Broadford Bazaar

Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing. Vivas, cortinas, weaving in their wake. With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling, Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake. And it's ``all come willing now, Spend a shilling now, Stack up the back of your new motor-car.'' There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [cuillins] [blessed? ] [cuchulains? ] [cuchulain == mythical irish hero --- wee plastic cuchulains? ] [[email protected] (jo lobb) explains: broadford is a town on Skye (where the road that pa*ses dun ringill leaves the main Road, incidentally) and skye's famous cuillin hills are nearby. I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models Of spectacular hills .... also, the cuillin hills are ``also Known as the coolins or cuchullins, possibly after an ossianic Hero...'', so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after All.] The day of the broadford bazaar. Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting. And jobs for the many are down to the few. Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer. Like flies to the jampots, they were just pa*sing through. And it's ``all come willing now, Spend a shilling now, Stack up the back of your new motor-car'' Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic There's only swear-words in gaelic To say at the broadford bazaar. All kinds of people come down for the opening. Crofters and cottiers, white [wild? ] settlers galore. [crofter == farmer renting land] [cottier == farmer renting land] And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying, But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before. And it's ``all come willing now, Spend a shilling now, Stack up the back of your new motor-car.'' We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled, And stamps from the green shield. The day of the broadford bazaar.