Ri Tartan Bunnet
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: Whin ri Tartan Bunnet wis ri place tae be.
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A stranger walked intae ris pub, an' 'e wisnae too impressed wi' ri' place wance't 'es een adjustit tae ri dimness o' it. Rur wis four ur customers aw spread oot an' luckin' is tho rey wis greetin' intae rur beer.
“ Pint a' heavy,” 'e says tae ri borman, who jeest happen't tae bey ri landlord, “ ri place isnae exactly jumpin', is it?”
“ 'S'no bad furra a friday night.”
“Huv ye no' git nae entertainment oan?”
“In case ye didnae realise it, pal, wu'r in ri middle e' a double dip recession sa wey cannae run tae nae entertainment neera wey cun.”
“ See, a could mibbes help ye oot wi' rat wee proablum.”
“Yu'r no' gawny stert singin', ur ye?”
“Haw-haw, naw. Ris is ri latest 'hing in entertainment, an' it's is cheap is chips eftur ri initial outlay.”
“A'm kinna hauf interestit. Oan ye go, Jim, gie is yur speil.”
“A'll bey back in five meenits. Don't go away noo.”
Shoor enough, ri fulla comes back in five meenits later. 'Es cairyin' a big biscuit tin which 'e paps oan ri bor. Aw five pair a' een ur already takin' a keen interest in whit's occurrin'.
“Huv ye gote a a juke-boax at aw?” says ri fulla, “kin sumb'dy play some tunes fur mey, please.”
Ri landlord toasses a coin tae ri punter nearest tae ri juke-boax an' asts 'um tae oblige.
“Whit dae ye fancy?” says ri punter.
“Ony'hin' ataw,” says ri fulla, reachin' in tae 'es coat an fishin' oot a live chicken. Whin ri music kicked in 'e stood ri chicken oan ri biscuit tin an' it stertit dancin' along tae ri sounds.
“My,” says ri landlord, “it's certenately diffrint. A'll gie ye rat.”
“Dances tae ony kin' a music ye care tae play,” says ri fulla proudly, “ony wan e' its kind in ri entire parish so it is.”
Ri punters wis aw oan rur phones, tellin' rur pals aw aboot ris dancin' chicken.
“Ha much dae ye waant furrit, Jim?” says ri landlord, seein' ri interest it wis garnerin'.
“Ordinarily,” says ri punter, “a widnae dream a' sellin' birrav gote tae go abroad oan business an' av naeb'dy tae luk efter it. How dis a hunner sound?”
“Done deal,” says ri landlord, fishin' in 'es wallet fur ri necessary, “rat's a done deal.”
“Nae borr,” says ri punter, acceptin' ri readies an' stashin' rum deep in a poakit, “ jeest feed it a haunfa a' coarn every day an' rat's aw ri maintenance it needs. Rer's ma busines caird in case yu'v ony proablums ataw. Ma flight's no' tae three a'cloak in ri moarnin' sa gie's a wee bell if ye hit ony snags.”
Bey ri time 'e hid feenished 'es pint ri boozer wis fullin' up nicely. Word wis spreadin' fast.
'E wis in ri airport lounge et quarter past wan whin 'es mobile rang; it wis an unregistered nummer birry answer't it ony road.
“Hullo?”
“Aye, hullo, it's ri Tartan Bunnet here.”
“Tartan Bunnet?”
“Ri pub ye wis in earlier oan. Ye sel't mey roan dancin' chicken.”
“Aye..........and?”
“Wull, av papped aw ri punters oot eftur last oardurs. Aw ri chairs is up oan ri tables ready fur ri cleanurs in ri moarnin'..........”
“Uh-huh, and?”
“Wull, av turn't ri juke-boax aff an' ris daft chicken's still dancin'. How ri hell dae a gerrit tae stope.”
“Sorry, pal. Ma mistake. A shoulda tel't ye afore a left. Jeest take ri lid aff ri biscuit tin an' blaw ri connul oot.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Whin ri Tartan Bunnet wis ri place tae be.
_____________________________________________________________________
A stranger walked intae ris pub, an' 'e wisnae too impressed wi' ri' place wance't 'es een adjustit tae ri dimness o' it. Rur wis four ur customers aw spread oot an' luckin' is tho rey wis greetin' intae rur beer.
“ Pint a' heavy,” 'e says tae ri borman, who jeest happen't tae bey ri landlord, “ ri place isnae exactly jumpin', is it?”
“ 'S'no bad furra a friday night.”
“Huv ye no' git nae entertainment oan?”
“In case ye didnae realise it, pal, wu'r in ri middle e' a double dip recession sa wey cannae run tae nae entertainment neera wey cun.”
“ See, a could mibbes help ye oot wi' rat wee proablum.”
“Yu'r no' gawny stert singin', ur ye?”
“Haw-haw, naw. Ris is ri latest 'hing in entertainment, an' it's is cheap is chips eftur ri initial outlay.”
“A'm kinna hauf interestit. Oan ye go, Jim, gie is yur speil.”
“A'll bey back in five meenits. Don't go away noo.”
Shoor enough, ri fulla comes back in five meenits later. 'Es cairyin' a big biscuit tin which 'e paps oan ri bor. Aw five pair a' een ur already takin' a keen interest in whit's occurrin'.
“Huv ye gote a a juke-boax at aw?” says ri fulla, “kin sumb'dy play some tunes fur mey, please.”
Ri landlord toasses a coin tae ri punter nearest tae ri juke-boax an' asts 'um tae oblige.
“Whit dae ye fancy?” says ri punter.
“Ony'hin' ataw,” says ri fulla, reachin' in tae 'es coat an fishin' oot a live chicken. Whin ri music kicked in 'e stood ri chicken oan ri biscuit tin an' it stertit dancin' along tae ri sounds.
“My,” says ri landlord, “it's certenately diffrint. A'll gie ye rat.”
“Dances tae ony kin' a music ye care tae play,” says ri fulla proudly, “ony wan e' its kind in ri entire parish so it is.”
Ri punters wis aw oan rur phones, tellin' rur pals aw aboot ris dancin' chicken.
“Ha much dae ye waant furrit, Jim?” says ri landlord, seein' ri interest it wis garnerin'.
“Ordinarily,” says ri punter, “a widnae dream a' sellin' birrav gote tae go abroad oan business an' av naeb'dy tae luk efter it. How dis a hunner sound?”
“Done deal,” says ri landlord, fishin' in 'es wallet fur ri necessary, “rat's a done deal.”
“Nae borr,” says ri punter, acceptin' ri readies an' stashin' rum deep in a poakit, “ jeest feed it a haunfa a' coarn every day an' rat's aw ri maintenance it needs. Rer's ma busines caird in case yu'v ony proablums ataw. Ma flight's no' tae three a'cloak in ri moarnin' sa gie's a wee bell if ye hit ony snags.”
Bey ri time 'e hid feenished 'es pint ri boozer wis fullin' up nicely. Word wis spreadin' fast.
'E wis in ri airport lounge et quarter past wan whin 'es mobile rang; it wis an unregistered nummer birry answer't it ony road.
“Hullo?”
“Aye, hullo, it's ri Tartan Bunnet here.”
“Tartan Bunnet?”
“Ri pub ye wis in earlier oan. Ye sel't mey roan dancin' chicken.”
“Aye..........and?”
“Wull, av papped aw ri punters oot eftur last oardurs. Aw ri chairs is up oan ri tables ready fur ri cleanurs in ri moarnin'..........”
“Uh-huh, and?”
“Wull, av turn't ri juke-boax aff an' ris daft chicken's still dancin'. How ri hell dae a gerrit tae stope.”
“Sorry, pal. Ma mistake. A shoulda tel't ye afore a left. Jeest take ri lid aff ri biscuit tin an' blaw ri connul oot.”
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He has a number of publications to his name, including Coont Thum and Tattie Zkowen's Perfect Days, both of which have been published by McStorytellers.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.