Recent Elbowla Crisis

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.