There are over 150,000 people with my surname in North America. I disbelieved I had a "clan" as we're lalland not highland, so when one emerges to take one in the fold, it is quite a surprise, especially when this charming tartan-clad American lady introduced herself to me at a gala dinner at New York last month. So it was a delight to meet her husband, my clan chieftain, yesterday, at Harry's bar opposite the British Garden in Hanover Square, for a spot of lunch. Bob, who hails from Summit, New Jersey, is steeped in clan history and shared valuable insight into clan history that was unknown to me. I had assumed the clan were rather a dour, ineffectual bunch who sang songs to praise the grander MacDonalds of the Isles for their vital deeds and battles. Nothing of the sort, retorts Bob, our clan leaders were kingmakers and valued for their literacy. I liked the "our".
I was delighted to note that Bob is somewhat short-sighted, is a head of marketing and public affairs in his day job and once fell over badly near a pub in the Scottish isles and broke his spectacles. Bob and his clan team support a commendable charitable event called "Pipes of Christmas" which helps give scholarships for piping students back in Scotland. I was reaching for my credit card by the end of lunch.
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