T is for Tatties

"Tatties"

Pronounced : tat-ee pl. tat-eez

Definition : n. Plural form of tatty. Scottish word for potatoes.

Usage :  Hud on son, I’ll be wi ye as soon as I bree the tatties

Translation : If you are offended by any of the potato jokes present on this website, feel free to call the complaints line on 0800 1-potato 2-potato 3-potato 4.

Teangue is a beautiful wee fishing village on the Sleat peninsula, Isle of Skye, Highlands of Scotland. It is situated in Knock Bay on the west side of the Sound of Sleat. It is in the Scottish council area of Highland.  The home of pretty Knock Castle.

Teangue

 

 

My Tally

 

My Mum, Brilliant Christmases and The Fugly Jesus Sandals

My mum is the BEST! No fucking questions asked.

When my sister and I were little, we didn't have much money.  We weren't poor or anything, but my dad had to work far away from home for extended periods and he'd send my mum money for us.   So therefore, my mum was a whizz at making tatties and mince last for days on end. She was the master and stretching her pennies as far as they could go.  Hell, she still is!  

But when Christmas came we were spoiled rotten!

We had ten aunties and uncles that would get us Christmas prezzies and on Christmas morning our front room looked like a Santa bomb had exploded.  Stacks of shiney, brightly wrapped presents and Christmassy things EVERYWHERE. 

Yeah, Jesus' birthday was huge in our house and it still is.

Every year, my sister and I were allocated a couch each on which all our loot was stacked.  It was like heaven for a child. We would be opening presents all fekking morning.  It was ridiculous!  We used to use my dad's football referee socks as stockings because they were HUGE and we got more stuff in them.  My big sis used to take one end of the sock and I'd take the other and we try to stretch the socks so that we'd get even more goodies. 

Now, it wasn't expensive or extravagant gifts, some of them would actually be home-made (that's a whole other story) but when you're 7 years old, its quantity that matters, not quality.

During the weeks before Christmas, my mum used to buy us new clothes from Mothercare and make us keep our eyes closed while we tried them on.  

I shit you not!  

We knew exactly what we were getting but we didn't know what they looked like.  Then she wrap them up and when we opened them up we had to act surprised.  One year she even made us try on a pair of dungarees each.  Obviously we could feel they were dungarees but Mum fiercy insisted we keep our eyes tightly closed so we didn't know what they looked like on Christmas morning.  She would threaten us that we'd get a bag of coal if we peeped.  Bless her!

Anyway, this brings me to one of the stories that I will never forget happening in our house-hold.  The story was repeated for years afterward by every member of our family in a different way. The story remains fuckin' legendary.

Here goes :

My mum loved dressing my sister and I in the same outfits when we were little.  Hell, she made us dress the same until my older sister was about 12, so I must've been about about 8 or 9.  My mum's own taste in clothes was pretty hip and trendy but for some reason, her choices dressing her off-spring was totally ridiculous - almost comical.  I always wondered why she got it so wrong for us when she always looks so awesome herself. 

My sister and I both hated dressing the same.  I was just less vocal than my sis. 

Anyhoo, mum had bought us new clothes for some outing we were going to and she presented us the outfits to put on just before we were ready to go.  That day my mum either had a fucking brain hemorrhage or she'd taken cheap drugs because she wanted us to wear green and white striped knee socks with brown leather Jesus sandals!!  She completed the ensemble with identical green and white striped t-shirts and brown fuzzy pinafores.  Versace would've turned in his grave!  My dad was miffed too.  Dad is a Rangers supporter and his girls wearing Celtic colours was almost embarrassing!

Anyway, this day my tweenie sister refused point blank to put on the Jesus sandals.  Mum was livid - she said "You WILL put on those sandals!".  My sister stood her ground, refusing to even LOOK at the sandals.  My sis said they were ugly.  My mother nearly exploded!  She was so angry and yelled "If ye don't put those sandals on now I'll skelp yer arse!".  My sister still refused. 

You must know my sister was a chubby girl.  My mother never saw this through her rose-coloured glasses.  In her eyes were we both perfectly beautiful girls with no faults.  

The worst thing she could've asked my self-conscious sister to wear was thick horizontal stripes around her chunky calves.  She was NOT going out dressed like that no matter how lovely my mother said we looked.  My sister had had enough of the identical dressing.  She had totally outgrown it and let mum know that day. 

She never wore the Jesus sandals.  I wore them to keep the peace.

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