It's been a while since I had inspiration to write anything, but as usual in my life something comes along which nudges the old braincell into gear.
This time it was the result of a shopping trip with my son and daughter. We went to a shop called Jula which sells everything from mopeds to clothes pegs. A bit like the old country stores, but on a larger scale, and with a wider inventory.
Whilst there I remembered that the wife had been nagging me that I needed more socks. You see, in my job , with bits of hot metal flying about, holes appear in every part of clothing. Even in sensitive areas, but that's a thought for the future which I don't dare venture near.
Anyway, back to the socks.... I just don't do laundry. I open the drawer, take out a pair of socks, and that is the end of my involvement with my sock drawer. So if she said I needed socks, who was I to argue.
I hadn't really thought about this very much until I walked into the toilet tonight to have a shower, clutching in my hand a brand new pair of socks. Here's the thoughts which rattled through my old grey matter whilst I enjoyed my shower:
Socks
Da wife hed sharged fir twartree monts dat socks I wis needin,
dat whit I hed wir wearin oot, bit I gae her little heedin.
Dan just last ook I cam atil a shop dat selt sic sam,
an mindin whit shö'd telt tae me I set upö a plan.
I tocht dat I'd be clever, fir her I laek ta plaes,
an buy mesell a lok o socks ta cover up me taes.
An jöst ta mak tings better I bocht mony pairs da sam,
so matchin is nae budder, even tae a man.
So wins I haem an tries ta pit da socks atil da drawer
bit da drawer is stappit tae da lugs, an damn near brimmin ower.
Dis med me staand an winder if da wife wis lost her wit,
Tellin me ta buy socks whan dir mair plentifil dan sh*t.
Bit, "na" shö says, "A'm no doitin, I ken du haes a lok",
bit skoit a peerie scaur harder an du'll jöst fin single socks.
So fae her winderfil biddin, I took da drawer upö da fluir,
wailed an sorted aa I fan, an tallied up da score.
Ower twinty pair o wirsit socks, an dey wir aa i grey,
fifteen pairs dat a'll no wear fir dey lookit brawly gay.
An dan da silly Simpson's socks dat I canna bal awey,
da bairns gae dem ta me, a'll keep dem tae me deein day.
Aa an aa atil dat drawer I fan fifty fower hael pair,
so noo I hae a tocht dat I wid laek ta shaer.
Whin neest dy wife tells dee dat dy sock drawer's wearin low
Tak him oot, wail him trow, dan tell her whaur ta go.
Yun's aa
Auld Rasmie.
This time it was the result of a shopping trip with my son and daughter. We went to a shop called Jula which sells everything from mopeds to clothes pegs. A bit like the old country stores, but on a larger scale, and with a wider inventory.
Whilst there I remembered that the wife had been nagging me that I needed more socks. You see, in my job , with bits of hot metal flying about, holes appear in every part of clothing. Even in sensitive areas, but that's a thought for the future which I don't dare venture near.
Anyway, back to the socks.... I just don't do laundry. I open the drawer, take out a pair of socks, and that is the end of my involvement with my sock drawer. So if she said I needed socks, who was I to argue.
I hadn't really thought about this very much until I walked into the toilet tonight to have a shower, clutching in my hand a brand new pair of socks. Here's the thoughts which rattled through my old grey matter whilst I enjoyed my shower:
Socks
Da wife hed sharged fir twartree monts dat socks I wis needin,
dat whit I hed wir wearin oot, bit I gae her little heedin.
Dan just last ook I cam atil a shop dat selt sic sam,
an mindin whit shö'd telt tae me I set upö a plan.
I tocht dat I'd be clever, fir her I laek ta plaes,
an buy mesell a lok o socks ta cover up me taes.
An jöst ta mak tings better I bocht mony pairs da sam,
so matchin is nae budder, even tae a man.
So wins I haem an tries ta pit da socks atil da drawer
bit da drawer is stappit tae da lugs, an damn near brimmin ower.
Dis med me staand an winder if da wife wis lost her wit,
Tellin me ta buy socks whan dir mair plentifil dan sh*t.
Bit, "na" shö says, "A'm no doitin, I ken du haes a lok",
bit skoit a peerie scaur harder an du'll jöst fin single socks.
So fae her winderfil biddin, I took da drawer upö da fluir,
wailed an sorted aa I fan, an tallied up da score.
Ower twinty pair o wirsit socks, an dey wir aa i grey,
fifteen pairs dat a'll no wear fir dey lookit brawly gay.
An dan da silly Simpson's socks dat I canna bal awey,
da bairns gae dem ta me, a'll keep dem tae me deein day.
Aa an aa atil dat drawer I fan fifty fower hael pair,
so noo I hae a tocht dat I wid laek ta shaer.
Whin neest dy wife tells dee dat dy sock drawer's wearin low
Tak him oot, wail him trow, dan tell her whaur ta go.
Yun's aa
Auld Rasmie.
