Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 5^th March

‘Na na na min you’ll be alright’, ‘You’re sure? I mean the internet says the roads ar-‘, ‘look dinna fash yersel loon, the roads are fine’ I glanced across at my monitor. All the dire weather warnings were flashing angrily in bright red text. Big bold Police messages advising motorists to travel only if their journey was ‘absolutely essential’. Forecasts of yet more heavy snow and plummeting temperatures which were going to lead to treacherous driving conditions and lets be honest delivering a sofa to my mother hardly qualifies as an essential journey. I’d decided to phone my elder brother to see what he thought of road conditions, as he was slap bang in the middle of the worst of the weather.

I have to say he wasn’t very understanding. To have suggested there was an issue with the transport links led to a torrent of abuse and the intimation that I was a ‘greeting wee lassy who needed his mammy to hold his hand all the way up the road’. These were the mild insults I might add. After ten minutes of barracking, peer pressure triumphed over common sense. Never mind that one hundred schools were closed in the region, forget comprehensive national television coverage of mountainous snow drifts covering abandoned cars or images of RAF Hercules transporters dropping bails of rations to starving people cut off from help!

Clearly they were just over reacting to a ‘wee bit of snow’. I mean why should I pay any heed to the latest satellite weather tracking or official police advice? Not me no! Evidently the sound of chicken noises being screeched down a phone line were the important deciding factor ‘Aye ok then, I should be up by about nine’ I replied before replacing the phone and raising two fingers at the receiver.

The plan was to head up to Ellon, sorry Ice station Zebra, and deliver a new three-piece suite to my mums’ house. Then we were going to travel even further North towards the polar ice cap, sorry sorry I mean the village of Keith, and transport the old suite to my brothers’ house. Given the four days of heavy snowfall and the howling North Easterly gales that had been battering this part of the country for a week this idea was about as sensible an idea as trying to urinate into a force ten gale; which was a distinct possibility given the forecast, although personally I was going to use my brothers jacket pocket.

I picked up the van from the hire company. My queries as to whether it was front or rear wheel drive were met with a blank stare. I tried to explain why I would prefer front wheel drive; because it is better in wintry conditions as the weight of the engine is over the drive wheels, therby producing greater traction. The spotty youth simply furrowed his one enormous eyebrow and proffered that the vehicle was diesel, any more information than that was clearly in the realms of rocket science. I handed over my bag of peanuts and left him scratching his elbow.

I like to pride myself on being prepared when it comes to winter travel. Being of teuchter extraction I’ve had my fair share of travelling in inclement weather and have learnt to pack accordingly. I prepared a flask of hot sweet tea along with a selection of sandwiches and confectionary. A warm dry change of clothes are obviously essential as are waterproofs, thermals and of course a sleeping bag. I was wondering whether there was going to be any space left for the sofas as I squeezed the last husky inside.

The weather was lovely as I set off. The last rays of the sun were bathing the countryside in a warm orange glow. I slipped a CD into the stereo and trundled off to the sound of Van the Man crooning about the bright side of the road.

The first hour of the journey was fairly uneventful. I had to stop at a garage in Dundee to replenish the sandwich supply, as I’d absent mindedly guzzled most of my emergency rations whilst singing along to Mr Morrison. The young lady on the till had given me a rather odd look as I waddled between the aisles, my waterproof clothing making a loud swishing noise as I gathered up armfuls of sandwiches.

Stores replenished I headed North. The traffic bulletins on the radio had suggested there was no snow until the town of Laurencekirk. Right enough there was nary a flake of snow to be seen for the next thirty miles and I was beginning to think I’d been over reacting packing the skis. I leaned across to swap the CD ‘I think it’s time for The Kaiing uhuu huu-’ I glanced back at the road ‘uooooly fuuuuck’. The road had gone, well obviously it was still there, but it was a bit difficult to pick out from the rest of the white tundra that now filled my horizon.

They had suggested on the radio that there was a ‘sharp delineation’ where the snow started but this was taking the p*ss. No fecking snow, to white out and rapidly deepening drifts in the space of about a foot. Visibility was down to about fifty yards and there was at least three inches of snow on the road. I was only doing about thirty miles an hour but I could feel all my muscles tensing as I searched for the road ahead. Heavy snow and headlights don’t really mix; the falling flakes can be quite hypnotic.

Determined to stay focused I was clutching grimly on to the steering wheel, my eyes bulging out as I strained to make out the road. Flake after mesmerising flake of fluffy white snow streamed in front of my eyes. My eyelids were becoming heavier and a warm sleepy feeling was flooding over me. Suddenly the van snaked across the road ‘shiiiiiiiit’ I squealed as I flapped hopelessly at the wheel. Now in winter conditions, less is more, when it comes to vehicular inputs. In other words ‘go canny’ don’t make rapid movements and certainly don’t hit the brake or accelerator.

In my state of sphincter loosening panic I did all three. You wouldn’t have thought it possible to dance the Bolero in a transit van, but it is. My triple axle was slightly under rotated but I felt I more than made up for it with my double tyre loop and the finishing spin involved only minimal lateral travel. Miraculously I ended up facing the correct direction. Chastened by my near death excursion the remainder of the journey was in first gear.

It was midnight when I arrived at my mums ‘Ham I was worried sick-‘ I tore past my mum ‘Youbaaastaaard’ I’d caught sight of my brother standing behind my mum. He was making faces and pointing at his watch. I lunged at him ‘Ham stop that! Stop it, stop it!’ It’s been quite a number of years since my mother has had to separate her feuding offspring and I’m astonished she still had the big slipper!

Thirty Seven years old and sent to my bed without my dinner, oh the shame.

Doei