After yesterday's shock results in the Rugby World Cup, I am suddenly taking an interest in the egg-chasing. England play France next Saturday in the semi-finals in Paris. I will not go down for that match, but shall watch it in the relative peace and quiet of the nearest Irish pub.
However today would be a good day to be in Paris. The Tartan Army will be all over the "toon" distributing bonhomie and flashing their tackle to the locals. As you know I am partial to a man in a kilt, and shall be supporting the Jocks in the pasting they are going to get at the hands of Argentina this afternoon, even though they will be shouting for France next Saturday.
The Haka didn't work its magic for the All Blacks this time, as the French now have a trump card, the terrifying Chabal who looks like a very angry Hagrid. The Scots should do likewise and exploit their reputation as fearsome warriors, by coming out on the pitch dressed as Highlanders and reciting Burns poems with a menacing Govan snarl. It still probably wouldn't make them win, but would be great entertainment for the crowd. Almost anything by Burns delivered in broad Scots by a suitably scary looking forward would strike terror into the hearts of the opposition, even "Ae Fond Kiss", although I would suggest something totally incomprehensible like "Address to the Tooth-Ache" might have the required effect:
That would keep the other side confused long enough to bang down a couple of tries within the first five minutes.
I have been further researching my tartan credentials, with the help of Scotland's People, the government website for public records. The English public records website allows you to view census records free of charge, but the Scots make you pay (surprise surprise) and give you so little information online that you have to pay to view lots of records that turn out to be useless. However, I did turn up the record of the marriage of my Glaswegian great-grandparents. One of their witnesses signed his name with an "X", which I am sure indicates he was Scottish nobility and therefore not required to sign his full name.
Come on the noo, chaps!
However today would be a good day to be in Paris. The Tartan Army will be all over the "toon" distributing bonhomie and flashing their tackle to the locals. As you know I am partial to a man in a kilt, and shall be supporting the Jocks in the pasting they are going to get at the hands of Argentina this afternoon, even though they will be shouting for France next Saturday.
The Haka didn't work its magic for the All Blacks this time, as the French now have a trump card, the terrifying Chabal who looks like a very angry Hagrid. The Scots should do likewise and exploit their reputation as fearsome warriors, by coming out on the pitch dressed as Highlanders and reciting Burns poems with a menacing Govan snarl. It still probably wouldn't make them win, but would be great entertainment for the crowd. Almost anything by Burns delivered in broad Scots by a suitably scary looking forward would strike terror into the hearts of the opposition, even "Ae Fond Kiss", although I would suggest something totally incomprehensible like "Address to the Tooth-Ache" might have the required effect:My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
That would keep the other side confused long enough to bang down a couple of tries within the first five minutes.
I have been further researching my tartan credentials, with the help of Scotland's People, the government website for public records. The English public records website allows you to view census records free of charge, but the Scots make you pay (surprise surprise) and give you so little information online that you have to pay to view lots of records that turn out to be useless. However, I did turn up the record of the marriage of my Glaswegian great-grandparents. One of their witnesses signed his name with an "X", which I am sure indicates he was Scottish nobility and therefore not required to sign his full name.
Come on the noo, chaps!
13 comments:
Do not command us of milksops, by knowing that mème both feet on the heap of manure the French cockerel still sings "cocorico " and no"cock-a-doodle-doo"
" O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o' discord squeel,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel
In gore, a shoe-thick,
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
A townmond's toothache! "
Et le tout en tirant la langue ?
Hands off Sébastien Chabal. I'm afraid he's taken ever since he knocked down our front door and ravished Scouse Doris while she wasn't looking.
Didier supported the Argies!!!
Only because his friend put €20 on them reaching the finale.
Liked your X-rated vid.
Crabtree, the Scots cockerel says "Cock a'leekie". In terms of making sense, you and Rabbie Burns are about equal. Monsieur, tu es un poete sans pareil! (et sans interprete).
Aunty, I wondered what that crashing noise was. I think Doris should get the bedsprings reinforced. I'm more of a Jonah Lomu girl myself.
Creamo, I'm not surprised. They sold Exocets to the Argies during the Falklands war you know. Can't be trusted, the French.
Sharon Stone should know better than to laugh at a man's crown jewels. Does she want him to perform or not? That fellow Chabal learnt most of what he knows from a cousin of mine in the Congo.
Gente Dame
I accept Rabbie Burns ,( avec fierté )
I accept le poète sans interprète ,
et je note dans mon dico "Cock a'leekie"
You are for me a Source ...
GB
Crusader of a with no artificial sweetening teddy bear as obélix manner menhir ( en breton peulven "pieu de pierre"), with some genes of Hagrid and one can of Congolese, finalement un hybride !
Why you cheeky wee midden!
What ,how ??
Have you noticed on the you tube they all have distinctive mouths?
Jings, crivvens and indeed, help ma boab! That wiz a wee bit racy.
As for the egg-chasing, ah weel, it's jist a game (unless you win).
GB, Crabtree seems to picture you as a furry Obelix. I'd love to see you with a helmet and pigtails and stripy trousers.
Crabtree, I was jesting, Cock a-Leekie is a Scottish dish made of thistles and English babies. Scottish cockerels say "Och a doo the noo".
Doc, was that Scotsman called Nicholas do you think?
Pat, I wasn't looking at the Scotsman's mouth to tell you the truth.
Mr Farty, you Scots are noble in defeat. You can afford to sit back and laugh, having sent Gordon Broon down south.
Forgiveness, GB, just a transition with Chabal and your cousin ;-) I would not allow myself (finally not still) sacred Daphne!
Mon livre de recettes m'avait prévenu " fait attention ! Daphne est une blagueuse ", le Coq a-Leekie "Pot au feu de poule" qui allie le sucré et le salé, la poule au pot aux poireaux pour le salé, les pruneaux pour le sucré.
La plaisanterie était très amusante et fait partie de mon "ANA" (Recueil de bons mots) j’adore les blagues !!
Post a Comment