Ah Cannae Tell a Lie

by Harry Morris

  To which the sergeant responded by saying that he found it difficult to understand how his body should be discovered three miles away in another force area, having been informed by the staff at the bowling club that he was so drunk he couldn’t walk and, as a result, they had sat him down outside on one of the benches at the club, prior to locking up for the night!

  ‘Now! How do you figure he managed to get to where he was found, when he couldn’t walk the length of himself, because he was that drunk?’

  Dick paused for a moment, thinking about an answer, then smiled at the newly promoted sergeant and said, ‘Conundrums were never my strong point, Sergeant, but you were in the CID long enough to work it out for yourself!’

  Then as he opened the office door to leave, he added, ‘I would have thought it was dead obvious to you sergeant … he drove there!’

  Stress

  …

  The other day I called at the police doctor’s surgery and told him I was suffering from stress and I was losing my temper with my colleagues and insulting them.

  ‘You’ve got to help me, Doctor!’ I said.

  The police doctor looked at me and said, ‘Okay, Morris, tell me about your problem.’

  To which I answered, ‘I just did, you stupid old bugger!’

  The Story

  …

  Wee Davie boy, as he was affectionately known around the place, was a local lad from the Drumchapel scheme in Glasgow, and worked with his father on a farm, tending a flock of sheep.

  He was the youngest of eight sons born to big Jesse, a loving family man who stayed up a close of a newly built council house tenement in a brand-new housing scheme that had recently sprung up in the west end of Glasgow.

  Wee Willie Donnelly, the local elected councillor for ‘the Drum’, was waging war with the gang from the nearby Clydebank area, who were known as the Philobeans.

  One morning, the good people of the Drum awoke to discover a big team of the Philobeans loitering with intent at the bottom of Achamore Hill, blocking the main gateway to the scheme.

  On being informed of their presence in the area, Willie quickly raised the alarm and summoned up a gathering of his finest troops, to rally round and congregate at the top of the hill in order to defend the Drum!

  Within minutes, the entire male population of the Drum, referred to as the Lastrites, appeared out from the scheme’s four most popular Bs: the Bookies, the Bingo, the Boozers and the Brothels, the latter affectionately renamed by Willie during his election campaign as your everyday, family-friendly sauna and massage parlour.

  They all stood about, tensely psyching each other out while waiting anxiously for the slightest movement or signal that would be the beginning of the physical engagement, commonly referred to as a ‘stooshie’. Now they were gathering telephone votes for being the latest reality TV show to be fronted by Simon Cowell and his Syco TV company and called The X-Rated Strictly Come Chibbing.

  The odd mobile phone would interrupt the tense, eerie silence, with a chart-topping ring tone, providing the receiver with a well-rehearsed excuse in order to avoid any confrontation, or physical injury being endured by one’s ever so fragile ‘Jean Brodie’.

  Such excuses were to become common knowledge amongst the most notable of shite bags, who boasted to being lifelong members of the Lastrites.

  For example, excuses such as:

  ‘Eh, Willie! I’ll need tae go. Ah forgot that oor Maisie works tae five o’clock on a Friday and I’ve got tae collect the weans fae the school!’

  ‘Christ! Would ye look at the time? If ah don’t appear at the hoose very shortly with a Big Mac and French fries for her indoors, she’ll withdraw my conjugal rights for a month!’

  And the most popular excuse and common complaint of all:

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Willie, but I believe my bomb doors are starting to open and shut by themselves and I’m about to partake in an uncontrolled bowel movement, whereby I am likely to part company with my entire insides, culminating in my designer Calvin Klein ‘Cary Grants’ being leggered with one’s own excrement!’

  ‘What?’ a confused Willie would enquire, seeking a forthcoming, simple explanation.

  ‘I’m about to shite myself, wee man!’

  It was during all this negative activity surrounding him that Willie also received an unexpected telephone call. This was no ordinary pre-planned excuse by him, for this call came from the fearsome Gareth, the tallest, strongest and meanest dude in the entire Philobean gang.

  On Wee Willie answering his mobile phone, Gareth immediately greeted him with the following:

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Well considering it was you that called me, ya diddy, there has got tae be a significant clue in there for ye!’ Willie sarcastically answered.

  There was a pause for a few moments, while Gareth, whom we now know had a reputation for being big and strong, and now had the distinction of adding the words ‘totally thick’ at the end of his CV, as he digested Willie’s response.

  ‘Is that Wee Willie Donnelly?’ he enquired.

  ‘Correct!’ Willie replied. ‘And you, my friend, must be the guy from TV’s Mastermind, so can I pass on to your next question, ‘cause I’m really a wee bit busy at the moment, Magnus.’

  This was followed by another few moments of muffled pausing, coupled with some loud grunting and growling noises..

  ‘D-D-Do you know who I am?’ asked the irate Gareth in his deep, gravelly voice that can only be attained from years of swallowing large whiskies, followed by the whisky glass!

  Now at this particular point, Willie is not one hundred per cent focussed on the person on the other end of his mobile, and to be fair to him, his mind is fully occupied with the more urgent matter at hand, but he can’t resist responding to the caller’s question.

  ‘No! I don’t know who you are, but let me try and work it out for your sake and my sanity.

  ‘Now, you’ve just called me on my mobile phone, so ye know my number, but ye don’t know who I am. But then, ye don’t know who you are either, so I suppose you’ve got tae be one of two persons.

  ‘Ye’re either Tommy Sheridan, looking tae book a sauna and massage, followed by half an hour on the sunbed, or ye’re that pussy impersonator George Galloway, collecting for Cash for Kids.

  ‘So reveal yourself, caller: who the fuck are you?’

  An angry, frustrated voice stammered out loudly over his mobile phone, in instalments.

  ‘I’m GA-GA-GA-RETH!’ he blurted out aggressively.

  Quick as a flash, Willie responded to his stuttering reply.

  ‘GA-GA-GA-RETH! Whit, GATES? It’s a bad time tae call me up, son, especially if ye’re after a booking at the Community Centre. I’ve already got Will Young, but can ye maybe call me back later in the week? I’m looking for somebody for Burns’ Night at the Miners’ Welfare!’

  After the dust settled and Gareth finally managed to identify himself as the real deal, he proceeded to offer Willie a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ solution to the present dilemma he now faced, with a straightforward proposition.

  Why should they all have to fight, when he, GA-GA-GA-RETH, was prepared to offer a square-go to anyone of Willie’s Lastrites with a death wish and daft enough to fight him, with a ‘Winner Takes All’ bet!

  The stake would be, if Gareth beat up Willie’s challenger, and presented him with the Lastrites’ head on the end of his chib, then Willie and the Lastrites would have to serve the Philobeans forever.

  But – and it was a very big BUT!

  If by some miracle the challenger chosen by the Lastrites to represent them in the fight was fortunate enough to beat the mighty and invincible Gareth, then the Philobeans would have to serve them, and be ruled over by Councillor Donnelly.

  That simple!

  However, for what it is worth, there wasn’t a hope in hell of that happening, according to the latest betting odds from William Hill the bookmaker.

  Willie thought for a mome
nt before readily accepting the challenge and stated the immortal words, ‘Ye’re on, big man!’

  At that, Willie hung up the phone to focus his attention on choosing his champion challenger, among the many Lastrite candidates assembled before him, and also to see if there was anyone stupid enough to volunteer to fight Gareth.

  As he perused the faces of his gang members, he immediately saw the answer to his prayers and the solution to the Lastrites’ problem – a potential home banker and odds-on bet: in none other than JIMMY THE BLADE!

  Jimmy the Blade was the eldest son of a former Glasgow time-served ‘Razor King’ from the Gorbals, who according to his own CV had administered more ‘extreme makeover face lifts’ than California’s very own renowned plastic surgeon, Doctor Garth Fisher!

  ‘Right, Jimmy the Blade! I’m going to bestow the honour on you. What about it?

  ‘How would you like to represent your fellow Lastrites and take this big ugly bastert out?

  ‘And when I say take him out, ah don’t mean tae the pictures! Ah mean tae say, Jimmy, you tick all the boxes for being a mean bastert yerself, and I don’t think I need to remind you that it was only last week ye were charged with three serious assaults and banged up in the Bar L on remand.

  ‘Ye must still be champing at the bit tae chib some other bugger?’

  Jimmy looked at Willie, taking in every word of his somewhat accurate description of him, before replying.

  ‘Listen, don’t get me wrang, Willie, ah’d love tae chib him, but see they three serious-assault charges, they were for slapping the wean, her mammy and her granny. They dropped the charges after a few days. Ah jist exaggerated the incident a wee bit tae look good in front of the boys in the Stab Inn, so that I could get a few beers on the house,’ Jimmy responded rather sheepishly, and was now standing there, resembling a rather more subdued and sedate Jimmy the ‘Blunt’ Blade!

  Staring at refusal in his first attempt to recruit a suitable challenger to face Gareth, Willie turned his attention to his second in command, ‘Mad Dog Magoorie’.

  In his last skirmish, it was reported that he had bitten off his opponent’s ear, quickly followed by part of his nose, and was in the process of going all out for the full set of Ear, Nose and Throat when his opponent managed to get his hand up in time to stop him, resulting in Mad Dog biting off two of his fingers and swallowing them.

  ‘Mad Dog! How about it? What about adding to your gruesome reputation by taking a bite oot o’ the big man’s balls?’

  Mad Dog gave Willie one of his sinister, growling stares before looking down at his watch and saying in a surprisingly soft whimper, ‘Bloody hell! Is that the right time? Ah better get my arse up that road afore I’m in big trouble wi’ the wife. She’s got me babysitting tonight, so that her and the daughter can go tae the bingo. Ah’m sure a mentioned it tae ye earlier, Willie, It’s the big Snowball link-up prize tonight, see ye!’

  At that, Mad Dog scurried away with his tail between his legs.

  As Willie watched him go, he whispered under his breath, ‘I knew it – never trust a dog, or a man that can lick his own balls.’

  With two down, it had to be third time lucky, thought Willie, crossing his fingers, toes and eyes!

  Step forward, ‘Billy the Blacksmith’.

  ‘You’ve got more brands to your name than there are in the entire ASDA superstore. How about branding this big diddy and stick a roasting hot poker right up his kilt in true Burns tradition?

  ‘After all, I was responsible for pushing through your housing grant so you could get help tae re-tile your barn roof and double-glaze your windows!’

  Billy stared at Willie with a lack of expression on his face, as if appearing to think over what Willie has just asked him to do, and then he spoke.

  ‘Willie, I would be honoured! And I would do it in a minute.’ Then he paused before continuing. ‘But I’m waiting for the engineer coming fae Sky to erect my new satellite dish so that I can watch the last episode of The Simpsons after. It’s the one where Homer thinks he’s dying, but he’s really just dreaming. Dae ye know the one ah’m talking about?’

  Willie’s chin hit the floor as, one by one, excuse after excuse, they all slinked away, leaving two Lastrites, namely Davie boy, who had only turned up to deliver some milk and cheese for the troops, along with his wee pal Brian the baker, who brought along some fresh bread rolls.

  Willie surveyed the scene, and looking at the two of them standing there, he announced, ‘Right, you two better sort it out between you, who’s getting chibbed wi’ the big man over there. And don’t be worrying about the outcome, the Council will fund all your funeral arrangements, and I’ll personally notify your parents and let them know whit happened and that you went down fighting bravely to the bitter end. No doubt the Daily Record will also do a front-page spread on ye, so good luck.’

  At that, Willie rushed to leave, but Brian was having none of it.

  ‘Ho! Where exactly dae ye think you’re going, Willie?’

  Willie called back that he had an important Council meeting to attend, which could effectively change their entire way of life in Drumchapel.

  ‘Is that right, Willie?’ Davie boy replied. ‘Well the wee man here has also got an important meeting wi’ yon big man over the road that could effectively and seriously change his entire life, never mind his entire face intae the bargain!’

  ‘Correct, Davie boy. Well said,’ responded Brian, who then paused for a moment, thinking over what Davie boy had just said, then the penny dropped.

  ‘Wait a cotton-picking minute there. Why me? How come I have a meeting wi’ the big man and no’ you?’

  ‘Because I’m much younger and have my whole life in front of me,’ Davie replied.

  ‘What? And I don’t, like?’ Brian asked. ‘Ah mean tae say, mine isn’t exactly behind me. Mine is in front of me as well.’

  ‘Well no’ for much longer,’ Davie said. ‘No’ after the big man has chibbed ye a few times, ye don’t. So here’s my plan. Ye play deid after the initial few and he might no’ be too bothered about continuing tae stab ye!’

  Brian isn’t paying too much attention to Davie boy, and is still trying to work out the age difference between them.

  ‘No! No! No! Davie, there’s only two years of a difference between us, so that’s no’ fair … Let’s just toss a coin, or cut cards tae decide who gets done in!’

  ‘Sorry, Brian, but I don’t know how tae play cards – too young!’

  ‘Well ye better learn fast, ‘cause I don’t know how tae die, and ah cannae fight either, but somebody – as in you or me – is heading for a big Wilkinson sword being deposited up one’s arse.’

  They both sat down in total silence for a moment, making weird faces and rubbing their heads, while they pondered what to do.

  ‘Ah know!’ Brian said. ‘We challenge him tae a pie-making competition. I’ll beat him hands down.’

  Davie boy shakes his head.

  ‘He wants tae be involved in a fight, no’ Ready Steady Cook!’

  They both settled down again and Brian said, ‘I’ve got it. Paper, Stone and Scissors!’

  ‘Paper, Stone and Scissors?’ Davie replied. ‘Whit, are we gonnae hit him wi’ them and see whit one gets him really mad?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s a game. Stone blunts scissors, scissors cut the paper, and the paper …’ Davie paused before continuing, ‘Stuff it! You’re right, let’s just toss a coin.’

  Davie produced a coin from his pocket and handed it to Brian, who flipped it up in the air and said, ‘Heads ah win, tails you lose, awright?’

  ‘Awright!’

  The coin landed on the floor and they both rushed over to check it out. Brian was delighted.

  ‘Tails it is. Ya beauty! You lose, Davie boy, no hard feelings.’

  ‘Hold on a minute. Let’s make it best out of three.’

  Brian stared at Davie for a moment, before reluctantly agreeing to his request.

  ‘Awright!
Since you’re my best pal, we’ll make it best out of three. Same rules.’

  Brian took hold of the coin, flipped it into the air and repeated his saying.

  ‘Heads ah win, tails you lose.’

  As the coin landed on the floor for the second time, they both rushed over to check it.

  Brian immediately started dancing ecstatically, punching the air.

  ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Heads ah win! Go for it, Davie boy, he’s all yours. Here, let me help you on with your hoodie.’

  Davie has his head down.

  ‘That’s no’ fair. Ah think you cheated me! Let me see that coin.’

  Brian showed him both sides of the coin.

  ‘See! Head on this side and a tail on this side. Now don’t be a bad loser, you’ve lost fair and square. But then again, Davie boy, if you look at what is on offer as a reward for setting about the big man, you’ve actually won, and I’m the loser!’

  Davie gave him a look of confusion.

  ‘I’ve won? I have won? How the fuck did ye work that one out?’ Davie then paused for a moment, realising what Brian just said. ‘Reward! What reward?’

  ‘Only the best council house in the whole of Drumchapel, rent free for the rest of your short life, a food hamper, compliments of Marks and Spencer, wi’ a personal greeting fae the bird that talks on the advert, and last but not least, the icing on the cake, the star prize is … Wait for it!’

  ‘Aw, hurry up, Brian, the excitement is running down my legs.’

  ‘Okay! The star prize is a weekend away tae the Dutch House Caravan Park in Prestwick, wi’ … Jordan!’

  ‘Jordan? Big tits, page-three Jordan? Are ye joking?’

  ‘Aye! It’s Madonna!’ said Brian nonchalantly.

  ‘Madonna? Singer, songwriter Madonna, married tae Mabawsa Ritchie that makes the films?’

  ‘It’s Guy!’

  ‘Well I know it’s a guy … But that Madonna?’

  ‘Eh … No exactly that Madonna! It’s Willie Donnelly’s eldest daughter Madonna! So, what about that then?’