Born but a catapult shot away from the Old Course and Home of Gowf, nurtured by the sea breeze on the jagged East Neuk coast, fed from barrels of herring and tatties fae the fields. A product of years of selective inbreeding with a straight line family tree and a dialect no right minded person can get their tongue or head around. The twin Masonic pillars of serial drunkenness and Presbyterian guilt to straighten and break every back, confuse the young mind and reinforce the warped messages with each skelp of the forgiving tawse. Brought up with no concept of ambition or success and enjoying the comfort of clothing already broken in and worn out by successive generations. Scotland's answer to the Rednecks of Deliverance and the Beverly Hillbillies with some decent natured Spanish Gypsy pirate blood thrown in for good measure - mongrels with a peculiar and contradictory pedigree.
So despite the optical illusion it's the mouth that is squint and teeth or tooth that are/is (surprisingly) straight, most of the other damage however is on the inside but thankfully repair and restoration work is underway and ongoing. So God bless Fife and all the historical, hysterical but necessary chromosomal damage caused and despite my escape to the Badlands of Salmond Country I visit her open arms almost everyday. You could call it the Battered Fifer Syndrome.