Hamish McShanks

Hey Hey Folks

Another diary on time, wonders will never start!

well I hope ye enjoy thi- .... what do you mean missing a week? I think you must be mistaken ..... nooooo? .... the last thing I remember is going for a shower and ....

ok ok ok!! So I missed a week. I'm sorry OK! I've not been well/My internet was down/I tell lies* (*delete as appropriate)

Look ye knew it wouldnt last so just dry yer eyes and think yourself lucky that you dont pay for this drivel

Kindest Regards

Ham

ps we value your custom

pps no really we do

Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e 13^th April 2008

Some of you may recall that I have recently become an uncle. My evil twin has spawned forth and added another hungry mouth to the Clan Shanks. I say hungry mouth not because he’s been born into terrible hardship or a life of poverty; oh no I say this simply because the boy seems to be a remorseless eating machine.

I made the foolish mistake of offering to baby-sit ‘anytime they needed a break’. It’s the sort of glib thing you say to new parents in the confident knowledge that they are unlikely to trust their first born child to a big baldy eedjit with no parenting experience and they know you are really only saying it because it’s the done thing. At least I thought that’s what the deal was. You can imagine my surprise when the phone rang the other day.

Briiing Briiing! ‘Hello Shanks residence’, ‘cut it oot Ham, I know ye don’t have a butler’ bringing my voice down from the austere introduction I grudgingly mumbled ‘awright bruv how’s it gawn?’, ‘great; I need a babysitter’ thump! ……. ‘hello?’ …… ‘hello?’, ‘aye sorry I was just …. Examining the floor’, ‘aye well stop messing aboot and get yersel up the road’, ‘what now!’, ‘aye ye said ye wernay doing anything tonight’, ‘ah well now, the thing is’, ‘you promised anytime’, ‘yes about that i-‘, ‘come in number five yer time is up; am calling in the favour’, ‘right right, fine, I’ll be there in half an hour’

I slammed down the receiver and bolted up the stairs. My emergency bag was in it’s usual place ‘ok, money, passport, address of a plastic surgeon; let’s go!’ bounding down the stairs two at a time I wrenched the front door open ‘going somewhere’ enquired my twin brother, mobile phone still in his hand ‘I, I, I’, ‘we thought it would be easier if we just brought Robbie round here’, ‘oh great’ I mumbled weakly as he pushed past carrying four large holdalls. Shirley followed immediately after with another three huge bags and the all important baby.

I will admit I softened markedly as the wee lad was plonked in my lap. He was smiling and gurgling softly as the parents emptied the contents of the bags around me. ‘Jings he smiles a lot now doesn’t he’ I remarked as Ma & Pa hurriedly emptied the contents of their car into my front room ‘oh aye’ mumbled Fraz as he lugged in another crate ‘aaaw look he’s smiling at me’ all my reservations went out the window as the wee lad beamed and drooled at his uncle Ham.

I’d fed the wee mite before so was up on meal preparation; a quick lesson in nappy changing was most enlightening. I didn’t know you could get nappies for 39 year olds but it certainly helped me understand the process. ‘You’ve got my mobile number if there’s any problems’ said Fraz as he headed towards the door ‘and we’ll be back by 10:00am tomorrow’ shouted Shirley as they sprinted out the door ‘TOMORROW!’, ‘WAAIT’ distant squealing of tyres signalled their departure.

I looked down at the wee boy in my arms ‘awooga ga ga goo’, ‘aye yer nae wrong Robbie; they are a pair oh b@stards’

At least they had left everything I might need. The cot was set up; I could hardly get to the kitchen for packets of nappies. This was rather worrying; how many nappies could he need in 18 hours? I popped him in the ‘neglectomatic’ this is a wee rocking chair that has a built in electric motor. After all it’s so tiresome having to actually lift your foot up and down, up and down, up and down….. Anyhoo it kept him quiet while I stashed the cartons of milk powder and set up the steriliser.

This was still quite a lengthy task as I felt compelled to dash back to the neglectomatic every thirty seconds to make sure he was ok. Robbie probably thought this was a great game of peekaboo as my increasingly red and sweaty napper repeatedly hoved into view between stowing all his various paraphernalia.

Twenty minutes later I slumped into my lazy boy recliner ‘thank goodness for tha-’, ‘WAAAH!!’, ‘holy fuuuuuck’, ‘Waaah, waaaah, WAAAAAAHH!!!’, ‘okay Robbie, dinna fash loon’, ‘yer dinners coming shhh shhh shhh’ my soothing words had little effect as Krakatoa erupted in my living room. Thankfully Ma & Pa had left me one bottle to be getting on with and now I was glad I hadn’t drunk it myself.

‘Okay boy get this down ye’, WAAA-gluggluglug’ peace was restored and my pulse rate slowed to a gentle 200 bpm. ‘Help ma bob Robbie ye’ve got a fair set of lungs on ye laddy’ Glancing down I noticed the bottle was draining alarmingly fast. Lifting him up to check for leaks all appeared ok. It was apparent he was merely a quick feeder ‘jings Robbie you’re a hungry bo-‘, ‘WAAAAAH!!!’

There was still milk in the bottle but he wasnay happy. ‘WAAAAH!’, ‘right ok, waaah, disnay mean anything to me, what’s wrong?’, WAAAAAH!’, ‘shouting is not going to help Robbie, enunciate …. Frantically I picked up the flowchart I had prepared earlier ‘In the event of crying after feeding the baby probably has wind’. The diagram indicated that placing the bairn over yer shoulder and patting its back was the preferred solution.

What the diagram failed to show was the subsequent projectile vomiting and the now milky white cat sprinting out of the living room. On the plus side the boy blunder had settled down into a dairy induced soporific state and I could briefly relax ‘Bloody hell’ I mumbled as I slumped back into my chair; It wasn’t for long though.

‘What the-‘ within thirty seconds my eyes were streaming and the wallpaper had started peeling. An acrid noxious smell filled the room. I flicked on the telly but there were no warnings of biological or chemical attack. With mounting horror I realised the smell was emanating from my nephew ‘aaaw no no no no that cant be right’, unwrapping said boys undergarments revealed horrors that are too terrible to describe with the written word. Suffice to say I’ll never eat English mustard again.

No sooner had I changed the offending wrapper and he was greeting for mair milk ‘Aw c’mon ye canna possibly be-‘ ‘WAAAAAAH!’, ‘ok ok ok am getting it, am getting it’ and so it went on …. and on …… and on …… and on …. Groundhog day?

Fast forward 16 hours ‘Hello? …. Were back’, ‘did you get on ok?’ Red eyed and with bags under my eyes like Droopys I grabbed my brothers’ hand and started kissing it ‘oh you’re here! Thankyouthankyouthankyou, sweet jeeesus thank you!’

Amazing the things you’ll put up with for a wee smile …..