Aaaal sorts aa stuff fae Sheltie land....
includes stuff fae Muckle Ossa, Little Ossa and Fladda.....
and any guest stacks, holms, geo's, kame's, baaaas, headlands, voes, firths, lochs, lighthouses, etc.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

Fladda asks 'What is the Point?'

My Dearest Perrie Ossa,

What is the Point?

Waal, it’s been a while since I sed owt, so with spring in the air I’m shaking off the seaweed, kicking the kelp, shaking the shingle and flexing my mussels ready to rant loud and wide.

Can’t be bothered with all that census stuff – it’s only a form for Neptune’s sake – just don’t put down anything that’s false(?).

But, but, I hear rumblings that an election is due in the coming weeks. Ooooh, this sounds more like it. Time to think about joining the Bisto Bus crowd in Hollybrood by doing my bit for Neptune and country – yeh, right.

Now, before I get my nomination form (MO will help me fill it in) I need to create a manifesto and, most importantly, a catchy slogan.

Got it! ‘Vote for Flad, he ain’t half bad!’ Wow, that’s guaranteed to get the floating voters on my side, even though they haven’t a clue what I’m about. Right, now I need a cause, something to put fire in the electorates’ belly. Mareel – naa, it’s got to be serious; wind farms – naa, done to death; EU/EEC – naa, even though it’s the best Bisto Bus available in politicks; fuel prices – naa, been on the politickacle agenda since the whale oil price wars of eons ago.

Hang on though, fuel pricing does sound very promising…..

Those damned point nines; you know the two pounds twenty something point nine per egg cup full signs that are emblazoned in seventy foot high letters outside the petrol dispensing Dalek garrisons.

What is it with those fuel retailers and the foreign metrik system? We are not fooled by the point nines. We don’t have point summat of a penny in our pockets, so what’s going on. Think of all those point nines that could be recycled at the District Heating plant, and let’s not forget the little decimal point too.

Here we go then. I shall run my campaign solely around the premise that unless we get rid of the ‘Point Nines’, society as we know it will collapse before the end of, err, too long! As good ol’ Al G would say, ‘The debate is over.’ I shall leave no mollusc upturned in my crusade to promote this matter at the highest political level, thus ensuring that Shetland becomes a world leader and a centre of excellence for point nine research and debate. Alex Farmed Fish would be proud. First off, I shall press for the formation of a committee to oversee a fact finding mission (Te he, it’s a world-wide problem!) with a view to presenting a motion to the Skottish Parlymont. Oh yes, endless committees, sub-committees, steering groups, working parties, conferences etc. I feel a sense of public duty welling up in my obelisks. Now, pass me a couple of blank expense claim forms before I lose the plot.

So there I have it, a short, world saving manifesto and a snappy slogan. A sure fire winner if ever I had one.

So, on Thursday, remember to vote ‘Fladda’, your What’s the Point Party candidate.

Must go now, got to get to Sussex for the Hustings, bye.


Tuesday, 8 March 2011

That "Terrible Misunderstanding...."

Good tidings. Another missive….PO, Flad and MO have been in deep discussion about many things. You human types do seem to complicate things to an entirely unnecessary degree. However, we have gone undercover and can explain some of the strange events which have occurred in the past couple of days….

The “terrible misunderstanding” as mooted by Mr Hague re the SAS mission to Libya.

What really happened according to reports (the standard prefix for reporting anecdotal made up stuff as fact) was that there was a Parliamentary Canteen Staff day out organised. A phone call from Mrs Bathsheba Grimes, the head cook, to her son revealed what had actually occurred.......

“We met at the door of the Foreign Secretary’s office as arranged. There was a big bus arrived and we all got on. Shirley Sykes, the sandwich maker, had booked a Mystery Tour so when we arrived at Brise Norton we were not perturbed. There was a big sign up saying “SAS this way”. Naturally we assumed that this was for the Soup And Sandwiches as agreed in the price. We were ushered through and offered a selection from the Buffet. I did wonder what was going on as there was no sign of any food, but Shirl is such a joker. Now in mitigation of the lads there, my hearing aid battery was running low so I just nodded when offered items.

They offered us what I thought was Russian coleslaw - Kalashnikov and a salt and pepper. Strange buffet I thought, but I was sure that the rest would follow as we worked our way along the line. Mind you, you wouldn’t get off with that in our canteen. You practically have to spoon feed our patrons…I was finding the bags of food pretty heavy, but then I saw the sign for “Desert” I was off like Linford in full running kit. You know me and me sweet tooth….anyhoo, we found ourselves in the belly of a troop carrier. Shirley was looking a bit concerned but I thought she was keeping the Mystery going and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking…she’s a right superior cow sometimes.

We were strapped in and all of a sudden the engines started and we were off. I alerted one of the lads that I had to be home for 5 as I had to make something for my Bert’s tea. Usually I just take sommat from work, but as we had been out I was going to have to cook something. I had got in a nice bit of tripe from Mr Cleaver, the butcher. I had put it in to soak the night before. He smiled at me and slapped me on the back. I thought that was a bit odd so I asked him where the pudding was. He replied “We are not going to Moscow.” I gave up then as I thought he was just being silly. He looked young enough to still be in short trousers. Young folk today I’ll tell you, it’s like they speak a different language.

Now by this time it was half past 4. I knew I couldn’t get home to get Bert’s tea on. And the dog would be needing out for a pee…I was just about to get up and give Shirl a piece of my mind when we started to descend. We had a bumpy landing, but as there were no windows we couldn’t see out. I thought the pilot had landed in the field next to the airstrip. “Welcome to the dessert” said the cheeky youngster. About time too. I had had nothing to eat since breakfast time and I had paid £10 for the tour which was supposed to include Soup And Sandwiches and I was bursting for a pee! I was first at the door.

Imagine my surprise when I looked out onto sand and dust storms. We had landed in Southport. The youngster then said he had to debrief us. This was too much. I slapped him hard! He fell backwards down the plane steps and knocked himself out. We got off the plane ourselves and began to wander about looking for somebody in charge of a Dessert Trolley or even an ice cream van. We had been looking for about an hour when we were approached by a group of bearded individuals. “Good afternoon” I said in me best hinglish, “do you know where we might find the dessert trolley?” They did not look Southportian I have to say. They stared intently at me….” WHERE IS THE PIER?” I said, thinking we could find a phone box or something. I would have to phone Bert and tell him I was in Southport. One of the bearded men said “Kalashnikov.” which was the Russian coleslaw. I said “You can have the Kalashnikov when you give us the dessert trolley.” “Assault weapons” he responded…now as I said before I thought the boys back at Brise Norton had said salt and pepper… Anyhoo, I stuck with my guns (arf arf) and only handed them over when the bearded peeps presented us with a nice cup of hot tea and a trolley full of baklava. They were very nice lads and once we had finished and everybody had had a toilet break they loaded us all on some lumpy looking donkeys and sent us on our way to the pier.

When we got to the pier, there was a nice boat waiting there for us to take us home. Apparently it is going to take a week or so. I didn’t know that Southport was so far away…Could you tell your dad to stop huffing and answer the bloody phone. None of this is my fault and if he has got a problem he should speak to Shirley about it. There is a big cottage pie in the freezer which should keep him and the dog going until Wednesday and if you could see to them on Thursday and Friday then I should be back Saturday afternoon. Any news from home?"

However, the Ossas now know the function of our esteemed royal family. We must say that none of us were particular royalists but they now have our full support. Given the embarrassment of the above “misunderstanding” on a world stage, good old Price Andrew leaps into the limelight, taking the heat of the UK’s latest cock up. Trade Envoy to convicted sex offenders and volunteer for trainee 17 year old masseuses. There is a selfless man. Apparently he made an error of judgment. We would not care to see him make a real arse of things!

Monday, 7 March 2011

Hello oot there - were still here !

It’s been ages since Peerie O had occasion to put promontary to keyboard and to be honest there is not much to speak aboot. Muckle O, dispite Perrie O’s better efforts, has not been invited to partake in anybodys’ UHA. He’s been sitting behind me singing “Old Shep” and “I’m Nobodies Child” for the past 2 months. He’s even taken off his dress now.

Flad has only just reappeared after the last gale and is trying to get back below the water mark as he is as bald as a coot. Mesen? Well I am just sitting here demonstrating my mime skills. Still no message from “Between Weathers”, not even having read my reviews……Sharleen Spiteri???? – my intertidal zone! (Think about it..)

Mareel has been quiet lately….not a sound other than the dragging of the completion date in the distance. Can hardly hear it now it is so far off. Viking Windfarm…..Peerie Os’ just bored…..UHA….likewise.

An artists impression of how a bored Perrie O might look 
if she was a baby & not a rock...

The Census….now there’s a topic. Apparently, in England and Wales they have got US arms firm Lockheed Martin in data gathering. I am but a simple rock, but is this really their field of excellence? I thought the clue was in the name “arms.” Surely they should get somebody better that a simple mannequin manufacturer in to do this. However, I understand Scotland has got the right idea. Gadaphees Fish,Chip and Baklava Emporium, Dundee branch has got the contract. My informant has told me that there is a “verbal”part to the Scottish Census. A small mic and recording chip are inserted in the form. You will be asked to pronounce “Trrrrrosachs”, “Loch” and sing “Donald Where’s Your Troosers.” This will determine your Scottishness.

OOOH! Muckle O and Flad have snapped out of their moroseness….a hive of activity has broken out behind me….what are they doing? Eh? I dunno aboot that. Muckle O says that they are constructing marine stingers to take out the tall ships….unless…..unless…he gets a formal bid to Delting UHA.

NEWS JUST IN…..”reports have been received at Ossa Towers that the Sarnia Liberty is in for a refit to install a windjammer sailing rig. This is being seen as an effort to use the wind to generate free transport for wir fuel and allow all you peeps to drive your “muckle” cars. Objections are expected……”

Fladda would like to know – Will the Wind Farm take the wind out of the Tall Ships sails? Answers on a Leatherback Turtle to Ossa Towers Plez.

A tall ship with the wind taken oot of its sails...

If anyone is doing anything anywhere we would just like you to know “WE OBJECT”

Not bad for not much.

Peerie O and Co.