The Robbing Butcher


Whilst at the pharmacy this morning I happened to notice that the Robbing Butcher’s shop was shut, despite the sign on his door saying “OPEN”.

The RB does this all the time, to keep me on the back foot, so to speak. I have a theory that he reads this blog and plans his day accordingly. Possibly he has a periscope secreted in the pavement outside his shop.

I returned to Mhor Cottage to inform Mr. Mhor of the latest developments in the never-ending saga. He was busy cooking breakfast and it was made clear to me that he was not interested  in the vexed subject of whether the RB was open or not.

Unimpressed, I requested two dippy eggs.

Mr. Mhor glared at me. I may recently have pointed out to him that I do not like hard fried eggs. A marriage which has survived the travails ours has done,  ought surely to be able to withstand a reasonable request with regard to  fried eggs?

Well, you would think so, wouldn’t you? Pah. I am too busy to be bothered by these trivialities. I have been banned from Mumsnet and am sending hourly lamentations and petitions to get my account reinstated.

They have hearts of stone (as does the Robbing Butcher, as I frequently tell anyone willing to listen).  

Will the Mustress Mhor get her heart’s desire? Will the Robbing Butcher be open tomorrow? Will Mr. Mhor’s new patio win a Design Award? (This last is highly unlikely).


Despite several emails, in which The Mustress laid bare her heart, MNHQ have abandoned her.

They have also been instrumental in the creation of this blog.

The Robbing Butcher, of course, just swaggers about the village, aware that his Stornoway black pudding and circular square sausage is unrivalled  among connoisseurs of high-quality breakfast produce.

The haggis is also splendid. And the eggs.

In fact, the RB pulled out an egg from what he called his “new” hens the other day. He claimed it was much larger than the eggs from the previous hens. He showed me two eggs, side by side for comparison.

I did grudgingly concede that the new eggs were considerably bigger. Anyway, I imagine that this is why the Mhors are having slight pecuniary difficulties at the moment.

We spend so fucking much in the Robbing Butcher’s shop, that’s why.

Published by themustressmhor

Retired Nurse and Midwife, living in Middle of Nowhere, Argyll, Scotland.

2 thoughts on “The Robbing Butcher

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