I am standing in cold driving rain.
I am drenched.
I am happy.
This day has bought much joy to my heart; well it would at least, if I had one.
Those stupid folk, so easily deceived, so easily led astray! How they quail before the beautiful, beautiful rain! Dashing hither tither in search of shelter, but shelter here? In these highlands, MY highlands, with the grass this day green, lush. The stones and craggy outcrops paint such a magnificent picture against the purple midday sky, heavy with dark clouds and foreboding.
The shells of my cloak rattle as I move amongst the heather. Oh what fun I have! Oh the joy it brings me, leading those wretched souls from the beaten track. They do not see me, for I do not wish to be seen, yet they follow, follow, the rattling of my shell coat; a cockle cover coat, that falls halfway down the length of my kilt. For that is why I am ‘The Shellycoat’!
Oh glorious rain, veritable chair legs cast from the heavens, falling now heavier and heavier; their path is now lost, the sky is black, Thor’s hammer beating out his tune from above.
Slippery wet highland stones amongst the now sodden Scottish hills and mountains fall beneath the despairing feet. A child is crying, a parent wraps it into the folds of its arms. Stupid! As if the arms of man can stop my beautiful, beautiful rain!
The Red Caps will pay me dearly for this gaggle of humanity; oh how I laugh! How I revel in I the knowledge that the rain tonight for those lost cretins will be that of blood. Their blood, for Red Caps must soak their tam o’shanter’s in the glorious hot red gold! For I am the Shellycoat, and this is what I do.
I wrote that a couple of years ago, for something that now eludes me. Click the picture, or I will send the Shellycoat down your way.
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