85 – Highland Games

Dear Lucy,

What with the global pandemic it’s been a busy few months for us mice down at the Post Office Depot as we’ve found ourselves dealing with a substantial increase in the sorting of hand written letters composed during lockdown.

Millie rostered me in for lots of extra shifts on the Mouse Mail Train with my usual crowd: Ronnie, Reggie, Poppet and Veronica. I’ve been on the train so long I think my legs have forgotten what it’s like to walk over ground of a non-wobbly nature and they’re starting to resemble the muscular nature of a miniature kangeroo.

It’s been good to catch up with Ron and Reg.  They’re still going straight and recently took over the lease on the old video store in Mouse Town, refurbishing it into a traditional sweetie shop.  Apparently business is booming and whilst they’re away they leave things in the capable hands of Auntie Mildred who tends shop and cleans her favourite nephew’s flat to within an inch of it’s life, an arrangement that suits our two scruffians very well indeed.

Deserving of a holiday I recently disembarked the train in Scotland for a fortnight’s rest with my good friend Tommy, the dates of which fortuitously coinciding with the annual Highland Games that Tommy generously holds on the grounds of estate each year.

After a few days Tommy asked if I might step in to help out a neighbouring clan who, being a mouse down, were in danger of dropping out of the competition.  Up for the challenge, and having known considerable success at school sport days, I was happy to put myself forward to save the day.  With a borrow of a pillow case from Tommy’s linen cupboard and a scotch egg from the breakfast table I set about preparing for the games whilst Tommy spent a week foolishly trying to uproot a tree with a rope at the edge of the estate.

I expect you’ve probably guessed already that I’d been ‘proper had over’ by Tommy. With not an ‘egg ‘n’ spoon’ or sack race on any agenda, it would seem that the national games of the tough Scots consist of a plethora of events involving various ways of throwing or pulling all manner of exceptionally heavy objects.  Needless to say I didn’t do the neighbouring clan McKinsmouse many favours.  My sizeable leg muscle notwithstanding we were no match for the mighty Tankerton clan, me having spent most of the Tug ‘o’ War skidding around on my back-side!

By way of an apology for his devious behaviour, Tommy is taking me to the local mill tomorrow with the intention of commissioning my very own Morris tartan.  Over breakfast Tommy nonchalantly muttered above his newspaper that maybe I’d prefer a set of tartan bed linen to a kilt, a jape for which he received an expertly aimed scotch egg in the face!

Love M.M.

Have you been sending extra letters during lockdown?  Have you ever been to Scotland and taken part in the hurling of very heavy stuffs?  Are you excited to see what the Morris tartan will look like?

Morris would love to hear from you, just drop him a line here or under his Instagram, Facebook or Twitter shares.

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