The Claymore Legacy

[ParaHandy]

Re: The Ship\'s Log as a work of fiction

the Laird was indeed in a fine state. How was he to convey himsel'? He felt in his pocket for the invitation. His fingers traced the raised heraldic rune of the three golden "C"s interwined with each other; all laid over an idyllic scene of a yottie at Rothesay reading a log with rapt attention, as if far away, whilst a naked Mandy dressed only in a silken green spinnaker looked on. "Ma boat. that's the answer" and he leapt to his feet giving a high five to his literary agent, the Twister-Ken, who unfortunately being so short felt only the sharp end of the dagenham girls pipe band chanter in his ear. There was loud harrumphing from the Laird's other helpers. "Yer boats nae here" ....

 

[Aja]

Stop!

[ QUOTE ]
whilst a naked Mandy dressed only in a silken green spinnaker looked on.

[/ QUOTE ]

That's it! I will not be able to look the adorable Mandy in the eye ever again ...

 

[ParaHandy]

Re: Stop!

.... the sudden shout of "stop!" had the Laird and his followers diving under the table for cover. The Laird shrugged off Wee Jimi who'd done a reasonable impression of gollum and jumped on the Laird's back and said "Whit the hivvens wus thon?". The Laird pulled the Dagenham Girls Pipe Band chanter out of his literary agent's airse and absent mindedly rubbed again Mandy's silk clad body on the invitation in his pocket. There was a loud bang and a huge puff of smoke came from the Laird's pocket. "Thon's whur a left ma dout, yer Lairdship" said Para. "Dinnae be daft, thur's magic gang oan here" muttered the Laird and as the smoke cleared, a can of Tennant's lager appeared ....

 

[Sgeir]

Re: Stop!

"Here's today's post, Yer Omniscience", said Para. He deliberately separated one from the pile and lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and continued, "I see ye've got a speshul wan fae ra Lord Chancellor's Office." He sniffed it again, leered, "Oh, hang oan. Noo, whit huv we got here. This yin's perfumed....."

Lord Claymore snatched it from the faithless family retainer. "Keep yer bloody drippy nose away from my correspondence."

"Ooh, 'my correspondence', is it? Ye daft auld goat, you'll get yersel' locked up some day." He slammed the study door behind him.

"Damn his breeks", cursed Claymore. "This is truly intolerable". Taking his Oldenburg & van Bruggen ship's knife, he paused before gently inserting in into the tight slit of the gummed envelope. Taking care to avoid Para Handy's post-nasal discharge, he sniffed the envelope. "Ah, lavender water, and errmm, Para's Auld Holborn."

His pulse raced, and in a frantic fevered furore, tore the card from the envelope. His heart beating wildly, he read

<ul type="square">

Court & Social

November 28, 2007

Court circular


BUCKINGHAM PALACE

Wednesday, 28th November 2007
The Princess Royal Patron, the Butler Trust, will visit Her Majesty's Prison Edinburgh, Saughton, Edinburgh.
The Princess Royal Patron, Opportunity International United Kingdom, will hold a Dinner at Palace of Holyroodhouse.

Thursday, 29th November 2007
The Princess Royal Patron, Royal Wanstead Children's Foundation, attend a Launch of the Report into the Welfare Role of Boarding Schools at Grocers' Hall, Princes Street, London EC2R.

Saturday & Sunday, 1st and 2nd December
.... keep these days free - there's something I want to do.....

Monday, 3rd December 2007
The Princess Royal will visit the 'Science in the Dock' Exhibition at Glasgow Science Centre, 50 Pacific Quay, Glasgow. [/list]

 

[ParaHandy]

Re: Stop!

The door to his Lairdship's study creaked on its hinges as his faithful manservant entered with a pot of green tea. "Harrumph .. yer lairdship". "Hoo mony times dae ah haf tae tell you that ah only sup Earl Grey?" "Get it yersel next time youse miserable auld git .. "

Para peered over his Lairdship's shoulder "there's a message written oan ra ither side".

His Lairdship turned the card over and started to read the message which had been handwritten by HRH. "Its private so stap youse keeking"

What could HRH want of his Lairdship .... would he rub Mandy again?

 

[claymore]

Ye bunch o bastardios

Es naethin sacred aroon here?
Jings - ah faithfully pen a few lines tae record ma summer cruise - ah happend tae win a wee trophy and whit dae ah hear? Ye agein bunch ae daft loony ranters. Para es definitely deed noo as ah weel ken whit has been happenin here.
An jes leave ma Mandy oot ae this - she's aff limits tae youse all - sae think on er it'll be ma wee straight left that ye'll be experiencin'

 

[ParaHandy]

Re: Ye bunch o bastardios

His Lairdship's paw picked up the Tennant's lager can which had mysteriously appeared. One of his followers cautioned his Lairdship "ah wus knee high tae a midge when last they brewed yon". His Highness scoffed whilst wrecking the pull-off and pierced the end on the Dagenham Girl's Pipe Band Chanter.

Thus comfortable, his Lordship proceeded to read Annie's message. "Aw jings, whit is she saying aboot me licking her body in my email. Ah nivver sent yin tae her".

There was a loud harrumph. His faithful manservant "ah'm nae sae certain, yer Lordship. yon new ibox thing youse wus fiddling away with and which hud orra stuff oan it which got youse awfy confused, remember?"

"Whit are youse saying my most faithful manservant?" said his Lairdship in his most unctuous manner. "My man Muzzy telt me hoo tae switch it oan and dae things wi it."

"Wull, ah telt ye nae tae fiddle wi orra yon stuff and ah think the message youse sent tae Mandy micht hae nae got there? Youse might hae sent it tae wee Annie?"

"Jings, help ma bob. Ahm done for noo ... whit am ah tae do?"

 

[Twister_Ken]

Re: Ye bunch o bastardios

His lairdship picked up the ibox thingie, dialled up the interwebsuperhighway through Mrs McFacckerty in the Glenfallopian telephone exchange, and began enquiring about the price of salivary gland implants and tongue extensions.

 

[claymore]

Re: Ye bunch o bastardios

McMuzzy - the self styled and newly appointed Keeper of His Lairdships Blackberry sniggered quietly in his cozy wee eerie in the North East Corner of Claymore Towers.
By re-configuring all the names held within as aliases - (The Muz was never quite sure whether this ought to be aliaiiii) and meta-tagging them to others nested within the database - the confusion he was causing his Lairdship was immense - and the ability to unscramble and therefore extricate the Laird from the sticky situations in which, increasingly he was finding himself - was lifting the stature of the Muz to stratospheric proportions in the eyes of the auld miser. Stature was something that had long bothered the Muz - being the probable product of a shallow overnight relationship in a bus shelter in Dock Street Fleetwood between Ivy Musgrabbim and a trawlerman from Strangford - Ivy was never sure it wasn't the Deckie from Maryport - but "yer Dad was a trawlerman" always seemed to Ivy to have a slightly better ring to it than a Deckie from Maryport so the young Muz grew up in that belief. Unfortunately neither of his possible Sires were blessed with much in the way of inside leg length and so it was that the Muz had had to live his whole adult life within close proximity of a tailor - even Marks and Spencers finest Blue Harbour 34 waist 29 inside leg needed a 4 inch reduction and an elasticated gusset.
Returning to the cosy eerie - Muzzy sniggered again as he now saw the demise of that light fingered, runny nosed, fartyarsed auld foreskin Para Handy and himself taking up the role of "Retainer" with its incumbent opportunities for a bit of pocket lining at the expense of his less than generous employer - the Noble Laird. Having said that - he felt a growing affection for the bold Claymore and hoped this did not get in the way of future plans to become the sole beneficiary of his Lairdships will.
Having tightened upo the security on the vaults and being the only person with the security code he was finding that he'd created ample oportunity to go through his lairdship's last will and testament. The houses and land were at present bequeathed to that ne'er do well nephew Jimi - something would have to be done about that and fairly quickly considering the lairds failing health.....

 

[ParaHandy]

Re: Ye bunch o bastardios

his ex-most faithful manservant had become the official wine-taster for the Laird now that he was famous; he feared for his life from heavies employed by Bills & Moon who's causus bellum was laudanum.

the laird's household, who were summoned to greet his Ominipresence upon his return from Glasgow with the cup, saw the Laird's corset appear with a band of swarthy bengali's from the Cowcaddens brandishing gleaming scimitars and teeth protecting the litter carried by several sepoys.

"Yer majesty, whur dae youse want the cup put?" asked the senior swarthy.

The Laird swept the mantlepiece clean and pointed. "Here, my good man, and here's twa bob fer yer trouble"". The swarthy's scimitar swished through the air but his faithful nan servant interposed himself; "ouch" he exclaimed. In extremis, his faithful manservant muttered ".. and if youse think ahm cleaning that ivery week, ye can get stuffed, youse auld goat .. "

The phone rang and LongJohn his literary agent answered it. After listening to the caller, LJS spoke to the Laird "thon's publisher efter a sequel ... "

 

[claymore]

Re: Ye bunch o bastardios

In the gathering dusk, the Laird sat in his favourite chair, wearing his faded velvet smoking jacket, favourite glass of favourite whisky in hand and regarded the magnificent trophy now adorning the mantlepiece of his study.
Life had often been kind to his nobleness he pondered as his auld eyes gently closed and his breathing grew heavier. No stranger tae incontinence he woke with a "fuckandbuggerit" as the freshly tipped contents of the glass soaked through his ageing tweeds.

 

[jimi]

Consti patio

Surveying his sodden aged tweeds an idea passed through his motionless frame. "Time to produce another log" he muttered tae himsell . A few minutes later beads of sweat speckled the domed heid as his ravaged features contorted whulst he heaved and puffed with no effect except to induce a small rivulet of sweat to trickle bown his left temple. The Laird paused from his exertions with a sudden thought passing (that wiz the only thing that passed that day) through his mind ... "F#cking writer's block!!!!"

 

[ParaHandy]

Re: Consti patio

"ah jings ... anither day's gone by .. ra cup's needing a clean ... "

His Highness heaved himsel up and grasped what he thought was his quill and tried to dunk it in the ink. The Dagenham Girls Pipe Band Chanter which was still attached to his severed willie wouldn't budge. With a shuddering of his aged frame, the great literary giant of the clyde fell back into his armchair.

The Laird reminisced of the day on Rothesay beach, dressed as a coquettish maid in a grass skirt, and bemoaned the loss of his youthful looks ravaged by the booze and the hours of scribbling. he muttered "if ah cud git yon Muzzy, ma faithful manservant, tae ghost write ma next log ....

 

[Sgeir]

Re: Consti patio

Outside, the growl of the wind rose to a howl. White horses raced through the anchorage, galloping up the shore and over the hill at the back. "I'll need to get that bloody crew tae anchor in deeper water next time", thought Lord Claymore gloomily.

The crashing of the waves brought it all home. "How can I possibly cope with the sheer Nietzschean exegesis of the drama, not to speak of the conflicts of this situation," he wondered aloud.

"Ach, ye're startin' tae slever again, ye daft auld bampot", said Para Haunless, his faithless servant and éminence grise. "Why don't ye jist get oan wi ra bluidy writin', and start peyin' yer wey agin."

Lord Claymore sat at his chart desk and pondered. It really was true. It had only been three weeks since he'd collected his Tennent's Extra Strong Lager Award for New Fiction at the Cuan's Cash and Carry annual ball. And yet, here he was, stiffened, as it were, by writer's block.

"I suppose ye'll be wantin' yon Rev MacHurley tae pray fur ye agin. Fat loat o' guid that'll dae ye", his manservant sneered.

The vessel lurched in the foamy sea, chain could be be heard dragging across the sandy bottom of Loch na Cac Mòr. "Enough, enough, I can't take any more", cried Lord Cacmore, Claymore's lifelong friend from prep school. "We need to do something! We must unfetter ourselves to free your creative genius once more!"

The howling in the rigging intensified as the vessel's anemometer registered 97 knots. "Thank the Lord for small mercies. At least we've got wur CQR weel dug in", chipped in Jimi, the elfin faced seafaring wee bauchle fae Cumnock. “Better than thae daft lookin’ things.”

The words froze as they left his lips. The Eberspächer had been playing up again. The good ship Claymore lurched as every spar and piece of rigging began to sing their crazy incantation. An eerie choir was shrieking in the shrouds.

“Oh no! Wuv hud it noo – that’s thae banshees singing in wur rigging” moaned Para Handy. “Wur doomed, nae kiddin, right up, wuv hud it noo”.

“Hold on!” cried Long John Sadler. “Hark’ee at that. That’s real bootiful music to moi ould ears. Listen, they’re singing………”

Sotto voce, to begin with, but with gathering intensity…..




<ul type="square"> yippie yi ohhhhh
yippie yi yaaaaay





Yippie yi Ohhhhh
Yippie yi Yaaaaay






YIPPIE YI OHHHHH!!!
YIPPIE YI YAAAAAY!!!






YIPPIE YI OHHHHH!!!
YIPPIE YI YAAAAAY!!!






YIPPIE YI OHHHHH!!!
YIPPIE YI YAAAAAY!!! [/list]





“Praise the Lord,” cried Long John, falling to his knees. “We’re saved! We’re saved!”






“Aye,” coughed Para, his voice choked with emotion, his rheumy old eyes awash with yellow mucus. “Jings aye, we’re saved right enough.






"It’s thae Ghostwriters fae Skye come tae save us.”

 

[claymore]

Re: Consti patio

Away in the aformentioned eyrie the Little Musgrave was watching his cctv screen - the auld laird appeared a little agitated and switching up the sound on the concealed microphone stitched into the leather armrest of the Waring and Gillow the Muz was able to pick up the general source of his Lairdships sorrow grief and woe.
Writers block indeed - googling "Crusing Logs" a host of results came up - Bluemoment. com seemed to be offering at least 74 solutions to his lairdships problem.
Skipping nimbly down the back stairs the Muz entered his lairdships study - "Good Afternoon Sire" he murmured humbly - "do I find you sound of Wind and Limb this day?"
"Aye indeed ye dae" replied the noble laird" Sound in all but ma blasted fingers - they will nae pen a word fer me"
"What do you wish to pen Sire?" asked the Muz, respectfully as usual
"Anither fecking log ye daft wee begger, whitrafeckdaeyethinkah'mtrying taepen?" roared the auld goat as bad tempered as usual - the Muz blinked at the ferocity of the retort but resisting all temptation tae deck the auld sod - he smiled benignly and offered his lairship a jammie dodger - "Would it help the Noble Lord if I were to offer assistance in the form of a modicum of reportage that I unearthed recently?"
Lord Claymore as usual was lost for words - mostly because he never really understood what his ever-helpful employee was saying and thus, making a mental note to look in the Oxford Dictionary for a hint concerning the likely meaning of Modicum - which sounded awfully like one of the powders that he regularly caught that ageing wretch Para taking he nodded in a slightly bemused manner and intoned the fatal words
"Whit did ye have in mind....."

 

[Twister_Ken]

Re: Consti patio

The laird repaired to his McAmstrad 8256 computer and fired up the interwebsuperhighwaynet. He googled Modicum. It seemed to be a pharmeusuitickle, farmaceutical, buggerit, medecine that was the less expensive version of Supercum. His thoughts turned, unnaturally, to wee Annie's lithe, saddle-firmed figure.

"Parahandy," he shouted, "get yer sorry airse in here an' bring me ma baggy breeks and a tub o' axle grease. I'll be taking a wee trip doon ra village."

 

[jimi]

Re: Consti patio

The little man beamed expansively before going mental!

 

[claymore]

Re: Consti patio

The Ageing Laird watched his wee nephew's video - and aged mair. "Whitrafeck...." he mumbled incomprehensibly.

 

[jimi]

Re: Consti patio

The Laird woke up to a new dawn, Cripes he thought, is today yesterday's tomorrow already. He wobbled uneasily across the carpet in the way a bowl on a crown green moves before coming to a halt. He stopped and thought .. bowl .. bowel ... the lairds mind worked in curious ways .. a bit like his nether regions these days . is it really time to come out he aked himself? Seeking advice he yelled "Paraaaaaaaaaaaah" ..

 

[ParaHandy]

Burns night ...

jings, whit does the auld goat want the noo', thought his faithful manservant brushing morsels of haggis and neap from his garments. "the man wid try a saint". But his feeling of well being wasn't to be diminished by the burden of his years of servitude to the laird.

"yusss, yer lairdship, fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Hoo can i be of servish tae youse. Am ah' tae unnerstaund that youse want tae be stepping oot thush fine day?"

"Aye. but ah need a leak furst"

Para flung the vegetable at him and the laird blanched in horror as he was reminded of the severity of the damage to his parts by the welsh regimental mascot's teeth and he did a memorable pee-broch through the dagenham girls pipemajor's chanter.

"verra tuneful, if ah may say so, yer omni-parsnip. yer conveyance is ready and whur wid ye be wanting tae gang to?"

"ahm aff tae ra burns nicht orra CCC whur ah've tae dae ra address tae ma women, the blessed Mandy, in ma capacity as ra official raycontoor"

"Hmm .. yer lairdship. yer in yer tux agin, ah see" Para deftly directed a flame thrower at the cloud of moths circling overhead. "ah ken youse only huv ra hots for her but micht ah jist menshun that the address should'nae jist be directed at her'sel"