Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary – w/e 21^st May 2006

You may remember I’ve recently changed my car. The extremely thirsty, yet wonderfully comfortable and fabulously spacious Mazda 626 is now a mere memory. It was traded in for a thrifty and frugal, peanut sized Peugeot 106. And don’t get me wrong, I love my little 106. It does about 400 miles on a thimble full of diesel and the insurance company are sending me a cheque every month. But it has to be said, space is at a premium. The full impact of this became apparent last weekend.

Mrs Shanks and I were heading off to the East Neuk of Fife for a well earned break. I was packing the car, or more correctly, trying to pack the car when the lack of space started to become an issue. On previous trips it was simply a case of tossing everything into the boot of the 626 and making sure didn’t throw it ‘too far’ in or we’d never find it again. Now I had to play Tetris with the luggage.

I’d love to be able to pander to stereotypes and blame the lack of space on all Mrs Shank’s bags and female paraphernalia but she travels extremely light and it was all my keech that was causing the problem. We were going to be staying in a self-catering cottage and perhaps I was going over the top with my logistics ‘Just another gnffmm wee bit uuughhhmmm’, ‘You think we’ll need our own dining table then do you?’, ‘you never know’ ,’and the roll of carpet?’, ‘it’s better to be prepared’, ‘oh I agree, I just didn’t realise we were preparing to move house’, ‘aha ha ha you’ll thank me when we get there’ I replied whilst strapping the mattress on to the roof of the car.

Not the speediest vehicle at the best of times my wee sewing machine was struggling to climb it’s way up the hill and out of my housing estate. I had to accede to my good ladies pleas to leave the three bags of cement I’d stashed on the back seat ‘well don’t come crying to me when we get there and the gable end needs pointing’ I grumbled as I heaved the bags back to the shed ‘and the sand!’ she cut in as I returned to the vehicle and attempted to nonchalantly move off.

The journey was quite pleasant now that we could travel at post glacial speeds. We took the cross country route through some of Scotland’s more agreeable scenery. The sun was bathing the hills in a warm orange glow and our spirits were high. The forecast for the weekend was more sunshine and reasonable temperatures. We are of course talking reasonable for early summer in Scotland i.e. no need for crampons and ice axes, which was just as well because Mrs S had vetoed those getting packed as well.

It was nearly nine pm when we rolled up to the front door of our holiday home. It was gorgeous, a lovely whitewashed cottage nestling atop a hillside looking out over the fife coast towards the Isle of May. The Sun was dropping down towards the horizon, golden rays glinting off the tips of the waves as we gazed at the fantastic view from the back door ‘bloody hell’ I whispered’, ‘aye it’s no bad’ replied Mrs S. In one swift movement she planted her bag on the kitchen floor and expertly uncorked a bottle of red with her other hand ‘Well that’s me unpacked, so I’ll just sit here and enjoy the sunset while you unload your gear from the back of the car’ she sniggered, raising her glass.

Two hours later I staggered into the kitchen with the last box of provisions. Mrs S was reclining on the couch and reading a book in front of a crackling log fire ‘that you finished then dear?’ she enquired whilst pouring another glass of shiraz ‘just about’, ‘glad you brought the two sets of Le Creuset pans then are you?’, ‘oh aye, I just need to inventory the crockery and I’ll be ready for a glass of vino’, ‘that’s nice dear’ she mumbled, whilst delicatly licking her finger and turning the page.

‘Wakey wakey Ham’, ‘whassat? Mnnfggz’, ‘Fancy a cup of tea’ I raised my head and tried to open my eyes, everything was black, ‘Aaarrrggh I’m BLIND!’ A swift ripping sound followed by a searing pain in my forehead and suddenly I could see again. Mrs S was holding up a piece of tattered paper ‘fell asleep on your inventory again didn’t you ye fanny’, ‘no’ I replied indignantly. She gave me a withering look ‘Why don’t you scrub the Times New Roman from yer face and I’ll rustle up some breakfast eh?’ I looked at my watch, it was 9:30am ‘Eeer ummm right’ Sheepishly I scuttled off to the bathroom.

‘Fancy a walk down the beach today?’ I enquired through a mouthful of toast ‘you haven’t seen the weather then?’, ‘What? It was lovely yesterday and the forecast was great’, ‘aye well there are lies, damm lies and then there are weather forecasts, have a look outside’. I stood up and walked to the kitchen window, a sheep blew past at head height, it didn’t look happy. The haar had come down and visibility was about twenty feet, the few trees I could see were all bent at 45 degree angles ‘bit breezy isn’t it?’ remarked Mrs S.

I started to get angry, a lot of planning had gone into this weekend, and I wasn’t going to let the weather ruin it. I didn’t drive ninety miles towing a greenhouse to sit inside all weekend. ‘Well I’m going for a walk on the beach’ I growled through gritted teeth ‘Fair enough you nutter’ shrugged Mrs Shanks ‘you can drop me at a café though’.

Torrential rain lashed against my jacket as I kneeled on the swet and. Savage gusts of wind whipped the toggles of my hood, causing them to repeatedly flog my grimaced face. large red welts were building up around my cheeks and forehead as I worked my spade venomously into the sand ‘fnnbaaastrds’ I mumbled as the plastic bounced off the solid surface ‘gonna make a fffnn sand fffn castle if it’s the last thing I do’ unfortunately my construction efforts were being destroyed before they even left the spade.

‘More Tea madam?’, ‘Aye I think I’ve got time for another cuppa’ remarked the lady as she stared out the window. The waitress dispensed another stream of hot brown liquid into her white porcelain cup ‘anything else madam?’, ‘Yes there is’ she replied, whilst carefully adding a spot of milk, ‘could you phone the Coastguard please, my boyfriend appears to be trying to break the world record for rowing to Norway in a novelty bucket, oh but before you do, could I have a look at the sweet trolley please? Thanks’

I could have made it you know ……..

Doei