Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 2^nd January 2005

‘Gimmie it, gimmie it, gimmie it’ we struggled for a couple of minutes before I finally wrestled the bottle out of her hands and took another swig. Terror can drive people to desperate measures and Vonnie wasn’t for giving up ‘I said Gies it Shanks!’ she feinted with her right then grabbed the neck of the bottle with her left hand ‘Feck off wummin yeroooommppfff’ I had fallen for her elaborate rouse and neglected to protect my crown jewels. Her free had shot out and deftly swatted my testicles. It was at this point I elected to be a gentleman and relinquish the bottle after all ‘jeesuuusss’

I collapsed in the foetal position and watched from the floor as she greedily guzzled the Baileys like there was no tomorrow. The way the bus was being driven none of us were expecting to see the end of tonight never mind tomorrow. At that particular moment we appeared to be on a giant slalom course, certainly we were treating the surrounding traffic as if they were gates to be negotiated at great speed. My head was bobbing about violently as the bus careered from lane to lane. We must have encountered some traffic calming measures though because every second jolt I was bounced high enough to make out the top two tiers of the Buddhist shrine being hastily constructed against the rear door.

My concussed mind wandered. When we were planning this it had seemed the sensible thing to do. Why have a designated driver on Hogmanay when we can hire a minibus! The best laid plans of mice and men (or in this case mice and Vonnie) It was bloody hard work organising a bus and Vonnie did a sterling job. No one blamed her, how could she know? None of us could have known …..

The minibus itself was fine, the prerequisite number of wheels, fully functioning doors and a generally well-kept interior. What they failed to tell Vonnie was that our ‘pilot’ for the evening was Michael Schumacher. Or more correctly, someone who thought he could drive like Michael Schumacher. Maybe he can, if we are talking about the Michael Schumacher who works down our local MFI superstore. The same Mr Schumacher, who doesn’t in fact have a driving licence, drives as proficiently as a plate of tapioca and whose only claim to fame is a worryingly large knowledge of soft furnishings and their proper aftercare.

An in-depth knowledge of stain removal was going to come in handy as our journey progressed. I was certainly going to be interested in the Blood/Sweat/Keech stain devil if I survived long enough to purchase some. I don’t know if they do one that works on tartan!

It’s funny that if you were in a car you’d be astonished if there were no seatbelts, you’d never stand for it, however no one bats an eyelid when the same is true in a bus ….. well normally ….. We hadn’t gone very far before everyone was ferreting around all the nooks and crannies, frantically trying to ‘clunk-click’. My seatbelt had been fastened as best I could but there’s only so much strain a couple of shoelaces tied together can take. A few of the girls had shown great improvisational skills by removing their bras, refastening them outside their blouses, and securing the whole lot around the backs of their seats. Quite a sight it has to be said ‘Oh marvellous now we look like Madonna groupies’ I muttered. Further grumbling was swiftly curtailed as we hit another speed bump and I was flung against the roof of the bus.

I wasn’t on the roof for long though, gravity played its trump card and centrifugal force was compelled to fold and leave the table without its shirt. ‘Ooyaaoommpffff’ I slammed into the floor, the wind completely knocked out of me. The driver looked over his shoulder ‘Ye awright pal?’ Horrified that he had taken his eyes off the road I tried to wheeze a reply ‘ff..ff….ine’, ‘Hud on ah’ll help ye up’ he was starting to clamber over the divider when I shot up to me seat ‘I’m finefinefinefineFINE!!!’ I screamed.

The remainder of the journey was obscured as I held my hands tightly over my face rocking gently in my seat repeating ‘there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home’. I did catch the odd heart-stopping glimpse between my fingers before deciding to close my eyes and concentrate on clicking my heels.

I did think afterwards that it’s funny how all muscles contract in times of stress, well all muscles except your sphincter! No no really think about it. How bizarre is that? If two people are involved in a collision and one is asleep at the time of impact. The individual having the kip usually has fewer injuries. The driver has time to tense every muscle in his body, fart (possibly follow through) and whimper ‘mummy’ before nutting the steering wheel receiving multiple fractures and some very cheap dentistry Whereas the other person wakes up and groans ‘Uuuughh what’s that fecking smell?’.

Not what you want to hear when your vehicle is in a ditch and your hanging upside down with your limbs jutting out at odd angles, dentures like Shane McGowan and fresh keech dripping out of your collar….

Fate decreed we would see another Hogmanay and we arrived at Murrayfield in one piece. Ok we arrived looking like a group of Vietnamese boat people, groggily clutching each other as we staggered out of the bus towards the west stand and the safety of the Ceilidh.

Amazing the difference a few hours (an awful lot of beer) and a new year make. We positively skipped back to the bus and wrung the drivers hand as we wished him happy new year (six hours earlier it was his neck we wanted to wring!) Everybody piled on to the bus and the singing began. Half a dozen ‘liberated’ wine bottles and a couple of sporran flasks fuelled the return journey. Everyone was in festive mood and Vonnie ‘mooned’ every police van on the way out of town. I think it was only the fact that she was being a true ‘Scotswoman’ that we got away with it, although I imagine the driver needed to use a spot of vinegar to clean the windae!

It was a top quality night, with top quality company and below average driving. But hey two out of three aint bad and we all survived to tell the tale.

Aw’ra best for 2005 folks, I hope ye get everything ye wish for, ye remain hale and hearty and as we say in teuchterland ‘Lang may yer lum reek’ (no I’ve no idea either!)

Doei

# posted by Ham Shanks @ 9:42 pm