Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 8^th October 2006

‘What about now?’, ‘it’s better but there’s still a dip over there’, ‘where?’, ‘just there by your left foot’ he continued, wagging a finger in a random direction. Carefully I moved to my right and then gently raked a few more stones into the dip recently vacated by my foot. ‘And now?’ Scotty was grimacing, nodding his head from side to side in a see saw fashion. He had also started sucking air nosily between his teeth (never a good sign) ‘Weeeeeell it’s a wee bit high across to your left’ I looked downwards from where I had just moved ‘so exactly where I just raked the fecking stones to then?’, ‘no no no it’s slightly further left’ he retorted in a slightly hurt voice ‘Oh yeah and it looks like there is a hump in the middle too’ piped up Sam from the back of the garden ……. too many cooks

After last weeks aborted solo effort to prepare my front garden for concreting I decided that I needed some assistance. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. It was one of those light bulb moments that can come to you when your boarding up a large picture window ‘Spread the blame Ham’ I said to myself as I hammered in the last nail.

I managed to enlist the help of a couple of friends from work for this weekend. Despite a lack of real progress the previous week I had at least established that I would definitely need a skip to dispose of all the waste. My initial plan to fill the boot of my car with earth and let it trickle out a hole in the bottom as I drove around town just wasn’t going to work. The second hole wasn’t big enough and the first had been in the petrol tank so the less said about that one the better.

I had phoned every skip hire company within a fifty mile radius and it was going to cost at least a hundred quid. It was no use crying (although I did try) I was going to have to bite the bullet. To make matters worse I could only get my skip for half a day as the hire company finished at lunchtime on a Saturday and I didn’t have a permit to leave it on the street overnight. Obviously I’d secured my colleagues agreement before I told them we were actually starting at 8 am on Saturday morning. Even with the promise of a free breakfast Sam didn’t take it particularly well ‘When? oh for fuuucksakesmaaaan’

Saturday morning broke brightly. There was a chill in the air but at least it was dry. I’d asked Scotty to pick Sam up on the way to the house, not trusting him to get out of his bed without some external encouragement. Humming quietly I watched the bacon crisp up nicely under the grill. I’d just placed the rolls in the oven when a loud clattering noise caught my attention. It was coming from the end of the street and getting louder by the second.

I stepped outside and strolled to the side of the road. I could see a car driving swiftly towards me. It appeared to have a large metal bedstead in tow and it was this that had been making all the racket. With only one castor left the front legs were now ploughing a large pair of ‘dreels’ down the centre of the road. The vehicle came to a sudden stop in front of me and the driver’s window wound down ‘Were here!’ shouted Scotty as the errant bedstead collapsed into pieces at the rear of his car.

There was no one else in the car. ‘We?’ I enquired. Scotty jerked his thumb in the direction of the bed. It was at this point I realised that it was in fact still inhabited. An extremely white faced Mr Turner was stumbling off what was left of his divan. He tottered unsteadily towards me, pointing a shaking finger he mumbled ‘y.y.y.you’re a c.c.c.cccomplete cuuu…’ before collapsing face first into the garden.

I glared at Scotty. He held his hands out in front of him in an open gesture, shrugged his shoulders and gave me a quizzical look ‘You said to get him here by eight, you said’ Shaking my head I slung the prone Mr Turner over my shoulder and headed back inside ‘C’mon ye fanny I better get our breakfast oot afore it burns’.

A bacon roll wafted under Sam’s nose revived him quite quickly. He’s not really a morning person on the best of days so he was easily convinced by our story that it had all been a nasty dream and not to be so silly. Towed in a bed, as if! Tossing the dirty plates in the sink I attempted to cajole the troops into action.

‘C’mon then gents you’ve had yer breakfast and as John Wayne would say were burning dayligh-‘, ‘get off your horse and drink your milk?’ interrupted Scotty ‘nooo-‘, ‘out here due process is a bullet?’, ‘no-‘, ‘frankly my dear I don’t give a dam?’, ‘that was Clark Gable in gone with the wind wasn’t it?’ interjected Mr Turner. I was starting to lose the rag ‘oh, so what did he say?’, ‘who?’ I barked ‘John Bain?’, ‘you mean John Wayne I think’ corrected Sam ‘aye him’ Thrusting a spade in Scotty’s hand I snarled ‘he said get digging ye annoying bawbag!’, ‘what film was that in?’, ‘JUST DOOOOO IT!!’ I screamed.

Digging in stony silence we managed to clear the entire area in just under an hour Good teamwork is clearly built on a foundation of ill feeling and tetchiness. Fair play to them though the boys fairly grafted. In fact we had finished before the ton of hardcore arrived. Time for a cup of tea and a bicker, sorry, biscuit.

Half an hour after the aggregate arrived we had barrowed it all in. Just a quick level and we were done. It had been a long day and sometimes more than one pair of eyes can be a hindrance. ‘I think it needs to be thicker over there’ ‘where?’, ‘where Scotty’s standing’, ‘if he’s there it’s bound to be thick enough already’ I mumbled under my breath as we spread the hardcore ‘what’s that?’, ‘nothing’ I replied innocently, realising my mumble had been quite loud ‘I’ve had about enough of you Shanks’ Scotty retorted. Striding across so we were toe to toe ‘Aye well I’m sick of the sight of your ugly mug too Ferguson!’, ‘OH OH-‘

Sam shook his head and wheeled the last barrow of rubbish to the skip. We’d managed to keep him away from it all day as the remains of his bed were buried under the rubble. ‘Almost’ buried would have been nearer the mark. ‘Aye well you cannay dig for toffee Shanks ye lazy fat bast-‘, ‘Ha-‘, ‘HEY! My beds in here!’, ‘You LIED to me!’ We could see Mr Turner approaching. He was slapping a fractured piece of bed frame into the palm of his hand. He didn’t look happy. Glancing at each other we rapidly reached the same conclusion …… ‘LEEEEEEEEGIT!!’

Doei