"Be happy while you're living, for you're a long time 'deed'." Anon"Niver marry fer money, you'll borrow it cheaper." Anon
"It's a sad house when the hen crows louder than the cock." Anon
"Either I hear bagpipes or someone has put a toe to pussy." Wayne Austen.
Poor Python! I drove him hard but his hooves were clattering upon the Royal Mile before midday. Our journey was uneventful and we saw neither raised dirks nor kilts. The city was seething and I left Python to enjoy his oats and went to explore the streets. I had not been wandering long before I was importuned by a handsome fellow who entreated me to obeserve his playlet and he pressed a pamphlet into my hand. I looked down at the paper and as I looked up again he had gone; vanished into the crowd. The paper read; 'Foreskin's lament'...how intriguing! I resigned myself to fate and followed the simple map upon it and found myself beyond the Flodden Wall in a small, dark chamber. Other people were lurking furtively in the shadows and then we heard shouting...the piece had begun. Five callow youths and a thickset fellow all entered, carousing, and removed all their vestments. I could not believe my eyes...or my luck. The rest of the piece was a blur. I recognised the handsome fellow who had importuned me when attention, finally, turned back to their faces. The playlet involved much shouting but on the whole was competently acted. I stepped out into the light again and was greeted by the sight of Arthur's Seat. It was magnificent in the sunlight and I was tempted to mount it with all the alacrity of a jaunt upon the Knob but time was pressing and there were further delights to enjoy. I enjoyed a piece entitled 'Not everything is significant' performed by a thin, wiry Moor. It was tale told with much wit and style and I emerged ready for refreshment.
I encountered two young fellows in a narrow close; Hurke and Bare, or was it Burke and Hare?... I forget now. They asked if I had ever had a desire to see the hidden Edinburgh and explore the vaults and chambers beneath the streets. They recommended it highly saying they spent much of their time down there and so I sought out a guide and descended into those dark, damp places. It was most unpleasant and quite eerie and I felt very much as if I was experiencing what life must be like in, say Bolton. There was much talk of lonely spirits and poltergeists though happily they seemed to be otherwise engaged this day. There air was heavy down there and I did find it oppressive. I emerged tired and drained. I had been offered accomodation at Hare's lodging house but decided against it. Python was suitably refreshed and so we journeyed back, though not at the haste of our coming. It had been a wonderous day and my only regret was I never got to see someone toss their caber though I feel I came pretty close.
I shall have to go back.
6 comments:
Dear Wayne,
Have a good time in Scotland and bring them this bit of information.
There are many theories about the bagpipes, otherwise known as the missing link between music and noise. Some say they were invented by a Scotsman who trod on his cat and liked the noise. Others claim that they are based on the noise made by a dying octopus. The truth is, however, that they were given to the Scots by the Irish as a joke -but the Scots haven't seen the joke yet!
Gae canny,
B.
This story ?
or
what this.
Wayne, I'm afraid your encounter with Messrs Hurke and Bare was a close call.
Do be careful, but keep your eye out for more stadium gods amongst the thespians.
-h
Dear Wayne,
With no raised dirks or kilts and no one tossing their caber in your direction I shouldn't bother to return to that place, go to Bolton instead.
Yours in jest,
B.
My dear Ram,
I think I see the reason for your confusion.
Yours understandingly,
Wayne Austen
My dear friends,
Have you ever been to Bolton Mr 'Moose'? I think not or you would not be so flippant in your jest.
'Stadium gods'... 'Hercules?' Are there more on view up there...do tell?
Yours moistly,
Wayne Austen
Post a Comment