Hamish McShanks

Hey hey hey folks

Hams nae deid after all! Hooray!

I do have to humbly apologise for the dreadful service of late. I could make some elaborate excuse about being very busy at work and also having completed a gym instructors course to help me escape the dreary dreadfullness of my job. This coupled with the world cup being on telly would certainly explain my lack of writing.

However the truth is I was having gender reassignment surgery and now you'll have to call me 'Hamella' or 'Susan'

I realise this is a shock - No one is more suprised than me

Anyway hope you enjoy this weeks offering - A change from the normal format

Regards

Ham

eh I mean Susan

ps aye ok so I've just been busy - Sorry

Ham O’Shanter

A Tale. Of lies and nonsense full is this.

When big issue sellers leave the street,

And thirsty students students meet,

As five o’clock is growing near,

Office workers shout and cheer,

While Ham sits boozing, drinking heavy,

Life seems good; let’s get bevvied

The night draws on but Hams nae worried,

His poor auld brain cells dead and buried,

It’s closing time and Hams kicked oot,

The taxis gone; it’s hame on foot,

A might unsteady he totters aff,

Twa blonde students point and laugh,

Fer poor auld Ham is roaring pished,

Twa big steps; the pavements missed.

The gutters hard, its nae the place,

To rest yer weary drunken face,

C’mon noo Ham; pick up yer feet,

Nae time tae sit, and bawl, and greet,

Fer buses run all through the night,

So dry yer eyes; scrape aff the shite.

Hud doon the station and hail a bus,

But mind and clean yer bleeding puss.

Oor bold bald hero sets off at pace,

Whilst dabbing at his bleeding face,

A mumbling, swearing, ranting manny,

He really is a total fanny,

But hud the phone, the stations lit,

life’s looking up; a little bit,

He micht nae hae tae walk all night,

Through iffy schemes wi dodgy lights,

Where Burberry caps are worn with pride,

And auld age pensioners quake inside,

Boarded windows all covered in muck,

Cut through there? Away tae fuck!

Ham risks a grin as a bus draws oot,

Until he twigs he’s spent his loot,

He’s drunk it all; it’s pished away,

A hunner notes in one long day,

Of boozing, eating, living merry;

The fucking eedjits no got a penny.

He shakes his heid in disbelief,

Nae chance salvation or quick relief,

Just aching feet and thumping heid,

He mumbles softy ‘ah wish ah wis deid’

‘But dinna fash ma baldy friend’,

‘It’ll all come good before the end’

‘Oh that’s jist grand, jist fit I need’

‘A cheery voice inside ma heid’

‘Go on! Fuck off, I’ve had enough’

‘I’m jumping underneath this bus’

‘Hold strong! Resist ye baldy tit’,

this is your brain ye drunken git!

‘Am here to help, so shut yer noise

While I work this oot with guile and poise.

But bevy fuels Hams beast within,

He cannay take it; he’s filled wi Gin,

‘Ma pooch is empty!’ He wails and greets,

‘Am doomed forever tae walk the streets!’

‘Yer dreaming brain; it’s far too late’

‘Am on my own I’ll trust tae fate!’

‘Noo Compose yourself; don’t fret and fash’

‘I’ve got the answer, am all the bash’,

‘Yer such a numpty, to wail and greet,

When the answer lies beneath yer feet’

Ham moves his foot and jumps with glee,

‘Fuck me ye dancer; it’s 50p!’

The bus door opens and Ham alights,

The driver stares, he’s stunned wi fright,

A half tae Shtirling’ Ham slobbers and drools

The man recoils at the dribbling fool,

He holds up a hand and gestures away,

‘I’m not in the mood for this today’

‘I’ve got shome money’ Ham slurs again,

‘it’s not yer money; let me explain’,

‘Yer covered wi chunder and coated in shite’,

‘It’s half past one this Friday night’,

‘Am off at two and one things clear’,

‘You’ve got nae business being here’,

‘Noo fuck aff hame, get aff ma bus’,

‘Afore ah skelp ye in the puss’,

A squeal of tyres, a puff of smoke,

Hams on his airse, he’s still flat broke.

Ham struggles tae his feet again,

Cursing, mumbling, racked wi pain,

The fifty’s gone, lost in the night,

His breeks are caked wi drying shite,

Let’s be honest he’s had nae luck,

He keeps being told tae get tae fuck,

A night like that could get ye doon,

But oor thick skinned hero’s quite the loon,

Staggering blindly he sets aff right,

Tae stumble hame will take all night.

Ham plods on hame as rain pours doon,

Thick black clouds obscure the moon,

Ham pulls his jaicket close and tight,

It’s getting cauld this winters night,

It’s awfy dark his legs are weary,

The bevys gone, the eyes are bleary,

A wail, a scream! Oor Hams awake

He burbles weakly ‘Oh fucks sake’

From through the gloom come oot three neds,

Laughing loudly ‘we’ve lost the feds’,

The spy oor hero, all battered and wet,

And spread oot wide tae cast their net,

‘Noo look at this lads, here’s a thing’

‘this boys alone! Let’s get stuck in’

But Hams alert and thinking fast,

He screams ‘behind ye!’ and sprints right past,

The chase is on, Hams fleet of foot,

He’s long forgot his aching foot,

Fuelled by Gin and fear and pain,

He pulls away and kicks again,

‘Dear god he thinks, they’re really thick,

I’m running fast, at twice the lick,

But pride oft comes before a fall,

And poor auld Ham he hears the call,

‘Ah’ve got a bike, climb on lads’,

well catch this prick and hoof his nads’

Ham kicks again, he hits the gas,

The fear and terror push him fast,

‘C’mon shuggie gie it laldy’,

‘well soon catch up this wheezing baldy’

But Hams been training long of late,

He’s got more wind and hit’s the straight,

He kicks again, they fall from sight,

‘Ye’ll no catch me ye three wee shites’

Hams feeling smug, they’re gone all right,

This running larks nae so shite,

Twenty miles he pounds each week,

And now at last he’s reached his peak,

‘Fight or Flight’ is nae hard choice,

Ham runs like wind and fechts like mice.

The coast is clear, Ham rounds the bend,

The front door beckons, a welcome friend,

Slowing doon, he cuts the pace,

A smile cracks across his bloodied face,

His watch is glinting in the night,

It’s fluorescent hands shining bright,

‘Well look at that – Fuck me!’

‘Seven minutes, a new PB!

Now wha this tale of fibs may read,

Ilka man and mithers son, take heed,

Whenever ye fancy a right big drink,

Think of Ham, so near the brink,

Of one big kicking to beat them aw,

Twa black eyes and twa big baws!

(Apologies to all poetry lovers out there)