The Broons and Oor Wullie

I love them, always have. The hardback editions they’ve been releasing the past ten years or so with the old 30s-60s reprints are a total joy.

Lack of regular hours has seen me flicking through a few of these and a few facts that I may have missed before have come before me and this vital information must be conveyed.

  1. Maw Broon’s first name is Maggie. Her brother comes for a visit and greets her by name. By this reasoning I am declaring Paw to be called Joe. The first born girl and boy taking the parents names.
  2. Oor Wullie used to have a baby brother or sister. They were written out inexplicably in the early days, for reasons unknown.
  3. Wullie has moved house, he used to be in a two story and is now in a bungalow. With the same garden, wall and shed.
  4. The Broons used to live in Glasgow. At some point they, their house, all the other houses, all the people they know, including Wullie (who seemed to live in Bishopbriggs) move to Dundee. Ish.

That last one is as “clever” as what they did with the first two Hellraiser films. The first one was in Englandshire and the second which immediately follows the narrative of first without so much as blink was in the US. Movie makers respect their audience.

 

3 thoughts on “The Broons and Oor Wullie

  1. I realised something on the way home last night from the cinema (listening to Don Caballero having watched Planet Terror).

    The reason I so passionately hate Broon Wullie is because a flatmate of old – some socialist stoner with the classic Madchester haircut, aspirations of stardom, a Fender Strat (pish) and the habit either smoking dope and watching Only Fools and Horses or taking Ecstasy, staying in and playing some banal cricket game, coming through to see the rest of us at about 02:00 and asking for “a cuddle” – was a fan.

    It’s not your fault, it’s not theirs. It’s his. His and my own for bearing a grudge and emotional scarring like no other human on this earth. Except perhaps Kratos.

  2. You must embrace this terror from your past. When Prince Harry wore that Nazi outfit and the press picked up the wrong end of the stick and proceded to beat themselves about the head with it, I saw it as belittling our enemies by ripping the pish out of their uniform, like the Predator hanging Bill Paxtons skull from it’s belt, but at the tax payers expense in Harry’s case.
    So using that analogy, I feel a button down shirt and braces with ten “Ye auld twister!”s before bed will see you right.

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