Weekly Agony Uncle Column
Hello blossoms and a happy Hogmanay to one and all Its me,
Your local Agony Uncle: Jolly John Bull, here to share your troubles and offer some words of advice once again at this festive season. I was sent a jolly Christmas carol to sing by the fire and have thoroughly enjoyed singing it alongside Mrs John Bull on the clavichord and my nine fine young John Bull’s all awaiting the arrival of Father Christmas. Good will to all men:
We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas, And a gibbet heavy with Jacobites!
Post bag is full so, lets dive in…
Glasgow Returned to the Crown
Dear Jolly John
What rejoicing there is in the fine City of Glasgow now that the forces of Good King George have marched back unopposed into the City. After General Cope had evacuated the City in an act of enlightened community policing, the drunken horde of the Capering Italian Clown debauched within the District. All good folk locked themselves away and hid the children and their strong liquor…if challenged the kids could be allowed out, but the liquor stayed under lock and key.
We knew that the plaid mob could not provide any beneficial civic amenities or discipline and sure enough, day by day the lure of the sheep drew them back to the hillsides. Within a month there was not a soul left in the City of a Jacobite persuasion. The good citizens could set foot back once again in the streets, and recover their children. Such joy the fine day that General Wade marched in unopposed. We have law and order and peace once more, and all in time for Yuletide celebrations.
Lets raise a glass to good King George!
Yours Angus McSpry
Dear Angus
Such an emotional tale for us all. We wept with you and we laugh in joy with you. I too raise a glass to His Majesty at this special time of year.
Hunting on the Borders
Dear Jolly John
On this cold winters evening, my wrinkly old chestnuts toasting a little too close to a crackling fire in my hearth, I find I have a strange tale to recount. Only a few mornings ago I was exercising my spaniels along the banks of the Clyde when I espied some red coated huntsmen beating in the bushes. My spaniels were alert as in the early morning dew I could smell the fear of a hunted animal.
Imagine my surprise when my spotted cocker stiffened and shot out to chase a plaid wearing highlander from the gorse! Seeing the fleeing Jacobite the hunters started to shout and carbines were fired. At the loud reports several thousand cowering highlanders broke cover and started running for the hills. Never before have I seen such a rush of scrawny rude animals as I did that day.
The hunters were upon them, chasing over the Clyde and firing as fast as they could. So many fell and were bagged that day. I pulled my hounds back and we sheltered by a fine pine tree to watch the sport below. A few hundred red coated hunters pursuing a great throng of fleeing vermin. Nostrils flaring and ginger manes fluttering. Amongst the host I espied a well known face, that of the cowardly Hector McBlack as he ran for his life. Closely followed by a hunter he was cleaved heavily with an axe, but his fear drove him fast away and he escaped. Had he been closer and my eyes clearer I would have fired off my fowling piece to bag him, but I realised the spelling was out by one letter to be appropriate.
When the sport was over I was able to wander the field and counted so many brace of McBlacks. After such a good day of sport I retired for my repast of fine ale and a haggis sandwich.
Yours Duncan McStrange
Dear Duncan
What a queer tale indeed. If it weren’t for so many such accounts I too would not believe that so many McBlack’s had been chased East by such a small body of sportsmen. Strange times indeed when the stag is replaced by the McBlack and a fair quarry by such a cock!
Strange Times in Aberdeen
Dear Jolly John
I write to report strange comings and goings in the forsaken City of Aberdeen. Late at night a few weeks ago some men arrived who looked like fine Hanoverians. In the town square in dead of night they took off their uniforms and put on plaid. Later that same week five American colonists ships appeared off the coast and proceeded to intercept all vessels in and out of our harbour.
If this was not odd enough we have heard dread tales of late night meetings of conspiratorial groups in taverns. The mayor was murdered one night and his head was replaced with an onion…or was an onion replaced with the Mayor?...
I can’t really recall. It is a dark time of assassinations and assignations. Evil times are upon us all.
Yours Rose Halfwit
Eternally blessed of the parish of Inverness
Dear Rose,
What a weird letter! I cant believe you have seen many comings and goings up your alley!
The Rape of Inverness
Dear Jolly John
Eet Greatly pains me to a be seeing the feelthy Highlander drunkerds taking afrighty of a few hundred brave Campbell boys doing Gods work ina the Eenverness. Thee loverly Campbell boys wazza handing out charitee food and gifts for the children when the scaredy tartan fuckerrs came up from the south in their thouzands to chasee them away. When my veery naughty friend the Boney Ponce Charlotte arrived weeth all heez drunky men the saintly Campbell boys had already left to take a sick old woman back to her home near Lochy Ness.
I am a asking my Red dressy Cardinals to make the Campbell boys all Saints as they loverly loverly boys.
Pope Benedict the XIV
A concerned observer
Dear Pope B
I must admit, being a bit of a Prodi boy, that I generally don’t hold much truck with your Papish meanderings. But that said you are speaking good horse sense here Your Worship and I will raise a glass to your good health and wise council. I showed your letter to His Grace the Duke of Argyll and he asked me to pass on his greetings: “Wazzup Popey!, look forward to seeing you at the annual Summer Soltice Tarts and Cardinals Poker Drive at the Old Ferret and Firken later in the year!”
A Letter from Lord George Murrey no less!
Dear Jolly John
I must say…
…
…and I will ram my claymore up your …
Yours Lord George Murray
Not a Sweetmaker of Glasgow
Dear Readers
Our censor has had to remove all mis-truths and foul language from the above letter, which results in
the slightly curtailed version we can print. Lloyd George Boy George Lord George, you are a very
naughty boy!...(who is he anyway?)
Some personal messages:
Alice of Aberdeen: Your undergarments will blow free once the swifts migrate.
Roger of Rosslaire: Nugent is more pungent that your rumpled ungent.
Isla of Inverness: Foul yellow is the age of the morrow.
Edith of Edinburgh: When the rebels ain’t looking blow up their powder store…(was that the dictionary or the code book Sarge?)
God Save the King!
