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R. Linda:
So there I was minding me own business when I go to me blog to add a story and what do I see, but a few of me followers deleting pictures and adding new ones. I came back an hour later and the pictures changed again, and I thought I be getting the gaslight treatment.
I got a note from one asking me how to make a thumbnail photo appear bigger because they couldn't get their entire face on the blog. I was at a loss. Because I be the master of the blog does not mean I know how every little technicality works.
Just recently another wrote they couldn't get their blog mug shot next to their comment. What should they do? Well, again I be at a loss and I did suggest this and that and well, hell go ask someone else because I don't really know now do I?
Then I got a note, "Hey Gabe, tired of the pirate look give us something else." So I thought about it and thought about it and decided well, ok. I have another picture of meself, being a good Irishmen where the Scottish are concerned (not), and so I decided why not have me Irish kilt picture put on. I am sure most of me followers know the one, the very one I took in a fit of being Scottished to death one evening by me stalker, one Weasil.
I had been forced to host a Scottish dinner for a Scottish clan that I have no relation to by Mr. Weasil himself. He decided to hold this Scottish dinner at me abode because I was "sorter central ta where everyone lives an it wood be so convenient." In Other words, Weasil could stay at me house and drink himself into a stupor and not have to worry about driving under the influence and Officer Mercer of the law throwing him in the nick for the night, or the week even.
Somehow I succumbed to this arm twisting and was told that the food would all be air lifted from Scotland to me abode with cooking instructions for me wife. Like that could happen with restrictions as they be. And me wife cooking? OH YEAH that would go over big. I rang the scoundrel up instantly upon that email and said, "No way is me wife going to cook for a dinner she isn't really giving." Well, I was told not to worry me head, that he, Mr. Weasil and wife would be happy to do the honours. And so they did, bringing the scottish fare along. Tonya and I did lend a hand with the cooking, everything except the soup. They made something I call cockamamie soup (was vile and I have no idea what was in it), they made oat cakes they served with cheddar cheese and the strongest Scotch I've ever tasted. The main was Haggis with a veggie gravy and tatties and neeps. For dessert there was shortbread and drunken crumble, something made with that strong Scotch they served with the oat cakes, AND they even hung a Scottish flag outside me door. Just to show you, here's the haggis ready to be opened and dished out. That's the tatties and neeps behind it and that vile scotch the dregs of which can be seen in the special little Scottish glasses they had for the occasion. Oh and please notice the Luckenbooth china from SCOTLAND they also brought that.
I got out me Irish kilt and me wife went out and bought herself a plaid long dress so we'd fit in with these weasels, I mean clansmen and no not the KKK, the Scottish Clan of some name I cannot pronounce. So, when everything was bubbling away, and me wife was left to watch it bubble on the stove, I sat by the fireplace contemplating me sanity when in swept the Weasil all decked out in his kilt and fly plaid. I was feeling underdressed suddenly. His wife came in with a Royal Stewart gown of such elegance that Tonya (I could see) felt the same as I. It got worse, in came all these men in their brogues and fly plaids and their ladies with the big broaches pinned on their shoulder to sport their family tartans. It was just too much I tell you. I had no brogues, I was wearing me Doc Martens and feeling very snazzy until I was outnumbered by brogues! I felt like the Laird's ghillie I did, married to the Laird's cook! Here's a pic of me Docs.
BUT once I had two shots of that Laphroaig Scottish whiskey I didn't care. I got rather belligerent at one point and showed the Scots in the room I was no lackey Irish fella for them to look down on. No, not I, I lifted me skirt, I mean me kilt and well the picture below is what they got for their trouble. I had been sitting on the Scottish flag the entire night as I was subject to jokes about the Irish.
Yesss. So without any further adieu, to cunning of Irishmen everywhere -- long live our secret desire to out drink the Scottish!
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
So there I was minding me own business when I go to me blog to add a story and what do I see, but a few of me followers deleting pictures and adding new ones. I came back an hour later and the pictures changed again, and I thought I be getting the gaslight treatment.
I got a note from one asking me how to make a thumbnail photo appear bigger because they couldn't get their entire face on the blog. I was at a loss. Because I be the master of the blog does not mean I know how every little technicality works.
Just recently another wrote they couldn't get their blog mug shot next to their comment. What should they do? Well, again I be at a loss and I did suggest this and that and well, hell go ask someone else because I don't really know now do I?
Then I got a note, "Hey Gabe, tired of the pirate look give us something else." So I thought about it and thought about it and decided well, ok. I have another picture of meself, being a good Irishmen where the Scottish are concerned (not), and so I decided why not have me Irish kilt picture put on. I am sure most of me followers know the one, the very one I took in a fit of being Scottished to death one evening by me stalker, one Weasil.
I had been forced to host a Scottish dinner for a Scottish clan that I have no relation to by Mr. Weasil himself. He decided to hold this Scottish dinner at me abode because I was "sorter central ta where everyone lives an it wood be so convenient." In Other words, Weasil could stay at me house and drink himself into a stupor and not have to worry about driving under the influence and Officer Mercer of the law throwing him in the nick for the night, or the week even.
Somehow I succumbed to this arm twisting and was told that the food would all be air lifted from Scotland to me abode with cooking instructions for me wife. Like that could happen with restrictions as they be. And me wife cooking? OH YEAH that would go over big. I rang the scoundrel up instantly upon that email and said, "No way is me wife going to cook for a dinner she isn't really giving." Well, I was told not to worry me head, that he, Mr. Weasil and wife would be happy to do the honours. And so they did, bringing the scottish fare along. Tonya and I did lend a hand with the cooking, everything except the soup. They made something I call cockamamie soup (was vile and I have no idea what was in it), they made oat cakes they served with cheddar cheese and the strongest Scotch I've ever tasted. The main was Haggis with a veggie gravy and tatties and neeps. For dessert there was shortbread and drunken crumble, something made with that strong Scotch they served with the oat cakes, AND they even hung a Scottish flag outside me door. Just to show you, here's the haggis ready to be opened and dished out. That's the tatties and neeps behind it and that vile scotch the dregs of which can be seen in the special little Scottish glasses they had for the occasion. Oh and please notice the Luckenbooth china from SCOTLAND they also brought that.
Yesss. So without any further adieu, to cunning of Irishmen everywhere -- long live our secret desire to out drink the Scottish!
