The Legend of the Instakilt Towel
High above the shores of Loch Linnhe, 1344m above the beautiful Scottish town of Fort William towers the granite magnificence that is Ben Nevis.
It was atop that most dangerous crest that brave young James Buchanan found his destiny, and made a discovery that would change the world. Whilst working in the famed Ben Nevis Observatory in 1894, the ageless Buchanan was struck by the beauty of the coloured rings surrounding shadows cast on the ever-present mist and cloud surrounding the peak, and he decided to imitate these natural phenomena in his laboratory.
Working days on end without sleep, refusing food, drink and the comfort of women, James made the scientific breakthrough of a lifetime.
What he found saw him breathless, barely able to stand let alone run, staggering into the center of Fort William and falling to the ground before a crowd of terrified onlookers.
James was nude but for a sumptuous towel of unknown tartan wrapped tightly about his nethers. But this was no ordinary towel. Or tartan.
“What clan? What family?” the people murmured as they gathered around this beswaddled young daredevil.
James struggled to his feet and faced the people, his people. He pointed at the beautiful towel, festooned with such wonderful tartan.
“This tartan belongs to everyone and no one. It is no clan, and all clans. Scot and Spaniard, Chinese and Chilean, all people of the Earth may claim this tartan as their own, without fear.”
“But what brand? What retailer?” the people cried. “Where can we get such a towel to wrap tightly ‘round our own nethers, perhaps after a bath, or upon growing chilly after a paddle in the Loch?”
James’ eyes twinkled as he spoke. “From me.” The people gasped as he removed his towel, only to reveal another such towel beneath the first, and then another and still another. He removed a towel for each person to enjoy, always revealing another under it and then, finally, upon handing out the very last towel for the very last person, turned to climb back up into the cold darkness of Ben Nevis, his own towel still intact on his form, bright red in the gathering mist.
“But wait!” an old woman shouted. “What are these towels we wear so happily? Pray, tell us what they are called!”
His voice was clear as he disappeared from sight. “The Instakilt.” And so it was.
