Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 23^rd Oct 05

‘An Usher?’, ‘yes’, ‘You want me to be an Usher?’, ‘yes’, ‘at your wedding?’, ‘yes’, ‘Well I’m honoured, I don’t know what to say’, ‘try yes’, ‘yes yes of course, I’d love to be an Usher, I’ve always dreamed of being an Usher, ever since I was a little boy all I’ve ever wanted to do is uum Ush…..’, ‘You don’t know what an Usher is do you?’, ‘No, no I don’t’

After a brief explanation of my duties I was even happier to accept. Ushing is a dawdle all ye have to do is greet the guests as they arrive at the Kirk, divvy out the order of service and if required point folk in the general direction of the cludge. That’s a lot easier than working a club door. No underagers to chuck out, no purple spew to clean up after someone’s had a few too many aftershocks, no drink fuelled domestics or cries of ‘leave it Britney she’s not worth it’. And I cannay see too many crumblies trying to rearrange yer features with a broken Becks bottle when yer working a church door. I therefore readily accepted.

The day of the wedding started with the usual rushing about. No matter how long you give yourself to get ready you will still be wrestling with a ‘button hole’ ten minutes after ye should have left. If you start earlier it just means you spend longer fumbling and stabbing yourself repeatedly with a bent pin while your blood pressure reaches dangerously high levels. And while we are on the subject I don’t possess a single garment that actually has a fecking hole to insert any form of foliage. Even my kilt jacket is devoid of flower apertures. The florist shouldn’t give you a pin with yer button hole they should give ye some fecking sellotape!

The rain was spitting down as we parked up at the church ‘I hope the weather brightens up a bit’ voiced Mrs Shanks as we crunched up the gravel path to the front door ‘Aye the big mans not playing the game is he’ I whispered in return ‘Why are you whispering?’, ‘no reason no reason’ I whispered in reply. She gave me a questioning look whilst rubbing her hands together against the cold ‘Right dear I’m going to leave you to be weird while I sit inside this nice warm church, enjoy your Ushing’ and with a peck on the cheek she disappeared inside.

The reason I was feeling a bit ‘weird’ was because I’m not that comfortable in or around churches. Being firmly of the godless persuasion I always feel like an interloper anywhere near a place of worship. Unless of course we are worshipping the blending of grain yeast and hops by master craftsmen into delicious ‘amber holy water’. Further imbibing at place of worship within convenient walking distance of all amenities i.e. a taxi rank and a kebab shop. That’s my idea of a marriage made in heaven. However on the off chance that all this religious stuff is true I’m planning on repenting on my deathbed just to cover all the bases.

‘Mmmm beer’ The skirl of the pipes roused me from my daydream. Quite a few cars were pulling into the car park so I decided I better find out exactly where I was supposed to be standing. I gingerly stepped over the thresh hold and inside the Kirk. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I hadn’t burst into flames. Buoyed by the lack of any godly wrath I pressed on. I found the boxes containing the order of service and went to stand at the front door.

It all went fairly smoothly. I had to turf out a couple of people who didn’t have their invites ‘sorry pal nae ticket, nae seat’ they were a bit stroppy but it was nothing that a threatening glare and a punch in the kidneys couldn’t sort. There was one joker who tried to gatecrash saying he was from the government. He was very determined and in the end I had to stick the heid on him. Even then he kept screaming ‘I’m the minister I’m the minister’ as he stumbled off clutching his broken nose ‘Ah couldnae care if ye wur the President ye’ve no got a ticket so yer no getting in’ I shouted after him.

It was approaching two and I headed to my seat ‘having fun dear’ enquired my girlfriend ‘och just the usual wideboys’ I glanced around the church ‘bit quiet isn’t it?’, ‘yes strange that I’d have thought they would have used a smaller church’. Just then I caught sight of the bloke in the black suit waving people in the back door. These were all the people without tickets! I was about to get up and have a quiet word when I saw him pull a rather crumpled white collar from his trouser pocket ‘Oh fu-‘, ‘something wrong dear?’, ‘No nothing at all’, I’ve just noticed my shoelace is undone’

I could hear the seats filling up as I pretended to fumble with my laces ‘would you like some help’, ‘no .. no I’m fine’, ‘are you sure? it’s been five minutes’ I heard the organist filling up the bellows and waited for the first few mangled notes before slowly lifting my head above the parapet ‘that’s me done’ I mumbled scanning the front of the church. The Reverend was standing in front of the alter dabbing his flame red nose with a handful of tissues. He looked across and our eyes met, I have to confess he wasn’t looking very charitable. I tried an apologetic smile but quickly withered under his ferocious glare.

‘Dearly beloved we are gathered here in the presence of GOD!’ the last word was spat out and his bloodshot eyes fixed me in a steely gaze ‘oh he’s a bit of a fiery preacher isn’t he’, ‘mmm’ I mumbled whilst attempting to hide behind my order of service. He lightened up considerably as the service progressed. Thankfully there was a whole lot of love in the room which was beautiful for Fraser & Vonnie and more importantly probably saved me from a modern day inquisition.

The wedding party departed via the main entrance and we were instructed to leave via a side door. This suited me fine as I was keen to avoid the Reverend at all costs. The party were posing for photos as It started raining again ‘Och look at that I’ll just get your brolly dear’ I volunteered before scuttling round the back of the church. I was planning on hiding under the brolley till the coast was clear.

Unfortunately I wasn’t paying attention as I legged it round the gravel path clipped a small gravestone and falling onto my face ‘oomppfforchrist-‘ , ‘Now your not going to blaspheme are you son? That would make me very very angry’ I looked up into the grinning bruised face of the Reverend ‘Forgive me Father for what he is about to receive’ I gave him a quizzical look ‘but that doesn’t make senooomppfffff’

He’ll probably claim it was an act of god. I’m fairly sure God doesn’t wear size eleven hobnailed but I could be wrong!

Doei