Monday, 18 June 2012

A Quare Poke

Whit wi' this doll makin' a fortune oot o' wrichtin' durty buiks, Ah hiv decided til branch oot frae ma normal academic wurk, an' move intil the realm o' Ulster Scots durty fiction. Ah've thus sent this til the Mills an' Boon affices. A wee taster, sae til spake......

Dear Mills an' Boon folk.

Ah was lukkin' in the paper taeday an' note thit some doll in the America has made a wild lot o' money oot o' wrichtin' durty buiks, an' am aware thit yousuns publish similar fiction. Now whit yis micht nat know is that there is a patentially untapped market fur durty buiks here in Norn Ireland, namely amung the Ulster Scots ladies. As a Professor o' Ulster Scots, an' somethin' o' a pervert, Ah am well placed til praduce buiks in the hamely tongue fur yousuns, an' thunk Ah'd send ye a wee draft fur yer consideration. Ah am callin' it "A Quare Poke" - a wee play oan wurds fur ye see in Ulster Scots a Quare Poke cud be a big ice cream cone, or a good auld bit o' hat action.

A Quare Poke

Plot synapsis

Wilbert Armstrong has bin hired fur til dae a bit o' wurk oan the farm o' Lady Lovely Lesley Flockhart. She traits Wilbert wi' contempt, but secertly her womanly urges are attractin' her til the her new labourer.

Chapter 3.

Wilbert dismounted aff his Massey Ferguson 135 an' strode manfully across the field. His muscular back shone oot in the sun, as Lady Flockhart eyed him wi' a mixture o' contempt an' lust. Wilbert hid noticed thit she was spendin' a wile lock o' time lukkin' at how he handled his tool, an' as he bent til hoke oot the spuds, he was wile feart that she was about fur til lay him aff.

Howiver Lady Flockhart had a differn type o' layin' oan her mind. Smiling til hersel, she calt o'er til Wilbert.  "Armstrong, I wish to speak with you, urgently." Wilbert sighed deeply, an' raised his taut frame til its full heicht. "Richt awa' Ma Lady," he replied, turnin' fur til dander o'er til his mistress. "Not here, Armstrong" she yelped back at him, "my office, in 20 minutes".

Wilburt was heart feart but ne'ertheless flung his massive tool o'er his shaulder. "Lady Flockhart is a quare cuddy," he thunk, "But she has a bake oan her like a dunkle, an' a temper til match. Ah'm fur hapin' she disnae gie me the sack, whit wi' the rent due an' the like."  Dispondently he climbed slowly intil the cab o' his tractur, an' driv taewards the hoose.

Chapter 4.

On enterin' Lady Flockhart's affice, Wilbert foun' his employer lyin' languidly oan a couch. "Sit down Armstrong," she ordered, indicatin' an auld chair by the fire.

Wilbert did as he was taul, settlin' beside the roarin' flames as he nervously fingered wi' his ring. "Tea?" asked Lady Flockhart as she rose and walked o'er til a wee table. Wilbert was thirsty frae his wurk, an' the hate o' the fire was raisin' a quare sweat oan him. "Thank ye, yer ladyship," he replied "Ah hiv a quare drooth oan me an' wud appreciate somethin' hat an' wet".

Lady Flockhart grasped the handle o' the pat an' poured the steamin' liquid into her milky white cups. "Would you like to try one of my baps?" she asked, "I can butter them if you like?"

Wilbert's confusion grew. "Fur why," he thunk, "is she bein' nice to me taeday?" as he stammered an answer in the affirmative.

"I do enjoy providing my staff with an ample spread" said her Ladyship, as she pushed her baps across the table to Wilbert.

to be continued........

Anyhow, that's the idea. Let me ken how much yis will pay me fur it an' Ah'll wricht the rest o' it.

Professor Billy McWilliams.


Andy said...

How big a tool are we talkin here?

I don't think I can stand the wait for til read the next instalment.

Billy said...

A quare size o' yin, Ah wud say. Tae be hanest Ah hivnae really thunk how big it shud be, but he naids til be able til hoke oot spuds wi' it

Belfast Gonzo said...

Are ye sayin he naids a Lurgan spade? Hope she disnae hay a fizzog like yin.

Anonymous said...

The Ulstèr-Scotch fae tha Inglis "tractor" is traictèr. Dae ye resairch, Billy, ye'r lettin yer kintra doon.