I saw him as soon as I walked in to the bar.
A ginger haired, giant of a man wearing a kilt and with a wooden leg leaning against the huge armchair in which he was sitting.
Seeing me looking at him he called out across the room, ”Hey, laddie, did you know in Scotland they can’t hang a man with a wooden leg?
Sensing my discomfort, he continued ” got so drunk last night, I was almost legless”.
“But I managed to leg it off home just in time” he continued,” to get my leg over with the wife”
I turned to the barman who was casually wiping a glass and taking no notice of what was going on.
“War time accident? I asked.
“His leg, did he lose it in the war?”
“No, Glasgow Central”
“Yea, he was waiting for a train, his leg was hurting him so he took it off and some bastard walked away with it”
“He took his leg off and someone walked off with it?”
” His first false one, that one you can see there is a replacement”
“Don’t you know when you’re having your leg pulled, sonny” called out the ginger haired giant ” buy me a large single malt and I’ll leg you have the real story”.
I looked at the barman, ” don’t worry, he’s quite ‘armless” he said, already pouring the single malt.