So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybodys havin' fun....
Recruitment for the annual Staff Xmas panto has begun early this year.
Ms G is to be Snow-White and is dieting and seriously considering belly fat reduction surgery, The Fastest Shot Pourer/Most Tuneful Busker in Union Street tells us.
Her principal dwarf has been employed as a minibus driver, fetching the country quines in off their tractors and quads at the end of their access tracks in The Shire.
The Most Accomplished Muck Spreader in The Garioch informs us that the little aul' mannie drives the brand new £40K Mercedes peering THROUGH the steering wheel, his wee legs barely reaching the pedals.
Mrs S is VERY fond of the Uniformed-Servant-Chauffeur, letting it slip to The Second Best Muck Spreader in The Garioch that he looks just like her own dear, departed Dad did.
WHAT EVERY WOMAN WONDERS!
WTF would YOU do if YOUR fanny farted at JUST the wrong moment, ehh??
Mrs K simply carried on doing her Wednesday Assembly from the podium, gallantly, like the old trouper that she is, tucking her pink blouse over black bra into her tight trouser waistband, flicking the right hand side of her honey-blonde fringe back and adjusting her long string of large pearls as if nothing had happened, we are pleased to report.
Mr D, seated next to the podium, close to Mrs K, VERY close to Mrs K, in fact (to be ready to give her the Poet of the Month award for handing over to The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults) turned a puce colour above his crisp white collar and began to ooze sweat drops on his fore head, The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults, who was waiting in the wings to be lauded, later confirmed.
When quizzed at some length by both The Most Accomplished Muck Spreader in The Garioch AND The Second Best Muck Spreader in The Garioch, during Advanced Higher, Mr D was manouevered into dropping his guard somewhat.
Mr D was recorded admitting that he was just relieved that what he likened to the sound of an unsyncopatedly-swung, previously-muffled, muted football rattle with a broken spar (or to a set of leather football internal bladders lying on the ground two feet apart, half-blown-up and neither half-empty, nor half-full, trodden on arhthymically and deflated raucously and stutteringly by a prize-winning triple-jumper practising his run-up) had come out of Mrs K's front bottom rather than out of her ***
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Mrs S was spotted by the daughter of a succesful Aberdeen restaurateur (She Who Unknown to HM Revenue Is Given Her Not Unsubstantial Clothing Allowance From The Till) moving house on the cheap, dressed in a boiler suit with the legs rolled-up and driving a hired transit van.
SWUTHMRIGHNUCAFTT was polishing the family silver at a location in Aberdeen's first urban village from where Mrs S was watched as she, manfully, struggled out from the wee hoosie to her van, parked outside on the cobbles, with box after box after box of goods and chattels.
NEITHER MRS CHARGEHAND NOR MRS BINGHAM WERE ANYWHERE TO BE SEEN, swuthmrighnucaftt reported, NOR MS GRAVEY (naturally).
Many hours later, in one of life's remarkable coincidences, SWUTHMRIGHNUCAFTT came upon an obviously-fatigued, red-about-the-gills, wee boilersuited Mrs S decanting the last of the, apparently heavy, boxes into her new place on the periphery of the West End proper MOMENTS after having, 100 yds round the corner, come upon Mrs Charghand, Tyke, the boys (plus the gfs) ALL dressed up to the nines and heading down town for a nice wee family night on the tiles!
NOW THAT'S A BEST BURDIE FOR YA!!!
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glowgirl aberdeen
glowgirl aberdeen
