Mr Imp, Life columnist at The Banner, writes about his misadventures as a Don Juan-Esque petty criminal, his odd odysseys abroad and his high jinks with his colourful family in Auchterturra. Cartoons by Dod Dunlop.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Dear reader, in the opinion of your beloved columnist, there is nothing more irritating than the ramblings of an old loon with all the resemblance of a prune. As I said last week, me and a plain clothes inspector Harry MacDoeh, were outside the Grapes pub meeting old man Murdoch.
Old man Murdoch is an Irishman from County Mayo, in his late 70s, with a perfect chrome dome for a head and aviator-style spectacles. He claims he was in the IRA in his younger years and has worked for my maternal grandfather: 'Imp Sr'.
Talking to old man Murdoch is probably the most infuriating experience of your life as he rambles to the extent where he could be the premier champion of talking people to death; he has the nickname among some as 'old iron ass' and don't play poker with this prune, not only will he talk you to sleep, he'll slow the game to a snail's pace till people start to make mistakes then he'll take everyone to the cleaners. The main problem when talking to this loon is that the whole dotty Irishman is an act. He has a mind like a razor, a master manipulator and is possibly one of the most effective operators in the Edinburgh underworld that too many fail to realise.
Standing outside with Harry, I met the old git and offered him one of my stogies, then we got to talking 'turkey': "oh young junior (yours truly), how are things? Have ye got a birdie yet?"
Sharply I answered, not realising I dropped my accent: "oh nah, oh nah. Ah, still nay with any bird. But ah'm still doin' fine. And yerself auld chimer, what's been up?"
The old man replied: "not much, not much. And ye Máh, is she doing fine?"
I produced a polite fiction for that question: "Aye, she's doin' well. She's now got into a nice wee council flat in Lossiemouth and cleans away in the hospital."
Then the old man asked about Imp Sr.: "How's ye're auld grandáh? Are the pigs still out tae get him?"
"Imp Sr. is still free like the leaf in the wind. Nay government will ever catch him, not even the devil and God could. Although that nutter back up in Auchterturra is obsessively tryin' tae get him sent tae The Hague, but it's nay goin' tae happen." Returned I. Old man Murdoch laughed a little and said: "oh aye, oh aye it's good tae see that the auld Fox is still free. Oh aye, oh aye, oh aye...."
Suddenly, inspector Harry made cough, cough sounds hinting to me to get to addressing the elephant in the room: "oh aye, Murdoch, me and my mate here wondering if you knew where Barney wis?"
Old man Murdoch then got that twinkle in his eye as he said: "oh aye, oh aye Ah may hiv. Oh aye, oh aye, Ah may hiv. Oh, aye Barney, what a nice laddie, such a nice boy. Although a little too nosy sometimes, a little too nosy."
"Aye, Barney could be a wee bit nosy. But why would that be a problem for you?"Returned, I and Murdoch's smile persisted as he began to fence more: "oh aye, nosiness can be an awful thing for everyone. Oh aye, oh aye. Especially if it starts disrupting people with vested interests."
"Vested interests, eh? What if personal vested interests were protected, perhaps even enumerated?" Commented I, and old man Murdoch began to tap on his stogie to drop the ash and continue to tap it as he said: "oh aye, oh aye, if vested interests were protected and a wee bit o' remuneration came the right way, as well as a wee bit extra, would incline mair valued advice."
A little annoyed, I got out some of the funds that the pigs gave me and filled old man Murdoch's pocket with a fistful of 20s and said: "with a wee bit extra, is one now be mair inclined tae advise?"
Looking very satisfied with himself, old man Murdoch said: "oh aye, oh aye it does, oh aye it does. Tollcross. Oh aye, oh aye, Tollcross and talk tae that nice wee youngin Mr Simpson oot by the back o' Bennett's bar."
"Thank you, most kindly, Murdoch. Here have another stogie. Ah'll pass your greetings onto Imp Sr. Good day" returned I while giving him another of my stogies. Old man Murdoch then finished the stogie he was enjoying and walked back into the pub as he waived me by and said: "oh aye, oh aye, it wis good tae chat with ye Junior, try and stay oot o' trouble, if ye can."
Harry and I walked back to the car; then Harry asked me point-blank: "what the bloody hell was that? Did you find out anything useful worth wasting police funds on?"
Harry was not brought up speaking Scots or Irish dialects, and he had absolutely no clue what we were talking about, so I summarise: "according to old man Murdoch; Barney was nosing around Tollcross and we best talk to 1 of the low-class peddlers who operate by Bennett's bar to find out what happened. Also, it appears the police will have to leave the various gentlemen of the Grapes alone to keep this handy contact."
Harry was clearly annoyed by yours truly making unsolicited offers of the Edinburgh Constabulary looking the other way without permission, and he told me: "I know you may think you've been accommodating, but remember you are not a policeman and doling out protection is not yours to give."
"I see, I see. Let's get to Bennett's bar before it gets too late." Returned I.
Then to Bennett's bar went this dynamic duo of nitwits.
