Re: History of the Breton Language

On Sun, 23 Oct 2005 09:30:53 GMT, John
<guinnog@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote:

>Michilín wrote:
>> On Sat, 22 Oct 2005 22:47:49 GMT, Bob and Doris Jones
>> <bobianjones@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote:
>> 
>> 
>>>John wrote:
>>>
>>>>Michilín wrote:
>>>>
>>>>
>>>>>In the Scottish Central Belt (the area between and including Glasgow
>>>>>and Edinburgh) there is a phenomenon known as the "Scottish Cringe"
>>>>>where the people have ben taught to feel inferior to England. In the
>>>>>two more warlike parts of Scotland, the Borders and the Highlands,
>>>>>this has not happened, but the fact that this cringe is used to
impose
>>>>>English-style social class pressure on Scots is extremely bad news,
>>>>>especially in view of the highly visible slogan of Burn's famous
>>>>>dictum that "A man's a man for all that" (everyone is equal), which
>>>>>seems to be accompanied by the addendum "providing he doesn't speak
>>>>>Scots at the office."   
>>>>
>>>>
>>>>Or emigrate to Canada.
>>>>
>>>>John
>>>
>>>Playing the man not the ball, matey ?
>> 
>> 
>> No, it's called loser's jealousy. A lot of Scots were turned down for
>> being outrageous bedwetters.
>
>Yes, you must be very proud of still retaining some measure of urinary 
>continence at your age. Well done!
>
>John

Indeed! I shall be 74 on Saint Nicholas' Day and I still don't use
adult diapers. I sense that my only moment of voluntary incontinence
will come when I finally have the pleasure of pissing on your grave.
As two heart specialists have assured me that, barring accident or
outraged husbands from my chequered past, I shall live to see 120
years behind me, pissing on your grave is going to be one of the few
highlights of my declining years; a prospect to which I look forward
with the keenest pleasure and anticipation.

I have only ever once seen someone piss on someone else's grave; a
friend of mine who asked me to keep a lookout while he paid his final
respects to his stepfather who had been interred mere hours earlier,
surrounded by weeping but grateful heirs - he left $32 million to his
oldest son, who stood smirking hideously at the graveside, clearly
reviewing the assets entrusted to his greedy grasp. My friend was
given a great deal of unsolicited advice in the deceased's will, but
not a penny in cash. 

I was quite pleased to be present at the pee-in, as it gave me a sense
of having witnessed something essentially mediaeval, not to mention
well-merited - I had known the pissee prior to his demise and felt he
got away lightly, although in all fairness he did once offer me a
refill after serving me a miniscule shot of Bowmore Malt, which
resulted in a faint dampness at the bottom of the already
inadequately-sized glass. With an air of poverty-struck but still
aristocratic grandeur I refused the offer, muttering something
suitable about the initial dampness having been sufficient treat and a
word or two about the drinking and driving laws - a faint hope in this
instance!

My friend later contracted various illnesses associated with his
debauched lifestyle, mostly spent drinking (and worse) in the company
of loose women and on his deathbed advised me to hang on as long as I
could as dying was "a f***ing bore". I had never heard death described
in those terms before and realized that I was losing a friend who may
have been a total rounder but had many redeeming features; in
particular a tendency to laugh uproariously at my more plangent
remarks to those who displeased me, like you, dear John...



Murchadh