"Chip shops these days are using rubbish tatties."

"Aye, and lard ye wouldny feed to the pigs."

"What's all this gottae dae wi' the story?"

"Absolutely nothing, but if ye want tae win the Booker it's best to start with a lyrical, whimsical bit o' Scottishness written in the vernacular."

Lucia Tambini was a troubled woman, her sadness locked in the mysteries of her Italo-Scottish past. Her daughter, Rosa, was also a troubled woman, her sadness locked in the mysteries of her Italo-Scottish past.

When Maria strode on stage she seemed to come alive, an impossibly large voice emanating from her diminutive 13-year-old frame. Bute had never seen anything like her.

"You must be very proud of your daughter," said the talent spotter to Rosa. "She'll do well on Opportunity Knocks."

"The first time I ever saw Maria I knew she was special," said Hughie Green. "And I mean that most sincerely folks."

Maria looked at herself in the mirror and pawed at her flesh. "Why do I remind myself so much of Lena Zavaroni?" she muttered to herself, choking on a sliver of carrot.

As Maria's fame grew, her body shrank as if she was being hollowed out by celebrity. "You're very ill," said Marion, her agent.

Lucia thought back to the second world war and how her love for a fascist opera singer had cost the life of her firstborn daughter. She wor ried that this might not have much to do with Maria, but reassured herself that life was full of indeterminate narratives that don't fit and that stylistic devices such as these would help win the Booker.

Kevin sat down to write his 91st letter to Maria. "I'm your biggest fan. Why do you never write back?"

Maria returned to Bute and slowly put on weight. "It's time for us to relaunch your career," said Marion. "I've organised a Songs of Praise."

Michael Aigas had always loved Maria, ever since she was just a wee lassie back on Bute. Meeting her again rekindled his feelings.

"I've always loved you."

"But I'm not here."

"I'll take care of you."

"Why do I feel so two-dimensional?"

"It's a literary conceit. Your personality has been consumed by celebrity, geddit?"

"It's so unfair, though. Even Catherine Zeta-Jones is more interesting than me."

Maria pushed a pea around her plate. "You're very ill again," said Michael. "Come away with me."

As Rosa's suicide was being discovered back in Bute, Kevin followed Maria into the toilets at Waterloo. Seconds later he lay dying with his knife in his throat.

"That's what happens when you try to kill someone who isn't there," chorused the readers.

The digested read ... digested

Please take me seriously and give me the Booker. And I mean that most sincerely folks