Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Ham Shanks Secret Dairy - The Reunion
Which given the tardy service of late is practically on time!
Aye ok I'll shut up
Kind Regards
Ham
ps this one is all true
pps really
ppps really really
Ham Shanks Secret diary w/e
‘Your friends make your world’ don’t you think. Family are also important, but you don’t choose them. Ye just get stuck wi a greeting faced twin brother and a neep fer an older brother through an accident of birth. You are tied to yer siblings through a combination of genetics and being forced to share a room with them through yer formative years. They are always there, no matter how many times ye move hoose without leaving a forwarding address. Your friends however are made through conscious choice.
This can stem from a shared fondness for the theatre perhaps? Or by supporting the same football team, enjoying the same type of music. Inevitably it is through some kind of collective experience or endeavour that friendships are forged. In the particular case of my two friends who visited this weekend it was not sport, the theatre or music that brought us together, it was a common love of beer. Not just beer you understand, sometimes spirits as well.
I don’t want you to think that we are alcoholics, heavens no! We met in our very early twenties when we were all working in a pub. But in case you get the wrong end of the stick during the course of this weeks diary I shall change their names to protect their identities. For the sake of anonymity I will simply refer to them as Bruce and Greig or Bruce Gavin and Greig Fraser to give them their full fake identities.
It’s been a while since we all saw each other but you can always tell who your real friends are because these are the ones where you just carry on where you left off, be it a day, a year, or ten years since you last met. There are no recriminations for not keeping in touch, just delight at meeting again and for the chance to catch up and enjoy each others company. In this instance it had been over two years since we’d met, I was really looking forward to the weekend as I stood on the platform waiting for their train to arrive.
The Aberdeen trains tends to quite busy and the Stirling platform isnay very big so I thought I better make one of those airport style greeting cards to help draw their attention to me as they alighted, I’d done it on bright orange card so it would really stand out. The train drew in then juddered to a halt with a final metallic squeal. A pneumatic hiss preceded the doors bursting open and I raised my ‘Stan & Ollie’ card aloft as passengers started pouring out on to the platform.
After three or four minutes of scanning faces as they streamed past me, I realised they were nowhere to be seen. My shoulders and arms were starting to ache as I held the card high; still no sign of the dynamic duo. Two more minutes and the platform was empty, the doors of the train had snapped shut again, and the diesel engine roared into life as it departed in a plume of black exhaust fumes. My hands were still aloft as I received a light tap on the shoulder and a voice piped up ‘alright fannybaws yer late!’
Turns out they had caught an earlier train and were sitting in the station bar all the time. Supping a cold beer, sniggering, digging each other in the ribs whilst pointing and laughing as I stood out on the platform like a spare dick at a wedding. With hindsight I should have been expecting it; a basic error on my part not to switch my brain to ‘8 year old schoolboy mode’ before they arrived.
Greig was still laughing like a drain as we walked to the car ‘ye can stop anytime ye like ye know’, ‘Ahaaaa haaaaaaaaaa’ his face was going purple as he spluttered and laughed. I looked at my watch ‘when’s your train back?’
My petted lip had all but gone by the time I’d opened my first beer ‘right boys fancy a spot of lunch?’ I enquired as we sat at the house, their bags safely stowed in the spare room. My evil twin had also joined us for the days revelry ‘yer nae cooking are ye?’ asked Bruce ‘no wur gawn oot!’ I replied hotly ‘aye ok then dinna wet yersel min’ he retorted whilst pulling a face. Quite an achievement considering his default expression is that of a professional girner. Shaking my head I glanced at the other two, looking for a response to my query? ‘aye’, ‘yup’ came the replies. Handing out another round of beers I went to order a taxi.
The journey into town only takes ten minutes but tempers were already getting frayed in that short time as Greig recounted a story from the train journey down for the umpteenth time ‘gie it a f*cking rest min, yiv din nothing but mump since we got here!’, ‘well if you hadn’t stabbed me in the back on the train I-’, ‘I didna stab ye in the back, all I did was offer the woman a seat’, ‘she wis a bible basher!’, ‘I didna ken that-‘, ‘she was carrying a bible, wearing a dog collar and asked if she could save our mortal souls!’. ‘Look I was just being a gentleman’ Greig nearly burst at this point ‘a fuuucking road runner couldn’t have caught you the speed ye legged it down the corridor ye prick’, ‘I was-‘, ‘WITH the fuuckingcarryout! Then ye left me to face the music yabaaaas!’
My running commentary on the sights of
The prospects of a nice cold beer seemed to settle down the Chuckle brothers and we stepped inside for a pre-lunch aperitif. I hailed a waitress as we inserted ourselves in a booth beside the fire ‘Four pints of lager and four steak pies please’ turning to my friends enquiringly ‘you boys want anything?’
The grub was top notch and the freely flowing lager seemed to have cooled things down between Stan and Ollie. After a couple of hours we started to reminisce about the good old days, the average old days and the down right bloody awful days. Greig became particularly animated when we got onto the subject or referees. I’m not entirely certain how we actually got on to this subject but he had certainly saddled his high horse and was riding it big style when we did ‘Aye and the very desire to be a referee should ban you from ever being one’ he roared.
A sentiment to which we would all have agreed had he not accompanied the statement with a sweeping hand gesture that clipped the top of his pint tipping the whole lot in Bruces lap ……
You may have heard of the theory of parallel universes, it’s very popular in science fiction. Well I’m sure in one of those parallel universes Greig just missed the pint and the conversation continued with a chorus of ‘yeah, too right! Refs are b*stards’ from all around the table Or perhaps in another universe Bruce threw a pint over Greigs kecks and a big rammy ensued. However in this Universe something even scarier happened; Bruce said nothing.
He simply got up quietly and crabbed his way to the toilets, gingerly holding his sodden crotch away from his body. Fraz and I looked at each other in disbelief and then across at Greig who was still sitting with his arm extended and his lower jaw resting on the table ‘He took that rather well I thought?’, ‘rather too well?’ replied Fraz with a puzzled expression (or it could have been constipation? Hard to tell)
‘Greig?’ I waved my hand in front of his face ‘Greig?’, ‘Hello?’, ‘I think he’s in shock twinny, perhaps we should-‘ SLAP! ‘Oooyahfuuucker’ I stared at my brother who had just skelped an open hand across Greigs face ‘what the hell are ye doing?’, ‘ye have to; get’s them out of their shock’ SLAP! ‘Oyyaaa’, ‘Right right, he seems to be with us now so ye-‘ SLAP! ‘stop it STOOOOP’
I picked the dazed Greig off the floor, dusted him down and passed him another lager ‘Okay what’s the deal, why did he spare you?’, ‘he’s just had the snip’ he murmured under his breath, hands shaking as he nursed his beer ‘what?’, ‘he’s a jaffa now’ he continued in a hushed whisper ‘eh? I canna hear ye?’, ‘he had a fecking vasectomy last week!’ bellowed Greig at the top of his lungs ‘Ooooooh’ all the men in the bar adopted a natural protective position over their jewels and winced collectively while the girls just smirked.
‘Better go and see if he’s all right’ mumbled Greig before stumbling through to the toilets to find him ‘drying’ his trousers under the hand dryer. He was holding the front of the crotch between thumb and forefinger and as far away from his body as possible as the hot air blew over the wet denim ‘eeer am really sorry are ye ok?’, ‘fine’, ‘am really sorry’, ‘it’s ok’, ‘am really really sor-‘, ‘stop saying sorry, it’s ok’, ‘sorr- … eeer right well, I’ll just uum’ bowing and scraping backwards he scuttled back to our table.
Now whilst a hand dryer is dashed handy in the circumstances it’s not exactly a proper tumble dryer. Little opportunity to add a sheet of ‘bounce’ for mountain freshness or fabric softening. The harsh drying tends to add a certain rigidity to a fabric like denim. Not a good feature when you’ve been holding the seam six inches away from your body for half an hour. Let it go and, well, let’s just say it leaves a lasting impression.
It was only the one elderly lady at the bar that actually fainted but the latest style in denim did not go unnoticed by most patrons of the establishment ‘what?’ enquired Bruce as we all sat supping our pints with barely suppressed giggles ‘what’s wrong now?’ he continued, standing with his hands on his hips, a thin shadow casting a line over his pint. We were all snorting into our glasses as he just shook his head ‘f*cking bairns’ Noticing the barmaid reach for the phone and dial a three figure number I suggested we move on to another hostelry.
We secured a window seat at the next establishment, it had a fine view of the ‘performance area’ where we were to be treated to some ‘live’ music courtesy of a James Blunt look-alike with guitar (a student obviously) Now I will admit that I actually like James Blunt, nobody else seems to want to admit to buying his music despite the fact his first album went platinum six times? I guess his mum must have bought an awful lot of copies.
Anyway you can imagine my disappointment when the work-shy young student subjected to us to a medley of the most depressing and obscure songs you have ever heard. A very competent guitar player, I’ll give him that, shame I wanted to garrotte myself with his e-string half way through the first set. After some barracking from the crowd he did play a single Elvis song and had a stab at a couple of Status Quo numbers, but really his heart wasn’t in it.
‘Shall we just head up the road?’ I enquired as a couple of ‘regulars’ started hurling beer bottles at the guys head ‘I’ve got a case of beer and a bottle of malt at home’, ‘aye we might as well’ smash ‘this isn’t very good’ crash ‘Oh good shot sir’ I applauded loudly. The young man had managed to return a becks bottle to it’s owner with some interest ‘elbow nice and high, an excellent cover drive’, ‘what about a curry?’ suggested my evil twin tinkle ‘Aye I could go a ruby’ piped up Greig ‘fair enough, those steak pies were a long time ago’ I replied, ducking under another projectile, wallop! ‘C’mon then, afore the feds arrive’
Five minutes later we were at the door of the restaurant. We could hear the faint sounds of police brutality back up the street as we were escorted to our table ‘Four pints of lager please, oh and a pint of water’ I was feeling a tad parched despite the lager and thought some light rehydration might compliment the days efforts at dehydrating myself and alleviate the following days hangover ‘Oh I’ll have a water as well please’ shouted Greig as the waiter trotted off to get our order.
I’d recommended this particular establishment as it offered a ‘buffet’ meal; as much as you could eat for a tenner. It’s always so difficult to choose when you’ve had a gallon and a half of beer so it’s safest just to go down the Mr Creosote route and ‘av the lot’ It also avoids potential ‘food envy’. The waiter fired the starting pistol and we all sprinted for the big silver trough. I was first back the table having only taken a moderately huge plateful. The rest of the boys were fighting over the last two shovelfuls of chicken pakora as I tucked in my napkin and sipped my water.
In actual fact I’d drained the first pint in two seconds flat and was half way down the second when Greig returned to his seat with his towering plate ‘hey min stop drinking ma f*cking water!’, ‘sorry loon am awfy thirsty’ I replied before greedily guzzling the rest as quick as I could. He shook his head in disbelief before hailing the waiter ‘could I have another glass of water please?’ Bruce and Fraz had called a truce, returning to the table carrying the entire silver trough between them much to the dismay of the remaining patrons queued at the now dismembered buffet table.
‘Would you believe he drank my water’ exclaimed Greig ‘that you mumping again is it Fannibaws?’ retorted Bruce as the waiter returned with a pint of water ‘he had two fecking pints’ cried out Greig whilst waving a fork in my direction. Before he could reach out for the water Bruce snatched the pint and downed it in one ‘You fuuuucking bas!’, ‘what’s wrong mumpy? Are ye thirsty?’ replied Bruce with a smug grin. Greigs eyes narrowed as he hailed the waiter for a third time ‘could I have another glass of water please’
The poor man looked rather non-plusssed; he must have thought it was ground hog day. When he eventually returned with the fresh pint of water Greig was jabbing his fork at Bruce in a rather menacing manner ‘and you can keep yer fecking hands aff this one sunshine‘ Bruce had his hands held up on either side of his head ‘wouldna touch it if ye paid me mumpy’, ‘good cos I’m parched-‘ a loud clunk made him look round. Fraz was placing the empty glass back on the table ‘oh I needed that jings I was thirsty’
The look on Greigs face was priceless.
However my joy was short-lived because just at that very moment somebody flicked a switch in my stomach. Spin cycle and hot wash were simultaneously selected. Not a pleasant combination and somewhat unexpected. There were no warning signs whatsoever. Although perhaps drinking heavily could be considered in mitigation. I would have tried a glass of water but I fear a fork up the nose may have been forthcoming from the agitated and dangerously dehydrated Mr Fraser. Instead I opted for the Titus Oates ‘I’m just going outside, I may be some time’ line as I sprinted towards the exit.
It was some time later that the boys piled out of the curry house, Greig was clutching several dozen bottles of water and snarling at the other two. I was hunched over a storm drain praying for an early death as the acid reflux went into overdrive. Sensing the night was over for me they hailed a taxi ‘time to go home Ham, yer nae looking weel son’, ‘gmmf’
The driver, taking note of my puce complexion had decided that speed was of the essence, clearly not wanting me to chunder in his cab. I didn’t disagree with that philosophy in principle; I just didn’t think a roller coaster ride at 70mph through the heart of the toon was likely to make me feel any better either. Thankfully I made it home without disgracing myself (anymore) and staggered in the front door.
Whilst the boys got wired into bottles of beer I grabbed a bottle of gaviscon and headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom. Draining the bottle I slumped onto the floor wrapped my arms round the toilet and waited. I’m not one of these people who can stick their fingers doon their throat and be sick. I’ll do anything to avoid it. I hugged the cool porcelain instead and prayed for death to come.
Four and a half hours I was clinging on to that pot and I’ll tell you something it reminded me why I only go out drinking with those bawbags every two years. Friends make your world? Do they f*ck! They taint and destroy it, they are evil. Don’t trust them! Stick to your relatives at least they are not trying to kill you.
ps it’s also worth noting that exceeding the recommended dosage of any product containing aluminium hydroxide can lead to confusion, drowsiness and loss of mental acuity. Although thankfully I remain unaffected.
