My carnaptious, thrawn, too clever, too up to mischief, always fun to know, old Grandpa was very mellow one Summer.
We thought he was mulling over some new engineering marvel or planning mischief. Baby of the family Uncle Andrew came home (he'd been doing his National Service as MO with the Gurkhas in Hong Kong) and took a wander around the gardens. Came into the kitchen and said to my Granny, "Why are we growing cannabis, Mother ?, "Are we dear ?", replied my Granny.
My Grandpa smoked a pipe, one of the ones with the silver mounted spring cap. He smoked every blasted herb and leaf he thought might look interesting. Stuffed leaves in and sooked hard to get them going.
Off for a daun'er (dawdle of a walk) with him was like following a smouldering compost heap sometimes
Anyhow, Auld Will had found the strange plant growing where my Granny cleaned out the budgie's cage.
Aye, indeed. Nothing new
Blame the bird food