Ups and Downs

I lost four pounds this week! Ordinarily, this would have me leaping up and down in a joyous fashion, but the truth is, that up until yesterday I was on track for losing five. My beer and butter intake robbed me of a truly spectacular result, but still, I can't be too unhappy; I was the cause of my own downfall and can only blame myself.

Which is more than can be said for my poor Kid-in-the-middle. Oh dear. She has not had a good weekend.

January in Scotland is traditionally taken up with celebrating the nation's bard, Rabbie Burns. The school host a Burns Supper (haggis, neeps and tatties...not exactly what you'd call diet food, but do enough burlin' roon the room in the form of Strip The Willow and you can probably call it evens) and there is much in the way of pipers, fiddlers, recitals, songs, dancing and drams. A reet guid nicht indeed.

It was a week ago that Kids Top, Middle and Bottom came home with the songs and poems that they were to learn. My eyebrows shot heavenwards when I saw what the two older ones had to learn. Google "Tam O'Shanter" and you'll appreciate that Kid-the-Eldest had a big task ahead of him. Kid-in-the-Middle got stuck right in with hers, and within three days had the following down pat:

The Ballad of Janitor Mackay By Margaret Green

I wis playin keepie uppie
In the street outside the schule,
When Jock McCann’s big brither
Whose an eejit an a fool

Went an tuk ma fitba aff me
An he dunted it too hard
An it stoated ower the railins
Inty the janny’s yard

Aw, Mackay’s a mean auld scunner.
He wis dossin’ in the sun,
An when ma fitba pit wan oan him
Big McCann began tae run.

An Mackay picked up ma fitba
An he looked at me an glowered
But I stood ma ground, fur naebody
Will say that I’m a coward

But when he lowped the palins
An he fell and skint his nose
I tookty ma heels and beltit
Right up ma granny’s close.

I could feel the stairwell shakin
As efter me he tore,
An he nearly cracked his wallies
As he cursed at me an swore

“O save me gran” I stuttered
As I reached ma granny’s hoose,
Fur Mackay wis getting nearer
An his face wis turning puce.

Noo, my gran wis hivin tea
Wi Effie Bruce and Mrs Scobie
And when she heard the stushie
She cam beltin through the loaby

Ma gran is only fower fit ten
But she kens whit she’s aboot
“Yev hud it noo, Mackay” I cried
“Ma gran will sort ye oot!”

See the janny? See my granny?
Ma granny hit um si a sanny
Then she timmed the bucket owerum
An he tummelt doon the stair
An he landed in the dunny
Wi the baikie in his herr.

Fortune changes awfy sudden –
Imagine he cried me a midden
(I goat ma ba back but.)

I was most impressed. But then, on Friday, she came home in tears. Apparently, the head teacher had decided that this was too long, and too much for them. She changed their poem to The Coming of the Wee Malkies. It's another fun, vibrant poem, but my poor wee lassie has struggled to learn it over the weekend, and the judges are coming to school today. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed for her. I've listened endlessly to her attempts at learning this poem over the last 48 hours or so and I hope her efforts, so much more focused than mine were, are successful!

The Coming of the Wee Malkies

Haw missis, whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they dreep doon affy the wash-hoose dyke,
an pit the hems oan the sterrheid light,
an play wee heidies oan the clean close wa,
missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they chap yir door an choke yir drains,
an caw the feet fae yir sapsy weans,
an tummle thur wulkies through yir sheets,
an tim thur ahes oot in the street,
missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they chuck thur screwtaps doon the pan,
an stick the heid oan the sanitry man,
when ye hear thum shauchlin doon yir loaby,
chanting,"Wee Malkies! The gemme's a bogey!"
Haw, missis, whit'll ye dae?