David Wilton playing the bag-pipes at the switch on of Whitelee wind-farm, Europe’s largest onshore wind-farm. The farm will power 180,000 homes.

Scottish Power Pipe Band.

The visitor Centre is only 20 minutes from Glasgow and it has lots of interest for visitors of all ages. It is the access point to over 90 kilometres of trails for cycling walking and other outdoor activities.

Look at what the wind has blown in. The Motorhomers, Francie and Josie, had stopped off at the Visitor Centre. The girls were having coffee, with home baked fruit scones, butter and strawberry jam. Jessie was bringing Phemie up to date with the neighbourhood gossip, she was saying;

‘Sadie’s had anither wee wean, Phemie, that’s her wi’ three weans noo,’ she said. ‘When is she ever goin’ tae stop, Phemie?’ she was asking.

‘Is that the same wee lassie that left the breast fed wean on the bus, Jessie?’ asked Phemie

‘Aye, Phemie, that’s her,’ said Jessie. ‘She had a Caesarean, Phemie,’ she said.

‘Och, Jessie, I might have known,’ said Phemie. ‘Whit nationality is that again, Jessie?’ she asked.

‘I think it’s Italian, Phemie,’ Jessie said.

‘Och, I should have known that,’ said Phemie.

The lads were out on the observation deck overlooking the huge moorland site. It was a beautiful day, they could see on the horizon the mountains on the Island of Arran. Francie was being inquisitive;

‘Josie, the big whirligigs are no’ goin’ roon’ an’ roon’ today. Why is that, Josie, an’ whit are a’ yon bag-pipers daein’ here?’ he asked.

‘Och, so ye’re goin’ a’ green today, Francie, ye’re wantin’ tae test my environmental mentality, are ye? Well, Francie, as ye can see, there’s nae wind blowin’ today. Scottish Power are tryin’ oot a wee experiment tae see how many bag-pipers it takes tae generate enough wind tae turn yin o’ yon big whirligigs. The pipers have been told tae blow their brains oot until either yin o’ yon big whirligigs starts tae turn, or a’ the pipers’ bags have bursted, ye know, Francie?’ said Josie.

‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie, I know whit ye mean, Josie,’ said Francie.

Chris Hoy, shooting the breeze with the weather girl, Heather Reid.

Heather wi’ the weather.

‘Hullo there,’ she says tae me as I’m sittin’ doon tae take my tea
Abune her croon her hair sae broon
Her eyes as bricht as the peacock’s feather
Fair skint or bare skinned I dinnae mind the lassie lookin’ in on me
She’s my tea-time treat a richt wee sweet
She’s my bonnie Heather wi’ the weather.

‘The wind,’ she says, ‘is gonnae be severe.’
An’ I can hear my auld belly rumblin’
Fu’ o’ cockaleekie soup an’ cabbage an’ neeps
An’ a steak that’s as tough as auld leather
The wife says tae me, ‘that’s the last time that ye’re
Gonnae hae spicy apple crumbling’
I couldnae haud it in I had tae let it oot
Phew! My bonnie Heather wi’ the weather.

‘For golfers doon in the toon o’ Troon,’ she says
‘Ye can put yer brollies doon
The sun’s here tae stay fermers are at the hay.’
Sure she’s a richt wee blether
A lad in a pool drooked like a fool says,
‘I’m getting’ oot o’ this afore I droon’
There’s jist nae way they can blame their day on
My bonnie Heather wi’ the weather.

‘Hail, rain, sleet or snaw, ‘specially in the East o’er in Kirkcaldy
Mair o’ yer mist an’ yer hoar an’ yer dreich
Have a wee rub o’ yer lucky white heather.’
Go on my wee lassie let it a’ oot, go on bonnie lassie gie them laldy
Ne’er a day passes I reach for my glasses tae see
My bonnie Heather wi’ the weather.

Joe Sharp.

To purchase the Aventures of Francie and Josie, click here.

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