Monthly Archives: December 2017


On Christmas Eve we stepped out in anticipation of fine fare
Hot foot to Scallies on a chill still Stockbridge night,
We hied along at a fair old clip, anticipation in the air
With red noses and white faces the inn was a warm and welcome sight.

There we raised our glasses, said our cheers,
It was grand to have our far flung family together,
Who’s to know what’s held in the coming years?
Let’s now enjoy the fruits of the fair weather.

We toasted one, we toasted all,
We were very toasty, I recall,
When good cheer becomes hard to constrain
How easy it becomes to say ‘same again’.

We left latish, wife clinging to my arm, tightly,
Some blurry photos show these magic moments preserved;
Pity the shaky images don’t show Comely Bank Road, weaving slightly-
Proof positive that warm Scotch hospitality has been well served.

Star Lore.

Star lore

A long time ago
In a gathering place
Far far way a young
ragged couple sought…

A babe, a boy, was born in a stable, so they say,
A gift, Heaven sent, by God, delivered down to save the day,
Or was the real miracle the concoction Mary happened to conceive?
If I were Joe I’d find this ‘God’s son’ Virgin mom malarky too much to believe.

Getting into the restive spirit?

Up And At ‘Em.

It’s been fourteen hours since we lifted off,
Not for one minute have I drifted off,
I reach for sleeps ravelled sleeve but ‘twould seem For raddled me sleep is but a dream.
I sit slumped, eyes a’twitch, only to bolt up and think. ‘Damn my eyes, I haven’t slept a fluttering wink.’

Flying on empty.

Sleeping On The Job.

To my myriad (?) of patient readers, I profusely apologise
I’ve been busy flying the nowadays not too friendly skies,
The travel has been overlong and free time has been short,
And amongst the baggage is a case of insomnia I never thought I’d brought.

I’d long hoped those long dark nights were in the past.

So my scattered thoughts are all up in the air,
Countries, Customs, I declare I don’t know if I’m here or there,
Mid the flurry of of passport stamping I prayed to the One above;
‘God speed me through the quickest queue, spare me the rubber glove.’

Once they spared my blushes my relief was unsurpassed.

This last week should prove the most wearying of our travails,
Settled in to our home away from home I aim to share some tales,
But it’s to a timeless sleep-is-fleeting twilight zone I remain consigned,
Arising at dawn, dead tired, in a zombie state of mind.

At breakfast my better half saw me moody and downcast.

Oh, how long I scoffed and how loud I laughed,
When my sweet spouse suggested a sleeping draught,
She suggested half a bottle of Drambuie,Bonny Scotland’s best
That night I slipped a slug of Christmas spirit in my egg-nog- and then, the rest.

Here comes Christmas, so dutifully we gather around the groaning table- and there goes the neighborhood.

Don’s Capital Idea.

Christmas approaches and we look to the sky
For a shining star to follow- but we get a wise guy,
We look for some sign to to celebrate a saviour’s birth
And we see a dolt in Washington arranging hell on earth.

The Prez, with his customary diplomatic grace
Wishes to move his embassy to a happier place;
Today even Solomon would’ve wisely stuck in Tel Aviv,
In Jerusalem Don won’t believe the welcome he’ll receive.

There will be wild celebrations in half of the town
But once the embassy settles in they’ll settle down,
Unless Don has a change of mind or a change of heart
A grand ground-to-air fireworks display is bound to start.

There are a few who look on from the Arab quarter
With long held grievances, whose fuse grows ever shorter,
From the movers and shakers Don gets their eternal thanks,
For those looking out of place, it’s yet more never-ending tanks.

Christine Keeler, early sixties girl/woman who brought about the end to John Porfumo, Secretary of War in Britain, is laid to rest. Gone to meet her maker. Is there a subtle way of saying ‘dead’ without it sounding like a double entendre?

A Late Update.

In the obits I read
Kristine Keeler is dead.

What a naughty life she led
But she was pretty good in bed.

She could turn any man’s head.
Fare-thee-well fair lady in red.