Right, it's time to get back to blogging. The project I am currently working on is coming to successful fruition so a wee bit of time once again becomes available.
Unfortunately that bit of free time soon gets filled up with urgent little jobs: like fixing the clothes pulley. All it needed was a new bit of rope but sometimes these wee jobs take the longest to get done.
If you don't live in the west of Scotland you may not have understood what I was talking about, but we call a slatted clothes drier suspended from the ceiling a "pulley". Almost certainly this is because it is operated via two pulleys - one single, one double.
That was a bit patronising, I know. You knew how it worked, didn't you? You just call it something different where you live. What you probably don't know is the only pulley joke in the world, and if you don't call it a pulley you probably won't understand the joke.
It seems that a cooncil team were round fixing a few problems in one of the old tenements. Old Mrs McGlumphert saw the boys working next door and asked one of them if he'd have a minute or two to fix her pulley. He agreed and came round to her scullery when he'd finished his own job.
It only took him a few minutes to re-hang the pulley and when he'd finished he turned to Mrs McGlumphert and said "Right, missus, that's it fixed. Ye'll can get yer claes up noo".
"Weel OK son, if ye want", said Mrs McGlumphert, "but I was really jist thinking o' gein' ye a wee boatle of whisky".