In one of the more select tartan shops on the royal mile (one of the ones that don’t sell Nessie hats) I was fingering a tartan cloak that wanted me to buy it. It seemed to be under the impression that once I left Edinburgh’s streets, evocative of history and romance, I would also be fine wandering around Manchester like an extra in Brigadoon. Luckily, I was distracted by a well-to-do sounding lady who wanted to know if she could bring her King Charles spaniel into the shop. The dog wagged its tail and looked up appealingly. The shop owner looked down at it and said,
“Och, well if he is no gonna winkle on the floor, he can”
My first and only ‘Och’ of my stay in Scotland. Brilliant! And yes, we called it winkle for the rest of the holiday.