dgraves wrote:Whose duck won?
How did you do, Bobbly Juck? Who were you racing for?
Well it's a long story Dorian, but the way things panned out, I didn't take part and so have no idea who won this year. See, I was waiting for the kindly hand to take us all out of the cupboard, put us in the hessian sack and head off to the bridge. Too late, I realised that I was alone and caught in a Bochan trap. The smell of an old wulk pock made me retch as I bumped along, but I was determined I wouldn't be cowed by the brutes who had carried me off. I could hear there excited chatter and laughter but had no idea what was going on outside the confines of the canvas bag.
Finally, I saw daylight when I was tipped out on to a flat surface and ordered to dance. I realised with horror that I was on top of one of Gary's bins on Sally's Walk. Their fetid breath was in my face and I thought that the end had come.
Then a strange thing happened. The sound of feet and jingling metal was heard through the trees and suddenly two men appeared. One was a big rockstar looking dude with leather trowsers and plenty of zips, big boots and a fancy bandana thing, shades and a funny beard. The other was smaller and was sporting what looked like the remnants of a dinner suit and a strange cap bearing some legend about Crieff Cricket Club.
The Wee Guy couldn't keep up the pace and was shouting "Hoi Krippen! It was a walk I said, not a canter. Slow down it's too fast I want to last all night. At this rate I'll be knackered
before the gig. "
The Bochans were off and running and before you could say Sam Brown, I found myself lying on top of the keech collector for all to see.
To cut a long story short, the wee guy was the singer in the Hugh Trowsers Band and the big one was the drummer.
To cut an even longer story shorter, these guys rescued me from my plight and we got talking. Turns out they knew all about me and my reputation as a Tunnag Shrink and they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. So the upshot is I have moved to Muthill in Perthshire where I feel that I fit in already. The Trowsers Boys pay me a handsome retainer to be on call for band duties and I get three months a year on location with Krippen in his adopted home in Tipperaray.
I will of course keep training and even if this works out for me The Hugh Trowsers Band have promised to take me back to Dippen for next year's race. Until then, I have pastures new to explore, a book to write and a left-field documentary to make, so I had better beat the dust .
Tattie Scone, Amigos!