Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 9^th October 2005

‘What can I get you love?’, ‘Two fish suppers please’, ‘Salt and vinegar’, ‘aye’, ‘anything else’, ‘a bottle of sprite and a can of diet coke please’ She raised her eyebrows ‘diet?’, ‘yes’ I replied stiffly. She looked me up and down before turning to the chiller cabinet and retrieving the drinks, all the while sniggering under her breath. I wasn’t too pleased at this lack of customer focus but in the interests of keeping the peace I decided to let it go.

I have to say it would have been easier to take if she hadn’t been quite so vast herself. The rest of the staff were orbiting around her as she dominated the servery, her podgy fingers swiftly sorting a variety of deep fried products into different categories; Fish, Meat, fishy meat, meaty fish and ‘pig derivatives’. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of a mock chop? I’m sure I’ve ranted on about these before. Lets just say that when the abattoir has used every identifiable and indeed unidentifiable cut of whole and mechanically recovered meat there are still some bits left over. These are 100% pork in the same sense that a pair of leather shoes is 100% beef.

Anyway she finished wrapping our dinner and before I could stop her she’d popped it all in a stripy polythene bag. You know the kind, the ones you get in every chip shop. The unfeasibly flimsy yet 100% unbreathable ‘anti-gortex’ ones. Personally I think they actively suck moisture from the environment concentrating the dampness on anything remotely crispy contained within. Rest assured that if your chips have been stored in one of these bags for even a second you’re in for a disappointment.

By the time you’ve returned to your car and started to unwrap your dinner it’s too late. There you are salivating at the thought of biting into that beautiful crisp bread crumbed fish and those wonderfully crunchy chips you saw wrapped up not thirty seconds before. Tentatively you open the paper to find half the batter now affixed to yesterdays copy of The Daily Star. The page three ‘stunna’ is now primly clad in a ruskoline twin set and pearls as you stare disconsolately at the congealed glutinous mass that is your dinner. Next time you’re stuck in the desert dying of thirst pray you have a red and white stripy polythene bag in your pocket.

‘Right love that’ll be sixteen pounds fifty’, ‘Come again?’, ‘Sixteen fifty’, ‘No there must be some mistake I ordered the fish and chips not the caviar and quails eggs’, ‘Fish isnay cheap you know’ I stared at her ruddy jowelled face ‘Yes it’s terrible isn’t it what with us living on an island surrounded by a both a vast ocean and a large sea’ I muttered rummaging in my wallet and pulling out a twenty’, ‘there’s no nee-‘, ‘no no no you’re absolutely right I should have ordered something common and indigenous like a wilder beast fritter or perhaps a dodo supper’, ‘I-‘, ‘and those potatoes don’t just grow in the ground either do they eeh?’ She handed me my change and gave me a particularly savage stare ‘I’m sure you can find the way out’, ‘what you mean I don’t get carried out to my car for that price? I don’t get a red carpet rolled ouoooomppffff’. She had amazingly quick hands for a big woman.

After consuming our soggy tea we checked into a rather nice hotel in the middle of town. A Victorian lodge with big bay windows and high corniced ceilings. Our room was ‘en-suite’ but this luxury was clearly a later addition. It’s difficult to describe but imagine looking down into a large cardboard box. Now picture yourself reaching in and placing a shoebox in one corner. Now simply cover the shoebox with floral wallpaper, install a squeaky sliding door, finish off with a pine dado rail and yer there.

The bathroom was of course bigger than a shoebox but still a tad on the snug side. However it was spotlessly clean and comprised the essentials of toilet, wash hand basin and shower cubicle. Like the rest of the room it was toasty and warm.

My good lady was sorting out her glad rags so I jumped into the shower. The seven point five millilitres of complimentary shower gel went surprisingly far I have to admit and I was drying myself with a fluffy white towel when there was a chap on the door ‘Gerra shift on in there some of us have hair to wash’ I wrapped the towel round my waist and stepped into the bedroom, it was like a sauna. Mrs Shanks dived into the bathroom pecking me quickly on the cheek in transit ‘Thank you, now see if you can sort that radiator out it’s roasting in here hahahaha’ the door slid shut amid more sniggering.

She wasn’t joking. Beads of sweat were forming on my brow as I wrestled with the knob on the radiator. Clearly the previous occupant must have been a visiting alien from the core of the sun. It took a few turns but eventually I managed to turn it down to from white-hot to sizzling. There were some rather disturbing gurgling sounds as the metal started to cool but no discernable reduction in heat output ‘Jesus Christ it’s unbearable, I’ll have to open a window’.

Strains of badly sung ‘McFly’ were coming from the shower as I grappled with the curtains ‘Why in the name of god do ye need curtains this wide?’ There seemed to be enough material to cover all the walls in the room never mind the window. It took several minutes of Morecambe & Wise type fumblings to fight my way through ‘I’ll give ye fecking sunshine in your smile’ I grumbled as my hands took hold of the sash.

Perhaps I was a bit wound up after my curtain wrestling or maybe it was just a well-oiled mechanism, either way the window flew open effortlessly. The cool night air flooded into the room, at least I have to assume it did because it was blowing fiercely up my towel and around my nether regions as I clung on grimly to the window ledge. Some primeval monkey part of my brain must have had the foresight to stick out a hand as I’d tumbled out. I’d swivelled round gracelessly and was now hanging on by my fingernails.

This wasn’t my most pressing concern though, I had a fairly good grip and was confident I could pull myself back in once the old heartbeat settled down. No what was causing me most consternation was the towel slowly unravelling round my waist. It was with a sinking heart I felt the last fluffy fibre slide over my legs and I watched with anguish as it fluttered down to the ground ‘Oh marvellous, bloody marvellous, things just get better and bet-‘ THUMP!

I glanced up at the firmly closed window and then down to the hard ground. Too far to drop. Time for a blub. The final ignominy was hanging just low enough to be exposing my feet, knees, thighs and crown jewels to the occupants of the lounge bar.

Pink Gin anyone?

Doei