Travel to Loch Lomond in a Hired Motorhome.

Ben Lomond.

It was getting dark, the party had enjoyed an evening sail on the loch and they were now walking back to the Motorhome, at the campsite;

‘Jessie, I’m fair jiggered, this sea air fair takes it oot o’ ye,’ said Phemie.

‘Phemie, ye’re no’ at the seaside, ye’re at Loch Lomond,’ said Jessie.

‘If we’re no’ at the seaside, Jessie, then whit are a’ yon seagulls daein’ here?’ asked Phemie.

‘Phemie, a lot o’ seagulls have nae brains, some cannae even tell their arses frae their elbows,’ said Jessie.

‘Aye, Jessie, some gulls are numbskulls,’ said Phemie.

‘Talkin’ aboot numbskulls, Phemie, whit’s the bettin’ that yon two eejits in front o’ us are headin’ for the pub?’ asked Phemie, gesturing towards the two men ahead of them.

The Drovers Inn.

The lads were approaching the Drovers Inn, it was near to closing time and the barman was about to bar the door;

‘Hold it, Jimmy, called Josie. My thrapple feels like it’s throat’s been cut. I need a drink o’ beer,’ he called out to the barman.

‘Aye, said Francie, we need a drink o’ beer, Jimmy,’ he shouted.

Loch Lomond.

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.

‘Och, 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,’ the barman said.

‘Is that a fact, Jimmy?’ asked Francie.

‘Aye it’s true,’ echoed one of the voices in the room. ‘Jack Moffat wis a lucky man,’ the voice repeated.

‘He could play the bagpipes tae,’ said Jimmy the barman. ‘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 national lottery withoot fail,’ said the barman.

‘Is that a fact?’ asked Josie. He whispered tae Francie, ‘hurry up an’ swally that beer, pal, we’re oot o’ here pronto, pal,’ he said.

‘Tell me, Jimmy, did ye ever meet this big Jack Moffat?’ asked Josie.

‘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?’ asked Josie.

The voices in the room echoed loudly;

‘Because Jimmy merried his widow, ye big eejit,’ they called out loudly.

‘Come on, Francie, pal, drink up, we’re offski,’ said Josie.

‘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’s aboot,’ they were calling.

Outside in the darkness the lads ran swiftly, stumbling and mumbling back to the safety of the campsite.

Evening on the Loch.

Joe Sharp.

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