Sunday, February 10, 2008
Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e
This weekend has been a bit of a ‘so near and yet so far’ one for me. I’m not referring to any dodgy decisions by Italian TMO’s that cost Scotland a game of rugby (cos let’s be honest we were keech and deserved to lose) Although I do think Mr Damasco may be registered blind or perhaps half welsh or maybe he was simply on the other channel watching Italian housewives cook pasta in the nip as was asked to rule on whether Shanes whitewashed covered foot was in touch or not ‘Che? Try? Si Si eets a try … mama mia nice teets’
It was actually my Friday night that caused more consternation. I was out celebrating with a friend who had just landed a new job. This was her leaving night so a group of us were out painting the town red. We’d spent quite a few hours applying an undercoat of fifteen lagers and a couple of bottles of wine. Over that time almost everyone had departed for trains and buses. In fact by
I tottered up to the bar and waved at the barman. After trying to ignore me for several minutes he eventually came across ‘Sorry pal the bars shut’, ‘whaddya mean shshshut?’, ‘I mean it’s closed’, ‘closhedd.d.d?’, ‘but you jusht gave h.h.him a drink’ I slurred, pointing a thumb at the guy next to me ‘yes but the thing is; he’s not sh*t faced’, wobbling gently I tried to focus on the man; it would appear my eyes were broken ‘s’afair point’ I mumbled before stumbling back to the booth ‘fnbaashtard wont sherve me’ I dribbled before sliding under the table.
‘Whaddyamean he wont sherve you’ mumbled Jennie from far above ‘he thinksh am drunk’, ‘whaaaat?’, ‘thatshfuuuuckingdisshgrasheful’, ‘am having a word!’, ‘Ooh I wouldn’t do that ee’sh gorra point - am f’nsteamin’, ‘No no no! amnot .. hic … aving it!’ drawing herself up to her full height of five foot five she marched off to the bar. Well she was aiming for the bar, but some strong invisible gravitational pull seemed to drag her to the left. Or possibly it was the lack of a left shoe? Either way the couple enjoying a quiet drink were less than impressed when she appeared on their lap ‘you couldn’t get ush a drink could you?’
Dusting ourselves off outside we turned to give the doorman the vees before staggering off down the street towards the chip shop ‘never liked that plashe anyway’, ‘aye sfnpants ishnt it’, ‘yeah real ddogy customers …. they served us after all’
‘Chipsh or kebab?’ I slurred as we stood in Stirlings Bermuda triangle of eateries. Certainly it’s where my money always seems to mysteriously disappear on a Friday and Saturday night ‘Dunno which ones better?’ replied Jen as she clung grimly on to the lamppost ‘Eeeer the nearest one?’, ‘s’good enuf fer me’
Just as we were ascending the steps to the chip shop door it was slammed in our faces and a ‘closed’ sign spun quickly round onto the glass. A greasy faced youth glowering at us in disgust ‘looks like it’ll have .. hic .. to be a kebab then’ tottering across the street we were literally feet from the door when the same thing happened again. At least the proprietor had the decency to tell us to f*ck off as well – Nice to have a personal touch. Looking at my watch I realised it was well after
Not a chance. The taxi queue was snaking down the pavement and away out of sight ‘where does you shister live again?’, ‘
Amazing how alcohol affects the brain. I live about a two mile walk out of town and I tend to tramp home cos it’s only a 40 minute walk and ye can never get a taxi anyway.
Jennie’s sister lives at the far away side. Sorry I mean the far far far far fecking far feckity far away side. We found this out the hard way.
‘Are we there yet?’, ‘No’, ‘Are we there yet?’, ‘No’, ‘Are we there yet?’, ‘No’, ‘are we there ye-‘, ‘how the f*ck should I know you’re the one that lives here!’, ‘that’s a good point Jeffiner …. Are we there yeooooomppfffff!’ I felt a punch in the face was a tad harsh considering that due to her loss of footwear I was being her ‘steed’ for the journey home ‘look you can wear my shoes if ye want to take a turn driving?’ I mumbled through my fat lip ‘ooooh I’d like to but they are just too big; I could go over an ankle’ she replied ‘now c’mon giddyup!’
Boosted by the sugar lump she’d palmed into my mouth I accelerated into a steady canter. At least the rain had stayed off and we were making steady progress towards home. Unfortunately the litres of lager I’d consumed earlier were now wanting to wave goodbye ‘m’gonna have to stop’ I shouted to my Jockey ‘Why?’, ‘need a wee wee’, ‘Oh for goodness sake’ I pulled over beside some bushes and waited ‘what now?’, ‘can you get off please?’, ‘And stand on this barefoot! Don’t flatter yourself Ham my eyesight isn’t that good anyway; get on with it’
Nothing as underrated as a good p*ss;‘Aaaaaaaah’ Bliss! Well it was right up until the flashing blue light lit us up ‘Shiiiit’, ‘c’mon go go GO!’, ‘but we-‘ WHIISHK!! ‘ooya fuuuu-‘ WHIISKK! ‘-ker’ Quite where she got the whip from is probably best not answered but by gum it did the job; I was off like a rocket. Our ‘hack’ home had suddenly been converted into the Grand National as we took an ‘off-road’ route to lose the feds. I could practically hear Jim McGrath commentating in my head
‘And it’s Bald Beauty coming up to the first fence’, ‘it’s Bechers Brook and he’s stuttering slightly; could be refusing, but the jockey is reaching for her whip’, ‘Oh my word he’s cleared it by a good ten feet’, ‘he’s four lengths in the lead now with Blues & Twos coming up on the rails’, ‘they are both about to reach the canal turn and this is where the race really can be won and lost’, ‘Bald Beauty has gone for it! …. ‘Oh what a leap!’ ‘Blues & Twos are right behind’, but he’s gone too early, he’s clipped the fence, oh my he’s landed on his face and Bald Beauty is out of sight!’
Cue music and slow motion shot of steed galloping across the moor ‘la la lalalala laa’
