4 December 2016 News/Editorial
Midst the pervading gloom of oncoming winter, and the uncertainties in almost every quarter of life, Syria, Brexit, Trump, Putin’s rattling sabre, the SNP ever threatening Indyref2, and, of course, our salmon, it is time to depart, for the off-season, from matters Tweed.
We need some jolly, non fishy, preamble to the imminent festivities.
My cousin Robin Douglas-Home died on 15th October 1968, aged 36, far too young, impossibly charming, enamoured of two Princesses, one Swedish, one British, jazz pianist and friend of Frank Sinatra, journalist and author of the wonderfully titled novels “The Faint Aroma of Performing Seals” and “Hot for Certainties”.
He was married to Sandra Paul, now Mrs Michael Howard, and I hope their son Sholto will forgive me if I reproduce a rare poem, a gem, written by Robin and contributed only “to his Firm’s House Journal”.
I am indebted to a great friend, also Robin’s cousin, Jane Fellowes, for finding and sending it on to me.
It is a bit of fun, especially if you are of a certain age and can recall the ads, which pervaded the Independent Television channels in the 1960s. Indeed, many of the names are still about today.
On the firm ground that we have all, by now, had enough of it for this year, it has nothing whatever to do with fishing.
Here it is, entitled “The Copywriter’s Romance”.
A Sanpic-scented Summer’s night…
A Persil moon above…
The Milky Way shone Omo bright…
He fell in Lux-washed love…
Her rosebud lips were Revlon-Red,
And blue-as Daz her eyes;
A Eucryl-set of Gleeming teeth
Proved she was Wisdom-wise….
She saw him making Rowntree’s eyes,
She threw an Optrex-glance-
(Oh! Magic Melting Moment!) So
He asked her for a dance.
He took her Sunlight hand in his,
Her Hudnut hair smelt sweet….
The Bear-brand-beauty of her legs
Was sleek (thinks, thanks to Veet).
With Double-Diamond nonchalance
That Lifebuoy-freshness brings,
He Dunlop-danced her round the floor
On Knight’s-Castile-dream-wings.
They lost all track of Rolex-time,
Pond’s kissing close they stood,
Both Senior-service-satisfied
That “Kolynos tastes good”...
She Nestle’s-closer: “This is like
Black Magic coming true….”
She Amplex-breathed. “That Goya-kiss
Was Guinness-good for you!”
He judged the moment ripe and said:
It’s Ultra-clear that we
Are deep in love (like Bread and Stork),
So will you marry me!?”
Haig-vaguely answered she “ It all
Depends what Daddie thinks-
I’ve got no Pride or Gumption and
My cooking Airwick-stinks”
But Dad and Mum-Rollette were pro
Their girl’s Swan Vestas match-
(Of course a copywriter would
Be looked on as a catch).
The Burton-groom looked Esso-smooth,
Ryvita slim the bride,
So Yaxa-cool in Surf-white tulle,
Walked Dolcis by his side;
And as they Daimler-drove away,
She said “A Player’s please-
And now for Winalots-and-lots
Of little Hennessies.”
This column will return in February, for whatever surprises the 2017 season has for us.
If you have managed to endure it, with any degree of equanimity through 2016, I am most grateful.
Thank you…...and Happy Christmas.
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