THE ELEVEN O’CLOCK BUS By Exile ,Now
ye’ couldnae tell a tale about Stanley, And
no mention the eleven o’clock bus, And
the potential there was for trouble, Once
it had arrived at
‘The Cross’ At
ten past eleven on a Saturday night, The
last bus from Perth would appear, With
a cargo o’ passengers rich in character, Wha’
invariably had far too much beer, You
could imagine the state o’ their bladders, As
they piled through the Fish ‘n Chip door, Anxious
faces confronted the Curas, Who’d
been quiet for an hour or more, It
was part of the routine of Stanley, The
highlight of Angelo’s week, For
without the eleven o’clock bus folk, The
prospect for the weekend was bleak, It
was important that this went like clockwork, The
customers were on their way hame, If
it wasnae a slick operation, Angelo
Cura would get a’ the blame, So,
old Margaret would take a’ the orders, Young
Mary would portion and wrap, While
Angelo would fry at the chip pan, And
listen to everyones’ crap, This
night Tot Smith was there queueing, Clutching
‘Allsorts’ he’d bought for his Mum, When
he took a dislike to the Curas, Rumour
had it ‘he’d far too much rum’, He
shouldnae really have done it, Angelo
wasnae that bad an auld soul, When
the liquorice allsorts hit the chip pan, The
fat turned
blacker than coal, No
he shouldnae’ really have done it, Angelo
Cura was a respected, kind man, But
I can see it as if in slow motion, Liquorice
Allsorts heading straight for the pan, You
couldnae’ imagine what followed, Young
Tot ran like Hell for his life, A
riot ensued in the chip shop, Poor
Angelo was consoled by his wife, Auld
Margaret, she got on her high horse, said
“Whatever’s got into that man?” And
she couldnae believe her own eyesight, As
their ‘Sputnik’ was thrown in the pan Young
Mary, she went off her rocker, “Whatever
got into that prat”, And
the chip pan was bubbling and spitting, As
it signalled the end of their cat, Angelo
Cura then called them all “Bastards”, “That
cat never did any harm, It
just sat up there on the counter, And
even farted to keep your chips warm”, They
nodded each one in agreement, They
knew the cat did them a favour, Not
only did it keep all the chips warm, It
imparted a wonderful flavour, Angry
men, now who couldnae get supper, Were
beginning to talk of a fight, What
was wrong wae’ that stupid auld ‘Tally’, Was
there nae maer frying tonight? Could
they no just put some more chips on? The
liquorice might flavour the fat, “Can
ye no just sell me a bobs worth o’ chips? And
wrap them up wae the cat”, Well that was the last straw for Margaret, It
just seemed as though nothing else mattered, When a voice said to Mary”Don’t wrap up the cat, for
I see that it hasnae been battered”, Now
Angelo turned fair ashen, Looked
as though he was going to expire, When
‘Plewshong’ shot past at a hell o’ a rate, And
wae a splash landed up in the fryer, Well
this may have silenced the Curas, But
it only encouraged the ‘Voice’, “If
you’ve got nae cod or black puddings, I’d
better have cat and chips twice’, “I’m
closing the chip shop this second, I
want you all out of my sight, I’m
going to move out of the village, I
can’t take any more of your shite”, And
that’s how it was with the Curas, The
last words they spoke were as thus, And
one thing’s for sure, it’s not the same anymore, when
you get off the eleven o’clock bus. The
lads thought that this was terrific, It
was much better fun than a fight, To
a man, one thing you could bet on, they
would be there next Saturday night, Now
it couldnae at all have been Tot’s fault, He
was after all one of us, “There
was never a more sober person, Got
off the eleven o’clock bus”, COPYRIGHT – Calluna Publishing
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