Hamish McShanks

I slapped on another dollop of polish and started to rub ‘Wax goes on, wax goes off’, ‘Wax goes on, wax goes off’. I was back at my brothers’ house and the good news was that the decorating was finished. Unfortunately there were a number of other ‘tasks’ requiring completion for the wedding the following weekend. One such task was to polish the wedding vehicle.

Now your probably thinking ‘Dry yer eyes Ham how hard can it be to polish a car’ Well if the vehicle in question is a bog standard Mercedes or a nice six series Beemer then no probs. IF however the vehicle of choice is a unique creation then it can get a bit tricky. My older brother Neil has never been one for ‘normal’ cars, oh no, that would be far too dull. There’s nothing duller than a car that starts first time, what could be less imaginative than a vehicle that gets you from A to B with no fuss, how monotonous driving something that actually stops when you depress the middle fecking pedal!

Teenage memories came flooding back ‘Where’s your sense of adventure’ he would cry as I staggered out of yet another homemade death trap. My heart beating like a hammer after a dandy hurl down the road. I’d weave unsteadily away before slumping happily on to my face. There were so many black marks on my few remaining teeth that my dentist was convinced I had a tarmac fetish. Invariably my last conscious recollection would be the sight of my lunch spattered down the side of the vehicle and the feeling of rapidly cooling excrement filling my socks. Oh the fun indeed!

I shuddered at the memory and took another look at the latest creation from Messieurs Frank’n’Stein ‘Oh sweet Jesus’ I muttered. Imagine if you will an upturned aluminium dingy. Then picture some deluded maniac cutting out a bathtub sized hole in the top, throwing in a bench seat, gluing a couple of semi-circular aero windows at the front. Then slapping on three wheels, two at the front one at the back. That’s three mind you. Heaven forbid you would go with the more traditional, and stable, configuration of four wheels. Oh no ‘three’s a lucky number’ he would exclaim as we all edged away quietly.

But credit where credit’s due. I said he’d never finish it and I was sure it wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance of getting an MOT. But I had to eat my words. It just shows you what a lot of hard work, dedication, blood, sweat, tears and a large brown envelope stuffed with used unmarked twenties can achieve.

I stared at the acres of untouched metal and sighed. It had taken an hour to polish a piece the size of an envelope. This task was turning into another Forth Bridge. ‘At least the vomit will wipe off easily’ I grumbled. The drilled aluminium floor also seemed to be an innovation born out of our little runs in the country (so much easier to sluice out) Quite why the bride had chosen this aluminium coffin to be her chariot on the happiest day of her life was beyond me. My advice about wearing incontinence knickers had not only fallen on deaf ears but had earned me a thick one. I don’t know if there is such a term as ‘thick bollock’ but I can assure you that condition also exists (brides can be so touchy).

About an hour later my brother meandered out with a cup of tea. He strolled round the car with a critical air. Bear in mind I’d been polishing for four hours solid. He started making odd sucking noises and pulling grimaced expressions as he examined the vehicle. I could feel my blood pressure rising. He started to open his mouth and I decided to get my retaliation in first ‘I know what your going to say so why don’t you just FUUUUUCK OOOOOOFF!”, ‘what-‘, ‘FOUR HOURS four bastaaaarding hours I’ve been polishing this and you’ve got the cheek to-‘, ‘it’s great’, ‘complai .. what?’, ‘it’s great, a good job’ somewhat taken back at the compliment I lost the flow ‘Eeer well thanks’, ‘So why the face pulling and sucking of teeth?’, ‘I was actually wondering if a bride in full wedding dress and a driver will fit?’

He had a point. It was ostensibly a glorified single seater. Two people could fit in at a push. But could a bride kitted out in full wedding dress and all the trimmings get in and out of the car without showing her incontinence pants? It was a question that needed to be answered.

‘Right let’s think this through’, ‘ok’, ‘first things first can we fit in’ I gave him a rather worried look ‘but surely we are not getting married?’ He sighed ‘Yes very observant but we are both much bigger than the bride or the brides father’, ‘Ooooh right so that’s why no one fancies us then?’ He held his face in his hands and mumbled through his fingers ‘Just get in the fecking car!’

It was a tight squeeze but we got in with a few centimetres to spare on each side ‘Ok so they should manage to fit in but what about the dress?’ he was deep in thought looking from side to side as he tapped his lips with his middle finger ‘I’m not with you?’, ‘Well it’s one thing to get in with trousers on but how will it be with a dress on?’, ‘Aye that’s a good point bruv-‘ I stopped mid sentence as an evil smile spread across my brothers face ‘what?’ …..

‘It’ll never fit’ I complained. ‘Just slip it over your shoulders it doesn’t have to be all the way on’, ‘For pities sake I’m twice the size of the bride!’, ‘She’ll kill me if she finds out’, ‘Get a shift on she’s not going to be back for hours and we just need a rough idea’. Grumbling I donned the wedding dress. I say donned but it barely came down to my knees and I didn’t dare put my arms through the sleeves. I looked like a shuttlecock. My baldy heid sticking out the top of the ivory dress, my arms pinned to my sides.

‘Right lets see what it’s like in the car’ my brother pushed me out to the garden. The gravel crunched under my feet as I trudged towards the speedster. I was half way there when I heard Shirley’s voice from the garage ‘alright boys how’s the polishing goi-‘ I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as I rushed back towards the house. Unfortunately it’s quite hard to run without your arms. It’s also quite hard to balance.

Apparently I nearly made it. Sadly my size elevens caught the edge of a paving stone and I plummeted to earth digging a sizeable muddy furrow with the top of head. Thankfully my clothes were protected from damage by the wedding dress….

What’s worse than a ‘thick bollock’? ……….. Two

Doei