Introduction (mainly for my overseas readership).
Rab C Nesbitt is the name of a Scottish sitcom based in Govan, Glasgow. The Rab of the title is an unemployed alcoholic delinquent, married to the long suffering 'Mary-doll', and father to two sons, Burnie (deceased) and Gash. It's a comic look at the Glaswegian underclass, and is one of the most popular shows ever produced by BBC Scotland.
When I was out with my friend Mark the other night, I happened to mention that I'd been in Glasgow during the filming of Brad Pitt's movie, and mentioned my confusion as to how it was more economically viable to turn Glasgow into a reproduction of Philadelphia. We came to the conclusion that Glasgow was picked so Angelina could go shopping for a Weegie (vaguely derogatory term for Glaswegian) orphan. That took root in my warped little mind – Brangelina adopt what they are told is an unwanted Weegie baby, only for a 20-something year old ned (Non Educated Delinquent) to turn up, Angelina not having read the adoption pack properly, because it was written in broad Scots, and she couldn't understand it.
Then, whilst waiting for Mark to return from the bar, the idea struck me that it could be a funny sitcom or comic strip. So, me being me, I had a quick bash at something... I'm not sure the best way to do it properly, part of me thinks a comic strip is the way to go, maybe once I've fleshed out the idea I will...
In the meantime... read on...
Brad and Angelina are recumbent in their luxurious Beverly Hills mansion, but somewhat bored. Brad is reading through a check list, when Angelina asks “what are you doing?”
Brad looks up and says “Oh, I'm just doing an inventory and also thinking about what I'm going to do next, I have some scripts to read through, there's one I like, it's a zombie thing, but it's set in Philadelphia, and we can't get a permit, and we can't go back to Vancouver, you know, after you tired to adopt what you thought was an inuit kid, turned out to be the mayor's mistresses daughter or whatever.” Angelina looks coldly at him “it was an easy mistake to make! Anyway, what are you inventorying?”. Brad goes back to his list “I'm just ticking off the kids – we have a black one, a couple of Asian ones, and a bunch of white ones, I think we have a decent selection. A latino one would be nice, but we can't go back to Mexico because of the time you....” Angelina jumped in, getting angry, “That could have happened to anyone!! How the hell was I supposed to know that midget wresting was all the rage there!” She looked over at the pictures of the kids. “All our white kids are a bit bland... They are all blonde, we need something else, something to match the drapes. Ooooooooh, I know, I watched The Simpsons the other night, they have a Scotch guy on their, Groundskeeper Cocky I think his name was, he had red hair, the drapes are maroon, we need a Scotch kid! They must all be red haired. I know all about Scotchland, they have wild haggises, and all the guys wear skirt things, you know, like you tried once, but somehow they still look like guys, and they fry everything, even their pepsi, I heard that. There's a place called Edinburg, which I think is like Pittsburgh, so it stands to reason that if that's like Pitts, then the other city... ummm... I think it's called Glass Cow, something like that anyway, that's gotta be like Philly. Call your agent”.
Brad looked up, ready to challenge her, before recognising the look in her eyes. There was no point. If he wanted sex again this side of the rapture (which, he thought at times like these, couldn't come quick enough) then he had no choice. “Ok” he sighed, “Get number 4 to get me the phone”. “Brad! They have names you know!!”. Brad looked over. “Ok, tell me the name of kid number 4?”. Angelina thought for a second. “Ok, you win this time! FOUR!!!! GET DADDY THE PHONE, we're going to Scotchland!”
Several Months Later
Glasgow is in turmoil. When the city council got a letter from a fancy Hollywood studio asking if they could essentially shut down the city centre of the biggest city in Scotland, the only question they asked was “how long fir, and how much are ye givin us, cash wise?”. Once that was sorted out, which was done in record time, it was all systems go.
With Brad safely ensconced in his trailer, Angelina went shopping. Her first, and as it would turn out, only stop was “Honest Jim's Emporium of Second Hand Children”, which was purported to be “the best place tae get yer new and used bairns”, if only by 'Honest' Jim himself. He couldn't believe his luck when Angelina Jolie turned up one day to ask for a look at the catalogue. This surprised Jim, mostly because he didn't have a catalogue, but, in the fashion of the Glaswegian wide-o that he was, he wasn't long in making up a tale to tell. “Ach, hen, I'd love tae gie you a swatch, sorry, a gander, sorry hen, ah dinnae get many Septics in here, eh, sorry, you'll no ken 'the patter', it's a bit like the pish they spout in London, the auld cockney slang and that, only oors is hunners better. So, a septic tank, is a yank, see”. Jolie was confused, but thought to herself, well, this guy is as Scotchish as I'm going to get, so I must be on to a winner” By this time, Jim's weasel mind had started to work overtime. “Aye, see what it wiz, have jist been able tae get that many bairns shifted, ye ken whit it's like, ye shift a bairn on tae some cun... erm.. couple, they are that made up, they tell their pals, so they want yin tae, then they tell aw their pals, before ye ken, yer firin' oot bairns left right and centre”. Angelina looked crestfallen. “Does that mean you don't have anything up for adoption just now? I've got my heart set on a poor Scotchish red haired orphan”. Jim scratched his chin. “Ah'll see whit ah can dae for ye. Come back here the morra and I'll sort ye somethin oot.”
The Next Day
Right on cue, Angelina wandered into Honest Jims. “Ah, Ms Jolie hen, it's your lucky day, Honest Jim has pulled oot aw the stops and ah've got ye a red haired orphan. It's a boy, he'll be ready by the end of the day, aw a need ye tae dae is hae a gander at the contract, sign yer name, hand over the dosh, and the lucky young fella is yours tae tak hame wi ye the night!”
Jolie's eyes lit up. “Can I have a look at him?”. Honest Jim looked her right in the eye and said “See, if it wiz up tae me hen, absolutely, but see, it's the Scottish parliament, they hiv this thing aboot discrimination, you might have seen something aboot it in the paper”. Angelina actually did, “Oh yeah, I read this morning that there's some kind of problem with the Rangers and the Celtics, although I thought one was a hockey team and the other a basketball team, so I don't know what that is all about”. “Aye hen, that's the hing, there's a lot of that going aboot, so the government, see, they are trying to make it hard on honest traders like my good self, I'd be all for letting you have a gander at the young fella, but then I'd be breaking the law see, at the same time they said we couldnae hae a fag in the boozer, all of a sudden we couldnae let guid folks like yersel see the bainr before hand, cause see, you might be a Rangers wumman, and the bairn might come fae a Celtic family, so then you'd be all “och, ahm no havin' a Celtic bairn”, and then cause I let you see it, then I'd get the jail for putting you in that tricky position, so ye see hen, it's aw doon tae the government”.
“Ok” said Angelina, “I kinda see where you are coming from, but hey, you advertise yourself as honest, and you are certainly Scotchish, so yeah, let me read the contract and if that's all good, I'll sign”.
Honest Jim smiled his best, gap-toothed smile. “Nae bother doll. Gie me two shakes of the old tallywhacker, I'll be right back...”
TO BE CONTINUED...