Carradale

[Bitter End]

Well well now Morenish , wis the lest time ye wir oan yer knees no whin the potato howkin machine broke an ye wir needin money fur a new tractor? !! Aye ye wir grovellin well tae lift the brutes! £3 a baag an you wearin the skin aff yer knees havin worn oot yer drawers.Ye wid hae bin better aff payin weans tae lift an gaen tae the kirk yersell!!!!

[Right Pongal]

What's a decent man got to dae around here to get a break from all this. Mrs Pongal decided to treat us both to a couple of nights away from kids an all, at an exlusive hotel on Loch Awe side.

All was going jeest splendidly until we cut off the main road at Tayinuilt. Immediately the alarm bells started ringing. A single track road, winding its way to a sleepy little hamlet, wae deer lining its edges.

Next thing, I'm looking at a damned bochan sitting on a wall at the entrance to a quarry.



I was instructed to put the boot down and blow me, further along the road, there was a wheen of them swinging from a house sign at the end of a ferm road.



Well that was it, I had to put the pedal to the metal and hammer the living daylights out the old four cylinders. Eventually we came to rest by a peaceful little burn running under a mossy bridge.

I stepped out the car to dab the sweat off ma brow, and horror of horrors, here's another wee brute whistling at me from a heavily mossed hollow in an old tree.

Well that was it, Pongal or not, we never even saw the posh hotel. Mrs Pongal forced me to cant at the bridge and steam all the way back down South to our own sleepy little village, screaming at me: 'We can get a plaster of this for free in our own hoose without paying through the nose for the pleasure.'



Absolutely sterven in more way than wan ah was, so I stopped in Oban for a fish supper in one of the toon's splendid friarys, where I made some discreet enquiries about what we had just witnessed. Apparently this Scept of the wee brutes is engaged in the training of a flock of 'Houdini Parakeets' that are running amok in the Central belt.



Apparently the Kilchrennan Bochans initially train them to break into hen coops, and carry eggs back to the den without damaging the shells. When this is mastered, they are ready to move onto more intricate and valuable items

[Ship called Dignity]

In stitches!

[Neil]

http://www.hayleyandrhidian.yourtravelj ... s/4210.JPG

ive got a feeling these are more like the bochans ive met.

[Bochan Mor]

:roll: In stitches!

There's more than a touch of the bochan in 'thep'

[dgraves]

You must have 'Snow White and the Seven Bochans' in Carradale. Don't know what I imagined a Goblin should look like, but that wasn't it!!! Thanks to Right Pongal I know now what to look for.

It depends how long it takes for the maggots to do their work. Mind and bring the meat through the boil 3 times, before you fry the broon flesh wae a hand full of strong onions. The modern way, is to stirfry it accompanied by mushrooms, water-chestnuts and green peppers. Serve it up on a bed of thick noodles or fresh green salad.

If your feeling even more exotic, add some teriyaki sauce whilst the meat is still in the wok. The ginger and pineapple masks the taste of the brine.

On second thoughts, just go to Tesco and get a cooked chicken, and a prepack of stir fry veg.

Even better, a bag full of fresh whitings (Don't bother if they're not fresh) from down the quay. Fillet them, salt and pepper, and dip in plain flower, then flash them into some very hot oil for no more than 1 minute 49 seconds a side. Serve it immediately with some fresh bakers bread and butter, a grilled beef-tomato and a glass of cold Barrs Milk. A meal fit for a King!

Someone did a quick sketch though his kitchen window.... he was mumbling his recipe as he cooked:

[dgraves]

***Sorry..this was a duplicate**must have been the fumes from the pot Bochan Mor is carrying

[Bochan Mor]

Dorian, have you been hacking into Gary's Wi-Fi camera again? Morenish had come round for 10 minutes last night, and having partaken of a little more of the 'Low Flyer' than he had first had deemed sensible, decided that he was no longer in a fit state to drive round the corner on his tractor.

By the time midnight came, he was in the safest place possible, lying on the clean floor, wae a bucket and some old newspapers, just in case he fancied a read during the night. Mrs Bochan just threw an old pelt over him and sent a few smoke signals over the back to Mrs Morenish. She signalled back something about: 'Keep Hymn', but as we didn't know that one, we had to call on Sanyanya to sing: 'Ah want tae tarry in Glengarry; I want to linger by Loch Maree.' I think he'd have been better playing it on the pipes, as our esteemed visitor didn't even acknowledge the efforts of our travelling minstrel. Normally he smacks the floor wae one of his carpet slippers in time to the music, but not this night.

She who must be obeyed (If I want any quality of life), woke me at 5am to go down the stairs and start preparing a troll sized pot of porridge for snoring beauty. She said: 'He'll never milk the poor coos right if his belly's naw fully distended to fill his bib & brace to bursting point. We could do without the 'Pongals' phoning the cruelty inspector again, especially wae all these new dogs running around the village. I'm afraid Gary's needing to go back to the Windfarm Trust again wae his cap in hand. We're needing some of these 'Keech Collectors' over this side of the village as well. By the time the poor brutes have been dragged over to Sally's Walk, without even a chance to lift their legs, they're highly agitated. If the dogs aren't fighting, then invariably their masters are. It's just not conducive to Carradale Karma.

Anyway, whilst we're on the subject of dogs, one of the young bochans must have given Morenish's dog an extra bowl of water last night. The poor brute must have been desperately trying to waken its master and eventually decided to let go on the copious newspapers that Mrs Bochan had left spread out for Morenish. I don't know why she assumed that he would be most interested in the centre spreads of all the papers, albeit that they invariably contained photographs of scantily clad young ladies, demonstrating the latest gadgets and wizardry.

Anyway, with the warm baking bowl full of swollen oats in his belly, Morenish set off in his tractor wae a ploughman's lunch under his cap, (Baker's bread wae Bochan Cheese and Herring Pickle). I'm nearly sure there was steam rising from his overalls as he drove off up the road, but it might just have been a bit of Bochan breath showing up through the frost.

[morenish]

yer a damn liar bochan an everybody knows it now
you've never been chenerous enough wi a low flyer to make anybody sleep on yer floor and as for yon bochan cheese, ye need a bakers roll for't as it's the only thing strong enough to hold it!

aye,and,and,and there iss no way i could sleep on the floor of a former man that wass at the fishing, not without a good dungaree over a strong pair of tesco jeans and a stout belt to keep them up anyway.
mrs mornish never ever thought i was that good looking but i've seen the thickness of your glasses and there is no way i'd take the chance of falling asleep in your lair at all,at all!

[Bochan Mor]

Come now Morenish, sure you know that my carpets are as clean as a whistle, despite the reprebates that have slept their heids away to train oil on them.

The carpet is the safest place for them, as the beds haven't been reinforced yet by the local carpenter to take the extra burden that has often threatened their integrity.

I've even heard of others who have rued the day that they've filled their beds beyond capacity.

It's jeest as well that I'm clear of the fishing. There's this new Super-Power emerging in the shape of the creelers and divers. They've got it in for the crofters and the like. Even the Machrihanish men jumped on the dump truck and headed up to Mid-Argyll, where they told some gullible councillors that the scallop men were now towing into a fathom of water to try and catch a spoot or two.

They're trying their damnedest to give the impression of them being the sustainable future, fishing 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and plucking the brood stock from the nooks and crannies where the inefficient trawls and dredges have no way of accessing.

But why should you or I care Morenish? As long as we have a loaf of bread on our table and hot tea in the pot, what else matters?

I'm jeest not sure of this new site were on now. One minute were being told to eat spoonfulls of humble pie (Poor bubbly near choked on his) and the next, were being told to accept a multitude of cookies which will enhance our enjoyment.

Well I've been to parties like that before, but it was fairy cakes instead of cookies. If you consumed one of these particular sweetbreads, you ended up away with the fairies.

I noticed Gary's attempt at hijacking all our browsers with an offer that maybe Malky has been able to refuse, but will we ever know? I wonder if Malky remembered to send a postcard to the Americans to tell them of the new location?

[Bitter End]

New site? Ah sneek aff quietly tae the Big Smoke fur a cupple o deys or so an whit a cufuffle tae git baak oan here! Any wey, Bochan whit did ye gie Morenish thit has wiped oot his memoy o his wunnerful nicht oan yer flair? or is it jist auld age an senior moments gittn tae him at last?

[Bochan Mor]

Poor Morenish,

Once he had been suitably anaethetised by the 'Low Flyer', one of the young bochans gave him a draught of some uncut white rum that Hurrican Jake left behind many moons ago.

Mrs Bochan normally uses it to clean the windows and mirrors, and boy, what a good job it makes of them.

[Bobbie En Tejas]

......I wonder if Malky remembered to send a postcard to the Americans to tell them of the new location?

You have no idea, Bochan Mor! I came back to the forum and it was GONE, desolate, deserted! There I was, lost in a strange forest. I hacked and clawed and hacked and clawed until I came to a place full of nettles and goats heads and birds with beady little eyes staring at me and wild bochans!! It was then I knew I was in the right place! Pass the cookies.

Was reading the Sally's walk thread. Got a good laugh out of that.

[Bitter End]

Texas Boab Ahm richt gled ye fun yer wey back! Thon clawin an crawlin s nae fun!

[dgraves]

Same here, Bobbie- Glad you're back! Everytime I tried reaching the shore, it seemed farther and farther away! The murky site kept reading Malky 2000 or 2001?! I was in a real time warp Why haven't the guys warned us about THAT booby trap before? I might have still been under the 'influence' of Bochan Mor's pot he was stirring.... Sure you didn't get a whiff?