Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.   Vivas, cortinas, weaving in their wake.   With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,   Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.      And it's ``all come willing now,   Spend a shilling now,   Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''   There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [cuillins]   [blessed? ] [cuchulains? ]   [cuchulain == mythical irish hero --- wee plastic cuchulains? ]      [jo-l@kcbbs.gen.nz (jo lobb) explains: broadford is a town on   Skye (where the road that passes dun ringill leaves the main   Road, incidentally) and skye's famous cuillin hills are nearby.   I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models   Of spectacular hills .... also, the cuillin hills are ``also   Known as the coolins or cuchullins, possibly after an ossianic   Hero...'', so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after   All.]      The day of the broadford bazaar.      Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.   And jobs for the many are down to the few.   Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.   Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.      And it's ``all come willing now,   Spend a shilling now,   Stack up the back of your new motor-car''   Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic   There's only swear-words in gaelic   To say at the broadford bazaar.      All kinds of people come down for the opening.   Crofters and cottiers, white [wild? ] settlers galore.   [crofter == farmer renting land]   [cottier == farmer renting land]   And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying,   But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.      And it's ``all come willing now,   Spend a shilling now,   Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''   We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,   And stamps from the green shield.   The day of the broadford bazaar.