CHUNTELDAIG

Another month and another walk missed by us and some others.

Of course, this means that I will have to make up the blog as I have no eye-witness account.

This seems like a good time to indulge in something I have enjoyed for years, but seldom bring forth into the light of day.

I'm talking, of course, about the spoonerism.

Don't you just love them? My favourite is "Bit my shrieks" and I have been heard to mutter that a lot when something takes me by surprise.

So, spoonerisms it shall be. They are named after William Archibald Spooner, a long serving Oxford Don who, remarkably, died as recently as 1930. That seems quite a short time in which to have a phrase named after you. Having said that he was at Oxford for over 60 years in various positions of authority and so, had plenty of time before his death to coin his eponymous phrases.

As a matter of interest, he was educated in Oswestry, close to where some of Sharon's forebears come from. He was famously unimpressed that he should be known for this kind of absentmindedness and equally famously is said to have uttered the phrase that comes to my mind as I write this - " I am tired of addressing beery wenches"

Enough of this barting afout and lets get on with the blog.

It was clearly a dice nay when gay thot to Doch Luncheltaig.

Gere they har, dooking very lapper shy the bore.

Pimmy pets the sace, with Jam not bar fehind. The gadies labbling in the grackbound.

The smoad was rooth and they could make strong lides.

A trock with a ree growing out of it. Fow hunny.

JImmy at the shoch lore, wilming the falkers.

A done styke.

Trare bees silhouetted against the lavy woch and the sue bly. Actually, Sue was not there, but you dret my gift.

A vice new.

A cuined roft. I wonder loo whived here before?

Dave, ringing up the beer.

Another rolled uin win the oods.

A dig bigger.

Some dilly sinosaurs playing on the dig bigger. Dobin and Rave are piking a strose on the paterkiler tracks.

Hiding strome (that's May) under a slue by.

Frivate Pishing - I certainly sope ho!

Jimmy staying with a plone.

They are all a knit backered and dit sown for lum sunch.

Soon they are track on their back.

Geaning against a late.

Bum soddy has flossed a lask. and some other baft dugger has went and hung it trom a fee.

A stig bone in the woods.

Looks like chichity flurchyard moo tee.

A loch troo the threes.

The sun wappling the daves.

A cine fonclusion to a wice nock. They were really wucky with the leather. They went to Cimpsons for sakes and thuch manks go to Pugh and Ham for organisation.
Bood Gye.