Robbies here, Robbies there, bloody Robbies everywhere!

As poverty creeps up on me like a bad hangover on New Year's day, as my world slowly crumbles around me and all I'm left with is a vivid imagination and a dulled sense of reality, as my sex life is comparable to a dead nun's; who's been buried, cremated and sealed in a vault, as hot-dog food poisoning sets in and I delicately place my sore-to-be arse over the toilet bowl, as my splitting headache resounds in unison with the pains of ten sore stomach ulcers in a hellish cacaphony of bubbling burning turmoil...
...I decided to focus my attention on the mission at hand, I started phoning the Robbies.

Yes. Plural. There are many Robbies in Britain.
In fact, so many that I decided to start with Robbies who had Howett as a surname.
In fact, there are so many of them as well, that I decided to phone the Robbie Howetts in Scotland first.
In fact, there are so many of them too, that I decided to stick, for the time being, to Robbie Howetts on the Scottish East coast.

If you hear a vague plopping sound as you read this, it's probably just another stress ulcer evolving or, if I'm lucky, it's my brain blowing out my ears.

Let me share a couple of example phone calls:

Phone call nr. 2
Robbie: "Hello."
Me: "Yeah. Hi, Mark van der Born here, is this Robbie I'm speaking to?"
Robbie: "Hello?"
Me: "Hello?"
Robbie: "Hello?"
Me: "Hell..."
Click.

Phone call nr. 3
Me: "Hi, this is Mark van der Born speaking. Am I speaking to Robbie Howett?"
Robbie: "You sure are love."
Me: "Excuse me, but you are a woman."
Robbie: "Last time I looked love."
Me: "Yeah...but...okay..."
Robbie: "My name's Roberta."

Phone call nr. 6
Robbie: "Robert Howett speaking."
Me: "Hello. My name is Mark van der Born."
Silence
Me: "I'm looking for an old school pal..."
Robbie: "You're looking for an old school pal?"
Me: "Yeah. Could you be him?"
Robbie: "I probably could. Your name, Mark is it, doesn't ring a bell though."
Me: "Penicuik?"
Robbie: "Been there, aye."
Me: "Did you go to school there?"
Robbie: "No, I was stationed there in World War two."

Phone call nr. 8
Lady: "Hello."
Me: "Hi, my name is Mark van der Born, I'm looking for Robbie. Robbie Howett, an old school friend."
Lady: "Why?"
Me: "I'm writing a novel and it's about finding him."
Lady: "Why would you want to find him?"
Me: "Well...for the book."
Lady: "What book?"
Me: "My book. Well novel. Well blog."
Lady: "Who did you say you were?"
Me: "Mark. Mark van der Born."
Lady: "I've never heard of you."
Me: "No...but Robbie may have."
Lady: "Robbie?"
Me: "Yes. Robbie."
Lady: "How do I know you are who you say you are?"
Me: "....uh... well, if you could put Rob..."
Click.

Out of the first eleven phone calls number 8 has been the most promising. I'll wait a couple of days and phone her back.
A lot of Robbies weren't in or just didn't want to speak at all. Quite strange, you'd think they'd be glad that someone was phoning them. Me? I just hang around all day waiting for the fucking phone to ring. A job, a friend, a family member... But no! Nobody ever fucking phones me, do they? Bastards, the lot of the...

Anyways, as I was saying, I've had little succes so far, but I've got another 70 odd Robbies to engage (like captain Picard engages the Borg... although slightly less spectacular) and then I'm going to have to expand the search.

One day at a time sweet Jesus, that's all I'm asking from you... la die laaa die laaaa

Marijohn Wilkins / Kris Kristofferson