Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 4^th April 2005

Sweat dripped off my brow as I laboured to push through the bushes, flies buzzed incessantly around my baldy heid, occasionally alighting to rest and sunbathe on my chrome dome. I waved a hand irritably in front of my face ‘fecking insects’ I grumbled. The sun was high in the sky and nary a cloud to be seen, my throat was parched ‘I could murder a cup of tea’, I grumbled ‘aye well ye can put the kettle on when ye’ve finished that weeding fatboy!’, ‘Oh aye and what exactly is your contribution to this little endeavour you lazy fat git’

My brother dropped his newspaper, gave me a withering glare. He pulled his sunglasses down to the end of his nose and retorted ‘I am supervising my rotund friend, you know your not allowed to play with scissors on your own’ he sniggered ‘They are shears ye blubbery dough ball and I may trim the legs of yer chair if ye don’t shut it!’ But he was already ignoring me and deeply engrossed in his colour supplement. I grabbed a handful of foliage and pulled hard imagining it was his neck I was wringing.

Not having wrung a neck I’m not sure how easy it is but this plant was definetly hanging on to life. ‘Bloody hell’ I grimaced and tugged harder, it didn’t budge. I got both hands on it and pulled for all I was worth, I could feel it starting to give, I was ready to ease off when my view of the bush suddenly became a view of the sky. This vista was rapidly replaced by an inverted view of the greenhouse and finally a glimpse of an incoming size eleven boot hastening towards my face ‘I’m not that flexible’ I thought as a steel toecap smashed into my nose.

When I regained conciousness my back and neck musles confirmed that I was indeed not flexible enough to touch my toes or in fact anywhere near them. My brain couldn’t decide whether the fractured hooter or the multiple displaced discs should have more pain receptors firing so it just let them both go wild. ‘Finished playing about have you?’ enquired my brother as he picked up the shears ‘gnnnffmmm’, ‘I’ll put these away will I?’, ‘ffffmmbaaasss’, ‘No no you just lie there I’ll do it’, ‘fffecck-‘, ‘That’s you through and through isnt it, start a job but never finish it’ I wanted to retort ‘at least I start’ but I was so racked with pain I couldn’t speak. Luckily my last reserve of strength was sufficient to feebly extend my middle finger before passing out for a second time.

Some time later a light shower of rain roused me, it was dark but my wee ‘rest’ had allowed my spasaming muscles to relax enough to allow me to gingerly pull myself upright and hobble into the garage. My back was a bit fragile and each step had a trace of adventure. After a small pitstop to examine a particularly interesting oil stain on the garage floor I eventually managed to make it into the kitchen.

My Granny was bustling round the kitchen making the evening meal ‘Alright son you look worn out’, ‘Oh aye Granny ah’m fair jiggered’, ‘why don’t you have a nice hot bath, you dinner will be about an hour’, ‘Oh that’s a great idea’ I shuffled off towards the bathroom and bumped into my brother ‘Oh aye Flash where are you sprinting off to then?’, ‘I’m going to have a bath if you don’t mind’, ‘Oh I’d give it ten minutes if I were you’ he replied with an evil grin ‘Oh and you might want to get a fresh one of these while your at it’ and with a whistle he departed thrusting an empty toilet roll in my hand.

Given the fetid aroma that greeted me I doubt a week would have been long enough. I’m surprised the paper wasn’t peeling off the walls! Still the bath was definetly a good idea even if my eyes were watering, wax was dripping out my ears and the rubber duck had passed away (god rest his soul) Ye see the bath in my grannys house is quite old and therefore actually quite big. Big enough in fact for a large gentleman like myself to be submerged in water rather than have nine tenths of my bulk above the waterline. It’s like being an inverted iceberg.

I’ve never really understood the evolution of the domestic bath. A hundred years ago they had huge big cast iron baths the size of swimming pools. Big deep things with cavernous enamled depths and beautiful brass taps. All when the average height was three foot two! Nowadays with the average height nearer six foot that five foot your typical bath is composed of a cheap composite plastic that flexes if anything heavier than a feather touches it and it’s barely large enough to wash one buttock at a time. Now I know what your thinking ‘my god he’s got a big arse’ and while I’d agree it may be generously proportioned (yet still firm and supple) it’s not that smegging big!

The only blessing was the rapid clotting of blood in each of my nostrils meant I was now oblivious to the caustic nature of the atmosphere and could really enjoy my soak. The hot water fairly soothed my aching muscles, the tension slowly draining away. So much so I dozed off and when I woke I realised I’d been lying there for nearly forty minutes. I better make a move or I would miss my dinner.

My granny always hangs fresh towels when we visit. Big soft fluffy towels. I reached up to the towel rail and fumbled around, I couldn’t feel any towels. I leaned further back and still nothing. I stood up and turned round…‘You baaaaastard‘ There was a single sheet of toilet paper draped over the towel rail. ‘Ach I’ll use my clothes to dry myself…’ I looked on the floor; my clothes had been removed. Clearly my brother had been busy while I was asleep. A single sock lay scrunched up on the floor. No clothes, no towel, no cover. Looked like I was going to have to make a dash from the bathroom to the upstairs bedroom.

Luckily the bathroom is almost opposite the stairs so with a well timed dash I could be up the stairs and in the bedroom in less than twenty seconds. I opened the door a fraction and peeked out. I could hear my granny in the kitchen, I had to assume my bastard of a brother was watching TV in the lounge. I was about to dash out when I remembered the sock ‘better than nothing I suppose’ I pulled it over my tackle making a mental note to use more fabric conditioner in future.

One last glance and I was off, I took the stairs three at a time, reaching the top and rounding the landing in double quick time. The door to my bedroom was slightly ajar; I dashed in and slammed the door behind me. I was breathing hard still dripping wet courtesy of my brothers’ jolly jape. I was feeling pretty smug though. Even with a dodgy back I’d made it ‘Ha ha fatboy ye have to get up pretty early in the morning to outwit old Hamish M-‘, ‘Is that you son OOOHSWEETJESUS!’

‘Hello Aunty doing some dusting are you? Ahaa ha …a……a…’

Doei