Some days, ye ken whit Embra weather can be like, Jean wid come up tae ma hoose soaked tae the skin, an it wid tak three, sometimes fower sherries an a guid rub doon tae dry him oot. It wisnae fair, ah used tae say tae him, makin him walk up an doon Leith Walk in aw weathers, wi naewhere tae hide, sae ah wis gled tae read in the paper aboot this new-fanglet idea fae England where they wid gie the polis a wee box tae staun in oot o the rain, an it wid e'en hae a wee kettle fer their tea an a wee phone in it, if they wantit tae ca some biddy up fer a wee blether.
Ah wisnae ower-chuffed tho when ah actually clapped een oan the thing. It wis jist an auld type-40 Tardis! Ah thocht tae masel we cannae be haein thon monstrosities appearin aw ower Embra, fowk'll be thinkin there'll be Doctors turnin up oan every street corner, playin havoc wi the timelines an threatenin Blinovitch limitation explosions aw ower the shop! (Though tae be fair Sylvester Pangloss assures me this ony happens wi Brigadiers, but fowk can get awfy feart regardless) So ah mindit masel tae pit a stop tae it...
Lucky fer me ah kent whit oor Chief Constable luiket like at the time. Roddy Ross wis the spit o the King, this bein the early '30s an the King bein auld King George V. Ah also kent that Roddy bidet up Calton Hill, whaur ah used tae dae the stairs. He had no lang moved fae Whisky Raw (that's Royal Terrace if ye want its Sunday name) roon the corner tae Regent Terrace. Every time ah went up there ah had tae pass the scene o that accident ah telt ye aboot, an ma cheeks burnt every time. Puir auld nag...
But gang up there ah did, every chance ah got, an ah wid hing aboot ootside number 28 till Roddy showed face, an then ah wid chase him doon the street shoutin at him that he must be mad if he wantit tae bring thae blue English monstrosities tae oor streets. Tae start wi he wid stop an talk, wi his funny Teuchter accent, an he offered tae follae the Glesca example an paint them aw rid. Ah tried ma best negotiation technique an offered tae accept them if he paintit them pink, but he jist walked awa, an efter that he wid run as soon as he saw me...
Efter aboot twa month o this ah wis gettin tired o it aw, an ah couldnae be botheret wi climbin that hill every day, sae ah thocht ah had better settle wi the man. Ah waited till he cam oot his door this day, an a waved ma hankie tae show him ah wantit tae treat wi him, so he stopped tae talk. Ah suggestit tae him that he could bring his wee boxes tae Embra, jist sae lang as they fitted in wi aw oor bonnie Neo-classical architecture, an ah wis fair pleased when he said he wid get oantae it right awa. Ah think he wis tired tae, o aw the runnin awa fae me!
Post-script:- Ah thocht ah wid add yin o these, ma first, fer a ken some o ye dinnae aye look at the comments, but Mr Conan the Librarian seems tae think ah might hae somethin tae dae wi paintin Polis boxes pink. Ah wid love tae be able tae pit ma hauns up an tak responsibility, but ah'm afraid ah cannae, ma back pit me oot o the decoratin business years ago. Ah'm chuffed tho that there are ither fowk in Embra wi a bit o taste an' a sense o fun, it's jist a shame they've no got roon tae daein the rest o the boxes, fer some o them are sorry sichts th'day. Mr Conan, pit yer hauns oot, ah want tae check under yer nails fer pink paint...
He he... I'm glad you were around to make sure that the English monstrosities never darkened the streets of our beloved capital city...
ReplyDeleteBut I’m glad that Mr Ross was less than keen on the idea of pink.
Everything has its place.......
Aw ah'm no sure tris. Big square pink boxes aw ower Embra, that wid've pit us oan the map nae mistake!
ReplyDeleteSo it wiz yersel...
ReplyDeletehttp://edinburghnews.scotsman.com/edinburgh?articleid=3800971
Ah wish Mr Conan, ah wish. Ah giggled that hard at the thocht that ah've had tae add a wee PS oantae the story. Thanks fer that x
ReplyDeleteSophes, aw thae big Enbra polis waukin aboot drookit, naw wunner thae tak their pensions early.
ReplyDeleteAye Mr Lochnagar, whaur are aw the PC Murdochs an' the Sargeant Dixons, auld-ish men wha could clip young laddies' ears an' get cats doon fae trees? They've aw gaun saft in their dotage so they have.
ReplyDelete