by Bochan Mor » Mon Jul 15, 2013 5:43 pm
Allow you Morenish to get the wrong end of the stick. Cattle grid's are no match for fully charged Bochans, well the male ones anyway. I knew that you had to be perpendicular during the approach and fast enough to cross, but not so fast that you went over the handlebars. I meant to impart the knowledge that you have to hang on for grim death and for goodness sake not to touch the brakes, but would it have made any difference ........ ?
Part of the problem is that the carrots in the lazy bed failed last year and we never managed to pull a few dozes of vitamin K packed roots from that other sandy garden along the road, but this year will be different. I told her we would have been better to wait until the screchs of dawn, as it can be dark as a dog's throat just passed the old piggery.
I suppose Mrs Bochan will just need to grid and bear it now right enough. Not even the AA could have hauled her out of thon predicament between the irons and to make matters worse, that daft old beggar Pongal phoned for Chisholms of Ballachulish, so the only free eggs he'll be seeing in the future will be well fermented ones, carefully aimed between his eyes. I saw the whites of her eyes myself when I suggested that if she had gone the whole hog and taken a Morenish style sleever, she would have thrown caution to the wind and flew across the grid without a second thought. She's blaming the bats from the Ghost Rock, getting in amongst her hair, or maybe one of those hellish bad looking pirates who seemed to have taken over the Quay, trying to poke his cutlass between her spokes, but I doubt they would know how to get there in the dark.
Anyway, if we decide to go BBQing down the Bay again in the near future, I'll hire her an all terrain buggy from the team at the hump and maybe fit an old paraffin lamp to guide her on her way. No lamp required for me mind, as any of the herring men will testify, five minutes in the dark and you can see five fathoms into the pitch dark. On second thoughts, we could fire up the Mexican Dave and steam round like a clipper in full sail, with the burning in her wake showing us the path back to righteousness!
Never the likes of the music right enough, a damn spite you couldn't make it, but if you have work to do, you need to get on with it. Makes a change said Mrs Bochan...... She can have a wild acid tongue when she's bed-ridden! Doesn't help when Snoddy keeps pulling a saw from his satchel!
Bochan Mor (Son of Bochan Morar)
Copyright: Bochan Mor & less of his Cohorts at the Monument