EUHWC Toast to the Lassies 2024
+ ++ At the EUHWC Burns meet in + Ullapool last weekend, I had the last privilege of giving the Toast to + the Lassies. Particularly for the benefit of those who weren’t there, + here it is in full! +
+ +
+ Had Burns, instead of his sweet bonnie Jean,
+ his skills poetical for to mature
+ had any one of our club’s lassies seen
+ he would forever have remained obscure.
+ If he had nothing but this box of worms
+ Scotia would have been poorer, that I’m sure.
+ Now none of us can claim to be a Burns,
+ I’m no poetic master, still, I’ll have a punt,
+ though let’s be clear, I’ll do it on my terms.
+ I’ve everywhere avoided being blunt -
+ politeness matters more than any schema -
+ but it is hard when Isla’s such a cunt.
+ It was a challenge to produce a terza rima
+ I could recite withouten snoring;
+ you’ve been so stiff I thought youse had oedema.
+ The bother is this year is you’ll all been boring:
+ no drugs, no sex, no gossiping or lies,
+ no rock and roll, and hardly any whoring.
+ But hey well, rules is rules, I’ve had to try!
+ At least it can’t be worse than the reply.
+
+ I’ll start with Audrey, the club’s senior member,
+ for if there’s something that I say which disconcerts her,
+ it’s fine: the poor old girl, she won’t remember.
+ She likes to let us think she’s a hard worker
+ but we’re electing a third social sec…
+ it’s pretty clear she’s just another shirker.
+ This lady, half American, half Czech,
+ for study, moved to Scotland for to do
+ American history – really, what the heck?
+ The club is so much louder thanks to you:
+ impressive vocals for just five foot two.
+
+ That woman, Willow, reggles is bespeckled
+ with her sickle and her fishing tackle
+ shackled by the shins while she is heckled;
+ the way that Willow waddles maks me cackle
+ like a speckled jackal getting tickles,
+ worth a shekel in the tabernacle;
+ I chuckle muckle at her love of pickles
+ which she wiggles when she has the heart
+ while work for the Committee’s fickle trickles.
+ Her modus operandi: you can’t rush art.
+ Her reimbursements programme’s going great;
+ any day now, she’ll maybe even start.
+ She cannot walk without Audrey, her mate:
+ I wonder when they’re going to consummate.
+
+ Although they make them pretty tough in Peebles,
+ the thought of actually going up a peak
+ fills Shona Lewis with the heeble-jeebles.
+ New car? We miss your beautiful antique!
+ How long before this one’s also up a creek?
+
+ Once there was a lass called Hannah Collier
+ whom even hell below regarded nasty,
+ deeply despised by all that dwells there.
+ Dating’s proceeding slowly for our lassie;
+ not far from giving up til she beguiles
+ a hot Italian in Southsider: classy!
+ At first, Michaelo seems to be all smiles
+ till it transpires he’s one of Dante’s demons…
+ I guess it’s back to posters of Harry Styles.
+ One day you’ll get a decent boy, keep dreamin;
+ somewhere there waits a handsome Mr Collier.
+ Hopefully when she meets him she’ll no be steamin.
+ Hannah, I’m not sure why you chose to maul your
+ poor skeleton at Subway (she’s still tetchy)
+ and then abandon what remains of all your
+ dignity at Ryvoan with a Frenchie!
+ I think he wishes that he never met ye.
+
+ And has a quiet Felicia e’er been seen?
+ The energy she has is frankly wild.
+ I’ve never seen a hillwalker so keen!
+ Ssie ischt raschtlos und nie gelangweilt.
+ She eats raw oats with soggy protein powder:
+ a camping pot has ne’er been worse defiled.
+ She uses what her Maker has endowed her
+ with: her recorder skills are off the charts;
+ youse think I’m joking, but I wouldn’t doubt her!
+ This lass of the land of the Rot-Gold-Schwarz
+ will soon depart, though long we might beseech ya
+ to stay. Of course, you’ll break all of our hearts,
+ but mine most of all. Any time, Felicia,
+ Creag Meagaidh calls, I know routes up the rear
+ dark and under-explored that I can teach you!
+ I won’t deny I think it’s rather queer
+ the things you do with chickpeas, but no matter.
+ You’re keen, you’re quick, you’re cool, that much is clear.
+ In fact, I think you’d make a damn good faffer:
+ swoop down on distilleries like the Luftwaffe.
+
+ And now we come to our girl Emily Topness!
+ You’re keen for social sec. You’d suit the role
+ because… I’m not quite sure, it’s embdy’s guess.
+ We met your sister, and she was just as dull.
+ No, please drone on about Icelandic soil!
+ Poor Joe here down the front’s bored out his skull.
+ And since I mentioned Joe – I hate to spoil
+ it for you – but you’ve got the inferior Joe,
+ by Jove, no joke, it’s Jock here’s got the style!
+ Nah, write the boy a sonnet, get in the flow,
+ Whatever you produce’ll beat by thrice
+ your Masters thesis. What’d you got to show
+ for months of hunting for the butterflies?
+ ‘There weren’t any.’ Oh, and have some sense,
+ cos I’ve heard rumours – I assume they’re lies –
+ you’ve called yourself the ‘poet in residence.’
+ You know you can’t compete, drop the pretence.
+
+ Tereza was our gear sec for last year.
+ She helped herself to stuff: that’s factual.
+ Now when she asks to loan a bit club gear
+ we have to ask her to provide collateral.
+ She picked up tin whistle pretty sharp!
+ Which is to say, she’s not a natural.
+ She’s nowhere happier than under tarp
+ gazing up at the moon and stars alone
+ somewhere distant and remote like Glen Tarff.
+ Now what to say about Lucy Ma-the-soooon....
+ she likes… to faff… mm hmmm… well, moving on!
+
+ And now we come to Emilie the French.
+ She seems to be nice on the trips we see her
+ but my distrust of frogs will ne’er be quenched.
+ Claims she’s a ‘pharmacist’? So she’s a dealer.
+ Need some pills in a pinch? You call, she’s there
+ at your door in her rally-approved four-wheeler.
+ One question we have is, why are you here?
+ Most folk are in uni, you’ve no refutin
+ you were kicked out after second year!
+ Now the Engineering grad, Sophia Newton.
+ Your namesake, Isaac, was a man convicted,
+ constructed calculus; but no computin,
+ not even Isaac’s, could’ve e’er predicted
+ you’d drop the Eng for creative writing!
+ now that’s what I would call a self-inflicted
+ inflection point! It must be quite enlightening,
+ but that doesn’t excuse when you give us an earful.
+ The blood boils in our veins, the rage heightening,
+ and you’re an American, that makes me fearful.
+ What’s your secret? You have us knackered!
+ What are you on to always be so cheerful?
+ Now we approach the topic of Merzbacher.
+ Wait, she’s not here? Abandoned ship?
+ She says she’s informatics: so she’s a hacker?
+ She has strong views, she lets her anger rip.
+ Poor George got an earful, full of future advice,
+ but why hasn’t she been on another club trip?
+ We’re cruel to focus on this list of vice;
+ the fact remains: she’s headstrong and nice.
+
+ On Skye, a lady gave her poles to Sasha,
+ which was really nice - I mean just the best -
+ but Sasha really didn’t have to flash her.
+ Quick history lesson: way back, RBS
+ led the banking system to self-destruct
+ and left taxpayers to pick up the mess.
+ Since then, the name’s so irredeemably fucked
+ they’ve had to ditch the brand once and for all.
+ There’s one lassie who I need not instruct
+ What, these days, the Royal Bank is called
+ cos NatWest’s nasty history of scandal
+ didn’t stop Booth from working there at all.
+ Nothing motivates her more than to trample
+ upon the working class. They set her free.
+ She sank the pound quicker than the Belgrano,
+ because ‘there is no such thing as society,’
+ that’s how it is, is it? All right, I see.
+
+ Now, coming all the way from Glenmore Lodge,
+ it’s Ellie’s turn! We have done what we can,
+ although I’m scared what she’ll put in my squash.
+ She wasn’t into Benji, but listen man,
+ you’re lucky that you dodged her drunken benders.
+ You’ll wake up in a tent in Kyrgystan,
+ as for how you got there, no-one remembers,
+ and if you’d known you’d be sleeping next to Ellie,
+ you would’ve brought some fucking ear defenders.
+ She’ll wrap you in bubblewrap, from your ears to your belly,
+ cotton clothes for none, and no complaining,
+ applying safety to the max, spare socks in your wellies.
+ She’s always at her Mountain Leader training,
+ practicing her night nav in the locale,
+ pursuing QMDs - unless it’s raining.
+ But some water should not scare our gal!
+ She’s had much experience with the wet as of late:
+ after all, she got on well with our navy pal.
+ What was the age of that particular first mate?
+ Older than your ex - always part of the plan?
+ Ah, of course! He was a spry twenty-eight!
+ Youth’s for the losers, let’s get you a real man,
+ mature and rugged, but kind and astute?
+ Just make sure he’s not as old as your gran.
+ One request we all have is you ditch the uke:
+ never have strings been pluckèd quite so shitely;
+ we would all much rather be hit by a nuke.
+ And please shut up about your nice society.
+ We are all glad you had a fun summer,
+ but bringing it up throws us right back to sobriety.
+ To lose you of course would be a bummer:
+ that is, for your carefully groomed newcomers.
+
+ Now time for the main woman, El Presidente!
+ To here, it’s been like getting stones to bleed,
+ but in Isla Burslem’s case we’ve material aplenty!
+ As Holy Scripture says, ‘let those who lead
+ well be worthy of double honour,’ so
+ your bit is double length – it’s quite the screed!
+ I’ll start off with her brilliant boyfriend – oh!
+ Not boyfriend! Friend? To me this rather smacks
+ of low commitment, but what do I know?
+ So far, he’s disappointing, but on track.
+ What’s he up to Isla: seven minutes? neat!
+ Despite that, he is never holding back
+ your blossoming romance with Dr Peat.
+ Don’t deny it, that launch was pretty hard!
+ It’s fifth base next: that’s photos of his feet.
+ It’s fair to say her reputation’s marred.
+ We all regret that we did once anoint
+ her President: her premiership’s ill-starred.
+ Hey - you’re meant to be in charge of this joint!
+ You’re seldom seen cos of the mountaineering
+ meets that you’re always on. You’d made your point
+ before you chose to go off disappearing
+ to New Zealand… we get the message! Plus
+ we’ve had enough of all your domineering:
+ maybe it’s time we put you on a bus!
+ Nah, I’m just joking. All I’ve said’s refutable.
+ But the boys, we mean this next bit, all of us,
+ so stop me Isla if this isn’t suitable
+ but honestly we think your mum is beautiful.
+
+ Alas, I have to bring an end to this rhyme.
+ I know it wasn’t much, in our defence,
+ the fact you used ChatGPT’s a crime.
+ I hope I’ve not caused over much offence
+ don’t worry, that is it, I’ve said my bit,
+ so I’ll turn from the ladies to the gents.
+ Yeah, don’t look away now, we wrote this shit!
+ I see you looking at your laces, Chris!
+ Wit without real goodwill is not legit,
+ so boys, don’t send sincerity to piss!
+ Why did God say he’d take our hearts of stone
+ and give us hearts of flesh? For this, for this!
+ Here is flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone;
+ love, and love nothing more but God alone.
+