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Thread: morrice the butcher's brither

  1. #1
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    morrice the butcher's brither

    When morrice the butchers’s brither wis a young loon, money wis ticht. Even though aul morrice, morrice the butcher’s brither’s mither’s man had a half share in the shoppie that today proudly bears the coat of arms of the Sultan of Schwiiing abeen the door for its ability to supply that gadgie’s court wi mealy jimmies, there wis nae siller for luxuries.

    Ae lang nivver-endin barefit scorchin het summer holidays, morrice the butcher’s brither, and his aul mucker Ernie Winchester were desperate to lay their hands on a bit o cash. They funcied some new dazzies, some lucky tatties and a howk aroon the toy shoppie at the fit o the big steppies on Bridge Street.

    A o this cost money, nae to mention the tanners they’d to gie ower tae Fool Annie, then in the very prime of her blushing youth, for a look o her knickers when she climbed the ladder to the mannie Sinclair’s doo loft far she entertained the aulder Torry loons.

    They’d considered a’thing. Runnin messages for wifies in the big hooses at the tap o Vicky Road wis a good idea, but the first hoose they tried, they were chased awa by the wifie’s dog, her shouts of, “Bugger off oota here young Winchester, an tak that monkey wi ye, last time ye went messages for me ye played fitba wi the cabbage and bools wi the eggs” ringin in their lugs.

    Then morrice the butcher’s brither hit on an idea.

    “Ernie, min,” said morrice the butcher’s brither, as the two lazed by the Dee like a latter-day North Eastern Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, “Div ye ken fit day it is the morn?”

    Ernie Winchester pondered for a minute. The thocht processes kicked in, and his cerebral organ was put to use for the first time since the fateful day back in class where the infamous “contagious” incident took place.

    “Now let’s see”, thocht the as-yet-undiscovered rummel-em-up cairthorse o the mid 60s Pittodrie forward line, “Yesterday wis tattie soup at dennertime and morrice the butcher’s brither’s mither’s man’s beef sassidges at suppertime, so that means it wis Thursday. The day at dennertime, we hid fromage de tete, although it tasted affa like morrice the butcher’s brither’s mither’s man’s potted heid, and I saw my mither makin doughballs so it must be mince fae morrice the butcher’s brither’s mither’s man’s shoppie, wi tatties and a delicious morrice the butcher’s brither’s mither’s man’s mealy jimmy for wir supper the nicht. That maks it erm…er..let me see…er…..oh aye Friday, so the morn wid be ..um..och erm eeeeehhhh…Setterday!!”

    “Is it Setterday, morrice the butcher’s brither,? he asked.

    “It nearly IS phuckin Setterday the time it’s **** ye tae answer. But it’s nae jist ony Setterday, it’s the first Setterday o the fitba season and the Dons are at hame to Queen Of The Sooth in the League Cup Sectional Tie,” responded morrice the butcher’s brither, somewhat tetchily.

    “But we canna afford the ninepence to get in,” said Ernie Winchester, “Much as I wid like to see the swashbuckling forward play of the bandy-leggit front man Paddy Buckley and the dashing wing skills of Graham Leggat, it’s nae an option for us ye daft humpy-backit divvil”

    “Na na, Ernie,” replied morrice the butcher’s brither, showing remarkable tolerance of his friend’s inability to grasp the situation, “There’s an opportunity there for us tae mak money.”

    “Ye mean sellin the Official Programme, price thruppence, outside the hallowed Theatre of Dreams by the sea? Div ye think they’ll gie twa loons like us a job as responsible as that?” speired Ernie Winchester, missing wi a HUGE stane a duck swimming in the Dee only two feet from him, in a sadly-prescient rehearsal for that phuckin sitter he missed against Hibs in 1965.

    “Na na Ernie min, my plan is much mair cunnin than that”.

    Next day, around 1.30, the twa lads jined the throng of bunnets and demob suits heading north along King Street towards Pittodrie, and almost certain glory. Each was, curiously, armed with a carpenter’s boring brace, a large butcher’s knife and a galvanised bucket of the kind Oor Wullie parks his erse on.

    As the throng crowded the turnstiles at the King Street End, the heroes of our tale dodged towards the gasworks and sneaked in under a gap in the wire mesh fence.

    “Now, Ernie,” said morrice the butcher’s brither, stopping by the wooden fence that at that time ran the hale length o Pittodrie ahin the Sooth Terrace, “drill a hole in the fence aboot here, at aboot the height o a mannie’s waist. They’ve a been in the Cragshannoch and The Lang Bar afore the game drinkin Mackeson black and tans, and they’ll a be dyin for a p1sh weel afore half time. They’ll come doon to the fence, pit their cox through the holes we’ve drilled in order to relieve the copious volumes of urine in their incapable bladders. As soon as a foreskin appears through the hole, grab it and shout “Gie’s half a croon or I’ll cut yer kok aff”. The half croons will be fleein ower the fence, you may be sure. We’ll seen fill these pails wi money min and we can hae a the sweeties and toys ye could wish for. You bide here and I’ll ging further doon a bit, to maximise our revenue-gathering potential”.

    Both drilled holes in the fence and set about their entrepreneurial endeavours.

    Aboot half an oor later, a bobby appeared.

    “Aye aye, fit’s a this?” he enquired o morrice the butcher’s brither. “Fit are you twa young scamps up till?”

    morrice the butcher’s brither explained, “The mannies at the Fitba hiv a been in the pub and will be burstin for a p1sh. They’ll come doon to hae a p1sh against the fence, see the holes me and Ernie hiv drilled, pit their kox through the holes, and then we grab them and threaten to cut their kox off unless they throw half a croon ower the fence till’s. The proceeds are gathered in this very receptacle that my mither usually uses on nichts when it’s ower weet or caul to ging to the dry lavvie at the fit o wir gairden”.

    “Very enterprising,” said the bobby, “and how are ye getting on?”

    “I’m daein a’richt,” grinned morrice the butcher;s brither, “I’ve made 17/6”.

    “And fit aboot you, loon?” the tarryhat enquired o young Ernie Winchester concentrating hard waiting for the next piece of pink flesh to protrude through the orifice, “How weel are you deein?”

    “Nae sae weel as morrice the butcher’s brither”, responded young Ernie, “I’ve only made five bob. But what a pailfae o kox I’ve got”.

  2. #2
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    Great night time reading. Cheers for that

    My Geordie pal didnt have a clue

  3. #3
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  4. #4
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  5. #5
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    Yaas min.


    Are there any o' the sought after tomes still lurking aboot Hugh Mungus's garage?

  6. #6
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    It wis a richt shame. The quine that came to be kent as Fool Annie had left the school but had had nae luck in pickin up a job. She wis willin to work, but awye she applied telt her, “We appreciate your efforts and enthusiasm Miss Fool, however, we have no vacancies currently available which match your own ambitions and skills profile. We do, however, wish you success in your quest”.

    The quine began to get doonhearted aboot it. She wis willing to try her hand at onything, jist to get a start wi an employer, but efter 6 months she wis nae nearer getting aff the dole and contributing to society as she wished.

    Then ae day, her auld man came hame fae his shift at Lewis’s and shouted at her, “There’s a temporary fairgrun goin up on Regent Quay, Fool Annie min, quine, and although the current parlous state of our mixed capitalist-based economy means that jobs are at a premium, especially for a quine wi nae qualifications, ye never ken, there micht be twa three weeks work there for ye.

    “Nae only that,” he boomed, “Ye micht get pit in charge o a stall yersel and ye could swick as mony goldfish as ye winted”.

    When I say “shouted” and “boomed”, this wis ***kall to dee wi ony aggression towards the quine. He worked in a shipyard and a’ fecker there wis deaf due to the constant bangin and haimmerin and rivetin and grindin goin on. Try the Neptune Bar at half past three on a Friday, the noisiest, shoutiest place in toon.

    Fool Annie’s spirits were raised immediately and she spent the evenin researchin the history of the carnival, the traditions and culture of showmen, methods of swickin the roll-a-penny stall, the feedin regime o goldfish and common faults, and diagnoses of these, of the Gardner 180 diesel engine.

    She wis hardly able to sleep wi excitement and next morning wis up early, clad herself in her Sunday best and wis on the early bus doon to Regent Quay.

    It wis steerin. Hustle and bustle. Nae room to move. Tents and stalls and carnival equipment in various stages o assembly and test. Fowk hurryin aroon, determinedly cairryin on their allotted tasks to get the entertainment ready for the hunners o loons and quines that wid excitedly flock to the quayside to be thrilled and amazed by the spectacle and the experience.

    She spied a wee tent wi “Vacancies” on a sign abeen the door. Shyly, she went in and waited whilst the boy ahin the desk spoke to anither job-seeker. Dismissing the loon in front of her, the mannie asked, “Now, fit can I dee for you?”

    “Well,” she stammered nervously, “I’m needin a job. I’m affa keen to work but hivna had ony luck. My da’s a shop steward at Lewis’s and his take on it is that unemployment, and the threat thereof, is a tool used incessantly by the capitalist classes to subjugate trade union power, drive down hourly rates and foment uncertainty and anxiety among workers rendering them unwilling to participate in industrial action to strive for the betterment of conditions and …and….and mair money and erm…stuff. I dinna understand a’ that masel, but I’ve nae worked since I left the school in the summer. If there is ONYTHING available I’d be willin to try it and I’ll work hard and nae be late or pinch onything or be impudent to the customers….”

    “I see,” interjected the carney boy, “But I’m afraid you’re just an hour or two too late. There’s been an amazing response to our presence. We didn’t even have to put an advert in..what’s the name of the local paper….someone mentioned it earlier…is it the Evening Gypsy-hunt or something? No matter, I’m afraid all the available jobs have been taken, the posts filled, our complement of staff is complete.”

    Such wis her disappointment efter building her hopes up, that Fool Annie began to greet. Great round globes of sal****er rolled doon her cheeks and she sobbed, “I jist wint a job. I jist wish some rad…er someone wid gie me a chunce. I’d be a good and honest worker. I widna let onybody doon…”

    The carney mannie wisna totally solid of heart, despite his addiction to profit and the bent barrels on the shootin gallery rifles, the sugar water applied to the Penny Falls and the riggit one-armed bandits.

    “Look,” he said, offering her an oily cloot fae a box to dry her tears, “There’s one job I might be able to offer. Come with me.”

    Fifty yards fae his tent wis the Ghost Train. Among the maist complex attractions to have set up, baith mechanically and electrically, it wis already in test phase. The mannie beckoned Fool Annie into the tent that housed the attraction.

    It wis dark and quiet and the boy explained, “Customers are attracted to this ride by innate human inquisitiveness, to see if they can withstand fear and shock. Some philosophers opine that this is part of a primeval desire to test out the natural “fight or flight” mechanism, developed in the days when death or injury was always imminent, when sabre-toothed tigers and erm….other scary things roamed the planet. We set out to shock and scare and make the sucke…er…our valued punters challenge their own insecurities”.

    “I’ll dee onything,” Fool Annie ventured, “I jist need a job”.

    “What I have in mind, Miss Fool,” explained the potential employer, is to have you dressed in a white sheet, at the end of one of the Ghost Train tunnels to appear with a blood-curdling, terror-inducing shriek, to frighten those on board the ride. Do you think you could do that?”

    Fool Annie wisna sure, but she needed the work, so enquired, “Fit hiv ye got in mind like, min er… I mean, sir?”

    “Some sort of ghostly noise Miss Fool. Not a scream or a yell, more a spine-chilling ‘whooooooo…’ like you hear in cartoons. Do you think you could conjour something up?”

    Fool Annie gave it some thought and shyly asked, “Like this, like?” and began a wavering wail, which seemed to emanate from the core of her being.

    “Whoooooooo….WHOOOOoooooooOOOOOO….WHooooooooOOOOOO OOOOOO!!!!!”

    The carney mannie stood back in amazement. “You’ve got it exactly Miss Fool! You. Are. A. Natural. You’ll terrify the passengers, especially if we have you in costume. Let me hear it one more time.”

    Fool Annie filled her lungs and concentrated fiercely as she got into character,

    “Whoooooooo….WHOOOOoooooooOOOOOO….WHooooooooOOOOOO OOOOOO…Haaahaaahaaaarhaaaarghhhh!!!!!”

    “Splendid, Miss Fool, absolutely splendid. Be here tomorrow afternoon at 3pm and we’ll kit you out. We have a star in the making!”

    Annie wis delighted and couldna wait to tell her mither.

    She ran a’ the wye hame, saving the bus fare and wis oot a breath by the time she got to the hoose.

    “Ma, ma,” she shouted once she recovered, “Ma, I’ve found a job!”

    Fool Annie’s ma, kenning how doon the quine had been as an unemployment statistic, wis delighted. “Oh that’s rare,” she said, “Fit are ye going to be deein?”

    “Oh ma, I’m fair trickit. I’m goin to be a whooooer doon at the harbour.”

    And that’s far it a’ began…..

  7. #7
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    Class

  8. #8
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    Great stuff!

  9. #9
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    Good way to start the day

  10. #10
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    Quality stuff, ony mare?

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