Hae'n a News

All boats ran today but, as I read my Ladybird Book of Cliodynamics, I notice they may not run for the next two days.  During preparations for a recipe that I am about to launch on CMC I realised (as reported by CMC) how efficient the new garlic press performs.   I didn’t even realise we had a new cheese grater.  Apparently, he will be working four days out of seven.  I am now ironing the Current Mrs Creel’s ‘Say no to Secularity’ t shirt.
 
I am just home from Stromness where I picked up CMC after her stint at the Cat Charity shop.  I had lost my teeth.  She found them on the worktop, after I had walked past them several times.  She reminded me that only a few weeks ago she found them outside the Sheeps’ Hoose.  On the strength of our peedie chatette she encouraged me to relate the following.  You have been warned. 
 
About 48 years ago a lady who my folk knew asked me if I could bag, and transport, her peats.  The buddy that had cut them had no transport.  I refused because she said she would pay me.  Because I rented a croft house in Rackwick at the time, and was an exceedingly chaste bachelor,  a deal was made whereby she would make me a hearty meal.  Just two weeks prior I had broken my teeth.  Before the days of ro-ro etc getting to a dental clinic wasn’t too easy.  In a fit of pragmatism I fixed my teeth with Bostick.  The only time I wore them was in public.  So, as I transported the bags o’ peat back and forth (CBS 561L), the tea was prepared.  At tea time I ate everything she put in front of me.  Just before a pot of tea  arrived on the table a huge homemade Dundee cake was presented.  Obviously covered in almonds.  Because my tooth repairs hadn’t been totally integral I didn’t want to break them again.  So, being a master of discretion, I pretended to sneeze and whipped out my teeth into my hanky undetected.  The tea was poured, the cake was cut.  Midway through the cake I realised I really had to sneeze.  As I took out my hanky my teeth shot out under the table.  My host never noticed them.  However in about one thousandth of a second they were inside the mouth of her huge Labrador slobbering under the table.  As I recovered, I noticed the dog’s mooth, as wide a open as possible and slavering even more with my teeth precisely sitting on its tongue.  I reached with my hand to retrieve the teeth (a few times) but every time the dog growled like merry hell.  My host kept telling the dog to be quiet and couldn’t understand why it was so restive.  What to do?  Obviously to tell the truth.  Me:  ‘Mrs Simpson, potentially you’ll no believe this, but my teeth are in your dog’s mooth’.  Mrs Simpson:  ‘Yes, yes, Iain – that’ll be right’.  Me: ‘ No. no. they really are’.  She had to restrain the dog and retrieve the teeth.  Se gave them a sweeeel before handing them back to me.
 
The Current Mrs Creel’s helpline is now open.