Hangin’ over the bridge, peeking for broon trout,
too warm for your gansie the day.
Bin bags filled with water
splitting their sides,
laughing at her Arbroath joke
Gas mantels, flax seals, the Troubles, bingo wins, trainee beekeepers. Being scunnered, trees, jokes about wind, photees of the Tay rail bridge. Culverts and herons, a mallard, the Ferry, pulleys for the washing. Grandchildren, comics and songs and the plastic cable ties that sometimes dinnae work.
He calls me ‘little spuggie’.
But I’ll take it,
My second gift,
a still life of Dutch compare,
funny and brlliant.
they show me how to eat jaffa cakes
Apparently I’ve been getting it wrong all these years.
( spuggie is Dundonian for sparrow.)
its off to work……
‘An’ wha’s ‘Grumpy’ the day?’
A cold under baked morning,
not fit to rise.
Shiny boots and woodpeckers,
buzzards and mibbe a newt, but na’.
Macaroon bars at a celtic game,
fun- sized mars bars,
meeting a childhood friend not seen for thirty years.