2021-06-17 10:13:55
Peem an Jock fae Peterheid ging on a wee break, loch fishin a’ ower Scotland, an hae a rare time o’ it. On aire wye hame, they run intae a muckle storm, an it's stottin we rain an blawin a hoolie. A’ the roads are flooded, trees doon a’ ower the shop, an the cannae get thro. It’s graa’in dark, an the nearest hoose is een o’ yon smaa’ castles, set in its ane bonnie gruns. They chap on the door, an iss stunner o’ a dame opens it. They telt her aboot aire prediciment, an she taks pity on ‘em, bit telt ‘em they wid hae tae doss doon in the stable. She wis a widow, an she didnae wint ony gossip fae the locals in the nearby village.
Onywye, a pucklie o’ months later, Peem an Jock are oot fir a pint een nicht.
Peem: ‘Jock, ye ken at braw fishin trip we hid? Fan we pit oor heid doon in the stable, ye didnae happin tae git up in the middle o’ the nicht an visit the castle did ye?’
Jock: ‘A canna lee Peem, aye, a did loon. A shid hae telt ye.’
Peem: ‘An did ye sleep we the lady o’ the hoose, an gie her ma name instead o’ yers?’
Jock: ‘Am sorry loon, bit a did. Ye ken fit ma wife’s like Peem? She wid hae ma guts fir gairters if she foon oot.’’
Peem: ‘An did ye gie her ma address?’
Jock: ‘Aye, am affa sorry min, bit fit his brocht iss up noo?’
Peem: ‘Weel a git a letter iss mornin fae her solicitor. The dame is deed, an his left athin tae ma.’
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