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Rannoch
Banter
by Rhona 7th September 2005 following the Kylie
Barbie 27th Aug at Kyliesville, Ayr
As summer days
were leaving fast,
The invitation came at last;
While Al sat boozing at the Lismore,
Getting fou and wanting more,
We thought na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slappers, and piles,
That lie between us and Auld Ayr,
And those Kylies waiting there ,
Strumming their banjos and sooking hay
Hoping for a sunny day
This day fand honest Rannoch members,
As they to frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For chicken legs and empty glasses).
O Rannoch had thou but been sae wise,
And gone on the hill as were advised
Ye widnae have that awfy head,
Sae bad you wished that you were deid;
Cos frae November tae October,
All those days you were nae sober;
That every pairty you went to,
You drank and drank until fou;
That every match a goal was scored
You’d drink an’ drink then hit the floor;
That at the Lord's pub, even on Sundav,
Thou drank wi all your friends till Monday.
We prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found, beneath the moon,
In the gutter or the by the road
Heaving up that awfy load.
But to our tale:- Ae Saturday-night,
They’d planned the BBQ just right,
There was the burner, bleezing finely,
Wi pools o’ beer, we drank divinely;
And chicken legs wi burgers toasting,
We stood around an’ got right roastin:
The beer was cooled in paddling pools;
An’ sold back to drunken fools.
The kids were quick & pulled a blinder;
The profits paid for their child-minder:
The landlady and her man were gracious,
Wi food and drink so very precious:
The party games were in full flight;
The surfers were a crazy sight:
The tide was out the beach wis dark,
That didnae stop them wi’ that lark.
But pleasures are like poppies spread:
The next day dawned tae a’ in bed;
Snooring like such drunken bums,
Their heids thumping like bongo drums;
An operation? take your pick,
The kids were up an’ up tae tricks;
I blame the mither sleepin fast
Breathing fumes and getting up last.
Nae man can tether time or tide,
The hour approached that we must ride:
That hour o’ morn when a’ seems bad,
The worst day you’ve ever had
Till Calum brought the tray of tea in:
Wi buttered rolls and legs o’ bacon,
To Ayr to see the city sites,
We set forth for a’ delights,
The beach – a cauld an’ barren place,
The wind was chipping at oor face;
Whilst holding fast tae a’ oor pair bairns,
Those Ayrshire folk just wernae carin’,
Whiles passin ‘neath a ruined keep,
We pondered on the cliffs sae steep:
But tae the centre we maun go,
Tae see whit real Ayr had tae show.
And so to find
that all was as stated
Those Ayrshire folk are so out-dated;
We saw a furrow ploughed wi’ skill,
The horses, drivers did so well;
All was not lost I must admit,
A tractor was the modern bit;
And near the gate the corn was threshing,
Wi pitch forks ready, for what I’m guessing
The high street offered mair for us;
We sampled truly rural stuff;
Some soap wi bits of leafs and berries,
And piles of taiblet an’ puns of cherries:
But in the back streets working hard
Was Gordon’s auld Auntie Marge,
Thro it all were wellies green,
A modern town so clearly seen.
So thanks to both our finest hosts:
For oor wee trip doon tae the coast,
For food sae lavish and sae tasty,
and drink tae drop – it wasnae wasted.
For showing us the sights o’ Ayr.
And all that goes on way doon there;
It’s as we thought this country toon,
I’m glad you didnae let us doon
Your banjo songs an’ dungeon rooms
an’ harvest day down in the toon
Now, wha this tale o truth shall read,
You Rannoch members just take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or trips tae Ayr come tae your mind,
Think! You may loose your mind:
When leaving modern times behind.
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