The Black Grouse
Copyright 2014 Dave Lassut
EPUB ISBN: 978-1-910103-52-4
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-910103-53-1
GONW
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The Guild protects writers who say what they think.
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THE UNBELIEVABLE STORY OF THE BLACK GROUSE
An Anglo Scottish Fantasy containing more truth than a Politician’s purpose. Told by Jimmy McDongle and recounted by Frankie Lassut.
To the memory of Rabbie Burns, who did a lot for the Scottish economy through the appreciation of the ‘golden necar’.
No, this isn’t a grouse, black or otherwise, don’t you know a buzzard when you see one?
The legend of the mysterious, still (very much) ‘living’ Black Grouse will be told by Jimmy McDongle, in the comfort of the ... a ‘secret’ pub location in Coventry. This wee fantasy is written in a Scottish accent by an Englishman who is half Polish ... it has nay been spellchecked because those involved haven’t got the years needed to fex the unfexable. Et reads ok if ye have a drenk ferst. Jimmy McDongle: (can’t be arsed with speech marks most of the time).
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I cannae possibly give out the true identity of the Black Grouse, but I can give you the correct pronunciation of his name, aye, his ‘second’ name to be exact. His second name, only used when he was in character was Grouse. Black is pronounced black, so there’s no problem there, but grouse, when you’re in the wilds of Bonnie Scotland, pronounced ScoUtland, if you are native to these fair, untamed romantic acres, is pronounced Grouuuuuuuuuse. Aye, d’ye get that? Grouuuuuuuse.
The Black Grouuuuuse (the number of u’s may vary).You would think that the Black Grouuuuuuuuse es Scottish, but nooo, he’s from that wee place full of Sassernachs the other side of Hadrian’s Wall, them lot who thinks they’re better than us. Those who would like to think they govern us! They do, but only because we LET them.
Aye. Well ok, we could govern ourselves, but, we would have to be a nation of peple who actually wanted to be looked after by our own government, but we don’t! Why not I hear ye ask? Well, I’ll tell ye! Och, I’m gettin a weee bit dry in the thorax here.
“Someone get Jemmy a drenk!”
“Here ye go Jemmy.”
Och! That’s better. Where was I? Oh yessss. Ye see, Scottish cheldren are independent enough to look after themselves in any situation, because of something called ScoUttish Parenting. Started by people like Frankie Boyle ...
“Ets ‘Jammy Boyle’ Jammy!”
“Och! Ahm sorry. Aye, wee Jemmy Boyle from the Gorballs ... well balanced a lad, because he had parents brought ep on cows melk, which became rife in our windswept lands. Let me tell you the tale of REAL ScoUttish cows melk. Och, my thorax is feeling rather dry ...
“Someone get Jemmy a drenk!”
“Here ye gooo Jemmey. Plenty more where that came from pal.”
“Cheers! Och! That’s better! Well. ScoUttish mothers, not to be confused with Scottish Widows ensurance company ... have always been maternally keen to see their wee boys and gerls become independent and free from any danger posed by other people regardless of their origins. But, och BUT! The natural meternal enstencts of the ScoUttish mother is to feed and care for their cheldren. But, Och! Glasgees Molly Macardie one day said ...“Och! Aren’t we doing our cheldren a disfavour by molycoddling them? Shouldn’t we be teaching them endependence?! But, as we are so loving, how do we become even MORE loving?! Well c’mon, I’m asking ye all aren’t I?!”
Therefore, Scottish mothers, because they are so beautifully souled they carn’t help bet look after their children to the helt of the claymore, they have to take measures el drastico i e. they have tae make themselves unavailable to the keddies, like an experienced pilot has tae make hemself unavailable to the trainee in order that the trainee can not only fly the plane unaided, bet also lane et. Scottish mothers therefore partake of the golden amber nectar which in etself is the very essence of ScoUtland in a bottle ... they drenk whesky! They purpousefully drenk whesky until they render themselves unavailable ... hey gosh, my wee thorax es getting a weee weeee bet dry. Og golly goush, ah cannae talk wolud ye ken ...
“Someone get Jemmy a drenk!”
“Here ye are Jemmy! Keep that thorax oiled laddie.”
“Och, thank ee very metch! Och aye. So, the caring ScoUttish methers are unavailable tae get the cheldren up fer school, so, the cheldren get themselves ep, make theor ain brekkies of Scouttish Porredge Oats! What we are ale proooood ef! Proooooood de ye hear meh?! Eh?! Anyone went tae argeee weth that then? Heee?!” C’muuuun?! I’ll punch ye fuggen leeeghts oot!”
“NO one wents to feight Jemmeh, carry on wethe the stery. When yae genne tell us abert the Black GroUse?”
“Och sorrae! Soon, soon. Well, the keds learn tae look afte themselves (grouse provides more trees so cheldren have more oxygen).because of ScoUttesh methers. They can make porredge, hagges, neeps, mince een tatties, cabbedge, and other stuff vital to health and bodily survival ye see. And our cheldren can can wash the oven, hoover, clean the loo, etcetera. Now, now ... let me jest tell ye thes. Cheldren in England cetees thenk that cow meat comes from a plastic packet in a suerstore ...”
“Ach! Ye ked us Jemme!”
“Och nea! Ah deeeent! Fa fackeeen argen?! Eh?! I’ll knock the heeeeead off thee ye traineee Jock ye!”
He belches.
“Aye. There’s nothing like seeing the whesky float come over the top of the glen ferst theng in the morneng. The sun will be rising in all of ets glory, batheng the good land of our Bonnie isle in its Devine light, and then, as et shines through the melk float, that light will be let in the golden colour of oor own amber nectar, the milk of the highland mother, for the highland mothers and fathers. The good people of Glasgee will wake early en anticipation, and when the whesky floats call jest after dawn, they, the great mothers and fathers of Scotland will partake of the milk and pass into the land of necatar unconsciousness again. Thes well allow the kids tae look after themselves. The keds well then gae tae school, and the cultured teachers will teach them thengs about Rabbie Burns! Aye! Raise your glasses tae Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Bonnie Scotland! Aye! And I’ll fight any sassernach who desagrees! And then they come heame again. In the erarly evening, lettle Jamma will say to hes sister Morag ... “Oooooch Morag! Daddy well be round soon for some sweet, whisky melk flavoured kesses with mother, and then he well give us a good beating to prepare us for the advent that the English may invade again.”
But, that was a little of the glorious ways and hestory of our fair fair isle ... now, the story of the Black Grouse! Thes may make me weep, because the Grouse es English, noo Scottesh! How could God play such an awful treck on hes very own people?! Bet never mind, never mind, all et means es that God can never be granted citizenship of our gracious land, never be envited to take a ferst grouse on the glorious twelfth on a fine moor, and never ever be envited on a free tour of the Famous Grouse destellery ... an honour usually reserved for the English! Of course, we daen’t mind if they buy a crate or two. Ef God should ever turn up weth iffefutible proof of Nessie, we will accuse hem of lies!
One fine day, an ordinary Englishman was walking throught the woodland of Glencoe. He was a good man, and responsible enough weth good values, coming from Coventry, to peck up the empty descarded whesky bottles dropped by Scotesh mothers out for an anti-depression walk on their motorised push bikes, and throw them in the many recycling skeps which were painted like rocks to look natural amongst the trees. There were that many bottles on the floor, th
e man had to hop and skip, whech is how he accidentally learnt tthe steps for highland dancing, which he would eventually master, to, ‘as so many Scottish men have done’ ... show off the muscular mastery in hes legs, which allow the Scottesh to run from the Englesh like graceful hunted stags.