In a desperate dash to restore the island’s road network, Farquar Bogg of the Agriculture, Rumba-dancing and Sanitation Department, consulted with Coinneach, the psychic crow, in a top secret meeting down at the wool shop.
At 1:30 p.m on Monday, PC Hugh Dunnett, accompanied by Woodworm Willie’s three-legged sniffer dog, Tripod, inspected the back room of the wool shop for bugging devices. PC Dunnett then radioed an ‘all clear’ message to Farquar for the meeting to begin at 2 p.m. and stood guard in the corridor outside the door.
Meanwhile, in the back yard, local window cleaner, Phillip MacBucket, reported the following conversation coming from the building.
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Coinneach,” said Farquar.
Coinneach puffed out his feathers and answered smugly, “I got here as the crow flies.” Then, tapping his foot rhythmically, the wise crow entered a trance and offered these words of wisdom concerning the mayhem caused by the Antique Road Show. “Caw. Jim’ll fix it!”
Later that evening, local jazz musician and island’s IT specialist, Hacker Bilk, divulged that Farquar Bogg received an ‘out of the office’ reply from his email to Sir Jimmy Saville. Hacker said that Farquar Bogg remained positive and wrote to various other Jims, looking for a quick fix.
Jim McColl, of Beechgrove Garden fame, replied, saying, “Sorry, I can’t help re-pave the roads just now Farquar. I’ve spilled fence paint on my corduroys, causing a bad case of greenfly.” In another reply, James Taylor said that he’d seen fire and he’d seen rain, he’d seen sunny days that he thought would never end, he’d seen lonely times when he could not find a friend but, sorry, he couldn’t see a way to fit the roads back together again.
Morag the librarian added to the report. “Running out of Jims, Farquar Bogg entered the library van and asked for a Gaelic dictionary from the reference section. He opened it and dragged his index finger down until it rested on ‘James’. “Aha! Of course. . . Seamus,” he exclaimed. When the ladies from the knitting circle called out, “Shhh!”, Farquar inhaled a deep breath and ran out to telephone Dippy ‘Seamus’, Daft Uisdean’s cousin, from the public phone box across from where a road used to be.
“Hello, Dippy Seamus,” he said. “Coinneach Crow said that you would help me to put all the roads back where they belong. Can you do it, please?” A smile of relief spread across Farquar’s face. “You can? Great! Meet me at the ferry terminal in ten minutes.”
To be continued. . .
Meanwhile, Big Maggie Ann walked into the pub with a slab of tarmac under her arm. "A pint of Tenants," she said, "and one for the road."
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