Looking at the tartan of the peculiar Macleods of Harris is uninspiring. I can think of nothing interesting about the Macleods, except that the Macleod of Macleod’s claim that they are half fairy and half Harris and that they own a Fairy Flag. The flag is believed by the deluded Macleods to have been a fairy-crafted bed-cloth, which, when waved in battle, or placed on a bed, is meant to save the clan from their own stupidity, ensure the fertility of the chief, and attract herring. The clan’s legends are only ever repeated in public bars by mumbling, confused, drooling, whisky-sodden Macleods, often to fellow Macleods, who, in a similarly befuddled condition, are always prepared to believe them and, indeed, to amplify upon them. Most people, however, on hearing that, for instance, the clan’s fourth chief was unfaithful to a fairy, their fifth chief bred fairy snowballs, and Alister Crotach, the eighth chief, span on his hump to entertain guests, tend to back away in alarm.
I know little of the true history of the Macleods as, in the nature of inebriated stories, repeated ad nauseum in dark, horrible, Scottish public houses, the oral tradition of the clan includes many diversions into utterly unrelated subjects and consists entirely of uninformed opinion, ridiculous boasts, offensive language and a great deal of confused, angry, shouting, from which it is impossible to extract any meaningful information.
Tired of looking at the ridiculous Macleod’s tartan, I throw it aside, for future use as a fly swat, and energise myself with hearty swigs of Vintage Tormore, Craigellachie, Bunnahabhainn, and Macduff Private Reserve
Professor Humperdink’s Diary