At around 15:00 on the 31st of January, I received an email from a Mr. 'Dude Plenty'. This email was sent in relation to this blog and I had never known a person using this name before in any facet of my life. The email seemed to be in relation to a comment left on the 'about us' section of the blog. A message was left anonymously requesting whether a poem could be submitted to this blog. I had yet to answer this as I had been busy consulting the subtleties, intricacies and depths of a doner kebab from Pizza Paradise (stay tuned for a review).
Some time passed by and I completely forgot about this comment until I received the email from the person above. What's more alarming is that there is no way of any person finding out my email address as I have not listed it anywhere in my blog.
The content of the email was very mysterious and odd in nature. It was short and to the point and it contained an instruction that should be followed out that day. I was told that there was going to be a message left for me outside the Scottish Poetry Library. The email went on to say that the message would be placed around the entrance of the library and it would be ready for me by 17:15 that evening. I was confused. I was perplexed. I had never received an email like this before and I really didn't know what to make of it. My first instinct was to respond and ask who they were and what that message would be. What if I was in danger? Was the man from the Turkish Doner Inn finally going to reveal the ingredients of his minty spiced onions? Was I finally going to find out what the mystery meat from Madras Cottage was?
By the time that I had noticed that I had received this email, it was already 16:00 and I would be tied up at work until 17:00. I work quite near the centre of town but I had my reservations. I decided that I would reply to this odd email and when I did, I asked who they were, what they wanted and what this message would be. As I sent the email I received a rapid response in what seemed like seconds. It wasn't the response I had hoped - the email had bounced back! Apparently, this email no longer existed. I investigated as much as I could. I was also pretty occupied with my work routine so this wasn't going to be easy and I only had around 40 minutes. I did a few searches for 'Dude Plenty' and nothing of note came up. I knew there was very little else that could be done. My adventurous side decided to take a detour from my journey home towards the bottom of the Royal Mile. I was sure to find answers there but I never knew whether I would make it on time - what if this message was only going to be there for a few minutes? What then? If I was a few minutes or even seconds out, I could have missed it all.
By the time I had got to the poetry library, it was around 17:25. I rushed down the close hoping to catch a glimpse of what had awaited me. I found nothing. It had all been an elaborate hoax. Maybe someone in the nearby flats was watching me - I had not known this sort of intrigue for a long long time. I hovered around the stairs and entrance to the library, it was closed and there was no one around. It was relatively mild compared to the the previous day and there were no winds.
I sat on the steps for a few minutes, slightly annoyed that I allowed a prank email to dictate what I did that night. I now knew what it felt like to fall for the Nigerian Prince scam although the despair of losing a little bit of my time pales into comparison to what some of those victims likely lost.
As I got up, I had a look around the close, maybe someone was watching me but all seemed relatively normal. That was until I looked on my immediate left. There was a beige folded piece of paper laying on metal stair structure - on it was written 'THE DONER INFORMER' in capital letters and in red pen. My heart skipped a beat. I opened the letter and was greeted with the following poem:
Accompanied with the poem was a thoughtful set of translations for some of the lesser known Scots words in the poem. Obviuosly I was bewildered. Why had I been dragged out here to find this? Why could I not have just been emailed this poem? Why the Scottish Poetry Library? Who was Peter Findlay? This all reminded me of the person that left various book sculptures across the city - was I too to receive a doner kebab book sculpture? Why did Peter Findlay use the name 'Dude Plenty' on his email? Was it the same person? Had Peter Findlay been watching me as I tucked into my various doners around the city? If there was one thing I did know, it was that Peter Findlay had been keeping a close eye on the blog and knew more about me than was necessary/comfortable.
By the time that I had noticed that I had received this email, it was already 16:00 and I would be tied up at work until 17:00. I work quite near the centre of town but I had my reservations. I decided that I would reply to this odd email and when I did, I asked who they were, what they wanted and what this message would be. As I sent the email I received a rapid response in what seemed like seconds. It wasn't the response I had hoped - the email had bounced back! Apparently, this email no longer existed. I investigated as much as I could. I was also pretty occupied with my work routine so this wasn't going to be easy and I only had around 40 minutes. I did a few searches for 'Dude Plenty' and nothing of note came up. I knew there was very little else that could be done. My adventurous side decided to take a detour from my journey home towards the bottom of the Royal Mile. I was sure to find answers there but I never knew whether I would make it on time - what if this message was only going to be there for a few minutes? What then? If I was a few minutes or even seconds out, I could have missed it all.
By the time I had got to the poetry library, it was around 17:25. I rushed down the close hoping to catch a glimpse of what had awaited me. I found nothing. It had all been an elaborate hoax. Maybe someone in the nearby flats was watching me - I had not known this sort of intrigue for a long long time. I hovered around the stairs and entrance to the library, it was closed and there was no one around. It was relatively mild compared to the the previous day and there were no winds.
I sat on the steps for a few minutes, slightly annoyed that I allowed a prank email to dictate what I did that night. I now knew what it felt like to fall for the Nigerian Prince scam although the despair of losing a little bit of my time pales into comparison to what some of those victims likely lost.
As I got up, I had a look around the close, maybe someone was watching me but all seemed relatively normal. That was until I looked on my immediate left. There was a beige folded piece of paper laying on metal stair structure - on it was written 'THE DONER INFORMER' in capital letters and in red pen. My heart skipped a beat. I opened the letter and was greeted with the following poem:
The Doner Hoose
Spicy meat’s a richt guid feed,
Wi pilau rice n chapatti breid.
Alas the het o’ a Ruby Murray,
Didnae syte, ma mynd did worry.
Aa needit bree wi rowth o’ fire.
Aboot the shaps aa did enquire.
Aw curries, n thon Mexican chilli,
Thai, Chinese, pepper pies fae Killie.
Samples o’ the hottest paste,
Sauces dinglin tongue post-taste.
Alas, wi heat o’ hell awantin,
The deils wha cook wir sairly daunten.
But than a spied a couthie chiel,
Graftin ower a michty meal.
Sclicin aff some muckle collops,
Than spuins o’ sauce in wappin dollops.
A gang tae scran this muckle fare,
Wi spicy bree, as hot as dare.
The King o’ Chilli hoose saved honour,
Aa think a’ll hae kebab o’ doner.
Peter Findlay, Doner fain
Accompanied with the poem was a thoughtful set of translations for some of the lesser known Scots words in the poem. Obviuosly I was bewildered. Why had I been dragged out here to find this? Why could I not have just been emailed this poem? Why the Scottish Poetry Library? Who was Peter Findlay? This all reminded me of the person that left various book sculptures across the city - was I too to receive a doner kebab book sculpture? Why did Peter Findlay use the name 'Dude Plenty' on his email? Was it the same person? Had Peter Findlay been watching me as I tucked into my various doners around the city? If there was one thing I did know, it was that Peter Findlay had been keeping a close eye on the blog and knew more about me than was necessary/comfortable.
