumble of daily news unexpectedly presented itself.
I’m not going far, just a drop off at the road end before trekking into a clearing in Montreathmont Wood and the I’m a Nonentity, Get Me Out of Here campsite.
I’ll fit right in.
Apparently a pre-camp party might be thrown in Friock for the campmates to get to know each other, and although my fellow challengers are being kept under wraps I fully expect a puckle ex-councillors and maybe a washed-up Angus footie player or two.
It should be amazeball LOLs, as I believe the hip young things of Made in Montrose might say.
And hopefully you, good readers, will be able to enjoy our antics if the promised international rights deal with broadcaster Random Telly – RT for short – is done in time, and the pound store CCTV cameras are rigged up to beam out the delightful images of campfire fun and chief reporter ablutions in the Lunan Burn. (Note to self: remember to pack Speedos).
The programme hosts are a mystery too. The cheeky chappie Geordie pair of Derek and Andrew – or whatever they’re called – would have burst the budget so presumably the sights will have to be set a bit lower.
But it won’t all be fun, frolics, fizz and foie gras, no sir.
There’s Montreathmont tucker to tackle – perhaps a pickled pizzle or two and, if they’re really mean, a serving of potted hough.
But I’ll tough it out and shiver under the stars in the name of entertainment and for the good of this fine publication.
Because surely the Ed will be happy for me to swan off for a few weeks and still pay my wages?
