Hamish McShanks

Hello shunned and patronised readers

Sorry for the lateness and bevity of this weeks effort but all will become apparent when you read on, assuming you do and this isnt auto-forwarded to a junk e-mail folder.

I mean I wouldnt blame you, honestly the service is awful and quite frankly Ham is a complete and utter ti......

Kindest Regards

yedeyahyah like we give a monkeys etc

Ham

The Gunpowder Blot

(or ‘Neds Christmas’)

Lying still beneath my bed,

With a towel wrapped around my head,

With earplugs buried in too deep,

My eyes closed tight, I dare not peep

I’ve been two hours underneath,

Trembling limbs and gritting teeth,

I really canna take nae mair,

As yet more shell bursts fill the air

For pities sake just pack it in,

It really is a fearful din,

It’s half past one on Wednesday night,

Awa tae bed ye dozy shites!

I can’t but help to wonder why,

We allow the Ned to fireworks buy,

Do they really understand the reason?

We celebrate the powder treason

To them Guy Fawkes is just an ancient git,

With floppy hat; a bearded tit,

A ragged doll atop the flaming tyres,

That constitutes today’s bonfires

Another salvo overhead,

As I cower and cringe beneath the bed,

The window pane it shakes and rattles,

Evoking thoughts of ancient battles

No wonder soldiers in the trenches,

Ran away and went demented,

The constant racket gets in yer heid,

And maks ye think yer better deid

But Jerry’s nae across the wire,

Am no really under heavy fire,

There’s no a bayonet fixed or soldiers ready,

Tae charge and shoot while I ‘hold steady’

Just fifteen Neds oot on the street,

Laughing loudly and stamping feet,

Lighting fireworks and drinking buckie,

Dodging coppers and staying lucky

But lady luck’s a fickle lass,

And sudden change can come to pass,

The Burberry boys will long lament,

The night that Ham, his patience went

From beneath the bed oor hero soars,

His eyes ablaze midst violent roars,

‘Gerroootyafuuuckers’ comes out the scream,

As Ham confronts the bawbag team

A kipper tie wrapped roond his napper,

Ham looks quite the snazzy urban rapper,

Shame aboot the stripy braces,

But worth it just tae see their faces

Bare chested bar the stripy sussies

Ham shouts ‘Come on ye fuuuucking lassies!’

Black paint daubed across his face,

His manboobs jiggle into place

Ah cannay think they felt too worried,

As Ham whirled and spun and nearly buried,

The frying pan against his nads,

Whilst fronting up against the lads

A whirling dervish, Ham roared and flew,

His arms held wide at ‘ten to two’,

Fine for driving, but nae much use,

Fer sconing Neds and letting loose

But Lady Luck was backing Shanks,

And two were felled like falling planks,

Inertia pulled our baldy friend,

Around to clatter three more men

The rest took fright and ran at once,

With fleeting blows across the bonce,

‘And don’t come back ye little shites!’

Bellows Ham into the night

The rabble crushed, Ham stumbles and falls,

He took a low one in the balls,

The adrenalin worked but now it’s gone,

He’s mumbles weakly ‘at least I won’

A half hour later he’s tucked up in bed,

Peaceful silence fills his head,

To sleep; perchance to dream that’s all,

Was worth a blooter in the baws