Donald Trump Visits His Mammy’s House In Lewis.

Look! Donald Trump visited his mammy’s old house in Lewis! And it’s in papers other than the Stornoway Gazette!

Fame! Fame beyond our wildest dreams! God, I hope we comb our hair before the tourist hordes arrive. And tidy up the sheep mooching around all over the place. Oh God, what’ll we give them to eat? Do you think, you know – being Americans – they’d like homemade millionaire’s shortbread or would anything less than billionaires shortbread be insulting? Will we just play it safe with a nice selection of Mr. Kiplings, then? It’s so hard to know the customs of peoples who aren’t from our immediate surroundings, people from the mainland and beyond(!), people called exotic names like Sarah and Adam.

Should we talk up our famous son, The Donald? Ah, right you are, we probably shouldn’t mention him too much. Jeez though, what’ll we do with them on Sunday? There’s nothing open for a cup of tea even. Maybe we can sneak them into the Sea Angling club before the seminary’s out and feed them there. We could have people on alert with walky-talkies outside the churches to make sure stray coorumachs aren’t sneaking out early and seeing us.

O mo chreach! My nerves! Quick! Where’s the hoover? Will somebody please put these sheep in a box or something! The hordes won’t know about sheep in the road and that’s just plain dangerous because tourists are known to drive awfully fast. The last thing we want is dead hordes on our hands. They can’t spend any money if
they’re in the belly of a plane on the way home for their funerals now, can they? And in these times of credit-crunch and rocketing food and oil prices we need to impress the money right out of their foreign wallets, into our hollowed out bibles and then straight under the mattress with them. We can count it when they’re gone. But if Lewis is to make it through another winter, we need to impress like the wind this summer, Sunny Jim. Like the gale force 10 wind. The impressing is all!

Right. What else? I know I’ve forgotten something, I know it. Oh hey, maybe we could get the council to pretend they don’t really tie up the swings on Sunday just til the season’s over. There’s no need for visitors to know a thing like that. We don’t want them thinking we’re backward and joy-killing. Ooooooooooh! I know! We should sell miniature standing stones with money off and a free beanie-baby midgie if you buy the whole Callanish set! Oh, we do that already? Huh.

Run over to the mainland for some arugula and cherry tomatoes, would you? Holidaying masses love them. And don’t tell Skye or Ullapool who they’re for otherwise they’ll be over here nosing before you can say “Holy timely
economic uptick, Batman.” If they ask, just say it’s because we’re trying out a new Delia recipe. And leave your shoes at the back door when you get back. I’ll have hoovered from Ness to Luskentyre by then and I don’t want your muddy footprints all over before they start arriving.

Oh and stop at the co-op for some bottles. They’ll spend more if they’ve had a few. And if they’re hooched up a bit maybe they won’t notice the crapped-out buses-turned-greenhouses in people’s gardens. There are always a few who let us all down. You know who I’m talking about. Never mind. We’ll just drive past these houses extra quick and point out the other side to the glorious beaches or the quaint black-houses, whatever. We’ll have to remember our “quaint“s and “glorious”es. And we’d best throw in a good few “authentics” and “it’s not catching, honest, it’s just a hereditary skin condition”ses.

Oh heck! I’d better give the rooms a good airing and put fresh sheets on the beds. So much to do!! Isn’t it
exciting! You know if Lewis can pull this off and woo all these international Donald fans, soon we’ll be able to go to Inverness and buy as many Mark’s And Spencer’s frozen meals as we can carry back on the ferry! We’ll be living like kings!

*Runs off to find duster and Pledge.*

38 thoughts on “Donald Trump Visits His Mammy’s House In Lewis.”

  1. I was thinking of you when I watched this on the news the other night. And surely it’s not so much comb your hair before the tourists arrive as it is comb over your hair before they arrive?

  2. would the good folk of Lewis not treat him much as the good folk of Connemara treat visiting celebrities? with a laissez-faire that borders on contempt… sure who does he think he is, anyway?

  3. ‘The’ Donald, the presumption of it! How closely related are you?

    My genes are a somewhat stirred by the MacLeod connection. I think one of them must have done something on one of ours in 13th century Uist. I’ll have to scoot back through the DNA to see what it was.

  4. While you’re at it could you ‘splane Harris for I’m certain that ’tis as mixed up on all the maps as it is on the one I have. The beeb had a big do about the demand for the tweed. It seems that there is such, that the looms are using olive oil. China you see and there not being enough lanolin to keep the shuttles clattering. Anyhoos, is Harris interchangeable with Hebrides, where Uist N/S and Lewis are divisions. In other words have those lovely people from the south mucked up the names someway or another. My mind is still eclipsed as to how Mumbai became Bombay.

  5. Given the usual mild breezes on the Islands, do you think his hair will be able to stay in place? Perhaps you should offer him a bottle of seagull guano to help keep it stuck to his head. Local custom and all that..

  6. They tied up the swings on Sunday, bastards. So what did ye swing from instead? I?m googling more and more words and phrases from your nifty posts Sam, like a dictionary in English class, Miss Problem CB, and the whole thing has become educational, not delusional. But really Frump, he some fucking twat, isn?t he?

  7. Deb – check out his hair in the wind in the first link up there. Freakin’d hilarious.

    Nanas, Guga’s too good for him. He can have sandwich spread on a pan loaf and be grateful for it. Unless of course he gives us money to refurbish the castle, in which case we’ll give him our very finest venison sausages and some of Willie-Angus’s “special reserve”

    Eolai, no no no, the hair he got from the other side of his family. It was the grasping bastard ways he got from the Lewis side.

    Rosie, it was only a few that turned out to see him. Most people did think it was all a piece of PR nonsense for the Aberdeen golf-course bid . He spent 90 seconds in his mother’s old house and then declared “I really feel Scottish, you know?” But you know, not much happens up our way – it did cause a bit of titillation “Did you hear…?” etc.

    fmc, good. There’s no need for Scotland to become part of the Trump brand. There’s a great need for it not to.

  8. Kim, I believe he was offered a bottle of seagull guano but he was told it was a milkshake. He doesn’t drink, see. It interferes with his 24-hour money-making or something. Wary are we of those that don’t drink. it’s like encountering a different species.

    Bock, it looks more like a manger. And after a brisk North Atlantic breexe it looked like a manger in which two horny goats have been getting it on all night. Take a look at this piccie of him in the wind.

    Sniffle, we swung from the ropes of heaven, so holy were we. There is nothing delusional about the Hebrides though. Nothing, and yet everything. My husband still can’t believe it actually exists despite having been there umpteen times.

  9. Conan, the trouble with Hebrideans is that our genes aren’t stirred enough. Not too much fresh blood. If we’d spotted a likely Irisher in the 13th century we’d have jumped him or her as soon as look at ’em. Scots on top – woohoo!

  10. Vincent, the big island is just one island but called 2 – Lewis and Harris. They are the northernmost islands in the chain called The Outer Hebrides. The rest being the Uists, Benbecula and Barra. The Inner Hebrides are Sky and Rhum and Eigg and them, but we don’t associate with the likes of them.

    Post dammit!

  11. I just saw this and I can’t get over that hair — I’ve never seen anything that awful, and there’s a LOT of bad hair in my family. You’d think he’d have thought of that before he went and posed for that photograph! My hands would have been securing my hair, if that’d been me. In fact I’d probably have gone out and bought a net or something.

    I wouldn’t hoover for him, not with his hair like that, no way. His cousins will be vacuuming that off the carpets for some time to come.

  12. And the sleep thing, the glooms finished? And the big spot, it’s gone now? Legendry spot disappearing act from the English teacher? And more exquisite blogs coming soon?

  13. Woohoo! I’m detecting an over-served blogger in the comment-box! What’re you on, Sniffs? Have you tried a kir before? Pat put me and Dr. Maroon onto them adn they’re a brilliant way of getting rid of that open bottle of white that’s been sitting in the fridge a week. All you do is add Creme de cassis to it and voila! It’s like an all grown-up Ribena. Nummy.

  14. Yep. And I love the Woohoo too, Darla does it all the time, happy child-women that she is. Over served yes, appearently we’re here for a good time, not a long time.

  15. Mary, his hair is like a metaphor for himself somehow – unfathomable yet also insubstantial. He’d be fascinating if he weren’t so repellent to think about for long. You were in moderation, btw. It’s better than Akismet spam-boxing you though so we’re moving in the right direction, gal!

  16. Great piece Sam! I wish he’d bugger off all together quite frankly as we need another f*cking golf course, especially in the middle of an oil crisis when nae bugger will travel, like a whole in a combed-over heid!

    Those sand dunes are fantasic, like a lunar landscape, and so empty and wild. But hey let’s have more executive housing with five flushing lavs!

  17. Rand, hmm – boxers or tighty-whiteys? String vest or bare-bod. Do you keep your socks on while house-strolling in the partial nude, or not? These things all matter to the comfort of your guests’ gaze.

    Apprentice, I wish him every failure in his Aberdeen bid. This Lewis trip was such a cynical stunt. He spent 90 seconds in his mother’s house – 90 seconds! Most of the time he was there he was outside telling reporters how Scottish he felt.

  18. It kills me that Trump and his wife du jour sport the same exact scowl.
    Did she have to perfect that as part of the pre-nup?

  19. Bock (we’d say Boch for a start, as in our “loch” and your “lough”) – I think it would go along the lines of “fuch away out of it, An Domhnaill.”

    Medbh, ha! I’m going to have to go and look now!

    Daffers, They couldn’t film it. The non-native actors kept blowing off to sea. They think the putting of sand in your wellies to weigh you down is a joke, right up until they are plucked out of fame and into chilly Atlantic obscurity.
    Just as a wee aside though – Lewis used to be a NATO base in the Cold War so we have unusually long runways for our size, if that doesn’t sound too much like showing off. Girth is more important anyway.

  20. If you keep linking to things like that photo of the Trump’s airy hairy construction I’ll start thinking you have a cruel streak.

  21. Pat, oooooh, excuuuuuuuuse me, fancy-pants!

    Inkspot, hi! Hair can be terrifying. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a horror movie about it yet, with people’s own pigtails turning on them and throttling them to death.

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