We’re signed up for AuroraWatch so that we don’t miss any dancing, shimmering skies and received a mail telling us to expect a display last night. A few hours later we received another mail:
Dear AuroraWatch UK subscriber,
We apologise for the earlier false alert (issued 13:25 UTC today) which was caused by a lawnmower creating a local disturbance at our Lancaster site.
Go figure … !
When seventy ladies attended an event at Seil Island Hall, how many loo rolls were used in the ladies toilet that night??
There should be a picture of loo rolls here, but we’ve received an irate comment from a photographer called Paul Pablo (or possibly Pablo Paul) claiming that we’ve used his photograph illegally and demanding that we remove it or make arrangements to pay copyright.
While not being entirely certain of the authenticity of this comment (do eminent photographers of loo rolls read Easdale People??), we’ve nevertheless taken down the photo because the very shallow coffers of EP wouldn’t run to being sued for breach of copyright!
And no mobile ‘phone signal unless you crouch in front of the ‘phone box, or go up the mountain and wave your ‘phone about in the air!
A group of elderly lady tourists were wandering around the head of the harbour recently, looking at the wee slate outhouses. They gathered at the one opposite Margaret’s house and debated about what these outhouses were for. “I know!” said one lady authoritatively. “They were air raid shelters!” Nods of agreement all round.
Cue “Dam Busters March” – Daaaah daah de dee daahde dah de daaaah – as the Luftwaffe strafe Easdale Island to destroy its valuable deposits of slate, and our heroic boys in Spitfires and Mosquitoes engage them in dogfights overhead. The night sky over Easdale is lit by tracer fire. Destroyed German airplanes plunge flaming into the Sound.
Meanwhile, the terrified residents of Easdale Island are huddled safe in their air raid shelters with their lamps, flasks of tea, sandwiches and packs of cards.
This might not be exactly “local” to Easdale, but let’s not be parochial, because we do have some Weegies (as well as Edimboogers) in our midst!
In today’s (2nd July) Scotsman there was a mind-numbingly boring article about research by the University of Glasgow which indicated that one in three people from Greater London don’t understand the Glaswegian accent. Well, no surprises there then. (And this research was presumably paid for by us, the taxpayers? But let’s not go there …)
However, in order to make its point, the article referred back to Stanley Baxter’s 1960s BBC series “Parliamo Glasgow” where he, as an erudite professor, was attempting to teach non-Glaswegian-speakers the nuances of the language – in the style of the tv programme of similar date “Parliamo Italiano”.
So, here’s the fun, with some “Parliamo Glasgow” phrases for you to translate for homework.
At the market: ZarramarranonnabarraClara?
At the disco: Jiwanni donce?
At the pub: Jiwanni getmibevvid?
Greeting in the street: Sanoffy caul day.
Weather talk: Errarainoanuscummindooninbuckits!
This has resonances with some locals of Yorkshire descent, remembering cries from children playing out in the early evening who were called away by their mums:
Answers – and any other neat dialect phrases – on a postcard please …
Apparently, the average reaction time of a car driver to any road incident is about 0.75 seconds. You don’t think that’s very much? Well, it works out at around at one car length for every 10mph. So 50mph = 5 car lengths. Errr … SMASH!!! How’s your insurance policy looking??
Try THIS to test your speeed of reaction.
It comes with a warning. It can become quite addictive!
This item appeared in The Scotsman’s New Year review of 2011’s funniest news stories. It has absolutely nothing to do with Easdale, but it made us smile so we thought we’d share it with you.
The arrival of Spring does strange things to us all. Last April, the Irish town of Tulla was terrorised by a ferocious otter rampaging up and down the high street threatening GBH to all and sundry.
Joe Burke and Mike Hogan went to Mr Otter’s aid, but the little guy went postal. After suffering cuts and scrapes, the men were eventually able to corner it and slip a crisp packet over its head – but that only made the critter bounce dangerously off the walls.
They finally got the otter into a sack, but he chewed his way out and leapt to freedom through a window of Burke’s jeep. Burke and Hogan managed to trap it beneath a traffic cone, then slid a sheet of plywood under the cone in order to carry the makeshift cage to the lake, where they released the ferocious beast –who was so exhausted he nearly drowned, so they had to prop him up in some reeds while he recovered.