"Aw, Ina," calls Effie, "yer affy narra'." Ina hasn't allowed enough for the bowl's weighted bias, and it sails uselessly away wide of its mark.
Effie tries to be encouraging. "Dinnae dae that fir yer next wid, ye daft besom. Summit decent noo wi' yon final yin."
Ina's final bowl's a disaster. Flustered, she sends it off wrongly altogether. As it wobbles its way up towards the head, Effie wails, "Ach, Ina, it's awa' kerfluey."