Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 19^th June 05

A nice sunny weekend, time for some garden chores methinks. The hedge and grass hadn’t been touched for weeks and I much as I wanted to I really couldn’t put it off any longer. I flicked the kettle on and peered sullenly out the kitchen window scanning the horizon. My demeanour took a further downward turn as the immediate perspective was nothing but a wall of green. There was no sign of the garden shed. The garden shed that contained all the garden tools ‘Oh b*gger’

I took solace in a hot brew and a few chocolate hob-nobs. I idly chomped my way through the packet as I chastised myself for being so lazy in looking after my garden. Before I knew it I’d guzzled three quarters of the packet, disgusted at my own gluttony I scoffed the rest quickly and hid the evidence. I staggered rather queasily to my feet and fuelled with over a thousand calories of refined carbohydrate headed out into the garden.

I got three feet before I was forced back by the dense foliage ‘bloody hell’ I grumbled as my hands were lacerated by razor sharp leaves and prickly stems ‘Right I’m not having this’ I stomped back into the house and got my nail scissors. ‘Aaaha now yer sorry’, ‘Now yer quaking in yer roots’ I screamed before diving in and attacking the nearest stem…… yes well, hindsight is twenty twenty.

A few moments later I slumped onto the doorstep, dripping with sweat and utterly defeated. I stared at my bloodied palms, turning them over and examining the backs ‘Should have cut my nails first’ I mused looking up and gazing wistfully at the dense grass where I’d just lost my nail scissors. I hadn’t made the slightest impression. The forest of grass seemed to be mocking me, the light breeze making the stems flutter and dance. ‘You baaaastard’ I shouted ‘look at you, dancing in the wind, I’m gonna fix you, I’m gonna fix you good!’ I bellowed before trudging back into the house.

‘Ok Ham all your gardening tools are in the shed, which you cant reach, think lateral Ham, think lateral’ I started raking in the cupboard under the sink ‘Shoe polish, No’, ‘Furniture polish, No’, ‘Mousetrap, No’, ‘Oooh there’s still some cheese on it, mmmm cheddar’, ‘Sink plunger, No’ I was losing hope when I spotted my salvation ‘Ha ha ya beauty!’ I grabbed my prize and emerged, an evil grin on my face.

I strolled out to the garden whistling nonchalantly and headed towards the wheelie bins. I rummaged behind the bin till I found what I was looking for. An extremely large and sturdy ‘For Sale’ sign which the selling agent had neglected to take away after selling the property to yours truly. To be fair he was probably too busy counting all his money to come back for a six-foot length of two by four with a thick sheet of board nailed to the top.

It was this thick piece of board that I was currently working on. I’d found a wood plane under the sink and I was patiently fashioning an extremely sharp edge onto the board. I glanced across at the grass occasionally whistling tunelessly as my homemade scythe started to take shape. ‘Do dee doo hmmm la la la’ The grass was motionless, eyeing me suspiciously ‘Aye yer not dancing now are ye sunshine’

After another twenty minutes of labour I surveyed my creation ‘Aye well I don’t think I’ll win any design awards’ I muttered as I lay it against the wheelie bin ‘but I think it’s sharp enough’ I finished as the two half’s of the bin crashed to the ground.

‘Right, time to kick some arse I think’ I stood up and cracked my knuckles ‘Oooh aaarggh’ I stretched my back and started warming up my chest and arms. The grass was wilting visibly as I finished my warm up and grabbed my scythe. It had a good feel to it, quite a scary feel actually. Nicely weighted, it felt almost part of me ‘do de do, la la laaa’ I ambled towards the shrinking foliage.

I stopped in front of the wall of green and spat on my hands. Settling on a comfortable two handed grip I looked up and smiled ‘Heeeeeeeere’s Ham!’ I bellowed as the first swipe sliced through the jungle greenery like a hot knife through warm butter ‘Yeeee haaaa’ I roared as swing after swing felled great swathes of grass. I was cackling quite madly as I neared where I thought the shed ought to be. Not that I cared now I was running on adrenalin. Primeval man didn’t need a strimmer or a shed of metal tools! Man had made a tool, man was king, man ruled the jungle, man roared!

Sadly man didn’t observe the viciously sharp but shoddily nailed board slowly parting company with the length of two by four he was holding ‘Ha Ha Ha Die grass dieoommpffff’ I should probably be grateful for the poor quality workmanship because if my ‘blade’ hadn’t parted company from the handle then when I struck the shed with my last blow the resulting ricochet would have cut my head off instead of rendering me unconscious. A fact that escaped me as I slumped down the front of the shed my nose rattling off the clapperboard door as I ‘rattatated’ into a burbling heap.

I’m not sure how long I was out but I felt absolutely awful when I woke up. My head was spinning the horizon wobbling around me. I was sweating buckets and feeling extremely nauseous. I could hear chattering all around me, which was very odd indeed. I tried to move and realised I was firmly bound. As my senses slowly returned I couldn’t help but notice that I was tied to a roasting spit. An extremely short man with a gigantic lower lip was slowly rotating me above a bed of hot embers.

This certainly explained all my symptoms but I was somewhat bemused as to why I was being prepared for dinner ‘Eeer you are aware that this is no longer a council estate’ There was no response from my big lipped friend ‘I shall be writing a stern letter of complaint to the authorities you know, this is a smoke free zone!’ He just smiled and turned my over. The heat was becoming rather a worry as my jeans started to scorch ‘Iceland are doing a great range of buy one get one free’ I pleaded

Just then a group of men in blue boiler suits burst into the clearing shouting and screaming. They were armed with backpack sprayers and they proceeded to douse the whole area. My captors fled in terror and the boys in blue cut me down ‘Lucky escape sir, that’s the worst infestation of pygmies we’ve ever seen in this area’, ‘mmm’, ‘You want to cut your grass a bit more regularly sir, stops em breeding see!’, ‘mmmm’ his mobile phone rang ‘Colony of baboons?, well be right along sir’ and with that they were gone.

Council tax …….. worth every penny

Doei