Hamish McShanks

Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e 2^nd April 2006

‘I’m telling ye that’s how they speak’, ‘Och away yer telling lies ye big teuchter’, ‘Nooo really it’s true’, ‘it’s easy to mimic’, ‘how?’, ‘just put a finger in either side of your mouth and-’, ‘I’ll do no such thing!’, ‘look it’s easy I’ll show ye’, ‘NO!’ I placed a finger in each side of my mouth and pulled apart ‘Nouuuw juusht say Raaaber Daak’ Mrs Shanks was looking very pale indeed ‘Ham’ she said in a very level, talking a jumper down, kind of voice ‘Yeeeessh Deaaar’, ‘could you please put both hands back on the steering wheel!’, ‘oh right’, ‘Now could you pull over at your earliest convenience’ I swung the car into the next lay-by ‘What’s the problooomppfff’, ‘Do we know what we did wrong?’ I nodded sheepishly whilst rubbing the red mark on the side of my face ‘Right let’s carry on then’

We were on our way up North for a wedding reception. Mrs S had never been to Inverness before so I was trying to explain the Invernesian accent; in my enthusiasm I had neglected some basic road safety. Apparently using your knees to steer is deemed unsafe these days. Anyway, moving swiftly off the topic of my driving, and back to accents. The thing about the Invernesians accent is it has a very distinctive twang. And before ye jump down my throat, it’s actually a very pleasant twang and I like it. If you want to find out if someone is from Inverness just ask them to say ‘Rubber Duck’ and if it sounds like ‘Raaaaber Daaack’ then you’ve caught them bang to rights. You could of course just ask ‘Are you from Inverness?’ but where’s the fun in that?

Delightful though their accent is, I should have known better than to pay less than 100% attention on the A9. It’s an awful road. It’s very busy and is only single carriageway for most of the route between Perth and Inverness. Periodically you get short lengths of dual carriageway where you are given a ray of hope that you might actually get past slow moving vehicles. These hopes are swiftly dashed when said slow moving vehicles suddenly produce bursts of acceleration that would do a Ferrari proud. Large DERV vehicles roar like super cars right until the end of the carriageway at which point they return to their normal glacial pace. Everyone behind has had to accelerate madly to try and get past these F1 dustcarts. Now they have to suddenly jam on the anchors as they see the outer lane diminish with disturbing alacrity and another Juggernaut thundering down on them from the opposite direction. Not only does this experience alter the hue of your underwear, it also leads to frustration, which turns quickly to impatience.

Consequently it is a very dangerous road. The constant slow monotony followed by bursts of manic acceleration encourages some drivers to take unnecessary risks in their quest to get to their final destination fifteen seconds ahead of the car behind them. ‘Time is money’ you can hear them saying as they hug the tail of the car in front whilst making a call on their mobile. Personally I think time is an abstract concept, I’ve never had anyone offer me a tenner for a spare five minutes I had. Nevertheless I appear to be in the minority and overtaking at blind summits and round corners are not uncommon in the mission to be the first corpse in the mortuary. I don’t know about you, but when I can’t actually see what’s coming in the opposite direction and I’m wondering whether to overtake or not, I tend to assume it’s not clear.

The remaining two hours of the journey were completed without incident. A couple of reps driving Ford Mondeos were forced to make impromptu off road excursions as they realised the road wasn’t big enough for them and the oncoming Lorries. There’s something quite satisfying about seeing these pushy sales types wrap the pride and joy that is their car around a traffic sign or a tree. Hands flailing for their mobile as they try to extract their puss from the depths of an airbag. The suit jacket so carefully hung up in the back now fluttering down over their ears. Warms the cockles of your heart.

The B&B was a welcome sight after a nearly three hour journey. Our host was most convivial and 100% Invernesian, sadly the en-suite only had a shower cubicle so I was unable to ask if he had any bath toys. Anyway myself and Mrs Shanks were both ravenous and after some rapid ablutions we headed out for a bite to eat.

I don’t know about you but when I’m going out for a bar meal I tend to scan the menu once, pick the steak pie, and then order. However sometimes, usually in the absence of a steak pie option, I get stuck between a couple of choices, especially when I am very hungry and basically looking for the most filling selection. Today it was the flame grilled steak burger versus the haddock and chips, oh the quandary. ‘So what are you having dear?’ I enquired whilst sipping a mouthful of beer ‘Hmmm I’m not sure, either the burger or the fish and chips’ ‘Gggssppppt’ I sprayed the menu with beer ‘are you alright dear?’, ‘fine fine’ I mumbled, mopping up the table.

‘Oh no’ I thought, the worst scenario ever, food envy! It’s a no win situation, I’ll order the fish and she’ll order the burger. My fish will be the size of a sardine and come with a single chip, while she’ll have half a cows airse wedged between two loaves of bread, a bucket of coleslaw and a mountain of chips. But if I order the burger and Mrs S orders the fish, I’ll get a sliver of beef nestling between two crumbs of bread, with nae veg. And she’ll get a whale supper served in a wheelbarrow of chips, NOOOOOO!

This is what happens when you let your blood sugar levels drop dangerously low and then you have a pint of beer. Your brain becomes febrile and you’re stomach starts to rule the roost. It doesn’t care about anything else but itself. Manners aren’t any concern for a stomach. The brains trying to murmur ‘get a grip fatty, either will be fine, don’t be causing a scene! Why don’t you share’ whereas your stomachs shouting ‘give me everything on the menu, I’m hungry and I want it NOW! ME! ME! ME!!’

Crunch time, the waitress arrived ‘Can I take your order?’ I glanced across at Mrs S; her mouth seemed to open in slow motion, the words drawn out like a 45 record played at album speed ‘I’ll have the fish please’ The waitress turned to me ‘for sir?’ The screams from my stomach were making me light headed and I started to feel the room spin. Tumbling forward I scrabbled desperately at the tablecloth. The last thing I remember is mumbling ‘I’ll have the raaaaaber daaaack please’ before hitting the floor. The tablecloth nestling on top of me like a paisley pattern shroud.

Doei

# posted by Ham Shanks @ 9:32 pm