Hurricane Bawbag

Related through marriage to a lady of Scottish decent I was alarmed this morning whilst listening to the BBC weather report pertaining to the red alert forecast heading in the general direction of our tribesmen north of the border.

This low pressure system engulfing the highlands was named by some institute in Berlin, famed for its sense o humour as is the norm in Germanic nations, as Friedhelm.

Trying to pronounce a gobful like that after an evening on Glen Morangie n white pudding supper from the chippa was never gonna get the average Scotsman anywhere, in any case why wasn't the Scots weather stations consulted on the naming exercise. Do we really need the bloody germans to add a monicker to a braw windy day, do we fek, so, nazis sent packing wee Wully from the kingdom of Fife, Crail, called this hooley of a wind Hurricane Bawbag.

For the uninitiated to a Fifers tones, a cross between sweet song and Irish brogue with a wee dabble of Norske the term translated to the English equivalent is Ballbag, a reference to the male scrotum sack, or simply some dickhead you dinna like.

Now, like I mentioned earlier, worried for the wellbeing of my 85 year old Ma in law and other family members we manned the phone in the hope of making contact, which is the usual occurrence several times a day, not today though.

First call was 5 minutes earlier than usual, the old girl. "Ach Susy" she addressed the wife, "Tis fair blawing a fekkin hooley oot there this mornin, Ave jest dragged the fekkin cat in oot the bin, terrified he wa."

The cat, not a cuddly family pet, but an urban prowling predator reminiscent of the American mountain lion is not one to be easily fazed, but, Bawbag had struck.

The wife fearing for her Mum's safety replied, "Batton doon the hatches Ma, its nee fit fo a dawg to be oot," before checking about food and other provisions required for living in sheltered accommodation north of the border,having checked and been reassured that life would be sustained she passed the order that Scots across the nation would be awaiting patiently at the ungodly hour of 8.35am, "Now get yasel a wee dram to keep tha cauld oot"

The last we heard was around 1400 hrs, the auld girl was pished, the wind had a new name and somewhere in Glasgy a small limited company were printing T-shirts adorned with the slogan,
"I came face to face with Hurricane Bawbag and survived"

By tomorrow Bawbag will be a forgotten memory, as its always bloody windy north o the border, but its legacy will live on as the other windbag from these northern climes, Alex Salmond will soon accomplish that which Bawbag has failed to do, separate this fine country, Scotland, from the rest of the united shithouse, and Al, I'll tak a wee dram te that mesel, good luck to the country and its people.