Donald , wheres your trooosers ( Old Tom Morris )

" Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Down the streets in my kilt Ill go
And all the lassies say hello....
And Donald wheres your trooosers....!"
Wonderful Celtic song that I always hum when I
come across ( not literally ) Hamish Mixwell the
caddie shack inspector. He paid us a surprise visit
today ( raid ) to inform us that from July there will
be a strictly adhered to ban on smoking anywhere
in the shack. He shouted this to us through a veritable
fog of lovely smoke. He then accused me of being a
purveyor of class C substances and left forthwith.
My good character blackened by a few choice
sentences by a fellow Celt. Besmirched and slandered
I sloped off towards the seaside to gulp in some fresh
sea air. Another unproductive day .
We have also been informed that tomorrow we are
to expect gale force winds accompanied by lashings of
horizontal rain. So I got that to look forward to. I dont
think I shall be putting my name down for another
Winter shift. It may well be however that the present
ennui has been caused by the fact I have been dry for
the last 15 days. Why I put myself through this torture
I do not know ? But hey look on the bright side...only
another 6 weeks to St. Davids Day....and its nearly
Spring again and I shall be singing " Tulips from
Amsterdam...."
and down the streets in my kilt Ill go......
Pass the bottle will you , Mick