Carradale

[morenish]

now bochan that was pretty bad even for you, ex-tractor-fan indeed!
as for mr whippy i'll take a switch to yer erse the next time i see ye, and with all this sunshine yer gie easy seen, mr sheen.

however i'm glad you's find all this gossip amusing, thats what it is mind, pure dale gossip, i'm still working the land of my fore (four?) fathers and at present i am constructing a new tractor garage to keep the seagull sh**e off the wee ridyin!
aye an wi all the talk in this village maybe no just the seagull stuff.

as for the network cafe, i hear it's been taken over by incomers again as usual.
so i for one wont be frequenting it, unless of course the soup turns out tae be good.
i could maybe hire them a tractor for a week or two and show off some real heritage to the towrists, aye damn me!
theres an old horse ploo roon the back that might be hired at a reasonable rate as well.
could i maybe get a wee arts cooncil grant if i sprayed it dayglo pink?
heritage is where the money is boys.
it wid certainly look better than a scrappy old wheelhoose wi a bit silage pit cover hingin off it..

[Bochan Mor]

as for the network cafe, i hear it's been taken over by incomers again as usual.
so i for one wont be frequenting it, unless of course the soup turns out tae be good. ..

Och yer there Morenish. The smoke signals have just reached the far flung corners of Bochandom. I thought that you'd beggared off up to Brackley and forgot to come back. But now that you have 'come out' of hiding and seeing as it's Easter, I thought I should remind you of the old biblical quote regarding Judas. Remember the one, where the cockrel crowed three times and yet he never confessed to his sins. Anyway.....

i could maybe hire them a tractor for a week or two and show off some real heritage to the towrists, aye damn me!
theres an old horse ploo roon the back that might be hired at a reasonable rate as well.
could i maybe get a wee arts cooncil grant if i sprayed it dayglo pink?

Did I mention that you'd come out earlier? Well I was just thinking that the dayglo pink plough would be a perfect match for thon pink dressing gown that you were pulling the curtains in the other night. Don't bother to try to tell us that it was Mrs Morenish's, becasuse it was about 10 sizes too big! I dread to think what your slippers are like.

I asked old Pongal one day what it was about tractors that whipped some fermers up into such a fervour. He said that he remembers the teuchtar comedian Norman MacLean describing how the old crofters would make a point of telling the wifes that they were away to gather up the peats, then straddle the throbbing gearbox of an 80 hp Massey Ferguson with their 'Classical Tractor' magazine in one hand and the throttle regulator in the other.

Aye, it was a great thing for manys a generation on the islands. Then one fearful day an old calliach discovered how to start up the throbbing monster at the back of the croft and that was the end of the table being laid, the washings on the lines, properly milked coos. Even the homemade crowdie and marag disappeared from the larder cupboards for ever, much to the relief of the grandchildren. When I think of the blood, onion and meal being forced into the entrails and tied in a knot, it still brings my diaphram up to meet my epiglotis. With running water being a luxury in these days, there wasn't a lot of hand washing going on, just hand shaking. Is it any wonder that raw ring was an accepted part of life??

Aye, it may seem hard to believe that the old calliach finding the notch on the gearbox marked with a capital 'S' would be such a pivotal moment in cultural history. The rise of the Co-Op and Spar shops around the islands, of Charlie Barley's butchers in Stornoway, Claymore Creamery and Burnetts Bakery in Inverness were all as a result of the auld yin hitting the 'S' spot.

What was just as puzzling however, was why the Calliach started taking the tin of 'Bradex Easy Start' back into the house. That stuff always resulted in the downfall of a good engine, so heaven knows what it would do to a good wummin, but that's another story!

[Sanyanya]

Mr Bochan, although Morenish and I reserve the right to reply to your diatribe of nonsense, we are far too busy chopping onions, carrots & turnip for the soup and buttering scones and pancakes for the afternoon teas to partake in your game of verbal tennis.

Mrs Morenish is a bit of a task master, and has taken Morenish to task on more than one occassion this morning already, not least for dragging his heels to get out his bed and assume his position at the kitchen sink. He was muttering something about farmers not wearing aprons.

Me, I refuse nothing but blows!

Yours Sincerely

[Right Pongal]

Easy now Sanyanah, your digging a bigger hole for poor Morenish and adding marks to Bochan Mor's plotter. If you're going to transmit, do it on low power as Bochan still has one of them 'Bearcat' scanners.

He'll have the radar out at the distant setting just now, but he'll soon be moving into the quarter of a mile range..

As another famous bochan used to say: 'Now now wheesht!'

I'll see you's for a bowl of soup tomorrow at lunchtime.... is it lentil again?

[morenish]

by the way bochan whats twin dec.....dek....dacag, funny shaped hooses?

are you thinking of living in a roond hoose maybe?
easier to keep pongal id imagine, no corner for the dust or devil to hide in, an it would keep ye fit lookin for a corner to sit in.

were you up at the big weddin dance?
mrs morenish and i retired early as the whiskey had gone up in price, and we met a finely dressed couple just arriving, we have puzzeled over what could have delayed them for so long in joining the throng, maybe the young lady was just nervous about being seen in public with an old man.

[morenish]

4n2 − 3n, oh right?

aye but i have the 4 ens squared ok.................... but if i take away 3 ens the roof will fall in???
yer decagonal structures no very good then, i doot these art cooncil boys never built a tractor shed in thier lives

[Bochan Mor]

A young fit man like myself wouldn't know anything about that Morenish, but have you never heard the term 'Fashionably Late'? I expect that might have had something to do with it.

Come to think of it, I saw a fine young woman leaving with an old man with a stoop and a walking stick. He was muttering something about: 'Being seek of making soup and baking scones'. I turned to look back at him and damn me, he had turnips in his troosers!

Anyway, if you make a good job of that shed, I'll maybe commission you to build one at the back of my hoose. As long as you keep it below eaves height, it will be fine.

[Bochan Mor]

That was some run on the soup yesterday. I'm sure I saw you running to get a wheel barra for Sanyanya to get the veg to the kitchen as quick as the elves could peel them. Another week or two of this and you'll be able to put your slippers back up on the side of the stove, keyboard in hand!

[Right Pongal]

as for the network cafe, i hear it's been taken over by incomers again as usual.
so i for one wont be frequenting it, unless of course the soup turns out tae be good.
......

Get straight over there this afternoon Morenish. I can guarantee that you won't be disappointed. I was in there on Friday and it was the best bowl of soup I ever tasted and I'll definitely be back for more. In fact, all those folk in the toon that are finding it hard to find a decent bowl of soup should make a point of jumping into the car and heading up around lunch time. Jeest first class, and very reasonably priced. If you go through the week, most of the boy racers from the village will be working, so you'll naw meet them doing hand-brake turns at the hairpin at Woodbine Cottage road end.

Incomers or naw, thon wummin is one hell of a good cook. I'd be like the side of a hoose by now if I was merried to her.

A word of warning though, mind and slip a couple of pennies into the saucer for the staff tips, or thon big fella that's washing the dishes will give you a hell of a scowl. Mind you, he's scowling most of the time anyway, as his boss keeps checking him for sitting down when he's meant to be drying plates.

[general jack o'niell]

haven't looked at this thread in a long long while


aye, yir still talking sh!te

[Bochan Mor]

haven't looked at this thread in a long long while


aye, yir still talking sh!te

Aye Jeck, yous Daltons don't hold the perfect monopoly on talking through a hole in your ................ Remember your heritage!

Talking of heritage, I'm going to take Auld Pongal's advice and head over to the Network Centre tomorrow for a fine bowl of hen soup. I've got damn all but Tofu and chickpeas clogging my gizzards at the moment and its playing havoc with the fit of my troosers.

Then alas, I've got no option but to head off for a couple of nights, because I cann't get a damned wink of sleep wae Morenish sawing into the wee sma oors. (Don't worry, Mrs Morenish is getting peace, she's got her ear plugs in).

[general jack o'niell]

i will frame that reply and point to it when i'm ever accused of talking sh!te, its not my fault its genetics, i always knew that albatross i've carried this last 44 odd years would come in handy for something one of these days, luckily i get my hairline from my mothers side, its many years since i met anyone from the village, over the age of twenty with a decent head of hair, except for the greaser right enough but i think its the pipe that keeps his follicles active, whereas i was blaming the pipe i have of a morning for any verbal manure that might escape from my direction, and here it was my genes all along!!!

your never too old to learn right enough!!!!

[Right Pongal]

Welcome hame to the sleepy little village by the sea General. We could all do wae framing those words of wisdom from the Bochan and hanging them up on the back of the toilet door. I'll need to get the bus down to the town someime, as the last time I seen you, you were flying round the toon on yer chopper motorbike, stealing the Jowler's thunder. I don't think you quite mastered the perpetual smoking of the cigarette though.

Hairlines were aye the root of many's a problem in the village, and that wasn't only wae the men. Do you naw mind the older fishermen asking 'Have you got a knife'? then replying if the answer was 'Naw'!: 'Aye, but you'll have a wristlet waatch and a plastic comb for yer hair!' I suppose that was their way of saying were bald as coots and don't give a damn. However, there is a happy medium and maybe you're needing to take a leaf out of your brother's book, investing in a sherp haircut projecting the illusion of prosperity.

Even pulling our Genes up a bit and adjusting our galluses is not going to make much difference now for you, me, Morenish, the Bochan or anyone else for that matter. Our future courses had been plotted long before we left Captain Dougald MacCallum navigation class in the Grammar School for the last time.

As for all that noise up about Tormhor, the Bochan should call in the environmental health if Morenish is keeping him up all night wae his sawing and carry on. They're saying poor Morenish is near demented wae all the work he has to do. One minute he's laying concrete foundations, next minute he's running for a pun o ham for Mrs Morenish and meanwhile Sanyanya, following a four pack of pale ale, has walked into the unset concrete and slashed his name with great relief into the carefully screeded surface.

The Bochan told me that he played leapfrog over a few fences and buried an old winkie and a sack of dried chick peas deep in Morenish's concrete. He said it was a kind of time capsule idea, but an irate wummin was later seen in at the bakers, desperately trying to source an alternative supply of the said pulses.

Anyway, you look after yersel General and keep chapping wae the chipping hammer. Galvafroid won't keep the rust away for ever, but remember, there's something self satisfying about returning to knock more rust from the old gallows and fair leads!

[morenish]

if we frame all the words the bochan spouts ye'll need more doors than i've got to hing them on.........

a wee burd told me he went to southwest scotland, then i saw on the news about a forest fire doon there, must have been a good yin cos i could smell it when i was oot the hill, anyway it disny take a genius or even a toon plod to put two an two thegither.
but why he went so far south to start such nonsense is THE question???
i just hope he was on his own an did not take any young fellas with him to teach them bochánaich!

now cheneral if you theenk were aw talkin keach up here it's chust that you dont unerstaun hoot it means.

an pongal thers naethin wrang wi a good hanbrake turn if ye get it right, an if ye get it right when you should have got it left, thats wrong..........

spose you dont understand that either general seein yer chopper hasny got a handbrake..............ach whitiver

[general jack o'niell]

aye you can laugh, but you'll no stand up!!!!!

wish i had that chopper right e noo, i'd be sitting parked in that wee nib ootside the bookies waiting for the school to come oot, wae the boy sayin "dad, will you no feck off home, your affrontin me!!!"

forget the bike i wish i cud get into thon 28" leather jeans, think i could build the bike oota matchsticks easier tho

did ye no know i had somebody to do the chippin for me? i'm limecraigs answer to allan oman, i might have the erse oot ma troosers but everybody thinks i'm minted and i've built an exact replica of the new quay store in my new shed, only the sheds bigger, so i built cecils too for when his grandson jack comes up in the mornings, i know he never listens at hame so i have to tell him tales of mahogany heid.

ps. i always had a knife but never a comb, one of my old crewmen apparently goes similiarly attired, for different reasons, come to think of it? they all do!!!!!