leggings - smuggling scotch

2:14 on the 18/07/15 and I'm awake. Outside a plane has landed the smugglers work quickly. The sounds of large bottles jingling, sloshing, as they are moved.

Voices:

A rough male scotch voice, "Is that all then?"

The Pilot: Not as scratchy, hard with humour, "All our Queen is entitled too, of course."

A rough male scotch voice: "What'll you'll have for it?"

The Pilot: "The writer – Rosalind J. Lee. She pretends it's hers."

Quickly the femail voices take over, is it the Shah's wives, recently divorced?

"Get on with it, it's your chance to do the acting!  If you do it right he'll fall in love with you!"

Sounds of a screaming, crying silly woman float back, as whosoever or whatsoever it is rushes back into the safety of a back room.  She sounds large!

Loud laughter.

First man: "She won't come out ye ken!"

2^nd Man: "Pity!"

Do we live near to an airport. One of the Shah's London homes is up for sale, lovely golden tissue boxes. Apparently to be sold separately from the house...

The Scotch? Safely gathered up, the smugglers melt away.

Personally I prefer a Cola on ice. Or a nice Red wine mixed with water. I guess I was always way too poor for rich stuff -

if its a true delivery, why so early morning?