Can I help you with your wheelbarrow?

Flicking through this week’s Buteman, I was reminded of the old joke about the foreman that knew Fred was pinching stuff off the building site they were working on, but couldn’t work out what. Every night, Fred would leave the site, whistling happily, and pushing his wheelbarrow. Eventually the foreman decided to challenge Fred, “Look, I know you’re pinching stuff, but I don’t know what. Just between the two of us, will you tell me what, ‘cos I’m starting to lose sleep not knowing“. Deciding to take him at his word, Fred winked at the foreman and nodded, glanced down and said one word, “Wheelbarrows“, and carried on his way.

An oldie, and it comes in many variations, but when I saw the following comment from the manager on the new Goy housing project: “if this site was in Manchester there would have been moans and we would have had to have constant security and still have suffered from thieving“, I couldn’t help thinking of it and smiling. An island with two ferry ports and no bridge isn’t the easiest place to dispose of recently acquired building supplies that just Fell off the Back of a Lorry.

It also conjured up a picture of shell-suited and hooded, Burberry-clad, Buckfast swigging Glasgow Neds queuing up for the ferry, with stolen borrowed pick-ups loaded with bricks, timber, scaffold, plumbing, cement mixers, shovels, and anything else not tied down on the hillside. You can just imagine the conversation as a look of genuine surprise crossed they’re faces when they’re stopped before boarding the ferry:

Good evening sir. Had a busy day on site today then?

Aye, no bad big man.

You seem to have a lot of surplus material.

Eh… naw? We’re… um… just here fur wan day. Trainin’ oan the joab like… ye know… helpin’us get joabs wi’ experience.

Really? Who’s in charge?

Ah… the gaffer goat pissed, hud to get an early boat ‘n go hame. tae ‘is kip. Left us tae clear up.

Really? Who were you working with on site?

How the F*** wid ah know, that’s the gaffer’s joab!

Really? Watch your language please. Do you know the registration number of this vehicle?

Huvnae a clue pal… heh-heh… the gaffer just left it fur us tae get hame in.

Really? Have you been drinking?

Whit’s it tae ye?

Nothing Sir, but I believe the smell of your breath suggests it may be of interest to this Breathalyser…

At which stage the happy band of designer-label-clad geniuses decide to cut their losses, assault the officer, abandon their haul, and leg it into the town and make good their escape.

Normally a plan that works reasonably well in a big city, but, our band of happy travellers have forgotten one small detail – they’re on an island, and it’s not even tourist season.

If you think the scenario’s a bit far fetched, you may be right, on the other hand, I know someone who’s cousin was mugged by a bunch of Neds in Glasgow last night. Three young teens just walking between their homes were assaulted by a group of eight older teens (fortunately not seriously injured, only shaken), who relieved them of their mobile phones, cash and anything else movable. They were in custody within the hour as they then proceeded to board a bus and wreak havoc on board. Bus security in the city is now very sophisticated, with automated radio links, meaning they were quickly attended to by the police, but even eight of them couldn’t work out that going nuts on a bus was a quick route to the cells, and they were already on the Radar.

Island life, isn’t it great?