Lost in Translation
Judging fae a' yon comments on PeePee's post, folks is haein an affa time makkin oot fit I wis bleeterin on aboot.
Weel on Friday nicht I wis oot in een o' yon hoolivans wi' 3 ither loons and een quine in Toytoon's toon sinter. Noo, in true profeshnel mannir we a' thocht it wid be richt guid if we renamed oorsels the Trotters.
Bein the auld mannie it wis my jobbie to tak on the mantle o' Uncle Albert, the Speshel, bein as she's a wimmin, was Marlene, the new loon wis Boysie, the young een wis Rodney an' the stripey wis Del Boy.
Yiv ken it's fair set fer a lang nicht fan yon maun is fool an' the nichts short in these pairts, bit it disnae help fan the Spesh says, "Ken is, it's affa QUIET." Chorus o' firstly, "Nooooooooooo!" followed by (in best Boysie spik), "Marlene, get your handbag, you're leaving."
Trawlin the toon sinter o' Toytown, the Trotters turn doon a een wiy laney doon the side o' a kirk an' fit shid they keek there? There's this quine squattin doon, breeks and keks aroon her enkles haein a number een. Mind 'is taks place next to God's hoosie. A bonnie sicht it wisnae. Marlene and Boysie gets oot the Transit like scaulded futrets an' remonstrate wi' the quine. The rest o' us tak bets on far she bides in toon. We settle on een cooncil estate an' I wander across to the quine an' ask. "Far div yi bide?" "Northfield" she says. I walk back to the motor, leevin Marlene an' Boysie open mooed and report back to Del Boy an' Rodney wi a "Close, bit nae cigar." The quine wis geein a flee in her lug an' sent on her way and reminded o' God's wrath. Marlene an' Boysie ask, "Fit wis a' that aboot Uncle? Yiv jist cam o'er and asks far she bided an' en walked off." Explanations made an' abidy wis happy.
Eftir a few wee scuffles, we drive doon a cobbled street wi pubs and clubs doon each side an' a puckle o' chippies an' kebab hoosies. Noo, the young eens wi a buckit foo think yon street is a pedestrian only laney. It's nae. Oot waddles this Michelin mannie in front o' oor mobile jail and the stripey shoots oot, "Watch the van min, you'll damage it ken." Windaes are shut, it wis jist for oor benefit. Onywiy MM walks doon the street and we follow makkin observations on 'is loons girth wi much mirth as he gings closer to een o' they chippers I telt yiv aboot. Bets are placed agen o'er if he'll go in. He gets nearer an' Rodney pipes up, "Go on. You know you want to." As he gings intae the shoppie there's a chorus fae the Trotters jist like fan the Huns goalie taks a goal kick at Pittodrie. Coorse I ken, but hey min, it wis a lang nicht.
Noo, up at the end o' yon street, there's a puckle o' Chinese asylum seekers and folk fae a' they newcomers to the EEC, sellin sinnel roses, flashy lichties an' the new craze fer cooboy hats. We are then stoppit by a glaikit Joe 90 lookalike stottin aboot a bittie who regales the stripey wi the famous, "I ken you're bizzy, bit can i ask you a queshun, hic." Stripey replies, "Are you capable?" "Aye min, i'm capabubblehh," the gifted een replies. He gings an tae enquire if yon street vendors shud hae a licence. Aye weel they shud really, bit at eftir 3 in the mornin yer nae gaunna chase them up. Joe 90 taks umbrage at 'is bit o' commin sense an tells the stripey, "Dis at mean I can ging up to yon folk an tell em 'Yer fuckin shit is bollocks'? Trotters dissolve intae hysterics and Joe 90 staggers off in a huff. Ferthir up a street we see anither soak wi a cooboy bunnet. We pull alangside an' enquire. "Have you lost summin? Soak is fair dumfoonert an looks aboot himsel. Trotters in chorus shout oot, "Far's yer horse?" Soak taks a minty, bit 'en' maks a fair impression o' Frankie Dettori as he gallops nagless up the street to chorus o' YeeHah or was it Yahoo (Toytown Polis 'in' joke)
It helps the nicht pass an' aff we went tae oor hames chucklin.
The public....we love you honest.
Regards,
Uncle Albert.
7 comments:
ork eye the new....I dinny understand.
In other words...please translate, perferrably in english so that I can understand you!!
xxx
Sounds like..I think!.. the perfect shift.
High on laughs,low on paperwork
Annette,
At great cost a rough translation follows....
Judging from all those comments on PeePee's post, people are having an awful time making out what I was talking aimlessly about.
Well on Friday night I was out in one of those mobile support units with 3 other lads and a lassie in Toytown's town centre. Now, in true professional manner we all thought it would be amusing if we renamed ourselves the Trotters.
Being the old man it was my job to take on the mantle of Uncle Albert, the Special, being as she's a woman, was Marlene, the new lad was Boysie, the young one was Rodney and the sergeant was Del Boy.
You know it's going to be a long night when the moon is full and the nights short in these parts, but it doesn't help when the Special says, "Do you know what? It's very QUIET." Chorus of firstly, "Nooooooooooo!" followed by (in best Boysie accent), "Marlene, get your handbag, you're leaving."
Trawling the town centre of Toytown, the Trotters turn down a one way lane down the side of a church and what should they see there? There's this lassie squatting down, trousers and panties around her ankles having a number one. Bear in mind this takes place next to God's house. A pretty sight it wasn't. Marlene and Boysie gets out of the Transit like scaulded ferrets and remonstrate with the lassie. The rest of us take bets on where she stays in town. We settle on a particular council estate and I wander across to the lassie and ask. "Where do you live?" "Northfield" she says. I walk back to the motor, leaving Marlene and Boysie open mouthed and report back to Del Boy and Rodney with a "Close, but no cigar." The lassie was given a right ear bashing and sent on her way and reminded of God's wrath. Marlene and Boysie ask, "What was all that about Uncle? You've just come over and asked where she stayed and then walked off." Explanations made and everybody was happy.
After a few small scuffles, we drive down a cobbled street with pubs and clubs down each side and a collection of chippies and kebab houses. Now, the young bladdered ones think this street is a pedestrian only lane. It's not. Out waddles this Michelin man in front of our mobile jail and the sergeant shouts out, "Watch the van young man, you'll damage it don't you know." Windows are shut, it was just for our benefit. Anyway MM walks down the street and we follow making observations on this lad's girth with much mirth as he goes closer to one of those chippers I told you about. Bets are placed again over if he'll go in. He gets nearer and Rodney pipes up, "Go on. You know you want to." As he goes into the shop there's a chorus from the Trotters just like when the Rangers FC goalkeeper takes a goal kick at Aberdeen Football Club's ground. Unfair mocking I know, but what the heck, it was a long night.
Now, up at the end of that street, there's a collection of Chinese asylum seekers and folk from all those newcomers to the EEC, selling single roses, flashy lighs and the new craze for cowboy hats. We are then stopped by a Joe 90 lookalike staggering drunkenly who regales the sergeant with the famous, "I know you're bizzy, but can i ask you a queshun, hic." The sergeant replies, "Are you capable?" "Of course, i'm capabubblehh," the gifted one replies. He goes on to enquire if those street vendors should have a licence. Yes, well they should really, but at after 3 in the morning you're not going to chase them up. Joe 90 takes umbrage at this bit of common sense and tells the sergeant, "Does that mean I can go up to those folk and tell them 'Your fucking shit is bollocks'? Trotters dissolve into hysterics and Joe 90 staggers off in a huff. Further up the street we see another drunk with a ccwboy hat. We pull alongside and enquire. "Have you lost something? The drunk is confused by this and looks about himself. Trotters in chorus shout out, "Where's your horse?" The drunk takes a minute to let this sink in, but then makes a fair impression of Frankie Dettori as he gallops horseless up the street to the chorus of YeeHah or was it Yahoo (Toytown Polis 'in' joke)
It helps the night pass and off we went to our homes chuckling.
The public....we love you honest.
Regards,
Uncle Albert.
pish!
GMP,
Aye, an it wis poorin ower her pints and queets till they were barkit.
Losh Bihere.
Ah, Noddy. I awoke bleary eyed, grumpy and all the worse for wear following our latest stint. You promised a titter and delivered more, surpassing even my warped sense of humour.
I can only describe this as being akin to 4 cans of my infamous go-go juice. Thanks for the uplift loon.
A night to remember. (Wasn't that a film about the Titanic? Sorry but the parralels between that and our current voyage are unresisitable).
Wednesday beckons.
cheers.
Boysie
Boysie,
At least you didnae think ma 'f'in shit was bollox.' GMP thocht it wis pish.
Red Bull - it gie's ye wings!
Cheers for reminding me about Wednesday. Did Annette mention she disnae like them?
That's the gas mannie awa, so I'm aff fer sum mair kip.
Uncle A.
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