Oh what a kerfuffle!
We would like to appologise for the recent
closure of all ferry routes to the island, due to lack of customers. As the Lighthouse Mannie said, the lights are on but no one has been at home since the great Elbowla Crisis evacuation.
(You might want to get a cup of clapdarnach
tea, and sit down. This could be a long
tale.)
It all started at the 2014 January sales, the great Elbowla Crisis.
Big Maggie Ann first noticed the large
basket of cut-price, hand-knitted underpants in the Wool Shop window, marked
50% off.
Off she limped to get her sleeping bag, her
overnight anti-wrinkle cream, her paraffin stove, a soup pan, bag of potatoes,
2 leeks and a packet of Knorr chicken stock cubes. She returned at 9 pm on Hogmanay to claim her
place at the head of the queue outside the Wool Shop.
By 9.30pm she was joined by Woodworm
Willie, Wullie Spanners and 124 bottles of the finest Clapdarnach Cooking
Whisky.
News travels fast and by 9.31 pm a street
party was in full swing, outside the Wool Shop.
Diligent Jean -- owner of the Wool Shop -- however, took 2 Mogadon,
inserted her ear plugs, retiring to bed at 10 pm in preparation for the New
Year’s Day Sale. Rising early, she
vacuumed her knitted floor rugs, pulled up the knitted window blinds and opened
the shop door ready for the onslaught of bargain hunters, eager to claim cut-price,
hand-knitted underpants.
Nothing stirred, except for the heavy sound
of snoring, coming from an entanglement of intertwined bodies, piled up on the
pavement. Beside them sat 124 empty
bottles.
“Cut-price underpants!” she called.
In
the middle of the body mass, a large brown eye opened.
“Underpants!” cried Big Maggie Ann. Wriggling her large frame around inside the
knot of bodies, she accidentally Elbowla-ed Wullie Spanners in the groin. “Underpants!” cried Woodworm Willie,
accidentally Elbowla-ing The Reverend Brimstone in his dog collar. “Underpants!” called PC Hugh Dunnett while
Elbowla-ing Daft Uisdean’s sweaty oxter.
“Underpants!” everyone shouted, as everyone Elbowla-ed each other. Poor Cyril’s Nosecone was Elbowla-ed completely
out of shape.
Jean telephoned the mainland for help. “Hello, is that you Magus the Bobby from the
Mainland? Can you pump up your bicycle
tyre very quickly and get here on the next ferry. The whole island is in a tangle and we have a
massive outbreak of Elbowla-ing. Hurry!
Bring the Coastguard Mannie, sailors, as many boy scouts as you can
find, or anyone who knows how to unravel knots."
But no one could unravel the knot of arms
and legs and so the large body mass of islanders was lifted by crane and loaded
onboard a Chinese Shipping Line Cargo Ship.
It sailed away, bound for Shanghai, and we haven’t heard from anyone
since.
As it was mother’s bath night, I was busy
changing her catheter, so I missed the Elbowla Outbreak.
The island has been so quiet all year, just
me, Jean at the Wool Shop and the Lighthouse Mannie.
I'll try the Ham Radio again. “Hello Shanghai. Come in Shanghai.” Oh it’s no use. Nobody seems to be answering.
