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The
Nicht We Went Tae Amulree
By
Exile
A
fine dinner was had at the Crieff Drummond Arms,
Before
driving through the Sma’ Glen, enjoying her charms,
Then
continuing north up ow’r the hill,
Wae
the evening sun low, so peaceful, tranquil,
Made
me feel proud in an odd kind of way,
Back
here in Perthshire, where I used to stay,
The
wide sweep o’ the moors, the feeling of space,
The
silhouetted hills, rugged beauty and grace,
The
scenery changed, up ahead we could see,
A
church on the left, a hotel and a tree,
A
bonny wee bungalow, a store and a bridge,
A
sign told us Aberfeldy was ow’r yon ridge,
We
were halfway tae Dunkeld an’ we needed a pee,
So
we emptied our bladders at The Hotel, Amulree,
Refreshed
and relieved I took a good look around,
You
could hardly describe this place as a ‘Town’,
Wae
nae protest marching cocophany,
Or
advertised pornography,
A
place where men when not asleep,
Would
entertain themselves wae sheep,
A
place where women kept indoors,
And
sex was strictly 'on all fours',
A
place wae' a bus shelter o' unusual architecture,
That
must have provoked a lot o’ conjecture,
The
kind o’ building ye never wid miss,
When
the hotel was closed an’ ye needed a piss,
Half
the woodwork was gone, there was nesting for birds,
While
under yer feet there were mountains o’ turds,
I
wondered if it was ‘listed’, it put Amulree on the map,
For
extracting the piss and importing crap,
It’s
a landmark for sure for all the wrong reasons,
‘Providing
shelter to the needy throughout all the seasons’.
Copyright
Calluna Publishing 2003
