Much time spent this week drinking huge amounts of alcohol at various events in the local Gala. The quiz, the highland dancing, the treasure hunt. Even simple tasks like manning the alfalfa and houmus stall necessitate the downing of monstrous amounts of Irish Cider. It's a local by-law. On Saturday I am playing the part of Robert Burns in the Gala Parade, though I have been more concerned with kitting out my daughters as Rainbow Magic Fairies. I had the idea, however, of sub-contracting this to two girls at my school who are good at art and they agreed to do this but only in exchange for- it seems to me- an exorbitant amount of money for labour and materials.
Attendance at the Gala tomorrow has necessitated my pull-out from the great Mull of Galloway expedition, which sets off tonight. This is possibly a mercy. The company has swollen to four- Theosyphilis Neil , thistlemilk salesman and professional cripple, MacDuff, ex-marine and territorial army cyborg killing machine, Dean 0'Jones, wildlife warden and genuine backwoodsman, and Lexie, an epic drinker recently savagely eviscerated by a failed relationship.
As far as I can see little preparation has been made for this weekend in the open air- strong winds and heavy rain are forecast- beyond the purchase by each participant of a bottle of 12 year old malt whisky. I tell a lie: Theosyphilis has bought for £3.00 from the local spar shop a frail structure which he seems to think is a tent but seems to me to be more of a Wendy House.
It is easy to predict what will happen. 12 pints each in the pub at Drummore tonight then a five mile walk to the Mull where Dean will retire to his state of the art specially insulated bivouac, Lexie will sit in his car plotting murder, MacDuff will dig foxholes round the perimeter in case of attack, and Theo , completely steaming, will be swept off by a force niner to the Isle of Man. There will be no postcards sent home, that's for sure.
Attendance at the Gala tomorrow has necessitated my pull-out from the great Mull of Galloway expedition, which sets off tonight. This is possibly a mercy. The company has swollen to four- Theosyphilis Neil , thistlemilk salesman and professional cripple, MacDuff, ex-marine and territorial army cyborg killing machine, Dean 0'Jones, wildlife warden and genuine backwoodsman, and Lexie, an epic drinker recently savagely eviscerated by a failed relationship.
As far as I can see little preparation has been made for this weekend in the open air- strong winds and heavy rain are forecast- beyond the purchase by each participant of a bottle of 12 year old malt whisky. I tell a lie: Theosyphilis has bought for £3.00 from the local spar shop a frail structure which he seems to think is a tent but seems to me to be more of a Wendy House.
It is easy to predict what will happen. 12 pints each in the pub at Drummore tonight then a five mile walk to the Mull where Dean will retire to his state of the art specially insulated bivouac, Lexie will sit in his car plotting murder, MacDuff will dig foxholes round the perimeter in case of attack, and Theo , completely steaming, will be swept off by a force niner to the Isle of Man. There will be no postcards sent home, that's for sure.
3 comments:
I have yet to enter the world of YouTube but if there were a clip of you as Robbie Burns on there I might make the move...
Will you have to (excuse me) shag everything that moves as well as recite poems?
So, how did the fairy wings turn out? And your turn as the great Burns?
Photos, we need photographic evidence...unless of course MacDuff confiscated them due to the "Need to Know" status. Or Dean ate them to protect the forest. Then again I suppose Lexie could've used them to dry his tears. As for Theo...I dare not speculate.
photographic evidence will be provided though perhaps not on YouTube. As for the Mullers,no-one has heard from them yet. Will post soon!
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