StillSmart

Stopping at a well known Service Station in the lowlands of Lanarkshire, well known as a rendezvous for druggers, doggers and moonshiners, whilst negotiating a possible reduction for the over-priced fuel on offer, I heard, in the distance, the feint sound of the bleating of lambs.

Withstanding the pleas of the drugged, the suggestive offers of the doggers, and the shrieks of the lambs, my olfactory senses were alerted to the sweetness of ethanol wafting across the depraved activities of the car parks.

Unable to resist the impulses of an over eager, investigative nature, leaving my fuel drained vehicle, I proceeded, on foot, to follow the bouquet of ethanol and the cries of the lambs.

Within a few short miles, luckily for my ancient legs, I was unfortunately confronted with the full horrors of the depths of iniquity to which depraved alcoholics can descend..

Too late! Far too late! A demented moonshiner, chortling whilst sipping from an elbow supported jug, was racking the carcases of the young lambs into a home made smoker.

Other than the greedy swallowing of this obviously grossly drunken individual, all I could hear now was.....


the silence of the lambs.

Compared to the literary effort currently under construction here, this is actually a little gem.
I don't know how I previously missed it.
Well done T, step up and take a belated bow

Robert.

Hmmm.

I don't suppose Lanarkshire by any stretch could be called the lowlands of Scotland?

Or could it?

Robert?

Oh to have the time to be.... "A demented moonshiner, chortling whilst sipping from an elbow supported jug, whilst racking the carcases of the young lambs into a home made smoker." !

Robert.

Given the silence, I am only thankful it caused no offence, as none was intended.

I was nervous of replying in case telling the difference between the suggestions of the doggers and the cries of the lambs was going to turn into a test about separating tails from hearts.

edit, in case of doubt, I do know that doggers smell of wet cardboard

ps There are warnings of gales in Tyne, Dogger, Humber and Thames.

Brilliant. Didn't see it coming. Well done.

The "Dags" on the sheep hereabouts do NOT smell like wet Cardboard!
As you see Toper, a minor literary classic.
Move over Robert Zimmerman.

Robert.