Daneland

[claymore]

Its raining

[claymore]

Sunny this morning but rain forecast.

[ParaHandy]

Rain eh? You know what the most common problem of the Touranussairairse is? Yup, water ingress. It'll just be like ma fine ship afore orra leaks were fixed and thon wus British rain; fek knows whit'll happen over there. Thur soft in the heid wi all that danish water ....

[claymore]

Awa an bile yer heed ye big saftie an keep eatin yer sticky buns

[wully]

Danes do the best sticky buns.

And coffee.

[claymore]

Ah'm banned fae sticky buns - Dear Heart disnae want me tae end up like Para

[Silkie]

Where are you when we need you Ash?

[claymore]

Silkiepoos, my ageing haystack of the morning light, - this began life as a sailing thread - it talking about the weather and all, it moved on to the ingress of water and then on to sustenance and keeping trim, all relevant sailing related topics.
Why do you want to kill this thread - without which Blue moment would seem a quiet place - by bringing Ashbone Wish into play?

[ash]

One can just see Jutland in the top corner of Carol's weather map so we can all keep an eye on Claymore's weather.

Maybe someone could tweet her and ask her to make a special mention of the weather forecast for Claysie in Daneland.

Ash

[claymore]

Ye spik o' ra wumman ah love

Her an ra wee lassie fae Stornoway CG

Whit a love triangle that wid be

[wully]

Ye'll be gang nae wi near ra utter hemhoroids an thon puir wee Stornae bhag lassie if ye dinnae get tae wurk on yer fyne shup instead o sitting oan yer hoop cramming tasty pasties doon yer neck oer there in Daneland.

[claymore]

Wull, d'ye nae think it wid sort itself oot if ah wait lang enough?

[ParaHandy]

Ye'll be gang nae wi near ra utter hemhoroids an thon puir wee Stornae bhag lassie if ye dinnae get tae wurk on yer fyne shup instead o sitting oan yer hoop cramming tasty pasties doon yer neck oer there in Daneland.

Normally he likes his crew to do a little bit; well, actually, a lot. He rushes aboot wafting his arms until his horroroids threaten to mutiny.

[wully]

Wull, d'ye nae think it wid sort itself oot if ah wait lang enough?

Eh.....Naw.

[claymore]

Ye'll be gang nae wi near ra utter hemhoroids an thon puir wee Stornae bhag lassie if ye dinnae get tae wurk on yer fyne shup instead o sitting oan yer hoop cramming tasty pasties doon yer neck oer there in Daneland.

Normally he likes his crew to do a little bit; well, actually, a lot. He rushes aboot wafting his arms until his horroroids threaten to mutiny.

When are ye free?