by: Morrice, Molly
Bella an me were waukin throw Tescos, an fin we stopped at the trolley wi aa the bashed tins an burst packets, she looked up and said, 'Oh, here's Elvis Presley!'
I said 'Dinna spikk a load o crap. Aa that stuff aboot him bein alive is jist tae sell papers.'
Bit Bella's an affa yap. She says tae him “Is your name Elvis?''
An he answers, “Ay”
I thocht, we've a real nutter here. Bit eence Bella starts, there's nae stoppin her.
“Div ye sing?” she asks.
“Ay,” he said. “I wis in the Oakbank Choir fin I wis young.”
“Well,” Bella says, “There's a karaoke in that pub at the fit o Market Street on Thursday. Ye should hae a go.Wi your looks yer half wye there. And there's a mannie in the Castlegate sells Elvis records cheap. Ye could buy a few an practice afore Thursday.”
Well, we usually hiv oor darts on Thursday, bit we decide, tae hell we wir darts, we'll ging an hear Elvis.
Oh God, I got the shock o my life. Here wis Elvis wi his sideburns an a bit o rubber tubin doon his breeks tae mak him sexy, swivellin aboot his hips singin Blue Suede Shoes. We'd tae catch the last bus for Northfield. I wid hiv teen a taxi, bit Bella's a bit ticht wi money. Onywye, he won the competition an apparently his wife's hairt-broken. He's teen their savins an sailed awa tae Graceland. And it's aa oor fault!