Hou's yer dous?

THAT'S enough driving, at least for a wee while. The highways of Scotland are steadily evolving into a nanny-state driving academy bristling with signs which measure your speed and pat you on the back with a patronising: "28mph. Thank you."

ON SCOTTISH and English motorways alike, the gantry signs continue the nannying theme. Teams of bored cops dream up illuminated messages such as WEAR YOUR SEAT BELT, CHECK YOUR TYRE PRESSURES and the rather more puzzling DRIVE TO CONDITIONS. Sometimes they tackle broader issues with TAKE YOUR LITTER HOME OTHERS DO. The lack of punctuation produces some odd and distracting gantry messages. My personal favourite is NO PHONES AWAIT POLICE which has at least four different meanings. As the nanny state advances, how long before we see GOT A CLEAN HANKIE? and HAD A WEE?

OUR trek to the Local Hero village of Pennan in the north of Scotland covered 1,069 miles over four days. My Volvo continues its stately progression from prestige limousine to old tub, its odometer passing the 135,000-mile mark, its big, lazy diesel engine averaging a miserly 52.87 mpg. I cannot see me ever buying another petrol car. Diesel makes you so mean.

THE table next to ours at the Pennan Inn was occupied by three ladies of a certain age. They were chattering and we could detect occasional English words in their conversation. As we left, I asked if they were speaking Gaelic. "No," replied one, "it's Scottish." Her pal added proudly: "It's our language." It turned out to be Doric, usually described as a northern Scots dialect but so different from standard English that it's pretty much a separate language. Up there, a favourite greeting is "Hou's yer dous?" ("how are your pigeons?"), to which the response is "Peckin awa." ("still pecking").

THREE times in as many months Jeremy Clarkson has been accused of racism. The BBC continues to indulge him, possibly because he makes them millions of pounds a year in foreign sales of Top Gear and its spin-off products. You can't help contrasting Clarkson's fireproof survival with the sudden sacking of Carol Thatcher, dismissed by the Beeb in 2009 for a conversation backstage which involved the word "golliwog." Clarkson has "begged your forgiveness" and lives to offend another day. His problem is that being a good boy from now on may not save him. His N-word incident was filmed several years ago and has only just come to light. The howler that kills off Jeremy Clarkson's glittering career may already be in the can. But maybe Clarkson isn't that bothered. His chief purpose in life, apart from driving fast cars and going "phwoarr!" was tormenting Piers Morgan. Now that Morgan has been sacked from his US chat show and publicly humiliated, life must seem rather empty for Clarkson. Maybe he just wants to slip quietly into oblivion.

BACK home, catching up with the news, I saw the most depressing image so far from Ukraine. It was a man in a European city in the 21^st century casually taking aim with a handgun and shooting at his fellow citizens trapped in a building, clearly with no fear of the law. Later the building was torched and 40 people inside perished. Mr Gunman and his comrades are usually described as pro-West, the ones who are supposedly the good guys. They are the ones the EU was holding secret talks with before the mob took over in Kiev. Ukraine has a nasty, savage history and the old bloodlust is rising once again. The less we get involved on either side, the better.

SPRING has sprung. In Doric dialect , this is the season when foggy bummers appear. Bumblebees to you.