I was told this story many years ago. A big dour hefty man from Portavogie, John Thompson, married a thin timid wee woman called Maggie, probably some time in the 1950s. They moved into a cottage at the end of our road, at what was once a 'clachan' called Butterlump. On the day after the wedding, Maggie said to John:
"Whit way wud ye like yer egg this mornin John?"
Unimpressed, John said:
"Hmph. Alang wi anither yin".
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