Hamish McShanks

Hello folks

The tortoise won again - The Hare just never learns .......

aye ok I'll be quiet

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Regards

Ham

Ham Shanks Secret Diary – Death of a Salesman

As you may be aware I passed my bike test this year. I had to do something quickly as my midlife crisis had stalled slightly after the whole Prince Albert fiasco in May [Flash back to Piercing studio and brief conversation with the jangling proprietor ‘you’re going to put a hole where?’, ‘Get tae fu-‘] Still Desperate to prove myself young after bottling the butchering of my bellend I’d elected for a more traditional form of delusion; hence the motorbike.

However after successfully negotiating the actual test my single remaining sensible brain cell inside had prevented me from buying something insane like a 1000cc sports bike. This dominant neuron had convinced me to buy a 650 ‘all-rounder’ when the salesman had been writing out the order form for the brand new 1000cc Fireblade I had been drooling over.

However, neurons, like pay packets, are very short lived. Repeated baths in 12 year old malt had put paid to the wee fella and any lingering sensibilities I may have had along with it. Devoid of a conscience I was now free to look at something a little bit bigger than the wee commuter I’d originally purchased.

In fact the whole scenario had been triggered by my older brother, himself a biker, he had suggested that we go on a wee tour round the North of Scotland next year. I was dubious about such a trip on my wee bike (see Mum it wasnay me. It was Neil, it was actually his idea! A bigger boy made me do it) That never worked 25 years ago and I have little hope it will work now, but as my mum is dusting down the slipper as we speak I’ve got nothing to lose.

Anyway moving swiftly back to the present, I was forced to agree (against my will Mum) with my evil dominating elder brother that this tour was in fact a splendid idea (I had no choice mum, he was hitting me) he suggested between blows that perhaps my little commuter would struggle to keep up with his Honda Pan European and I should trade-up. He did have a point, his bike has a fairing the size of West Africa and a seat that would make a leather Chesterfield look distinctly small and uncomfortable. His 1100cc’s could cruise all day with minimal effort whereas my 650cc needs a bit more of a caning to keep up. It was becoming all too apparent that I was in need of an alternative bike.

To be honest I didn’t fancy a ‘Pan’ they are great bikes but they weigh about nine tons and they cost a bleeding fortune. They hold their value for ever; even a ten year old bike will set you back the guts of three grand. But besides not actually having three grand I wasn’t ready for the pipe and slippers quite yet. After all I was still in the midst of my mid-life crisis. I’m young and virile dontchyaknow! I couldn’t possibly be seen on a Pan! They are for bank managers and crumblies in their forties dude! Like no waaaaaay!

A trip to the bike shop was required to test ride a few machines; what a chore …..

First stop was the BMW garage. Their machines are popular, reliable, and excellent quality. More importantly they are ridden by movie stars! (Messieurs McGregor and Boorman) This all fitted in nicely with the old mid-lifer.

However I think the salesman that I met may have been resting on the laurels of this Hollywood association …. [Ham enters showroom stage right]

‘Hi I’m interested in doing a bit of touring next year an-‘ the salesman held up a weary hand, waving me into silence, before strolling round me in the manner of a judge inspecting a prize dog ‘You don’t look like a potential BMW owner’ he sniffed, while holding my mouth open to examine my teeth ‘I ‘eg oor ardon?’, ‘we can tell you know’, ‘oh weally’ my jaw was released and he jabbed a finger into my ribs, checking for muscle tone, or in this case losing his finger up to the first knuckle ‘oh yes and I’m not sure you have what it takes’ he continued with barely disguised disdain, gently slipping on a latex glove as he talked.

‘So how much is the 1200Gs then?’ I asked politely. He shot up ramrod straight ‘How much?’, ‘yes’, ‘How much?’ he repeated in disbelief, his faced now screwed up with a look of the utmost revulsion. I fear he would have looked happier had he been munching on a turd sandwich. He had cocked his head to the side and was plainly lost for words; a first for any kind of vehicle salesman I would have thought. Enquiring about fiscal matters this early in the proceedings when at a BMW dealership was clearly a social faux pa ‘well just roughly’ I continued foolishly.

‘Roughly’ he exclaimed in a high pitched voice, his face now an angry crimson colour ‘you want to know the rough cost of a BMW!’ The last three letters had been loudly yet somehow reverently uttered. Having dug this deep I felt there was only one way to go, after all I’d need a step ladder to get out of the hole I was already in so I might as well start digging a bit more; see if I can break into an escape tunnel somewhere below. In the circumstances attack seemed the best form of defence.

‘Well they are for sale aren’t they’ I replied sarcastically. This was not a good move. The mans eyes rolled so far back in their sockets all I could see was white, I say white when of course I mean bloodshot demonic yellow ‘You don’t buy a BMW’ he roared furiously ‘You don’t sully the Bayerische Motoren Werke by purchasing anything!’ he continued with gathering zeal ‘You enter the realms of the BMW experience’ he cried, his hands raised theatrically aloft, I felt the only thing that was missing was a pulpit.

Unfortunately this was just the first commandment ‘you revel in the cosseted sensual glory of being fortunate enough to straddle such a gloooooorious machine’ he continued (2^nd commandment) I backed slowly towards the door scanning for any suitable blunt instruments that might be lying around ‘you live BMW, (3^rd) you breathe BMW (4^th), you become one with BMW (5^th), you are assimilated into the collective and resistance is futile (6^th), you WILL be part of the BMWWWWWWW’ (7^th of how many more I don’t know)

I think he may well have exploded after that; but I wasn’t there to find out. As soon as he’d started foaming at the mouth I’d done my Billy whiz act. I don’t think I’ve ever done the 100m in 6 seconds before? And that was whilst fastening my helmet and donning my gloves on route. Got to be a candidate for the Guinness book of records you’d have thought? Although independent verification is unlikely as I shant be returning to that particular dealership.

Yamaha perhaps? I’ve always liked their organs …..