Promotion
by Gurmeet Mattu
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: Mild ones only.
Description: Life on the Hebrides will never be the same again...
_____________________________________________________________________
“They say old Angus is thinking of taking up the nudism,” Sandy said.
Fergus grunted. “Man, man, the nudism, at his age. He’ll catch his death of cold.”
They were sat in the snug bar of The Stag Hotel on the Hebridean island of Uraigh and the biting, Atlantic wind rattled the windows.
“No, no, he’s not a fool, old Angus,” Sandy explained, “He’s not attacking the nakedness like a madman, he intends to acclimatise his body to the lack of garments.”
Fergus took a sip of his beer, which was rapidly losing its fizz. “Ah, acclimatisation, that’s a wise course of action. What way is he doing the acclimatising?”
“One item of clothing at a time. He came out this morning without a sock.”
“He always was a cautious man. At that rate it’ll be August by the time he gets down to his vest.”
Sandy nodded sagely. “Aye, but November when he gets down to his underpants and then there will be trouble.”
Brenda the barmaid brought over two fresh pints and placed them before the two, old, grizzled, veterans of the isles. Their questioning looks brought the response that the beers had been bought for them by the large, florid gentleman, perched on a stool at the bar. “He is an American gentleman,” Brenda explained, “A reporter or something. From Idaho where the potatoes come from.”
They lifted their glasses in an expression of gratitude to their benefactor and were rewarded with a gracious nod of the head.
“Of course it will come as a great shock to Angus’s wife, the nudism, her being a lesbian.”
“Tut, tut, I’m surprised at you,” Sandy retorted, “Fine well you know she’s only a part-time lesbian. At the weekends she’s devoted to men’s trousers.”
Fergus looked abashed. “True, true. A fine woman. Her fruitcake is not be sneezed at.”
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the blazing peat fire.
“They say the laird is to be building a pyramid,” Fergus said finally.
“Young Ranald always was an ambitious chap. There will be a grant in it, no doubt.”
“Oh, more than one. There will be the design and then the building of the thing itself, and I’ve heard he’s getting some European money for its artistic qualities.”
“What way will it be artistic?” Sandy asked.
“It is to be spherical,” Fergus explained, “It will be the only spherical pyramid in the world and will put those Egyptians in their place with their pointy things.”
“And what will the laird be doing with his spherical pyramid?”
“He needed a new venue for his annual sexual deviance convention. The barn was getting a bit drafty and the theme for this year is to be the tribadism and frottage.”
They drank a toast to the new edifice and once again only the ticking of the clock on the wall broke the silence.
“Speaking of lesbians,” Fergus murmured quietly, “young Peter is thinking of taking up the homosexuality.”
“No, I never took him for the type.”
“He was tempted by a Burmese juggler the last time he was in Edinburgh. And he wants to be a pop star as well.”
“Oh, it will be mandatory then. You cannot achieve chart success unless you are willing to lift the shirt. That’s written in stone.”
“I thought it was written on the toilet wall.”
“Och, you’re the funny one, Sandy,” Fergus said, giving his friend a playful nudge, “Fine well you know it’s only Brenda’s phone number that’s on the toilet wall.”
Brenda, having overheard this sally, slammed the glass she was polishing down on the bar. “I heard that!” she protested, “It’s not my phone number at all. Some joker has just written my name up there with a spurious number.”
“Calm yourself, Brenda,” Fergus soothed, “We knew fine well it wasn’t you. A lassie with your business acumen would have had a price list up next to the phone number.”
But Brenda was to not to be so easily placated. “I do not sell my body,” she insisted, “If I have relations with a gentleman it is because I find him attractive.”
“Of course, of course,” Sandy offered, also trying to add oil to the troubled waters, “but it’s strange how many of your gentlemen friends are fresh off the rigs.”
Brenda’s lips curled into a sneer. “They are interesting, unlike some daft old codgers who’ve never set foot off the island.”
“I have been to Oban!” Sandy retorted, stung by her rebuke at his lack of exploratory zeal, “And it is a fine place if you’ve a mind for spanking and dressing in women’s underwear, but you know yourself that it is Uraigh for the real debauchery.”
“Debauchery?” Brenda snorted in reply, “The most debauched thing that has happened in Uraigh in the past fifty years was the time the school teacher’s lipstick was found on old Calum’s collar.”
A look of fear flashed across Sandy’s eyes, but he recovered quickly. “Mr MacPherson was a fine schoolteacher and regarding the school rabbit, all charges were dropped.”
Brenda shrugged and disappeared to answer the phone.
The two old coves’ eyes flashed at each other and secret messages were passed. Brenda brought another two pints, once again supplied by the American and once again the pair saluted his generosity.
“Is it true you have a certificate in the oral sex?” Fergus asked his comrade finally.
“I did have,” Sandy lamented, “but it has lapsed and I will need to be sitting another examination to get a new one. There are new techniques coming along on a daily basis and a man has to keep his wits about him or he will be left behind.”
“The wife’s not complaining, is she?” Fergus asked sympathetically.
“Not at all, for she has a happy nature, does my Bella. Satisfied with only the twelve orgasms a night, she is, and her once the love slave of an African prince.”
“Ah, happy days,” Fergus smiled. “Man, I recall the days when we were young swingers and I would be eating smoked haggis from Bella’s bellybutton while you serviced my Gladys.”
A smile flitted across Sandy’s face. “Aye, I have many fond memories of your Gladys’s buttocks. Still as firm as ever?”
Fergus grinned proudly. “I’ll tell you, Sandy, her buttocks may have grown with the passing of the years but all it means is that these days instead of cracking walnuts between her cheeks, she can now tackle coconuts.”
“And I’ll bet there’s not a woman on the mainland can manage that,” his crony acknowledged, “They may talk of their Glasgow and their Perth but when it comes to buttocks, Uraigh cannot be surpassed.”
“And there is a new generation coming on as we speak. Thon young Marie that works at the baker’s. Lovely bum.”
Sandy clutched at his heart. “Jeeze, Fergus, don’t mention Marie’s behind. It is costing me a fortune in doughnuts, just to catch a glimpse of it now and again.”
“I think she puts glue in the seat of her jeans before she dons them, to have them adhere so well to her figure.”
“Her behind is a work of art and should be in a gallery.”
“Maybe we should be constructing one, here on Uraigh. The Uraigh Gallery of Female Bums?”
Sandy shook his head sadly. “They would be saying we were discriminating against the male arse and would take us to court.”
Fergus’s enthusiasm subsided. “It was only a thought.”
They looked up as the big American swallowed the last of his brandy, hopped from his barstool and headed towards the bowels of the hotel and his room.
Sandy cleared his throat noisily. “I’m fair looking forward to the strip karaoke next week.”
Once the visitor had left the two old islanders wrapped themselves in coats and scarves and made their way to the door.
“We’ll get our hands on those sex tourism dollars yet,” Fergus said to his old crony as the founder members of the Uraigh Tourist Board headed off into the night and their solitary beds.
Swearwords: Mild ones only.
Description: Life on the Hebrides will never be the same again...
_____________________________________________________________________
“They say old Angus is thinking of taking up the nudism,” Sandy said.
Fergus grunted. “Man, man, the nudism, at his age. He’ll catch his death of cold.”
They were sat in the snug bar of The Stag Hotel on the Hebridean island of Uraigh and the biting, Atlantic wind rattled the windows.
“No, no, he’s not a fool, old Angus,” Sandy explained, “He’s not attacking the nakedness like a madman, he intends to acclimatise his body to the lack of garments.”
Fergus took a sip of his beer, which was rapidly losing its fizz. “Ah, acclimatisation, that’s a wise course of action. What way is he doing the acclimatising?”
“One item of clothing at a time. He came out this morning without a sock.”
“He always was a cautious man. At that rate it’ll be August by the time he gets down to his vest.”
Sandy nodded sagely. “Aye, but November when he gets down to his underpants and then there will be trouble.”
Brenda the barmaid brought over two fresh pints and placed them before the two, old, grizzled, veterans of the isles. Their questioning looks brought the response that the beers had been bought for them by the large, florid gentleman, perched on a stool at the bar. “He is an American gentleman,” Brenda explained, “A reporter or something. From Idaho where the potatoes come from.”
They lifted their glasses in an expression of gratitude to their benefactor and were rewarded with a gracious nod of the head.
“Of course it will come as a great shock to Angus’s wife, the nudism, her being a lesbian.”
“Tut, tut, I’m surprised at you,” Sandy retorted, “Fine well you know she’s only a part-time lesbian. At the weekends she’s devoted to men’s trousers.”
Fergus looked abashed. “True, true. A fine woman. Her fruitcake is not be sneezed at.”
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the blazing peat fire.
“They say the laird is to be building a pyramid,” Fergus said finally.
“Young Ranald always was an ambitious chap. There will be a grant in it, no doubt.”
“Oh, more than one. There will be the design and then the building of the thing itself, and I’ve heard he’s getting some European money for its artistic qualities.”
“What way will it be artistic?” Sandy asked.
“It is to be spherical,” Fergus explained, “It will be the only spherical pyramid in the world and will put those Egyptians in their place with their pointy things.”
“And what will the laird be doing with his spherical pyramid?”
“He needed a new venue for his annual sexual deviance convention. The barn was getting a bit drafty and the theme for this year is to be the tribadism and frottage.”
They drank a toast to the new edifice and once again only the ticking of the clock on the wall broke the silence.
“Speaking of lesbians,” Fergus murmured quietly, “young Peter is thinking of taking up the homosexuality.”
“No, I never took him for the type.”
“He was tempted by a Burmese juggler the last time he was in Edinburgh. And he wants to be a pop star as well.”
“Oh, it will be mandatory then. You cannot achieve chart success unless you are willing to lift the shirt. That’s written in stone.”
“I thought it was written on the toilet wall.”
“Och, you’re the funny one, Sandy,” Fergus said, giving his friend a playful nudge, “Fine well you know it’s only Brenda’s phone number that’s on the toilet wall.”
Brenda, having overheard this sally, slammed the glass she was polishing down on the bar. “I heard that!” she protested, “It’s not my phone number at all. Some joker has just written my name up there with a spurious number.”
“Calm yourself, Brenda,” Fergus soothed, “We knew fine well it wasn’t you. A lassie with your business acumen would have had a price list up next to the phone number.”
But Brenda was to not to be so easily placated. “I do not sell my body,” she insisted, “If I have relations with a gentleman it is because I find him attractive.”
“Of course, of course,” Sandy offered, also trying to add oil to the troubled waters, “but it’s strange how many of your gentlemen friends are fresh off the rigs.”
Brenda’s lips curled into a sneer. “They are interesting, unlike some daft old codgers who’ve never set foot off the island.”
“I have been to Oban!” Sandy retorted, stung by her rebuke at his lack of exploratory zeal, “And it is a fine place if you’ve a mind for spanking and dressing in women’s underwear, but you know yourself that it is Uraigh for the real debauchery.”
“Debauchery?” Brenda snorted in reply, “The most debauched thing that has happened in Uraigh in the past fifty years was the time the school teacher’s lipstick was found on old Calum’s collar.”
A look of fear flashed across Sandy’s eyes, but he recovered quickly. “Mr MacPherson was a fine schoolteacher and regarding the school rabbit, all charges were dropped.”
Brenda shrugged and disappeared to answer the phone.
The two old coves’ eyes flashed at each other and secret messages were passed. Brenda brought another two pints, once again supplied by the American and once again the pair saluted his generosity.
“Is it true you have a certificate in the oral sex?” Fergus asked his comrade finally.
“I did have,” Sandy lamented, “but it has lapsed and I will need to be sitting another examination to get a new one. There are new techniques coming along on a daily basis and a man has to keep his wits about him or he will be left behind.”
“The wife’s not complaining, is she?” Fergus asked sympathetically.
“Not at all, for she has a happy nature, does my Bella. Satisfied with only the twelve orgasms a night, she is, and her once the love slave of an African prince.”
“Ah, happy days,” Fergus smiled. “Man, I recall the days when we were young swingers and I would be eating smoked haggis from Bella’s bellybutton while you serviced my Gladys.”
A smile flitted across Sandy’s face. “Aye, I have many fond memories of your Gladys’s buttocks. Still as firm as ever?”
Fergus grinned proudly. “I’ll tell you, Sandy, her buttocks may have grown with the passing of the years but all it means is that these days instead of cracking walnuts between her cheeks, she can now tackle coconuts.”
“And I’ll bet there’s not a woman on the mainland can manage that,” his crony acknowledged, “They may talk of their Glasgow and their Perth but when it comes to buttocks, Uraigh cannot be surpassed.”
“And there is a new generation coming on as we speak. Thon young Marie that works at the baker’s. Lovely bum.”
Sandy clutched at his heart. “Jeeze, Fergus, don’t mention Marie’s behind. It is costing me a fortune in doughnuts, just to catch a glimpse of it now and again.”
“I think she puts glue in the seat of her jeans before she dons them, to have them adhere so well to her figure.”
“Her behind is a work of art and should be in a gallery.”
“Maybe we should be constructing one, here on Uraigh. The Uraigh Gallery of Female Bums?”
Sandy shook his head sadly. “They would be saying we were discriminating against the male arse and would take us to court.”
Fergus’s enthusiasm subsided. “It was only a thought.”
They looked up as the big American swallowed the last of his brandy, hopped from his barstool and headed towards the bowels of the hotel and his room.
Sandy cleared his throat noisily. “I’m fair looking forward to the strip karaoke next week.”
Once the visitor had left the two old islanders wrapped themselves in coats and scarves and made their way to the door.
“We’ll get our hands on those sex tourism dollars yet,” Fergus said to his old crony as the founder members of the Uraigh Tourist Board headed off into the night and their solitary beds.
About the Author
Gurmeet Mattu is an award-winning writer. A trained jounalist, he has written comic books, stage plays, radio plays and TV sitcoms, and his screenplay Disciple won a Scottish Screen/DNA Films First Draft award. He was born and lives in Glasgow, Scotland, though his forebearers are from India.
If you enjoyed Gurmeet's humour, you might like to read his novels which are available in Kindle format and can be read on PCs, Macs, iPads and iPhones as well as the Kindle reader. Click the book cover below to go to the relevant Amazon page.
He now publishes and edits the comedy emag, Amock, which you can find HERE.
If you enjoyed Gurmeet's humour, you might like to read his novels which are available in Kindle format and can be read on PCs, Macs, iPads and iPhones as well as the Kindle reader. Click the book cover below to go to the relevant Amazon page.
He now publishes and edits the comedy emag, Amock, which you can find HERE.
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