The noises coming fae his belly wiz like a horde o’ frogs having a right auld ceilidh

WEL, I SUPPOSE I had better start with a bit of good news.

Last week, Portree had it’s lamb sales and off went aw the wee sheep…except one as far as we are aware.

Yes indeed, Ghini is still with us.

Now whether David the crofter has forgotten about him, or noticed the minor Twitter storm at the thocht of my lamb being accompanied by a mint sauce, we dinna ken, but the end result is still the same and he remains in situ.

However, we did have tae get yet another visit fae the polis, and this time it was nothing tae dae with me, or the alleged theft of toast.

Initially, it was only tae dae with the misappropriation of ten fine farm shop sausages that Uncle Matt had lovingly prepared over the open fire that we intended tae have for dinner…until Laoch ruined the whole evening by scoffing the flipping lot and even licked the frying pan clean as a whistle (are whistles really cleaner than anything else that’s been pit in the gob? I dunno).