Hamish McShanks

Hello readers

Despite the title of this weeks ramblings there is not a single Harry Potter reference so dont panic if ye havnay read the last book.

I had rather a lot to drink this weekend, hence the slight lateness of the diary. Dont worry though I'm never drinking again so it wont happen in future .....

Kindest Regards

Ham

Ham Shanks and the Deathly Hangover

You wake, it’s dark; darker than the inside of a Goths bedroom. In fact it’s darker than the inside of a Goths bedroom with your head buried under the duvet, a blindfold over your eyes, your eyelids stapled shut and this all after your eyes have been poked out with a pointy stick. So it’s safe to assume that it’s not very light.

A pungent acrid smell hangs in the air, not dissimilar to rotton eggs and brimstone, it pervades you’re nostrils as you lie listening to the incessant noise of a sledge hammer being smashed repeatedly against the inside of your skull. An impromptu burp evokes memories of last nights ‘wee dram’ that seemed such a good idea at three in the morning but is proving cause for regret. The hint of acidic bile warns of pleasures yet to come and an upcoming ride on the porcelain bus.

However you’ve no time to dwell on the sorrow of your impending chunder because the painfully swollen bladder that roused you from your slumber in the first place is now being rapidly, and I mean very rapidly, trumped by the turtles head emerging distressingly quickly into your boxers. The big fella seems keen for a bite of early morning lettuce and is making a determined bid for freedom. Alarm bells should now be ringing thoughout your body.

So it’s a shame that you pickled your brain in finest malt whisky last night, thereby destroying a large portion of its already dwindling supply of grey matter. A lot of razor quick fiery young neurons bustling about the mid and hindbrain keeping tabs on all those terribly inconvenient autonomic functions would be really handy just now. Instead all you’ve got left are the dodgy old pickled ones that have survived your repeated attempts to poison them. The three ‘wise’ neurons have been reduced to two after last nights little soiree. Now it’s just two old duffers sitting on rocking chairs on the veranda of your forebrain talking about the good old days.

A red faced young neuron has manfully fought his way up from the midbrain, the very last of the brave cells who survived last nights fifteenth glass of twelve year old sherry casked malt ‘message for you sah’ he whispers before collapsing at the feet of the nearest rocking chair. Old Abe picks the chitty out of the dying boys hand ‘Mmm something about the sphincter in trouble?’, ‘whassat? Eh?’ stutters young Mr Vern his aged sidekick ‘Sphingwhat?’, ‘Sphincter, keeps the mmm stuff mm in .. mm or out I can’t mmm remember’ brrinng brriiing ‘whoahwhsaat?’

An old bakelite telephone is jangling itself off the receiver as Abe scratches his head ‘sphincter? Sphincter? Now where’s that again’ Vern stumbles across to the telephone and picks it up hesitantly ‘Allo?’, The voice on the other end sound mighty relieved ‘Oh thank God, it’s the bladder here; we’re in real trouble, and I mean real-‘, ‘Speak up I cants hears ya’, ‘I SAID IT’S THE BLAD-‘ click He replaces the reciever ‘muss be a wrong number’ a nano second later it rings again brrinng brriiing brrinng brriiing ‘DEAR GOD HELP!’, ‘you’ll aves to speak up I aint ad my ears syringed since nineteen oatcake’, ‘WERE BURS-‘, ‘bloody cold callers’ mumbles Vern slamming down the receiver again.

Awoogah Awoogah Awoogah! A klaxon blares out as red and blue lights start flashing above the doddery old cells. Abe shuffles in front of a complicated looking control panel. There are an array of levers in different colours and shapes. Underneath a large red neon button is covered by Perspex safety glass ‘Mmm Now it the mmm blue mmm lever for legs and the yellow one for arms?’, ‘what’s that mmm red one for again?’

Brrinng brriiing, brrinng-fecking-brriiing ‘Allo’, ‘Stomach here sir, we need oesophagus and mouth open now! Get those stomach muscles engaged and get this area clear. It’s getting pretty rough down here, there doesn’t seem to be any space the other way and it’s backing up-‘, ‘Ow many times does I av’es to tells ya we don’t want any!’ Vern thrusts the receiver back in it’s cradle and piles a large amount of cushions on top ‘Oi told ya we shoulda gone ex-directory Abe’

Abe’s not listening, he’s trying to remember if the leg bone is connected to the knee bone or the ankle bone and what muscles actually make you stand up ‘Now mmm is it mmm biceps in the mmm leg? Oh no no no it’s pectorals isn’t it mmm’ The muffled sound of a telephone ringing can be faintly heard in the background. Vern has added an upturned sofa on top of the cushions and is hitting the whole lot with his stick ‘Gerrrout of it, oi’ll sets my dogs on ya’

A sound like a hunting horn makes Abe jump and his face is suddenly covered by a thin layer of white dust, he looks around in bewildered fashion ‘mmmm what the mmm I mmm?’ a muffled noise is emanating from a black pipe with a trumpet like mouthpiece at the near end. Tentatively he places it to his ear, frantic shouts can be heard ‘-ear god help us! She cannay take anymore, she gonna blow!’, ‘mmm I’m dreadfully sorry mmmm but we’re rather mmm busy just mmm now’, ‘could you perhaps call back in half an hour mmm?’, ‘half a fuuuckinghour! We don’t have thirty seconds pal, DO SOMETHING!’, ‘oh yes mmm right mmm well thank you for calling mmm’

‘Oh dear mmm it’s been awfully long mmmm’, ‘eany meany miney mo-‘

Pan back to the external view and witness a very sorry looking Ham trying to hobble and crab his way to the bathroom. Both hands over his mouth in an effort to keep last nights haggis supper from exiting northbound and his backside is clenched so tightly together that there is now no longer any blood reaching his legs. Pins and needles are beginning to set in as he tries to fumble his way to the bathroom in the pitch darkness. Normally he could find it in his sleep but all his senses are being drowned out by the pain in his nether regions

Back in the brain things are not going well. Vern has tied two loaves of bread over his ears and is back sitting on his rocking chair whilst the sofa rings angrily. Abe has given up with levers and is gingerly lifting the Perspex safety glass that covers the red neon button ‘mmm now mmm this ought to do the trick’ A shaky fingers stretches out….

Ham has managed to grab the cord for the bathroom light ‘click’ he can see the cludge; salvation and self respect are almost at hand when a loud hiss begins ‘FfffFfffff’ his eyes open wide. The sound develops into a long drawn out rasp, not unlike a muffled chainsaw. Swiftly followed by a violent clapping noise as if two sirloin steaks were being slapped together repeatedly and vigerously. One final heavy splat and then all is quiet.

Apart from the sound of a tear rolling gently down a cheek …..