Monday, August 23, 2004
Hamish McShanks Secret Diary - Part 6
Hamish McShanks Secret Diary – w/e 22nd August 04
‘Limper!’, ‘I beg your pardon?’, ‘Make it Limper …. Your too stiff!’, I was turning a deep pink colour ‘It’s not my fault, sometimes it just happens’ I mumbled ‘Well sort it out for goodness sake!’ now I was crimson, rapidly heading for purple ‘s’not my fault’ I pleaded ‘I mean you can be on a bus or in a meeting and wahay it’s there and then when you need the old fella he’s nowhere to be seen ….’ There was a long silent pause, Katy was glaring at me ‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’, ‘eeer dunno what are you talking about?’, ‘Your wrist! You cant hold the table tennis bat with a stiff wrist’, ‘Oooooh wriiiiist right right right, gotcha, absolutely, limp it is’, ‘What on earth did you think I meant?’ ‘Oh nothing’……………
Racketlon a game of two half’s …… or more correctly four sports. A game of table tennis, followed by a game of squash, followed by a game of badminton and finished with a game of tennis (or in my case a heart attack) Last week in a heightened state of delusion I ‘accidentally’ entered the racketlon world championships. Thankfully they have a ‘duffer’ category but I still felt my table tennis could do with some work (in light of never having played the sport before) hence the table tennis lesson.
Turns out table tennis is not as easy as it looks, which is a real shame as it already looks fecking difficult to me. Apart from the ‘gay wrist’ grip there’s a whole world of confusion when it comes to rubbers (don’t panic Church goers this bit isn’t rude …. Hmm probably a tad late to worry about offending the Kirk now) The rubbers on the table tennis bat are very important ……… apparently.
Katy explained it all ‘You see you can have different rubbers to generate different levels of spin and some rubbers that will negate your opponents spin altogether’ ’Uhuu, mmm, uhuu, mmm I see’ this went on for about twenty minutes ‘So any questions on rubbers?’, ‘No but I do have one question’, ‘Yes?’, ‘……… what’s spin?’
Spin, it turns out, is something you can’t get when you’re smacking someone in the face with a TT bat …….. that’s bruised …. Or bloodied …. Or beaten, but not spun! (although it wasn’t for a lack of effort on Katy’s behalf) Another seven forehand smashes to the puss and my ‘coach’ decided to call it a day ‘Okay’ thump ‘that’s a good workout’ wallop ‘hit the showers’ smack! ‘fanksverymuuoooooommppff’
Sunday was a lovely day so I decided to get out to the hills, it seemed a safer proposition than my intended tennis lesson with Katy. I was still smarting from the previous day’s TT and I shudder to think the damage a full sized tennis racket could inflict. I also love the great outdoors, I love the freedom and the solitude, I love the fresh air and the wild plants, the flowers, the berries, the mushrooms - that’s organic!.
Ben Lomond was the challenge for the day. Scotland’s most southerly Munro and famed for it’s wildlife and fantastic views over the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond. I’d never done this hill before so I was particularly excited. My excitement did wane slightly when I was nearly run off the road by a German tourist in a gigantic camper van. He seemed slightly confused as to which side of the road to drive on so elected to use both, I quickly decided some impromptu off roading was called for. In the spirit of forgiveness I did manage to shout ‘Who won the war anyway!’ before his panzer campervan shunted me into the trees.
‘Limper!’, ‘I beg your pardon?’, ‘Make it Limper …. Your too stiff!’, I was turning a deep pink colour ‘It’s not my fault, sometimes it just happens’ I mumbled ‘Well sort it out for goodness sake!’ now I was crimson, rapidly heading for purple ‘s’not my fault’ I pleaded ‘I mean you can be on a bus or in a meeting and wahay it’s there and then when you need the old fella he’s nowhere to be seen ….’ There was a long silent pause, Katy was glaring at me ‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’, ‘eeer dunno what are you talking about?’, ‘Your wrist! You cant hold the table tennis bat with a stiff wrist’, ‘Oooooh wriiiiist right right right, gotcha, absolutely, limp it is’, ‘What on earth did you think I meant?’ ‘Oh nothing’……………
Racketlon a game of two half’s …… or more correctly four sports. A game of table tennis, followed by a game of squash, followed by a game of badminton and finished with a game of tennis (or in my case a heart attack) Last week in a heightened state of delusion I ‘accidentally’ entered the racketlon world championships. Thankfully they have a ‘duffer’ category but I still felt my table tennis could do with some work (in light of never having played the sport before) hence the table tennis lesson.
Turns out table tennis is not as easy as it looks, which is a real shame as it already looks fecking difficult to me. Apart from the ‘gay wrist’ grip there’s a whole world of confusion when it comes to rubbers (don’t panic Church goers this bit isn’t rude …. Hmm probably a tad late to worry about offending the Kirk now) The rubbers on the table tennis bat are very important ……… apparently.
Katy explained it all ‘You see you can have different rubbers to generate different levels of spin and some rubbers that will negate your opponents spin altogether’ ’Uhuu, mmm, uhuu, mmm I see’ this went on for about twenty minutes ‘So any questions on rubbers?’, ‘No but I do have one question’, ‘Yes?’, ‘……… what’s spin?’
Spin, it turns out, is something you can’t get when you’re smacking someone in the face with a TT bat …….. that’s bruised …. Or bloodied …. Or beaten, but not spun! (although it wasn’t for a lack of effort on Katy’s behalf) Another seven forehand smashes to the puss and my ‘coach’ decided to call it a day ‘Okay’ thump ‘that’s a good workout’ wallop ‘hit the showers’ smack! ‘fanksverymuuoooooommppff’
Sunday was a lovely day so I decided to get out to the hills, it seemed a safer proposition than my intended tennis lesson with Katy. I was still smarting from the previous day’s TT and I shudder to think the damage a full sized tennis racket could inflict. I also love the great outdoors, I love the freedom and the solitude, I love the fresh air and the wild plants, the flowers, the berries, the mushrooms - that’s organic!.
Ben Lomond was the challenge for the day. Scotland’s most southerly Munro and famed for it’s wildlife and fantastic views over the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond. I’d never done this hill before so I was particularly excited. My excitement did wane slightly when I was nearly run off the road by a German tourist in a gigantic camper van. He seemed slightly confused as to which side of the road to drive on so elected to use both, I quickly decided some impromptu off roading was called for. In the spirit of forgiveness I did manage to shout ‘Who won the war anyway!’ before his panzer campervan shunted me into the trees.
I managed to nurse my dented jalopy to the forestry car park ‘Fecking tourists’ I grumbled as I removed the last of the pine branches from my back seat. I retrieved my day sack and set off up the hill.
The sun was already high in the sky as I stopped to fish out my sunglasses and put some sun cream on the baldy heid. As I leant over my pack I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Something small and furry scurried behind a large rock, it was too big for a rat but too small for a fox. ‘What the bloody he…’ I decided to follow. I crept up to the rock and peered over the top, not a thing to be seen, however a rustling of the heather indicated the beast was on the move …. Let the hunt begin!
It was a canny beast whatever it was, sometimes I could hear it scuttling away, occasionally a tantalising glimpse of a leg or a bit of tail, never the whole animal. Then just as I was losing hope I spotted it soaking up the sun on a small rocky plinth. I stared slack jawed, it couldn’t be, dear god. I fished out my camera this was my chance …….
I studied the ground carefully before taking another tentative step, the heather was sparser here but nevertheless I didn’t want to alert my quarry by carelessly stepping on some crackly old foliage. My luck was in, a light breeze caressed my face, carrying my tell tale scent away from the target. I couldn’t believe it was happening, it was all a crazy dream. Four hours of patient stalking to get this close and now I was within touching distance and breathing fast. I was going to be the first to get a photograph, I’d be rich, I’d be famous, I’d be invited to all the top parties, I’d have hot and cold running women, I’d be popular! Oh yes, yes, yes, Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
Then the fickle hand of fate intervened with a metaphoric kick in the spuds. In this case an angry wasp would do the work of a size ten hob nailed. The insect in question having just departed from a particularly fragrant bloom was less than amused to be lost inside the left leg of my shorts. Rather than fly down towards the bright afternoon light and ultimate freedom it elected to head further north and into the gathering darkness that contained my nether regions. When it finally snagged itself in the ‘climb-a-dry’ aerated and above all ‘perforated’ lining of my shorts it decided that a stinging frenzy was called for ‘Oooohyaaaaffffnnnnbaaaaaaaaaassss’
It ‘s a shame there wasn’t a high jump bar nearby because I must have leapt 12 feet in the air! Clearly Olympic success does not require natural ability or years of dedicated training. Nor does it require close attention to diet or nutritional supplements. Forget risking a ban with EPO, anabolic steroids and other illegal drugs. Simply take an empty matchbox, insert a wasp, shake vigorously then pop the matchbox down the front of your shorts and open at your leisure! It’s always the simple solutions ………..
Unfortunately my medal-winning leap went unrecorded and my intended prey was off like a rocket. So much for the first recorded photograph of a haggis in the wild. Never one to get down though I settled down with another mug of my wild mushroom tea and watched the enormous yellow giraffes driving their double decker buses up the side of Ben Lomond……………….
Doei
