Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 25^th September 2005

Wednesday night 7:32pm : Ham is shoving the last of his dirty rugby kit into the washing machine and glancing at his watch. The rest of the team are already down the pub enjoying a blizzardly cold beer.

‘Bloody hell I’m late!’ I grabbed my spicy chicken slice and wolfed it down. Thirty seconds later I was watching it return for a porcelain encore ‘uuurggaaaahh’, ‘Urroooaaahh cckk cckk uurrggg oh that’s foul’ I mumbled whilst spitting fragments of mechanically recovered poultry into the pan. Experience had taught me not to get too excited at the first sign of respite. I took a deep, careful, breathe and waited ‘Five, four, three, two onagurrrgnnfoooaahhh aah aah aah ppt ppt ptt uuuh’ I could feel my head trying to burst as my tongue made a futile bid for freedom along with the remainder of my pasty. Just when I thought I was going to pass out the rumbling spasms in my abdomen subsided and my banshee impersonation came to an end. Gradually I slumped to the floor my arms still lovingly wrapped round the bowl as I drew long deep ravenous breathes. My head rolled to the side and I felt the reassuring touch of cold porcelain against my cheek. ‘I’ve got to stop buying those’ I muttered

Now in my defence there isn’t any fast food outlet near my house, for which my waistline is eternally grateful. However there is a rather handy, some might even say convenient, store at the end of the road. Ok so it’s not quite Asda but they do sell such delicacies as morning rolls, spam, tattie scones, spam, lard, square sausage, offal, spam, tripe and Gingsters parties. Unfortunately I hadn’t the time to rustle up a tripe and square sausage piece so I’d gone for the pastie(s). Buy one get another absolutely free, gratis, on the house, just take it away, you aint seen me right!

I’m sure it was the free one that did for me. Either way it was an inauspicious start to the evening and I was running late. I’d managed to make it to the wash hand basin and was feverishly trying to remove the pieces of diced carrot, which were caught in my beard. Time was pressing though and I had to make tracks, luckily being of the ginger persuasion I was able to leave the smaller pieces to blend in with the ‘countryside’.

I squirted a shot of toothpaste into my mouth and galloped down the stairs three at a time. Grabbing my jacket I dived out the front door. It was at this point I realised hurricane Katrina must have popped across to bonny Scotland for its holidays. It was absolutely pelting it down. The raindrops were bouncing wildly off the road and the wind was blowing fiercely whipping up a maelstrom ‘Oh for chris-‘ I was about to go off on one when I saw the bus turning the end of the road and pulling up to the only stop. I couldn’t miss it the next one wasn’t for forty minutes.

Despite my earlier exertions I found an amazing injection of pace as I sprinted towards the bus. I was quite astonished; I’d been struggling to run all night at the rugby, now all of a sudden I was like a whippet. I was positively eating up the ground between the bus and myself. Each stride was comfortable and easy as if I was floating on air. The last passenger was alighting and I was only 10 yards from the bus. Oh this was a dawdle, ‘Where are ye now boys!’ I bellowed. I could have skinned any of them I was going so fast ‘Ha HA HAAAAA!’

Then the wind changed direction.

Turns out I had been floating on air! Or at least getting blown along like a galleon in full sail. Unfortunately now I was pointing nose to wind and my speed was depreciating noticeably. Worse than that the bus doors were closing and I had only just reached the rear wheels.

I put my head down and started pumping my arms and legs ‘gnnnff got to get bus’ I winced through gritted teeth. The driver was indicating and pulling out at the same time. I was only a few feet from the door as he started to move off ‘Noooooo’ I wailed. I was trying to run and smack the side of the bus at the same time ‘Stooooop’, ‘forfuuucksaaakestoooop’ I pleaded as he gained speed. Now it was anger that was fuelling my muscles. I’m sure the bastard had seen me legging it up to the stop. I made one final effort and dived towards the closing door….

I kind of made it.

My outstretched left arm had prevented the door closing but the driver hadn’t stopped. So now I had one arm trapped in the door, partially suspending me, whilst my feet were furiously thrashing to try and keep up with his rapidly accelerating vehicle. ‘Stoooop stooop for fuuuucksakestoooop’ I screamed as my feet slipped and slithered over the greasy road. This seemed as good a point as any to start weeping ‘Uhuu huu huuu huuuu phuu leee aaase stoo ooo oop’ Alas my snivelling was to no avail. We accelerated.

On the plus side I seemed to be bobbling along quite rhythmically ‘Arrgnnfugaaugaa aaaah aaah’ although my ankles, knees, pelvis and back all felt like they were about to shatter with every step. More worryingly, as each foot thumped into the ground my stride length increased. I became particularly concerned at about twenty feet that was when I discovered what is really the limiting factor to stride length. It’s nothing to do with the biomechanics of your pelvic region, muscle strength, or the capacity for ligaments and tendons to elongate under stress. No it’s basically how far yer bawbag is going to stretch.

Clearly all the extra folds of skin are there to take up the slack so when your running at forty miles an hour with your arm stuck inside a municipal vehicle your legs don’t disappear in different directions! And I for one am grateful for such a wonderful gift. It may not be pretty but it does a job, two actually, if you want to nitpick.

I’ll give the driver the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t heard me approaching, what with the wild weather and all. However I think it’s stretching things to say he didn’t see the mildly freckled hairy left arm protruding through his door or hear the terrified screams from the other side as I broke the land speed record for human ambulation (albeit assisted by a double decker bus).

I should be grateful he let me on for a half!

Doei