It seems fitting that the inaugural toast post for this thread should be this favourite of that Fish:
And then there are oldies but goodies:
Here’s tae us!
Wha’s like us?
Damn few and they’re a’ deid.
What started me off on this train of thought was:
Confusion to the Midge!
In practice, often succeeded by the extravagant gesticulation which may be observed in many parts of Scotland from April to at least September…
The little gentleman in the black velvet waistcoat.
And from the Navy:
Here’s to wives and sweethearts, and may they never meet.
Actually that is the Saturday toast; the rest of the week is
Monday: Our ships at sea.
Tuesday: Our men.
Wednesday: Ourselves (as no one is likely to concern themselves with our welfare.)
Thursday: A bloody war and quick promotion.
Friday: A willing soul and sea room.
Sunday: Absent friends and those at sea.
Traditionally “A bloody war and a sickly season”, those being the main causes of quick promotion.
According to Jackspeak (Jolly and Tugg), who are probably right. I was doing it from memory…
And having checked there, it’s “A willing foe – and sea room”.
A good and serviceable toast, that, and one with a wide variety of spellings to choose from to boot.
I have remembered the other naval one, though since it is Hornblower it might not be real:
Glorious war, oceans of gore, prizes galore, beauty ashore.
Or, in the Manx, slaynt as shee as eash dy vea, as maynrys son dy bra. A bit of a mouthful but means health and peace and length of life and happiness for ever.
…with an even wider variety of spelling, and graceful extensions.
…and a much wider still variety of attempts at pronunciation.
Before or after?
Hmm. The title of this thread keeps making me really, really want toast & marmite. I’m going to have to give in.
One can do so either gracefully or after an undignified tussle. The
house Marmite always wins.
Here’s a bottle and an honest man –
What would ye wish for mair, man.
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be o’ care, man.
So catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man.
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man.
Soothing cold porridge poultice?
You get my drift, I’m sure.
I do. Although I would not be at all sure if I saw Burns with a beer in his hand I would believe his initial claim…