The journey from Newmarket to Rugby is not an easy one at the moment. Miles and miles of roadworks have turned what used to be a breezy hour or so ( admittedly when I had my Porsche ) into right old slog ( in the VW Polo 1.2 ). On the bright side it's not a trip I do very frequently and I was expecting the worst when I decided last Saturday to go and watch Bob playing rugby. Consequently I arrived on time and in reasonably high spirits. Bob came bouncing out of his house and greeted me exuberantly. Moments later, though, it all went horribly wrong. In his rush to say hello to me he had left his jacket on the floor of the dining room and his housemaster, picking it up to find whose it was, discovered in it a packet of tobacco, filter papers and a lighter. I mean the stupidity? Smoking obviously – well that’s ridiculous – but then to be caught like that….AND whilst I was actually right there on one of my all too rare visits. It could only happen to Bob.
I say that, but on reflection I recall ruefully there is form in the family. Hen had always denied it resolutely and, naïve as I was in those days, I had backed up her twice in the face of the grave suspicions of her housemistress that she had indeed been smoking. That was until Hen herself rang me and admitted she had started smoking, “occasionally”. Presumably she thought she would get some kudos for being upfront about it, but it soon became clear why she had done so. During the course of a police investigation into a rather nasty incident – in which she was the innocent victim having been set upon by two local lasses - Hen was found via a perusal of CCTV footage, considerably out of bounds, leaning against the brick wall of a side road enjoying a quiet Embassy Red.
If there was an upside to this sorry story it is that I resisted the temptation to high-tail it back home and moped my way half heartedly to the rugby pitch. Ten minutes into the game, Bob, who is not a natural rugby player, scored one of the most tremendous tries I’ve seen at any level. Right up there with the best of Jonah Lomu. From deep inside his own half he burst through at least seven attempted tackles and running like the wind, scored in the far left corner. Amazing what a bit of adrenaline and intent can do. Talking of which the next evening the force was still with him and he and his band got through the auditions and will perform “Somebody Told Me” by The Killers in front of the entire school this evening. And to be fair, as lead singer you have to have a few rollies in your back pocket, don’t you? De rigueur really.
*** CHRISTMAS COMPETITION ***
A reminder from last week that in the run up to Christmas I have provided a little diversion for you. The challenge is to use as many of the Scottish words below as you are able to, incorporating them in an amusing and pertinent short paragraph. I will determine the winner who will receive much acclaim and to whom a bottle of single malt will wing its way in due course. I should add this competition is closed to the Glaswegians amongst you, though I think I have lost most of them anyway. Obviously the restriction doesn’t apply to my Edinburgh clients who would have a better chance of fulfilling this mission if I had chosen Latin instead of The Patter.
The words are:
Coonsil juice / Glaikit / Barry / Hackit / Clipe / Keelie / Peely-wally / Plook / Liftit / Haud yer wheesht / Jookies / Mawkit
Entries to be received before Christmas so take your time, make it a good one and best of luck. Remember….. “Whisky….all you want!”
If you are in search of inspiration here are a couple of efforts. In their contrasting styles – it is not difficult to guess which was written by a Fifer – both solidly grasp what is being demanded:
'So there I wiz, fair drookit an wi' a mooth like a rat's arse. No sae barry and ma clathes were aw mawkit efter 3 days on the coonsil juice. An' as if it couldnae get ony worse it wiz then I ran across Bennie. He's a wee clipe so he iz and a plooky, glaikit wee bastart tae.
says I 'awa ye go ye wee nyaff. an dinnae tell the wains ye seen me'
He wid too though and then Jessie'd be aw over me like a dose o' clap. A knee in the jookies'd be the best I could hope fer. What's a keelie tae dae? Nae luck at aw. An me feelin aw peely wally wi nae a bawbee fer a dram.
Hame it wiz then. Better a kickin than gettin liftit and flung in the slammer by the polis. Plus she'd a had her giro fi the brew by noo. She's mebbe a hackit bizom but she'd hae some jakie fer sure...'
Or this one….
Two fine keelies were walking home in the wee hours following a big night out when they came across a barry babe.
Dougal was brave and said hellooo despite the rather large plook protruding from his nose.
Dougal went on to say where have you been this fine evening (fraser whispered Mawkit under his breath)
She looked at him with a glaikit stare trying to avoid any sort of conversation.
Frazer said steer clear of her, she is hackit my boy plus I know her older brother and I bet she will clipe on you!
He will come looking for you and give you a kick in the jookies! so Haud yer wheesht!
The girl looked at Frazer and said, " You look a bit peeley wally my boy, get ya self some coonsil juice fast otherwise the police will liftit you when they see you!
No comments:
Post a Comment