Jack MacRoary's Guide to the General Election:
Episode Three
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: In which I write a book report; watch the Leaders' Debate on telly; and witness an Easter resurrection.
_____________________________________________________________________
Easter has come and gone. And a month from now it will all be over. The election, that is. Or at least we’ll know who has won. But I want to tell you what has happened in the MacRoary house this last week. I did my book report on The Dream Shall Never Die, and I’m going to let you read it before my teacher does. Here goes.
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: In which I write a book report; watch the Leaders' Debate on telly; and witness an Easter resurrection.
_____________________________________________________________________
Easter has come and gone. And a month from now it will all be over. The election, that is. Or at least we’ll know who has won. But I want to tell you what has happened in the MacRoary house this last week. I did my book report on The Dream Shall Never Die, and I’m going to let you read it before my teacher does. Here goes.
THE DREAM SHALL NEVER DIE BY ALEXANDER SALMOND
My dad bought my mum the ebook The Dream Shall Never Die on the day it was published. It made her happy and she read it straight away. My dad was prepared for that so he got us a takeaway from DrumTumshie’s Chinese Chippy.
I thought I would have to wait till mum had finished it to read it, but she said she could transfer it from her Kindle to mine and I could start right away. Which is good because it cost the price of two normal ebooks at least.
Dad said the title sounds like a new Bond movie, and he’s got a point. But it isn’t about that. It’s about how Alex Salmond saw things in the 100 days leading up to the Referendum. It’s like a diary. I wonder if Alex Salmond might have read More Tales from Tattybogle, because it’s sort of like my blog posts. But he likes golf a lot so there’s a lot of golf in it. I don’t write about golf, except now of course, because I don’t know much about golf except that you need Sky to watch most of it. Alex Salmond probably can afford Sky, but anyway, even if he couldn’t, being First Minister means that he can go and play golf with real professional golfers so he doesn’t just have to watch them on television. I suppose it is one of the perks of the job, but it wouldn’t be a perk if you didn’t like golf. So I hope that Nicola Sturgeon likes golf. Or maybe she can choose another perk.
Anyway, apart from the golf there’s lots of stuff about Alex Salmond meeting lots of people and the most shocking thing to me is that he’s always meeting important and celebrity people and asking them if they will vote Yes – which is fair enough because after all it was the thing everyone wanted to know at that time, especially him since he had organised the whole Referendum. And most of them all said ‘we don’t want to ‘come out’ and say in case…’ And the in cases seemed to be to do with worrying they’d lose sponsorship or people wouldn’t like them or give them jobs or buy their products. And I think that’s wrong. I think that if you were a Yes voter you should be proud to say so. And even if you were a No voter you should stand by your convictions and say so because it’s your opinion, which is part of who you are.
You’ll remember that my mum lost her best friend Ms Mammakaski because she was Yes (my mum, I mean, Ms Mammakaski was No and called my mum a bully for being Yes). And my mum was very upset to lose a friend but she didn’t keep quiet about what she believed in. So that shows that my mum is braver, and probably more honest, than most of those celebrity people who were feart to come out and say what they believed. If you do truly believe in something I don’t know how you can keep quiet about it. And I don’t think people should make you. If they don’t agree with you that’s fine but we’re all entitled to our own opinions. And we should all get a chance to say it.
Which is why we had to have the seven Leaders debate on TV this week. So that all the leaders got their chance to speak. But I’d like it better if it was less about the leaders because we sort of all know what they think anyway. But it seems like we need rich or important people to tell us what to think. I think that’s wrong. I mean, teachers tell you things but the whole point of an education is to go away and learn for yourself, isn’t it? To make up your own mind based on the evidence. And politicians don’t really seem to be big on evidence. They make it up as they go along and tell you anything to get what they want. Uncle Tam used to say.
I told my dad about the people in the book and he said he reckons the rich sit on fences and will jump whichever side suits them.
‘Well, I hope that fence has sharp spikes on the top of it,’ I said, I was that disgusted.
In the book quite a lot of the things Alex Salmond writes about I remember happening, but sometimes I don’t exactly remember it quite the same way. Not that he’s lying, just that everyone sees things differently. And some of them I didn’t know about at all. And some things that happened he doesn’t write about – for example, Micro the Pig running amok at Tattybogle Primary School doesn’t get a mention, which is a shame, but perhaps all for the best. You can’t put everything into history, now can you? Some things are best left as personal remembrances. And I like to think that Micro the Pig gives Alex Salmond a chuckle now and then, even if he didn’t write about it in his book. Maybe he thought Micro would get into trouble. And maybe it’s just because while it was an important thing – a pig running amok in a primary school polling station would normally be headlines, wouldn’t it? – on that day there were so many important things that I suppose he had to make a choice and, like they say in golf, Micro didn’t make the cut.
I enjoyed Alex Salmond’s book. And I read it right to the end. Which is good because if you don’t you’ll miss the joke about pandrops.
That is my book report. It’s nearly a thousand words so I’m sure my teacher will be well pleased. I never usually write more than 500 words even if I have read right to the end of the book.
What I didn’t add in it is that I like pandrops and it’s good to know Alex Salmond and me share that in common, because if I ever meet him again I’ll give him one, or two, and tell him about my books and maybe he’ll read them. And I decided I’ll try and watch the Golf – we don’t have Sky but it’s on the BBC for the last two days and I think two days of golf may be more interesting than two hours of TV debates.
Which brings me to what happened this week. It was the TV debates. Two whole hours of seven leaders all talking about ‘the issues’. It wasn’t as shouty as the Independence Referendum because there was this lady who had trained all the speakers. When she said ‘thank you’, they had to shut up. And if they didn’t shut up straight away she kept saying ‘thank you’ till they did. Maybe they should get her to the Wastemonster Parliament to train the MP’s when it goes back – they don’t listen to the man who shouts ‘order’, but maybe they’d do it if she said ‘thank you’ sternly at them.
Anyway, on Thursday night the debates were on and my mum gave up watching Masterchef to watch them. John was out with Heather but me and dad sat down to support mum. It was really boring, though. Of course we like Nicola Sturgeon, so we liked it when she spoke, but with seven people no one really got the chance to say much. And what they did say was just the same old thing they always say.
Dad kept saying ‘It’s STV, when’s the adverts?’ and mum kept saying ‘shhh’ until one time she just looked him stern in the face and said ‘thank you’ like the lady on the television did and then we all laughed out loud. That was while Ed Miliband was banging on about something, accusing David Cameron of something else and back and forth they go. Who cares? I reckon that whoever you like is who you will believe said the best thing.
Dad says it’s like a Simon and Garfunkel song called The Boxer which says ‘a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.’ And I think he might be right.
But none of us wanted to hear Nigel Farage. Dad has always called him a snake-oil salesman but he got far too much time to talk, especially when he kept saying that all the problems we faced were because of immigration.
So dad and me weren’t really enjoying the debates, especially since there was no adverts till half time. Dad went and made a cup of tea and he never came back. I was about to go and find him and mum said,
‘No, Jack, you have to watch the whole thing.’
Even when I said, ‘I have homework mum’, she wasn’t taken in.
‘You can do that over Easter weekend,’ she said. And that was that. Back for the second half. Just as boring. Same old questions. I could do an exam on the political parties and their views on the NHS and Education and ‘the future’ and the economy – but maybe I shouldn’t write that because Mr Marker might read this and think it’s a good idea. So, Mr Marker, if you do read this it’s NOT a good idea, I didn’t mean it for real, I just meant that they keep going on about the same things and even then it’s stupid because when the election is over they won’t all keep their promises and they’ll make up a new set of rules and…
You see, I think I’m more like my dad than my mum. He got really fed up after the Referendum, and he gets really fed up every time they mention the Wastemonster, because he keeps saying he’s not interested in anything to do with them. He doesn’t want to vote on English issues. He doesn’t want to know anything about English politics and he certainly doesn’t want an English Prime Minister to tell him what to do.
That’s why he left the room. He said that watching 6 out of 7 people talking about England and pretending it’s Britain and that Britain has anything to do with Scotland is two hours of his life he’ll never get back. I quite liked the Plaid Cymru woman, but it was a shame because she really couldn’t talk about anything but Wales and everyone knows that Wales has even less power than Scotland in the Union. And I liked the Green woman and if I was in England and couldn’t vote SNP I’d vote Green. I always thought the Green Party was a bit of a joke before, because the Scottish Green man looks a bit like Kermit the Frog (or at least Brian said he did).
But none of us like Nigel Farage. Dad thinks he’s a racist. Which my dad isn’t. Wanting to be an Independent country isn’t being racist. It’s just wanting to have control of your own life. Like my dad would like to own his own farm and get to do what he wanted. But because we don’t have enough money he has to be a tenant farmer and the landlord can ultimately tell him what to do – and in a way I think that’s like Scotland and England. Dad does all the work but he doesn’t get to keep all the money and someone else can always tell him what to do. He doesn’t like it but he can’t do anything about it because that’s our life. But maybe that’s why he hates Great Britain so much. Because it’s like the same thing. It’s like we Scots aren’t allowed to be anything more than tenants in our own country.
So when dad says he’s not interested in England or the Wastemonster and doesn’t want to have to be bothered with any of their nonsense, that’s not racism. It’s just my dad wanting to be Independent. I can see his point. We had the chance to make our own decisions and now we have to listen to a load of politicians talking about things that have nothing to do with us in a place which is nothing to do with us. No wonder dad left the room.
We’ve got a Parliament. We’ve got a Government. We just needed to say ‘Yes’ and we’d have been in control of our own lives. And even if it had been shitey (that’s quoting my Uncle Tam by the way) it’d be our ain shite we wis shovellin’.
But my mum and dad have different opinions on this one. My mum thinks that we’ve got to keep fighting and that means taking the battle to the Wastemonster. I know that my dad just wishes she’d go back to reading her Kindle and burning our dinner sometimes, but as he says ‘Pandora’s been let out of that box.’ My mum would have made a good Suffragette if she’d lived then. In fact she might have been as good a First Minister as Nicola Sturgeon if she hadn’t met my dad and had us. My mum never says that, she’s not ungrateful for her life but dad says to me sometimes (usually when I’m telling him I don’t want to read or write any more politics) that ‘she could have been a contender’ and we owe it to her and Uncle Tam to keep the dream alive, even if we don’t really believe in the dream. That’s what he says. At least he says, yes we believe in the dream but we also have to wake up and live in reality. He doesn’t say that to mum, of course, because she’s still in grief. But he said it to me.
Reality is golf and football and farming and school and… and what happened on Easter Sunday. And dreams can easily turn to nightmares. So I prefer reality. Even when I’ve eaten so many real chocolate eggs that I feel sick and I still have to go and eat my Easter Dinner. Which we have in the middle of the day instead of a big tea. I’d forgotten that or I wouldn’t have felt so sick.
So, I had eaten all my chocolate eggs (and I ate some of John’s because he went off to spend the day with Heather’s family) and we sat down to our Easter Dinner. Which was lamb and very nice thank you even though mum forgot the mint sauce and you can’t have chips with roast lamb. At least not at Easter. At least my mum says not. And I don’t really like roast potatoes as much even if they are a bit healthier and roasted with garlic and rosemary. Chips, after all, are hard to beat.
We had trifle for pudding and that was when it happened. Mum dropped the bombshell. (Like Jeremy Clarkson won’t say any more because he’s been fired from Top Gear.)
Mum said that she was ‘empowered’ after the Conference and the debates and she was going to ‘get out there’ and do something about it.
And we weren’t really paying a lot of attention till she said,
‘So Jack, you will have to get the tea from now till the election day.’
I couldn’t believe it.
‘What, mum?’ I said. For one moment I thought this was like Christmas not Easter because maybe we could have chips every night. But then she said,
‘I’m going to be out canvassing and I won’t have time.’
‘But you’ll be back in time for tea?’ Dad said. Not so much a question more in the way that you realise that he thinks it’s part of the promise he made when he married my mum that she would always have tea on the table, except in an emergency.
‘I won’t be in DrumTumshie all the time,’ Mum said.
‘What?’ Both our jaws hit the table.
It turns out that my mum’s done such a good job of canvassing DrumTumshie and Tattybogle that they want her to go to places where people aren’t so sure of what they believe and she’s going to be chapping doors as far south as Aberdeen.
‘And maybe further,’ she said. ‘I have to go where I’m needed.’
‘You’re needed here, Jeannie,’ dad said.
‘We all have to make sacrifices, ‘ she said. And before dad could turn purple and explode she added, ‘It’s what Tam would have wanted.’
And that is my mum’s magic pass out of Tattybogle.
She’s said it to me quite a few times, like about writing this serial for example. And because I promised Nicola Sturgeon to make my mum proud, when she says that I do what she says. But I never thought she’d pull it on my dad. Which she did.
He was stunned.
‘Uh, yeah, okay,’ was all he could think of to say.
And my mum came over all Easter and said, ‘It’s the cross we have to bear.’
I picked up the trifle plates, in silence, and went over to the window. And then I saw him.
‘It’s Jesus,’ I shouted.
‘What?’ they both said.
‘Jesus, the rabbit,’ I said. And they both laughed.
And you might laugh too when I explain it to you. It’s like Alex Salmond’s pan drops. I want to make you laugh if you read right to the end. Like a reward. To make up for the boring politics stuff. I think more writers should do that. It doesn’t have to be a happy ending, but just an ending that rewards the reader for all the work they put in. So they’ll feel they missed out if they stop half way.
So here’s the story of Jesus the rabbit. On Friday this week Bisum our dog caught a rabbit. She brought it to mum. Dead. Normally mum would skin it, but she was too busy on her mobile phone talking to ‘branch office’ (we didn’t know what about then but we do now) and she told me to go and put it somewhere out of the way. So I did. Then I went back on Saturday to check on it and it wasn’t there, so I told everyone at tea – ‘the rabbit’s gone.’
And John said we should call it Jesus, because it was killed on a Friday, was dead and buried (well, I put it behind a rock behind the barn) on the Saturday and John said, ‘We need to keep an eye open for it on Sunday in case it rises again!’
So that’s why, when I saw the rabbit, and yes, I do know it was the same one because it had a special spot on its ear which I could see even out of the window, I shouted, ‘It’s Jesus.’ Of course to be really funny I should have shouted ‘Jesus is risen’, but that might have made mum angry. She’s not religious but she doesn’t like you being rude about things, even God even if he doesn’t exist like me and Brian the Brain know he doesn’t.
But at least both mum and dad found it funny. And I’m sorry if I upset anyone on Easter by making a joke about Jesus the rabbit, I don’t mean to. Well, that’s my time up for this week. Next week I’ll tell you more about ‘the sacrifices’ we are having to make and the ‘crosses’ we are having to bear because of what happened on Easter Day when my mum decided she had to get empowered.
What I didn’t add in it is that I like pandrops and it’s good to know Alex Salmond and me share that in common, because if I ever meet him again I’ll give him one, or two, and tell him about my books and maybe he’ll read them. And I decided I’ll try and watch the Golf – we don’t have Sky but it’s on the BBC for the last two days and I think two days of golf may be more interesting than two hours of TV debates.
Which brings me to what happened this week. It was the TV debates. Two whole hours of seven leaders all talking about ‘the issues’. It wasn’t as shouty as the Independence Referendum because there was this lady who had trained all the speakers. When she said ‘thank you’, they had to shut up. And if they didn’t shut up straight away she kept saying ‘thank you’ till they did. Maybe they should get her to the Wastemonster Parliament to train the MP’s when it goes back – they don’t listen to the man who shouts ‘order’, but maybe they’d do it if she said ‘thank you’ sternly at them.
Anyway, on Thursday night the debates were on and my mum gave up watching Masterchef to watch them. John was out with Heather but me and dad sat down to support mum. It was really boring, though. Of course we like Nicola Sturgeon, so we liked it when she spoke, but with seven people no one really got the chance to say much. And what they did say was just the same old thing they always say.
Dad kept saying ‘It’s STV, when’s the adverts?’ and mum kept saying ‘shhh’ until one time she just looked him stern in the face and said ‘thank you’ like the lady on the television did and then we all laughed out loud. That was while Ed Miliband was banging on about something, accusing David Cameron of something else and back and forth they go. Who cares? I reckon that whoever you like is who you will believe said the best thing.
Dad says it’s like a Simon and Garfunkel song called The Boxer which says ‘a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.’ And I think he might be right.
But none of us wanted to hear Nigel Farage. Dad has always called him a snake-oil salesman but he got far too much time to talk, especially when he kept saying that all the problems we faced were because of immigration.
So dad and me weren’t really enjoying the debates, especially since there was no adverts till half time. Dad went and made a cup of tea and he never came back. I was about to go and find him and mum said,
‘No, Jack, you have to watch the whole thing.’
Even when I said, ‘I have homework mum’, she wasn’t taken in.
‘You can do that over Easter weekend,’ she said. And that was that. Back for the second half. Just as boring. Same old questions. I could do an exam on the political parties and their views on the NHS and Education and ‘the future’ and the economy – but maybe I shouldn’t write that because Mr Marker might read this and think it’s a good idea. So, Mr Marker, if you do read this it’s NOT a good idea, I didn’t mean it for real, I just meant that they keep going on about the same things and even then it’s stupid because when the election is over they won’t all keep their promises and they’ll make up a new set of rules and…
You see, I think I’m more like my dad than my mum. He got really fed up after the Referendum, and he gets really fed up every time they mention the Wastemonster, because he keeps saying he’s not interested in anything to do with them. He doesn’t want to vote on English issues. He doesn’t want to know anything about English politics and he certainly doesn’t want an English Prime Minister to tell him what to do.
That’s why he left the room. He said that watching 6 out of 7 people talking about England and pretending it’s Britain and that Britain has anything to do with Scotland is two hours of his life he’ll never get back. I quite liked the Plaid Cymru woman, but it was a shame because she really couldn’t talk about anything but Wales and everyone knows that Wales has even less power than Scotland in the Union. And I liked the Green woman and if I was in England and couldn’t vote SNP I’d vote Green. I always thought the Green Party was a bit of a joke before, because the Scottish Green man looks a bit like Kermit the Frog (or at least Brian said he did).
But none of us like Nigel Farage. Dad thinks he’s a racist. Which my dad isn’t. Wanting to be an Independent country isn’t being racist. It’s just wanting to have control of your own life. Like my dad would like to own his own farm and get to do what he wanted. But because we don’t have enough money he has to be a tenant farmer and the landlord can ultimately tell him what to do – and in a way I think that’s like Scotland and England. Dad does all the work but he doesn’t get to keep all the money and someone else can always tell him what to do. He doesn’t like it but he can’t do anything about it because that’s our life. But maybe that’s why he hates Great Britain so much. Because it’s like the same thing. It’s like we Scots aren’t allowed to be anything more than tenants in our own country.
So when dad says he’s not interested in England or the Wastemonster and doesn’t want to have to be bothered with any of their nonsense, that’s not racism. It’s just my dad wanting to be Independent. I can see his point. We had the chance to make our own decisions and now we have to listen to a load of politicians talking about things that have nothing to do with us in a place which is nothing to do with us. No wonder dad left the room.
We’ve got a Parliament. We’ve got a Government. We just needed to say ‘Yes’ and we’d have been in control of our own lives. And even if it had been shitey (that’s quoting my Uncle Tam by the way) it’d be our ain shite we wis shovellin’.
But my mum and dad have different opinions on this one. My mum thinks that we’ve got to keep fighting and that means taking the battle to the Wastemonster. I know that my dad just wishes she’d go back to reading her Kindle and burning our dinner sometimes, but as he says ‘Pandora’s been let out of that box.’ My mum would have made a good Suffragette if she’d lived then. In fact she might have been as good a First Minister as Nicola Sturgeon if she hadn’t met my dad and had us. My mum never says that, she’s not ungrateful for her life but dad says to me sometimes (usually when I’m telling him I don’t want to read or write any more politics) that ‘she could have been a contender’ and we owe it to her and Uncle Tam to keep the dream alive, even if we don’t really believe in the dream. That’s what he says. At least he says, yes we believe in the dream but we also have to wake up and live in reality. He doesn’t say that to mum, of course, because she’s still in grief. But he said it to me.
Reality is golf and football and farming and school and… and what happened on Easter Sunday. And dreams can easily turn to nightmares. So I prefer reality. Even when I’ve eaten so many real chocolate eggs that I feel sick and I still have to go and eat my Easter Dinner. Which we have in the middle of the day instead of a big tea. I’d forgotten that or I wouldn’t have felt so sick.
So, I had eaten all my chocolate eggs (and I ate some of John’s because he went off to spend the day with Heather’s family) and we sat down to our Easter Dinner. Which was lamb and very nice thank you even though mum forgot the mint sauce and you can’t have chips with roast lamb. At least not at Easter. At least my mum says not. And I don’t really like roast potatoes as much even if they are a bit healthier and roasted with garlic and rosemary. Chips, after all, are hard to beat.
We had trifle for pudding and that was when it happened. Mum dropped the bombshell. (Like Jeremy Clarkson won’t say any more because he’s been fired from Top Gear.)
Mum said that she was ‘empowered’ after the Conference and the debates and she was going to ‘get out there’ and do something about it.
And we weren’t really paying a lot of attention till she said,
‘So Jack, you will have to get the tea from now till the election day.’
I couldn’t believe it.
‘What, mum?’ I said. For one moment I thought this was like Christmas not Easter because maybe we could have chips every night. But then she said,
‘I’m going to be out canvassing and I won’t have time.’
‘But you’ll be back in time for tea?’ Dad said. Not so much a question more in the way that you realise that he thinks it’s part of the promise he made when he married my mum that she would always have tea on the table, except in an emergency.
‘I won’t be in DrumTumshie all the time,’ Mum said.
‘What?’ Both our jaws hit the table.
It turns out that my mum’s done such a good job of canvassing DrumTumshie and Tattybogle that they want her to go to places where people aren’t so sure of what they believe and she’s going to be chapping doors as far south as Aberdeen.
‘And maybe further,’ she said. ‘I have to go where I’m needed.’
‘You’re needed here, Jeannie,’ dad said.
‘We all have to make sacrifices, ‘ she said. And before dad could turn purple and explode she added, ‘It’s what Tam would have wanted.’
And that is my mum’s magic pass out of Tattybogle.
She’s said it to me quite a few times, like about writing this serial for example. And because I promised Nicola Sturgeon to make my mum proud, when she says that I do what she says. But I never thought she’d pull it on my dad. Which she did.
He was stunned.
‘Uh, yeah, okay,’ was all he could think of to say.
And my mum came over all Easter and said, ‘It’s the cross we have to bear.’
I picked up the trifle plates, in silence, and went over to the window. And then I saw him.
‘It’s Jesus,’ I shouted.
‘What?’ they both said.
‘Jesus, the rabbit,’ I said. And they both laughed.
And you might laugh too when I explain it to you. It’s like Alex Salmond’s pan drops. I want to make you laugh if you read right to the end. Like a reward. To make up for the boring politics stuff. I think more writers should do that. It doesn’t have to be a happy ending, but just an ending that rewards the reader for all the work they put in. So they’ll feel they missed out if they stop half way.
So here’s the story of Jesus the rabbit. On Friday this week Bisum our dog caught a rabbit. She brought it to mum. Dead. Normally mum would skin it, but she was too busy on her mobile phone talking to ‘branch office’ (we didn’t know what about then but we do now) and she told me to go and put it somewhere out of the way. So I did. Then I went back on Saturday to check on it and it wasn’t there, so I told everyone at tea – ‘the rabbit’s gone.’
And John said we should call it Jesus, because it was killed on a Friday, was dead and buried (well, I put it behind a rock behind the barn) on the Saturday and John said, ‘We need to keep an eye open for it on Sunday in case it rises again!’
So that’s why, when I saw the rabbit, and yes, I do know it was the same one because it had a special spot on its ear which I could see even out of the window, I shouted, ‘It’s Jesus.’ Of course to be really funny I should have shouted ‘Jesus is risen’, but that might have made mum angry. She’s not religious but she doesn’t like you being rude about things, even God even if he doesn’t exist like me and Brian the Brain know he doesn’t.
But at least both mum and dad found it funny. And I’m sorry if I upset anyone on Easter by making a joke about Jesus the rabbit, I don’t mean to. Well, that’s my time up for this week. Next week I’ll tell you more about ‘the sacrifices’ we are having to make and the ‘crosses’ we are having to bear because of what happened on Easter Day when my mum decided she had to get empowered.
About the Author
Jack MacRoary, also known locally as the Bard of DrumTumshie, comes from the small farming community of Tattybogle, which he has singlehandedly put ‘on the map’ through his fame. After bursting onto the literary cultural scene in August 2012 when he appeared at the inaugural Edinburgh eBook Festival, Jack now attends DrumTumshie Academy. His current ebooks are Tales from Tattybogle (available from Amazon here and Kobo here) and More Tales from Tattybogle (available from Amazon here and Kobo here). He is also the first McStorytellers McSerial writer.
Jack lives on a farm with his dad, mum, older brother John and a range of animals and pets, including Dug (the cat), Bisum (the dog) and Micro (the pig). His ebooks give an insight into rural life, as well as providing an insightful commentary on Scots culture.
Follow Jack on Facebook here.
Jack lives on a farm with his dad, mum, older brother John and a range of animals and pets, including Dug (the cat), Bisum (the dog) and Micro (the pig). His ebooks give an insight into rural life, as well as providing an insightful commentary on Scots culture.
Follow Jack on Facebook here.