Have Ye The Turf Cut Yet?

Mint Sauce

Growing up as kids, any time we came here on holiday in the summer, we were all dragged up to the bog for a day or two to go footing, stacking, and bagging, or what ever the hell its called. Usally came home cold, wet, and covered in cuts and bites. I can honestly say I have never stepped foot in one since I moved here, nor am I in any hurry to.

HondaSami

irish-stew wrote: »

Growing up as kids, any time we came here on holiday in the summer, we were all dragged up to the bog for a day or two to go footing, stacking, and bagging, or what ever the hell its called. Usally came home cold, wet, and covered in cuts and bites. I can honestly say I have never stepped foot in one since I moved here, nor am I in any hurry to.

It's a great place to get a suntan and it's free, can't say it's painless. :P

The Backwards Man

Thatnastyboy wrote: »

Trying to find a bank to work off,

c*nts won't let us cut on ours anymore, last year was the final effort.

Now we're stuck with nothing but this mucky sh1te from 3 years ago that still hasn't dried and is mostly stones anyway, f*ckin scutter :mad:

Workin on it though, hopefully we'll be out tearing the sh1te out of our hamstrings soon, or we'll have no hot water for the forseeable future

In every bog there is a old guy that tells who has been cutting where for the last 80 years. It's not that he has a great memory, it's just that no one is able to contradict him.

seven_eleven

Nimrod 7 wrote: »

Am I the only one here who doesn't speak culchie?

I was just waiting for an offended dub to have a hissy fit

Sergeant

Can't beat a good day in the bog. Sitting around drinking tea and eating ham sandwiches out of a biscuit tin while telling the lad footing the hopper beside you that, 'jaysus, we've got an Indian Summer'.

Until that wool jumper wearing gimp Ming called around to tell me about my entitlements.

Packed it in and now exclusively using briquettes.

pragmatic1

Sergeant wrote: »

Can't beat a good day in the bog. Sitting around drinking tea and eating ham sandwiches out of a biscuit tin while telling the lad footing the hopper beside you that, 'jaysus, we've got an Indian Summer'.

Until that wool jumper wearing gimp Ming called around to tell me about my entitlements.

Packed it in and now exclusively using briquettes.

Don't know what kind of bog you were in but when I go to help the family its a different story. I used to be informed with half an hours notice, on the hottest day of the year, with a massive hangover/comedown.

This was then followed with about six hours of backbreaking work. Picking cotton was hard me hole. The slaves never had a day in the bog with a thick Irish father.

Rasheed

Done in one bank but not the other. We even got a new turf trailer this year for extra excitement! Woo farmer tans!

Sergeant

pragmatic1 wrote: »

Don't know what kind of bog you were in but when I go to help the family its a different story. I used to be informed with half an hours notice, on the hottest day of the year, with a massive hangover/comedown.

This was then followed with about six hours of backbreaking work. Picking cotton was hard me hole. The slaves never had a day in the bog with a thick Irish father.

It's all worth the effort when you get 25 sturdy sorts from the parish to call down to the bog to help you get the tractor unstuck from the rut it has found itself in. That's community.

Rasheed

Sergeant wrote: »

It's all worth the effort when you get 25 sturdy sorts from the parish to call down to the bog to help you get the tractor unstuck from the rut it has found itself in. That's community.

Then all into the pub for a quick one on the way home for ham sandwiches, covered in sweat and turf mould. Jesus, it's a sexy look.

pragmatic1

Sergeant wrote: »

It's all worth the effort when you get 25 sturdy sorts from the parish to call down to the bog to help you get the tractor unstuck from the rut it has found itself in. That's community.

Meh we filled about half a dozen trailers every year with just four of us. But I am a double hard bastard.

cml387

I hate the smell of turfsmoke in the morning.....it smells like..poverty.

Sergeant

cml387 wrote: »

I hate the smell of turfsmoke in the morning.....it smells like..poverty.

You should consider a move to the Big Smoke then. Take a job in a haberdashery.

HondaSami

cml387 wrote: »

I hate the smell of turfsmoke in the morning.....it smells like..poverty.

Does it smell differently in the evening?

The Backwards Man

Rasheed wrote: »

Then all into the pub for a quick one on the way home for ham sandwiches, covered in sweat and turf mould. Jesus, it's a sexy look.

Or that one glorious evening where you stay on the pub and head to the disco with a your face black with dirt and a clod of turf still stuck down the trough of your sweaty arse.

HondaSami

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Or that one glorious evening where you stay on the pub and head to the disco with a your face black with dirt and a clod of turf still stuck down the trough of your sweaty arse.

Were you born in 1930?

The Backwards Man

cml387 wrote: »

I hate the smell of turfsmoke in the morning.....it smells like..poverty.

That's where you're wrong, us turfcutters are rich beyond your wildest dreams because our heating bills are so low.:p

The Backwards Man

HondaSami wrote: »

Were you born in 1930?

Na, in the middle of the night as far as I know.

cml387

HondaSami wrote: »

Does it smell differently in the evening?

It's a quote from Abogalypse Now.

moy83

I saw a hardy ould wan cutting with the slean one time . She had her top off like a man and her saggy right tit was thrown over her shoulder to keep out of the swing of the slean . Caitin Kat was her name , some worker she was

Miseryguts

Now where did i leave them feckin' Fert bags??

Grayson

The Backwards Man wrote: »

That's where you're wrong, us turfcutters are rich beyond your wildest dreams because our heating bills are so low.:p

And knowing that you're helping destroy a unique habitat that took hundreds of thousands of years to form, and that your kids and grand kids will never see, warms the cockles of your heart.

The only thing better than cutting turf, is burning it at the bottom of a glacier.

The Backwards Man

Grayson wrote: »

And knowing that you're helping destroy a unique habitat that took hundreds of thousands of years to form, and that your kids and grand kids will never see, warms the cockles of your heart.

The only thing better than cutting turf, is burning it at the bottom of a glacier.

Eh? What habitat am I destroying on a blanket bog?

Son Of A Vidic

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Have Ye The Turf Cut Yet?

Thankfully my bowel movements are quite regular, but I don't think it really is any of your business.