Musings from the Merse
Monday, February 18, 2008
Slurry with the whinge on top.
The zephr is from the north-so is odour of pigs. Well actually slurry. AS those deathless lyrics in a great (Western) Borders Musical had it:
When we hit that road, hell fer leather,
Cats and dogs'll dance in the heather,
Birds and frogs'll sing all together and the toads will hop!
The wind'll whistle as we rattle along,
The cows'll moo in the clover,
Whiteadder ripple out a whispered song,
And whisper it over and over:
“Will that smell go on for ever
go on forever and never stop?
Surely it won’t never stop?
In that shiny, little surrey with the fringe on the top! “
I can see the stars gettin' blurry,
'cos my eyes are watering, my eyes are smarting
My runny nose is really hartin’
Mud on the Road, Mud on the wheels
Life in the country is down at heels.
Who gives a toss* if the Bull has mated
Life out of town is overrated
Halt the Surrey, Curse the Slurry
Get on the wagon
And have a whinge on top
* No pun intended
(Thankyou Old Grey Wolf for this image of genuine (as in 'seats are of genuine leather)Hutton Slurry.
Labels: Borders, Country odours, Slurry
Thursday, March 15, 2007
*Getting a Lung full
'Ah! You can tell you are in the country'
The lady from the south,
said.
Looking at the wide fields, the gaunt trees,
Spring released cows, nary a house
in sight.
'How astute'
I thought
Flinging open the door, she gulped
lush lungfulls of rural air,
greedily, as if there was no
tomorrow. Choking, gasping, spluttering,
racking, near vomiting.
'How Stupid'
I thought
'There's something to be said
for traffic fumes' She
gasped. Still snuffling.
Failing to make that neat transition
From Stockbroking Surrey
To Muck raking Slurry
(From " Country Air-An occasional collection for Wet Sundays" Attrib: Prof Pink Pryde)-
'Ah! You can tell you are in the country'
The lady from the south,
said.
Looking at the wide fields, the gaunt trees,
Spring released cows, nary a house
in sight.
'How astute'
I thought
Flinging open the door, she gulped
lush lungfulls of rural air,
greedily, as if there was no
tomorrow. Choking, gasping, spluttering,
racking, near vomiting.
'How Stupid'
I thought
'There's something to be said
for traffic fumes' She
gasped. Still snuffling.
Failing to make that neat transition
From Stockbroking Surrey
To Muck raking Slurry
(From " Country Air-An occasional collection for Wet Sundays" Attrib: Prof Pink Pryde)-
*The image is genuine Slurry which missed its intended field by a good quarter of a mile. Almost more of the muck in down town Hutton than on Farmer C's field
Labels: Slurry
