In which I enter a competition

So I saw this Gibson Wallace bloke, inna kilt, near where he came from in the Highlands, eating a deep fried Mars bar, an Irn Bru turkish delight in the other hand ready for later, preparin\’ to toss a caber. Tam o\’shanter securely buckled, sporran pulled forward onto forehead, claymore reined and saddled beside him and skean dubh pumped up and already making that dreadful droning. Oats and porridge make an appearance along with the road to London.

We\’ve got to rebuild Hadrian\’s Wall, haven\’t we?

Do I win?

7 thoughts on “In which I enter a competition”

  1. The Pedant-General

    I had a “tempura” Mars Bar at the Ebury Wine Bar in Belgravia a few years back. Took a few years of my life that did.

  2. You missed out the bit about him tugging his forlock to the English ‘laird’ who has bought the grouse moor.

  3. You appear to be missing a reference to Haggis.

    “But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
    The trembling earth resounds his tread.
    Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
    He’ll mak it whissle;
    An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
    Like taps o’ thrissle.”

    Can they leave yet?

    {mutter, mutter, “arc of prosperity my bloody trossachs”, mutter, mutter}

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