All this reminds me of a dunder headed plonker I used to work with. I've nothing against big headed simpletons usually but this bloke was objectionable with it.
We were sending a delivery of components up to Aberdeen for an oil rig and they needed to be there pronto. Someone told the dunderhead that to avoid customs checks on the Scottish border, the lorry would be allowed straight through Customs if it had a tartan band painted around the bodywork. So the buffoon was dispatched post haste to the hardware shop round the corner with a fiver out of petty cash and instructions to purchase a tin of tartan paint. And to make it snappy.
Five minutes later, he came running back into the yard, red in the face and puffed out. He went up to the foreman, who was also his chief tormentor, and asked "What clan do you want?"
