MEET BEAG!
In the Gaelic language, the word 'beag' means small. As expected, the way we say the word depends on our dialects and accents, so to make things easy, it sounds quite like 'BUG'. Personally, I think it's a fantastic name for any of the micro McGonks!This is Beag (Bug). He's grey, measures about 6cm high, has a pink button nose, pink felt 'shoes' and wears a blue tartan Tam o' Shanter with a tiny white pompom on top. Beag McGonks are great, they can be clipped onto almost anything and go anywhere without causing too much of a fuss - handbags, keys, zippers, bicycles...
But first, a little bit about Tam o' Shanter:
Tam o' Shanter is the character in a very famous poem of the same name written by Robert Burns. (You can find the poem in its entirety HERE.) Rabbie Burns, as he's commonly referred to, is possibly Scotland's most famous and influential poet. His birthday is celebrated every year on 25th January on "Burns' Night", when all good McGonks eat the customary haggis, neaps and tatties (haggis, turnip and potatoes) for dinner. Official Burns' Supper events are held all around the country and wherever else you find McGonks - I mean Scots! The Tam o'Shanter hat is the flat tartan cap that was often worn by Scotsmen of that time and so-named after the poem's main character, Tam.
Today the sun shone and the outdoors beckoned. Beag McGonk couldn't really go for a gallop on his trusty steed, Black Bess, so he donned his Tam o'Shanter, wrapped up against the blustering wind, hitched up the bike and had a wander along the local lanes. The views on such days can literally blow you away, but there really wasn't much to see by way of life - no cows, no sheep, no birds flying overhead, no herons by the stream. In fact, not a soul in sight - so nobody to spy Beag as went secretly exploring.
First stop was a signpost. There was still nobody about, so Beag climbed right to the top to see if he could see any signs of life further afield. Scrambling up, blown all ways by the blustery winds, he almost lost his balance more than once! He finally made it to the top and scrutinised the panoramic views for signs of life. Unbelievably, on such a glorious day, there still wasn't a soul in site, not even the hare that's usually bouncing around the adjacent field! But then he spotted a fabulous, huge tree, leaf-less and begging to be climbed!
Back on the bikes, we cycled a little further along the lane until Beag stopped by a prickly looking clump of winter-bare hedging. Off the bike, stumbling through the grass he went, scaling the gnarled, twisting branches with a definite mission in mind. Once he'd reached a particular spot in his chosen 'tree', Beag stopped, looked all around and then peered anxiously downwards. Following his gaze, I spotted the long, slender, pointed looking branch he was eyeing. 
Just at that exact minute, I heard a yell and watched as Beag leapt clean off his resting place and then hooked the branch below in one death-defying action. Off he went, swinging along, shouting with glee as he flew through the air, almost as though on a magic zip-wire, sliding his way in a flash to the base of the branch. What a naughty little McGonk he is! If this is the kind of exploits the micro-McGonks are going to get up to then I really don't know how the red king Rory or any of the others are going to cope!
Still, Beag seemed as proud as Punch with his flying trapeze act and was quite happy to settle back onto the bike and come home afterwards. Phew! First mini-adventure over without mishap and we all got some fresh air and exercise into the bargain.
Back home, there was a lovely bowl of hot, steaming lentil soup waiting and a room full of McGonks wanting to see the photos of the day's mini-adventure. Sending the littlest member of the clan out as a scout seemed like a good idea at the time, but he didn't quite grasp the concept of surveying the lie of the land. Perhaps next time he'll concentrate more on his mission than playing at swinging from trees.
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