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Separating tartans

Separating the tartans, I can see that one is of the hapless Clan Arthur of Tirracladich. I remember that, after many generations as hereditary servants to the noble MacDonalds of Sleat, the MacScullions, wanting to boost their moral, attempted to link their clan with someone famous, changed their name from MacScullion to Macarthur, and claimed that they were the direct descendents of one of the sons of Arthur Humperdink, a local king who has been characterised by some second-rate writers as a hero but who, if the truth be told, was little more than a rapscallion. Although Clan Arthur’s claim is utterly spurious, they insist on backing it up with a vast amount of genealogical detail; a monotonous recitation of births and marriages and deaths and names and dates, so mind-implodingly tedious that many people who hear it chew their own legs off. Because nobody is interested in their ridiculous story, to seek an audience, Clan Arthur formed a shambolic society, and, once a month, after asking permission from the MacDonalds, they stumble around Sleat, shouting the Clan’s war cry Eisd! O Eisd! (“Listen, O Listen!”), looking for someone to talk to. I decide not to recommend their tartan to aunt Humperdink

Professor Humperdink’s Diary