This is another tale about my father, usually called Jack or sometimes Jock.
It came from my Dad and recounts an incident which happened in retirement when Mum and Dad lived at Dewshill Cottages beside the busy M8 motorway in the shadow of the Kirk o Shotts TV and Radio transmitter.
I have enjoyed telling this story down through the years because it captures the essence of Dad.
After a recent re-telling I was urged by my son Craig to write it down.
If you enjoy this one, try Early One Morning, a story from his time working at Yorkhill Hospital for Sick Kids.