THE daft exploits, often in pursuit of female flesh, of King James V,

who, as the Guid Man of Ballingeich, wandered the land sharing the

humdrum existence of his subjects are well enough documented. Saucily,

one biographer has suggested that ''sleeping in barns, on clean pease

strae and partaking of the guid wife's sheep's heid, oaten cakes and

ale, or whatever else she had on offer, was no uncommon occurrence in

the life of James''.

But my own favourite tale, which may echo eerily into the humdrum

1990s, is possibly one of the least well-known and centres not on the

monarch's sexual exploits but his liking for a wee refreshment.

On one of his famous sixteenth-century pedestrian tours, he ended up

at Markinch in Fife and like any humble traveller felt a trifle parched.

The nearest inn and a glass of porter beckoned. The guid wife was happy

to see the stranger but informed him that her only available room was

occupied by the local schoolmaster and the minister. However, she

remained confident that they would welcome him into their company. So it

proved.

He entered, was welcomed, and began to drink with them. After what is

described as a ''tough debauch of several hours,'' during which he

succeeded in being accepted as a worthy drinking companion of the two

local celebrities, the bill came to be paid.

James pulled out his money pouch to contribute his share but on seeing

this, the schoolmaster proposed to the

clergyman that they should pay the bill since the visitor had joined

them later in their drinking session and, in any case, as a stranger he

was entitled to their hospitality.

''Na, Na,'' quaffed the minister. ''I see no reason in that. This

birkie maun must pay higgledy-piggledy wi' oorsels; that's aye the law

in the Markinch. Higgledy-piggledy's the word.''

The schoolmaster argued against this selfish and unjust reasoning, but

the stubborn minister held his ground. James watched the argument rage

to and fro before eventually declaring: ''Weel, weel, higgledy-piggledy

be it!''

Immediately afterwards, in a judgment worthy of Solomon, he made

arrangements to ensure that the salary of Markinch's minister never

overtook that of the generous schoolteacher.

Apocryphal, far-fetched, or what? Well, according to normally reliable

sources this odd arrangement lasted the course; 300 years on -- in the

mid 1800s -- the salaries were still on a par. Higgledy-piggledy indeed.

But back to the twentieth century. Not so many years ago I was

intrigued by a wee woman who frequented a pub in Glasgow's Byres Road

where I was known to occasionally drop by. She would approach the bar on

every occasion saying: ''We'll huv a wee voddy.''

Now, she was clearly unaccompanied so I reckon, poor soul, that she

must have had an unseen companion, like the friend my granny used to

talk to behind the living-room wall. But hold, could there be another,

more sensational explanation? Could the present royal family be among us

now, following the example of their Stuart predecessor and having the

occasional undercover sortie among the punters? Was that the Guid Woman

o' Buck House?

Perhaps. When we come to the other members of the royal family the

theory gets more problematical. Charlie's ears would be a dead giveaway,

Fergie's giggle would echo from the BBC Club to the Dolphin, and I just

know that Phil would never get into the Curlers with his sword.

JIM HEWITSON