Muh trildrens, muh trildrens, let’s get this show on the road with a ditty: You’ll take the high road and I’ll take the low road; and I’ll be in Scotland ’afore ye. But me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.
A loch, trildrens, is a Scottish lake. And what better place to meet your true love, shed your impedimenta on the mossy banks, and dive in?
Except that the fellow singing this ditty ain’t going to be doing that no more. He’s a prisoner in Carlisle Jail in England waiting to be hanged next morning while his cellmate will be released to head home by the high, or Highway 2A, road.
The singer’s spirit will travel quickly by the low road through the underworld. But his true love won’t want any duppy love. Girls are like that.
Stiff is okay. If you’re a stiff, forget it.
Anyhow, trildrens, first message today: always take the high road. Trust me, you’ll never regret it. Forget the dazzle of drugs, quick money, bling and popularity. As Charlene tells it:
Oh, I’ve been to Nice and the Isle of Greece where I’ve sipped champagne on a yacht; I’ve moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo and showed ’em what I’ve got.
I’ve been undressed by kings and I’ve seen some things that a woman ain’t supposed to see – I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me.
Okay, second message: be positive. Last Monday a well constructed young lady had emblazoned across her chest the assertion I May Not Be Perfect But Parts Of Me Are Pretty Awesome!
That’s positive! And what man could resist giving her a job on the spot in order to check to what actual areas that boast might have applied?
Patrick Maxwell is a positive fellow. Last Friday he told me: “Today I have reached 69. It’s a battle trying to make ends meet when you can’t make heads nor tails of what’s going on. But, Lowdown, for this entire year I intend to get through lickin’!”
Way to go, Giggard!
Third message, trildrens, tell them teach you to read. Not only to call words, but to understand the use of language to manipulate and control. Ask them to explain why a “tyrant” is a fellow who won’t let us have his oil. But, if he does, he’s a “president” or “king”.
Or why a “rebel” fighting against one corrupt regime is good, but an “insurgent” doing the same thing against another corrupt regime is bad.
Trildrens, we’re now getting unprecendented access to information on the dirty dealings our so-called “good guys” governments engage in. They didn’t take the high road, no way!
Like, the United States and Britain were not only in bed with Gaddafi. They sent him victims to be tortured and were present at the interrogations. Be aware.
Fourth message: be not ashamed to ask for assistance. The tin flute, properly called the Irish or penny whistle, was my second instrument after the comb and paper.
Now I want to move on to a bigger Low D whistle and I’m looking for a credible local whistle-blower to get me started.
Avoiding leaks is the major problem for whistle-blowers. The whistle-blower has to make sure all the holes are properly covered. Especially that treacherous bottom hole. Otherwise all hell will break loose. And suddenly he may wish he’d never taken up whistle-blowing.
Finally, muh trildren, keep faith in God.
He will provide. Just last week a fellow asked me to keep his two pet goats while he’s away. But not only did he bring goats; he brought 23 packs of Sodabix for them.
Not since I was put in charge of some emergency hurricane stores in the early 1970s has such wondrous bounty come my way uninvited.
Knowing Bizzy’s favourite diet, my wife now wants to invite him and Shell for lunch:
“Two tins of sardines with those Sodabix and we’d be covered!” she enthused.
“And you could show off in your Very Wong ensemble from S.Y. Adams!” I added. Verily, God is good!
Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator. Email porkhoad@gmail.com
