What a Grey Day

Battleship grey was the order of the day again.  But, after I allowed you a break yesterday, it’s back to prolix mode.

I have received a request from a New Byth Blipper concerning harvest time.  Debate has raged since a certain Blip from October past.  After consultation with the Creel HQ Cultural Committee the advice is as follows:

‘Michty me, div yon fowk at Blip HQ nae ken the difference atween a stook an’ a ruck?  The Blipphotie o’ Cluny Fairm - an’ aneth this photie the caption read ‘Note the stooks’.  Noo – let me tell you – thon’s nae stooks, thons rucks.  Fin the binder’s cuttin’ the corn, the shaves come skitin’ oot aa tied up wi’ tow, ye set them up fower again’ fower tae dry an’ that’s a stook.  Noo fin they’re aa dry an’ birselt up they’re caad hame tae the corn yard an’ biggit up like a cone an’ that’s rucks – got it?  Onywye it’s rucks ‘ats in the picter.  Mair po’oer tae yer elba.

Time for a licorice torpedo.

I hope you all have a pleasant nicht.

Robbie Shepherd is 84.