Kilmarnock Lunch Club 30 December

Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Peter, Robert

To get out of the road of Storm Frank
The Ooters decided to break rank
So after a talk
They abandoned the walk
And went for a communal lunch at Wetherspoon's in Kilmarnock

...and a jolly fine afternoon was had too!

Muirkirk Circular 30 October

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Jimmy, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Robert

At nine-thirty we met at Kaimes

See above for all the names

Waste no time and avoid the rain

The recent weather has been a pain

Follow the trail to Tibbie’s brig

Where fellow travellers would have a cig

Make our way to the covenanter’s stone

Have a coffee and a bit of a moan

Underfoot it’s getting wet

Though nothing to worry about just yet

Stop at the open cast hole in the ground

It’s filled with water and not a soul around

Cross the road, on tarmac now

The weather’s holding , Paul, take a bow

Cut off at the farm with the strange-looking sheep

A dead one at the bridge made us weep

Up the hill and stop for lunch

Shelter in a copse, was our best hunch

‘It’s time to move’, faither commanded

Make haste before the first rains landed

The trail beyond was flooded in bits

Jack and Victor had the rest in fits

‘Show no compassion,’ was said with a wink

As the two backmarkers were left to sink

All reassembled at the lunky hole

Soaking feet had taken its toll

Down through the wood seemed to be par

Whilst J and V went straight for the car

The Empire Bar was most convivial

As usual our talk was insane and trivial

A good day out, and we got it dry

Just!

Davie's birthday poem

To a Davie

On this day it’s worth a mention

Davie McMeekin’s got his pension

Sixty-five, a feat to hail

But let’s get tae the gory tale

Oor Dainty Davie’s hard o’ lug

That’s why he’s got a listening dug

Black and white – the licence is cheaper

Cares not a jot about her keeper

And on a Wednesday her lips she’ll lick

Cos there’s many an ooter to throw a stick

Davie’s got only wan obsession

To join us on a three pint session

A joy for which he’s longed to strive

If only Holly could learn to drive

Great faither o’ the ooters race

He shames us a’ wi’ such great pace

Well maybe except for Rex and Paul

He really does shame us all

He leads us on those fabulous walks

Showin’ aff his superb socks

In his shorts no matter the season

Surely there has to be a reason

How come the nettles don’t him sting

It has to be a Darvel thing

But if there happens to be a mist

He might as well be Brahms and Liszt

To follow him would be a folly

That’s why we ooters follow Holly

  

And on a Tuesday he tackles the swimmin’

His pink trunks truly pleases the women

His speedos cut quite a dash

But Kay, it’s time you mended the gash

For as he does his measured mile

He’s lucky he disnae get the jile

And please be gentler wi’ the washin’

Cos’ the ‘S ‘ in Speedo’s taken a bashin’

Nae wonder when he enters the watter

The weans a’ flee wi’such a clatter

(In truth, his trunks arenae pink at a’

They’re black, but still ootside the law)

But talkin’ o’ pink, there’s an issue we cannot skirt

That is the hue of his favourite shirt

In his sexuality he says he’s happy

For he’s played ball wi’ many a chappie

And who can forget the night in France

When he led us a’ a merry dance

Drinkin’ the wine and playin’ the mouthie

Before collapsin’ on the pouffe

(It was actually the couch, but it didnae rhyme

I’ll think o’ somethin’ else for the next time)

To rouse him Robert unleashed his claws

And caressed poor Davie on the ba’s

However, by next morning, it has to be said

He’d kicked oor Robert oot the bed 

Davie woke up wi’ such a start

That he let oot a helluva fart

The noise was like a sonic boom

And blew pair Robert clean oot the room

He landed on the road outside

Nursing his butt as well as his pride

To make matters worse, as well as his sores,

The boys wouldnae let him back indoors

But he had an idea, at least he thought

Cos in his pocket was the TV remote

If you don’t let me in there’ll be nae mair telly

So come doon tae the door and gie it some welly

The door did open and Robert was beilin’

Had to srape wee Davie aff the ceilin’

He shouted and bawled, his face was red

It’s ma hoose, so get tae yer bed

The master o’ his country pile

King o’ Mosset for another while

 He is entrusted wi’ oor kitty

And doesnae gie us any pity

Going down frae Muirkirk tae Sanquhar

He took the purse and became oor banker

On the hills his repute is feared

A collie dug and a snow white beard

In the wet he wears a poncho

He wants to be the true head honcho

And tho’ it’s Bob who’s the decision maker

It’s Davie’s that the master baker

A thoughtful, learned, cunning linguist

I think you’ll understand the twist

The apostrophe, now there’s a mission

A rage that rivals nuclear fission

Davie wants tae make it clear

This is a cause to which he’s dear

It’s no a matter o’ rocket science

But one o’ simple grammatic compliance

It says a lot about education,

Or the lack of it, in this great nation

He’s a scholar of that man Rabbie Burns

And is famous for his many turns

At Holy Wullie he is a star

To hear him speak they travel far

Wi’ the lights oot and the candle lit

He brings to life the bard’s wry wit

But, if a Supper you need him to chair

You’ll need a glass his weight to bear

His drams do need constant tending

And his jokes are truly never ending

Only hauf a joke was in his meter

Too much time spent wi’ his pal Peter

When will we hear the rest o’ the story?

O’ the three in the train in a’ their glory

The drams, they didnae make him clever

Ae fond kiss, and then we slever?

And who can forget the famous day

When a carryoot should have been a takeaway

The ending wasnae tae the letter

But it made the laughter even better

When Johnny goes into computer speak

Davie proves he is no geek

Can barely find the computer switch

Or sort the simplest software glitch

Instead he relies on his helpful wife

Certainly not his trouble and strife

Kay runs the blog with expertise

And doesn’t charge us any fees

Or does she?

For some weeks Davie does us forsake

And takes his wife on a mid-week break

Arran, Pitlochry but nane sae swankie

As up the pass o’ Killiecrankie

And mind the day he went tae Boston

Forgot the turn-aff frae doontoon Ga’ston

And did chef Davie get in a fankle

When Kay fell doon and hurt her ankle?

(She tell’t us a that she hadnae been drinkin’

But that’s not what we a’ were thinkin’)

She couldnae walk and couldnae cook

So Davie said ‘Lie doon and look’

I’ll treat ye tae ma signature dish

And rest assured it’ll no be fish

Nae haddock, herrin’ and without a doubt

Nae salmon or fresh sea trout

And if you tempted him wi’ a scallop

Be prepared for a hefty wallop

Nothing frae the sea, wi’ a’ them bones

Better wi’ black puddin’ and tattie scones

But on this night he had somethin’ tae prove

And got intae the culinary groove

He showed  at the stove he is no assho’

Thanks to fajitas from Old El Paso

Even the dug got in a tizz

At the thought that Davie knew where the cooker wiz

She thought this’ll be ma lucky night

I’m gonnae get a tasty bite

But nae such luck, the usual fare

Then she remembered her paw was sair

So she limped about and gave him the look

And oh what pity on her he took

He was so sure the act was no fake

He threw oor Holly a fillet steak

The next night she tried the self-same farce

The result, a boot up the canine arse

But Davie knows we’re only jokin’

At him it’s fun that we’re a’ pokin’

Ye’ can only dae that to yer mates

In this respect he’s wan o’ the greats

We wish him health for many a year

Ever to enjoy the odd wee beer

A single malt we know he treasures

As long as it’s in very big measures

And a generous glass of fine red wine

Hits a spot that’s so divine

And finally, wi’ wan voice we dae speak

That lum o’ yours, may lang she reek

  

Robert Is Cool

Robert is cool.
There’s nae doot aboot that.
Frae the heel o’ his shoes,
Tae the tip o’ his hat,
Robert is cool.

Robert is cool.
In the way that he walks,
In the things that he does
An’ the way that he talks
Robert is cool

Robert is cool.
It’s officially said
Oan the internet
Where the message wis laid,
Robert is cool.

Robert is cool.
The wee teenage lass
That sat at the back
In Robert’s art class
Says Robert is cool.

Robert is cool.
That got oor attention
An’ so did the times
That he happened tae mention
That Robert is cool.

Robert is cool.
If we hear that again
We’ll a’ lose oor cool
An’ inflict severe pain
Oan Robert that’s cool.

Sae, Robert the cool
Juist haud yer wheesht
Juist cool it a bit
An’ gie us a’ peace
Frae hearin’ ye’re cool.

'If the cap fits, ...'

Davie had lost his walkin' bunnet
The story was like a guid whodunnit
Wee Davie was the man who eventually funnit
In a raffle it was thought that he had won it

So on the ferry Wee Davie did wear it
The bunnet and him were truly marrit
The tension was such we couldnae bear it
How long would it take for Davie to snare it

We couldnae haud our laughter nae mair
'D'ye like Davie's hat,' we ventured with care
'Mine and it could be a matchin' pair,
I've lost ma hat and it's just no fair'

Tears of laughter doon oor faces did run
Davie couldnae see the source of oor fun
He must have thought his flies were undone
Or that we a' had a doze of the sun

And then it dawned, the penny had fell
'Is that ma hat', he offered a yell
'Ah hope you get your reward in hell'
The look on his face was one you could sell

As a bit of a wheeze, how low could we sink?
How long would it take, if you'd like to think
For Davie to spot that wi' a nod and a wink
We a' turned up wi shirts in striped pink

Ode to the Hill of Stake

Nine Ooters met at Chateau Bank Street
Still traumatised by the Cairnsmore of Fleet
The day was dreich but the welcome was good
Fresh scones and coffee made up the food

‘Young’ Davy was met with great affection
Founder member of the junior section
Rex was there without his fruity Merlot
Peter had made it two in a row

Johnny’s sloes were in his gin
Jimmy’s old gaiters were in the bin
Ronnie was seen to open his purse
Had he enough to entice a nurse?

The cars were loaded, we decided on three
Muirshiel was reached with no stops for a pee
A strange thing happened as we put on our boots
Ooters were discussing alternative routes

For the weather was against the Hill of Stake
To try it today might be a big mistake
It’s not like the gents to act with sense
This change in mood was indeed immense

We marched up the track and into the glaur
Allan’s mantra ‘Whit we daein’ this for’?
The container was reached at the Barytes mine
For coffee and a biscuit this was just fine

Fellow walkers were welcomed and tales exchanged
To try the hill would be deranged
The choice was: the rain and the mist
Or the pub and an early chance to get pissed

Was there a choice?

The visitors’ centre was soon regained
A picnic table for us was retained
Peter’s joke is now part of folk lore
Unfortunately, for most of us, we’d heard it before

Five crows, a gun and a boy with a wink
Well Peter, we like the way you think
But this was not the only wheeze
Pepper they say can make you sneeze

Lunch was over too soon by far
A wee walk or go to the bar?
The Corner Bar was the place of choice
A decision without a dissenting voice

The Bar was empty but the beer soon flowed
The patter was great and never slowed
Davy Senior was in his element too
Sitting adjacent to the ladies loo

Big Davy would give the ladies a fright
By leaving the seat standing well upright
Wee Davy was looking awfa’ drawn
After his story about tasting the prawn

By 3.15 it was time to depart
Before the drink its effects did impart
For if one of us got truly blotto
The rest would simply remember the motto

Maybe this should be an annual event
For some it would be heaven sent
A short walk and some beer to partake
The day we don’t do the Hill of Stake

Toast

Jimmy’s New Year Toast
(when opening the bottle of Glenlivet presented to him by the Early Ooters)


Here’s a health tae us a’, boys,
Tae the ooters ane an’ a’, boys,
Though we’re nae sae young at a’, boys,
Here’s tae the boy in us a’.


Here’s tae him wha kens the paths,
An’ never gaes astray,
Here’s tae him wi’ the hoose in France,
Wha invited us ower tae stay


Here’s tae the mathematician,
Wi’ his coffee an’ his scones
Here’s tae oor antipodean freen,
Wi his funny Aussie tones.


Here’s tae Catrine’s potter cheil,
Wha potters oot the dishes,
Here’s tae the dancing angler,
May he aye keep catching fishes.


Here’s tae oor tame Englishman,
Wha’s learnin’ a’ oor words,
Here’s tae the ornithologist,
Wha tells us a’ the birds.


Here’s tae the new boys, Allan an’ Ian,
May they aye keep comin’ back
Tae enjoy oor Wednesday walking
An’ oor post-walk Ooters crack.


I'll raise a toast tae us a’, boys,
Aye, I’ll raise this toast tae us a’.
Though we’re nae sae young as we yuist tae be,
Guid health, and joy be wi’ us a’.


Slanthe

more poetry - discuss!

LOST IN TRANSLATION by Mary Smith

Once, people spoke their maps.
Everyone knew where lay
rough moorland of the perilous region,
the hill of the eagle,
mountain of awesome grandeur.

Once, people were wary of the crag
of the storm-swept range, made pilgrimage to
the hill of the memorial pile or that other,
above the hollow of the warrior’s tomb.

Once, people spoke their land
and what it meant to them,
before strangers, with inflexible tongues,
bringing pen and parchment, plotted

names which whisper only an echo
of what they once were:
Palgowan, Benyellery, Mulwharchar,
Craigmasheenie, Pinbreck,
Corrafeckloch.