Talk Like A Landlubber Day - Sept 20

[DaveL]

No but I think we should call the Game Warden this instant! He sounds like a poacher to me!

[DavidH]

He would appear to be expressing a degree of disapproval entirely inappropriate in one of the Scottish persuasion.

[Roy Hunter]

Whit? The gamekeeper, ye cry? Ye'll tak me fur the ghillie? Ochone, it's a disaster fur Scotland, like unto the brridge on the Silvery Tay, Berrtie Vogts, Paul Gascoigne, England 1 - Scotland 0...

Richt, I want tae tak the opportunity to mak it purrrfectly clear: I, Laird Roy McGonagall, being of unsound mind and somewhat crocked body, am nae mair the tumshie as wad sprack a daimenicker in a thrave tae the great chieftain o' the puddin' race. Furrthermoarrr, ye wadnae tak a mickle tae mak a muckle o yon kingdom o' East Fife four, Forfar five, fae the snaw that covers Glencoe tae the cullen skink ma granny used tae mak. O' course, we had rationing in those days.

DO I MAK MASEL PURRFECTLY CLEAR TAE YIZ AW?

[DavidH]

O ar, us in Yerefrrd talks a bit like that, only diffrnt.

[black bart]

Never fear chaps...I had experience o this sort of foreign blathering out in India during the Mutiny. These Johnny Foreigners only understand one thing...er, now what was it? I remember telling a chap to build me an elaborate railway system and a summer residence and he got all upset and refused to get my curry ready...oh yes I remember, we shot him.

Anyone for Tiffin?

[pieces o'nine]

* discreetly swills cognac to disguise distress *

[daftbeaker]

Zounds! And sink me if the Gameskeeper isn't trying to pass himself off as Laird Roy! Can anyone decipher what the cheeky fellow is blathering on about?

I have some experience with these drunken transvestites. My parentage is half from there (fortunately, I got the drunk bit and not the cross-dressing)

Hoots, mon! Whit urr ye's aa spielin aboot? Dae ye no' ken forbye Ah'll no be pu'in the cuddy o'er the brae furr such sassenach company as ye's aa'? Wheesht! I'll be takkin the high road, an' ma Samoan Attorney wull be takin the low road, and we'll hae a wee drappie wi' the houghmagandy afore the nicht's o'er. Ochone!

I say my good fellow! What are you talking about? Don't you understand I'll not be compromising my accent for you southern fairies? I'm off to the pub, and my land shark is coming with me, and we're both going to get drunk. Toodle-oo!

Whit? The gamekeeper, ye cry? Ye'll tak me fur the ghillie? Ochone, it's a disaster fur Scotland, like unto the brridge on the Silvery Tay, Berrtie Vogts, Paul Gascoigne, England 1 - Scotland 0...
Richt, I want tae tak the opportunity to mak it purrrfectly clear: I, Laird Roy McGonagall, being of unsound mind and somewhat crocked body, am nae mair the tumshie as wad sprack a daimenicker in a thrave tae the great chieftain o' the puddin' race. Furrthermoarrr, ye wadnae tak a mickle tae mak a muckle o yon kingdom o' East Fife four, Forfar five, fae the snaw that covers Glencoe tae the cullen skink ma granny used tae mak. O' course, we had rationing in those days.
DO I MAK MASEL PURRFECTLY CLEAR TAE YIZ AW?

I say, you're comparing me to the hired help? It's not good, just like everything Scotland's done.
Now, I would like to set the record straight, I am not a commoner and while being slightly odd, (something something something) a haggis. Also, (something something something, probably a derogatory remark about the English being soft nancy boys with no capability for manual labour). Plus, I've acquired Yorkshireman syndrome.
Is that understandable?

(I make no apologies for anything lost in translation, glaring inaccuracies or general faults. Any encounters with angry drunken Glaswegians should not use my translations if you wish to retain your face in the same shape and style it is in at present.)

[Roy Hunter]

I say, old chap, would one like a punch in the hooter, what?

[black bart]

Ah...that's more like it Lord Roy...gather round everybody, crack open the Bolly...I like a Scottish Pugilist and I like an English Pugilist...but which one's better, there's only one way to find out...FIGHT!

[daftbeaker]

I say, old chap, would one like a punch in the hooter, what?

Is one going to fight by Marquess of Queensberry rules? The forehead is not a gentlemanly weapon you know.

[Roy Hunter]

I say, old chap, would one like a punch in the hooter, what?

Is one going to fight by Marquess of Queensberry rules? The forehead is not a gentlemanly weapon you know.

I wasn't going to fight you myself: I was going to set my Samoan Attorney on you. Anyway, the Marquess of Queensberry was a dreadful homophobe. Buggered too often at boarding school, no doubt. If you really want a duel, I suggest handbags at dawn. Milo will act as my second, you can have Nef Yoo. With backup like that, nothing can go wrong.

[daftbeaker]

I say, old chap, would one like a punch in the hooter, what?

Is one going to fight by Marquess of Queensberry rules? The forehead is not a gentlemanly weapon you know.

I wasn't going to fight you myself: I was going to set my Samoan Attorney on you. Anyway, the Marquess of Queensberry was a dreadful homophobe. Buggered too often at boarding school, no doubt. If you really want a duel, I suggest handbags at dawn. Milo will act as my second, you can have Nef Yoo. With backup like that, nothing can go wrong.

Why, that sounds spiffing. Can I suggest that your Samoan Attorney take to the field first and you act as his second? I get on quite well with dogs and with a kilo of sausages I think I could convince your landshark to behave rather nicely. You could then have a duel with the Cabin Buoy from the Great Beyond and honour would be satisfied

[black bart]

How absolutely spiffin...could you arrange the fight a tad later than dawn though...one doesn't rise until well after sunrise...a late breakfast, some croquet perhaps and then have at ye! wot ho!

[DaveL]

Wheel-lock pistols...we must have a duel...20 paces and all that...it shall be such a hoot!

[black bart]

...and another thing Lord Dave... A man can never have enough socks.