Drovers Inn by Motorhome
Ben Lomond
Loch Lomond
The Drovers Inn
It was getting dark, the Motorhomers had enjoyed an evening sail on the loch and were walking back to the campsite;
‘Jessie, I’m fair jiggered, this sea air fair takes it oot o’ ye’
‘Phemie, ye’re no’ at the seaside, ye’re at Loch Lomond’
‘If we’re no’ at the seaside, Jessie, then whit are a’ thae seagulls daein’ here’
‘Phemie, a lot o’ seagulls have nae brains, some cannae even tell their arses from their elbows’
‘Aye, Jessie, some gulls are numbskulls’
‘Talkin’ aboot numbskulls, Phemie, whit’s the bettin’ that thae two are headin’ for the pub?’
The party were approaching the Drovers Inn, it was near to closing time. The barman was about to bar the door;
‘Hold it, Jimmy, said Josie. My thrapple feels like its throat’s been cut. I need a drink o’ beer’
‘Aye, said Francie, we need a drink o’ beer, Jimmy’
There were a number of gaunt looking individuals sitting around the bar in the shadows of the flickering candles. It was quite eerie.
‘Ye’re lucky, I wis jist closin’ for the night’ said the barman
‘Aye, he wis jist closin’ echoed the strange beings from out of the shadows
‘How did ye know my name wis Jimmy?’ asked the barman
‘Aw, it wis jist a lucky guess’ said Josie
‘Ye’re no’ as lucky as big Jack Moffat’ he said. ‘Everythin’ Jack touched seemed tae turn tae gold’
‘Is that a fact, Jimmy?’ asked Francie
‘Aye it’s true’ echoed the voices in the room. ‘Jack Moffat wis lucky’
‘He could play the bagpipes tae’ said Jimmy. ‘He wis clever, he could translate Japanese intae English.
He wis a great sprinter tae, an’ he could’ve had any lassie that he wanted. He won a tenner every week oan the lottery withoot fail’
‘Is that a fact?’ asked Josie. He whispered tae Francie, ‘hurry up an’ swally that beer, pal, we’re oot o’ here pronto’
‘Tell me, Jimmy, did ye ever meet this big Jack Moffat?’
‘Naw, he wis deid before I knew o’ him’ said the barman
‘Well, how in the hell dae ye know a’ these things aboot him, if ye never even met the damn guy?’
The voices in the room echoed loudly;
‘Because Jimmy merried his widow, ye eejit’
‘Come oan, Francie, pal, drink up, we’re offski’
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie’ said Francie
The lads hastily left the bar. They could hear the voices behind them shouting;
‘Watch oot big Jack Moffat disnae get ye’
Outside in the darkness the lads ran swiftly, stumbling and mumbling back to the safety of the campsite.
Evening on the Loch
Perhaps you would enjoy reading the adventures of Francie and Josie.
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