成人快手

Donald has moved in with Chrissie Mary Morrison over the weekend and he's been to Maggie Mary's this morning to order a canoe from JD's catalogue!

This could be my last blog of the year depending on the outcome of the Fank Committee's Christmas Night out which takes place tomorrow. This year we shall learn from last year's fiasco when none of us had a credit card to pay for bail and we were forced to spend Crimbo in custody. A Charley Barley takeaway Marac Surpise courtesy of Stornoway Police Station's hospitality wing did not take the pain away of being separated from our loved ones on the big day.

While I remember Annie B sent Donald and I a lovely card with a red breasted guga on the front. She tells me she is having her father for Christmas - she had goose last year and found it very difficult. I hope the old man fits in the Aga OK.

Chrissie Mary is starting to cook her guga today using an old recipe from the Lionel school magazine of 1947. It allows a day pre pound cooking time to tenderise the meat though this particular free range guga is metric which is puzzling CM. Donald and I are using CM's tights again to hold our presents - they are 30 denier American Tan with a rib and hold anything from selection boxes to tractor parts without giving way.

Donald is getting Gaelic Sat Nav for his tractor featuring the voice of Coinneach.
'Turn left at the next Cheviot ewe - you're doing chust fine - at the bochan turn right - watch out for the postie's bike - you have reached your destination..'

Donald has been warned by the Jobcentre in Stornoway that they may have found a job that he can do - after 30 years of trial and error - it will involve giving out the hymn books on the Sunday ferry. He's quite excited about the prospect of travel and minimum wage plus unlimited macaroni has certainly turned his head.

We shall have a quiet Crimbo Day - eat around 2pm - take the cow for a walk - put on a few 78's while Granny tries out her iPod- the usual island day. We shall think of those upside down in NZ (Carol + intended) as the blood runs to their head and of mjc in nm with a bargain bucket of Colonel Saunders Guga.

No doubt other villages will be celebrating in their own way. Skigersta I know is big on wife swapping on Christmas Day - after much drinking everyone throws their tractor keys into a pail or bicycle clips if they are tractorless - it means you can change your wife every year - no wonder the divorce rate is so low in Skigerta.

If you see me in town say hello - I will be the one with a tam o shanter with mistletoe attached to it via an ingenious arrangement involving a wire coat hanger, It leaves both hands free for groping purposes. I shall also be wearing clear lip gloss which should separate me out from most othe bodachs in town.

Well I'd love to stay and talk sh*** all day but I've promised TWS I'd pick up his medication so in the words of the man himself.
Cheerie. Have a cool yule everyone. I am getting a new phone with some mega pixies tomorrow so watch out for illustrations in 08. You have been warned
Calumannabel

I had no idea what was on the cards, last Tuesday, when I attended the Ness FC annual Christmas Party at the Eoropie Bochan, that boutique drinking venue on the machair near the lighthouse. I had been 'harvested' the previous Wednesday outside Woolworth's when a man claiming to be from a model agency complimented me on my anorak and fake Ugg boots. Nothing unusual there although Donald disagrees. He seems to thinks I have lost my bloom. He told me, 'Chrissie Mary, you used to turnheads now you turn stomachs.' I suppose this comment stung me so I accepted this 'scout's' invitation to attend a party where I was told the cream of the island's footballers, shinty players and mod winners would be looking for some Eye Peninsula Candy.
In my D and G Liberty bodice and Lybro body stocking believe me I looked the part. Roddy Ferdinad was first over offering me the keys to his hotel room followed by MacBrayne Rooney. I know he's AC /DC but there was no sign of his partner, Colin. How I came to appear on Hertz van de Rental's mobile telephone is a mystery though I must say he made me feel really good - or maybe it was because he kept his goalkeeping gloves on. I thought the lighthouse stood out well in the film - at least I think it was the lighthouse

The manager of the team Hamish Ferguson,has been on and apologised personally for the poor performances of his team and has offered me a season ticket by way of compensation and an access all areas pass for the home dressing room thoughI have to provide my own towels if I want to share the team bath. Regreets? Moi? If I could turn the clock back, I'd do it all again though I wouldn't have any of the icing sugar off the Turkish Delight - it made my gums numb and I sneezed a lot. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings.
From Chrissie Mary, the girl who has everything and a cupboard full of ointments and creams to prove it.
Merry Christmas

As usual there was a tremendous turnout for the Boxing Day Port of Ness Hunt.
Hunt members mingled with the sales queues waiting patiently outside emporioalanjohn's. The queues were boosted by shoppers from Shader eager to see how the other half lives since their post office has shut down. Most sales shoppers seemed to have their eyes on nails or hair slides though one shopper hoped to get alanjohn's last tin of Mushrooms. It was reduced owing to some superficial rusting of the lid.
The Ness Hunt is different in that there are no foxes on Lewis ( except for the assortments of biscuits in Cross Stores) and there are few horses to speak of. The last working horse in Ness was roasted at the Ness FC Christmas Dinner of 1972 along with most of the women of Skigersta - it should be added.
The hunt is conducted on bicycle, quad bike or invalid scooter. The hunters must wear red dungarees and supporters follow in the trailer of alec john's tractor. Donald, as village idiot in waiting plays the part of the 'fox'. He is smothered in cod roe and carries a haversack full of mackerel heads. Which brings us to the 'hounds'. In the absence of dogs with any work ethic about them, tom cats fulfil the role. Donald is given a fifteen minute start and runs through each of the villages of Ness. The spectacle of the bikes, the ringing of their bells and the howling of the tom cats is as much a part of island life as rickets and TB. If he makes it, Donald finally throws himself into the Galson River, divesting himself of all the smells leaving dozens of confused cyclists and tom cats wondering whta they are doing in North Galson. Then it's back to alanjohn's where Chrisie Mary hands out champagne flutes filled with Buckie and Cremola Foam . After a communal sing song and prayers it's of to the bochan to get leathered.. Ah tradition ye canna whack it!