Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 28^th March 2005

You will have gathered from previous diaries that I am now a homeowner. Apparently it is ‘traditional’ after purchasing a house to invite your friends around and have a house’ warming’ party. Having been to a few of these affairs myself I was at a loss as to how welcoming a lot of your soon to be ex friends around to trash the most expensive possession you’ll ever own constitutes ‘warming’. Mind you I suppose a house ‘wrecking’ party would have never caught on.

Not one to shirk tradition I made the appropriate overtures to my friends who seemed elated at the thought of ‘warming’ my house. Bouyed by the positive response I rushed to consult my homeowners manual to find out how best to stage such an event. It was at this point I realised my home did not in fact come with an owners manual.

How can that be? I mean you cant buy anything nowadays without set of instructions. A fecking candle comes with a four hundred page user manual, usually in eighteen different languages and advising that the safest way to enjoy your candle is to leave it in it’s original packaging put it at the bottom of a very deep drawer and forget you ever bought it. A candle is a dangerous dangerous thing, it’s flammable. On no account actually light the smegger because it’s a fire hazard!

A house on the other hand comes with nothing, your solicitor hands over the keys, you turn round and insert them in the front door and by the time you turn the handle he’s legged it back to his office. Your fumbling about amongst the bare wires on the wall for the light switch the previous owners decided wasn’t ‘fixtures & fittings’. Three seconds away from doing the electric fandango soiling your underwear and providing your family with a rapid claim on your life cover.

All the while ‘Cyril Fatkins’ of messuers ‘Fatkins, Grobber & Nitch is nestling into his big green leather chesterfield lighting a havana cigar with a fifty pound note putting his feet up on a servant and laughing as he watches his foi gras getting stuffed! Bitter? Who me? fifteen hundred pounds well spent…………. I digress.

In the absence of any user instructions I consulted a few close friends who advised that the laying on of some nibbles and perhaps a courtesy drink were the order of the day. Seems fair enough I thought. I also received one specific plea for sausage rolls, not an unreasonable request I think you’ll agree. With their helpful advice ringing in my ears I set off for the supermarket.

Saturday morning probably wasn’t the most sensible time to go shopping but the party was that evening so I didn’t have much choice. Things started badly when I had a small incident with another driver. I’m exagerating really, it was hardly an ‘incident’ at all. He pulled sneakily into a space I was starting to reverse into. I got out and tapped on his window to let him know he had taken the space in error. He in turn vocally suggested I go forth and copulate with myself. I smiled politely and returned to my car rummaging briefly in the boot.

He was still in the driver seat when I returned. Once again I tapped on the window, he didn’t seem pleased to see me. I informed him that whilst sticks and stones may break bones that names never hurt anyone. I further enquired whether he would like to test the former part of that very statement with the eight iron I was currently smacking into the palm of my hand. It’s amazing what you can achieve through civillised discussion.

Having parked the car in the smoke filled but newly vacated space I headed into the store. Top of the list were sausage rolls. They were also bottom and in fact middle of the list. Bearing in mind the list comprised the words ‘sausage rolls’ scribbled on the back of an old envelope. A comprehensive menu that caters for all I think you’ll agree. And just in case your shouting ‘Aaaaah what about the vegetarians’ I’d thought about that. They can poke the sausage bit out and think long and hard about how limited a lifestyle choice they’ve made as they munch on lard ridden puff pastry.

The first sausies I spotted were in the frozen section. Seventy five ‘value’ sausage rolls for thirty eight pence. I pulled a bag out of the freezer, It seemed too good to be true, I turned the packet over in my hand and scanned the ingredients. Twelve point five percent ‘pork’. I raised my eyebrows, thirty eight pence? The words ‘mechanically recovered’ sprung immediately to mind. Even if you could could be sure that this meagre percentage was in fact composed of an identfiable cut of meat and not just snout, trotter and ringpiece what in the name of god is in the rest of the sausage? I mulled this over for a couple of minutes before deciding ‘ach ah’ll just not tell anyone’ and filled the trolley.

A quick jaunt to the wines & spirits ailse and we were home and hosed. My luck held out. They were doing a special on value French lager and boxes of fine English wine two for a pound. I loaded up the trolley and wheeled it towards the checkouts. The wheels were beginning to buckle under the weight so I unloaded as quickly as possible. Forty carrier bags and seventeen pounds later I was on my way out.

My first guests arrived at the back of seven ‘Hello folks’ I ushered them into the lounge and sat them down ‘What would you like to drink Brian? lager? Wine?’, ‘I’ll have a lager please’, ‘Claire?’, ‘White wine for me thanks’ I went into the kitchen ‘help yourself to a sausage roll’ I shouted whilst preparing their drinks.

Quality shines through as they say. It didn’t take long for my ‘value’ sausage rolls to reveal their true qualities. I sprinted through at the first sound of wretching. With hindsight a glass of water would have been a better idea. ‘Christ are ye alright Brian’ he was convulsing quite badly ‘Drink this’ I poured some refreshing French lager down his gullet and he immediately pebbledashed the opposite wall ‘OOOaaarrghh’, ‘better out than in’ I finished lamely as he collapsed on the floor. I gave him a wee nudge with my foot. He didn’t seem to be moving much, his face was a bit purple.

Claire pushed me out of the way. She quickly rolled him over locked her hands round his waist and pulled hard. A large lump of up to 12.5% pork richoched off the wall and came to rest on the fireplace. Brian sucked in huge lungfuls of air and his face gradually returned to a normal colour. I didn’t say anything I just fetched the coats.

‘Thanks for coming’ I shouted as their car screeched down the road.

Doei