Archive | November, 2016

#LISSEN. How to avoid Shit Creek and earn free beers.

27 Nov

monster3 Here be Shit Creek Monster. (Fortean Times).


I was wandering down Memory Lane today when I remembered my Grandfather Harry Mitchell. Harry had a knack for avoiding life’s Shit Creek Monster situations and emerging as a winner from many sticky happenings. Here is a wee story about Harry.

There was knock at Harry’s door one night. It was a neighbour who informed Harry that old Frank who lived alone nearby had been found dead, could Harry please come over because there was a bit of a problem with the dead body. Harry went to see how he could help and it was explained that the problem was with the shape of the body. Rigor mortise had set in and the body was firmly established with legs drawn up during sleep in a fetal position with knees now frozen and locked into place.

Nobody could straighten the legs now and how was Frank to be made to fit into a casket? His knees would stretch further than the width of a coffin if he was laid sideways and the lid would not fit if they placed him in the box lying on his back.

Harry quickly solved the problem. Old Frank’s body was still lying flat out on the bed, but with the offending knees pointing upwards to the ceiling. Quick as a flash, Harry jumped onto the bed beside the body and sat down, right onto the frozen knees. There was a loud crack, Harry tumbled onto the bed but the wrongly positioned and awkward legs had now been straightened, the coffin lid would fit in a respectable fashion and conform to the usual position for burial.

Problem solved and Harry was wheeched away to the pub round the corner where he was plied with many beers and the grateful thanks from old Frank’s relatives.

You will find other daft stories about Grandfather Harry and more wee wry Scottish tales by following the links below;

Andy Wishart.


Series of interesting wry Daze memoirs from Scotland. YouTube link ;



LISSEN. Here be monsters!

16 Nov

Here be monsters !


The weather forecaster said there was a cold front coming. The news interrupted my thoughts of all the Shit Creek monster situations I had encountered during my life. I seem to have had more than my fair share of  these tough situations and my thoughts turned to memories of warmer times. For some daft reason (how else?), I remembered my encounter with ‘Jungle Feet’ all these years ago in the Far East, a place where it was always sunny and warm.

Here is an excerpt  from My Army Daze where I recalled my magical meeting with ‘Jungle Feet’.

‘Still beaming, he let go my toe and, with a great flourish, opened the doctors bag, I fix jungle feet, he repeated confidently, showing me a tin of some unidentified sticky paste which he quickly smeared on my affected toe. I started to object but he dismissed my muttered complaint with a quick professional motion of his hand while the other hand delved again into the magic bag, produced a roll of cotton wool from which he tore a small piece and stuck the cotton to the sticky stuff on my toe.

Somehow The Great McBain and his conjuring tricks came to mind as I stared at the decorations on my foot. What happens now I said, I suppose you set fire to it.?

I was so busy looking at my foot and failed to notice he was still in action over the bag, quick as a flash he had produced a box of matches, lit one and rapidly applied it to my toe where a huge sheet of flame shot towards the ceiling. I also shot up, cursing at Jungle Feet who was standing back, still beaming, the spent match in his fingers, well pleased with himself.

It is difficult to look aggressive and threatening from the horizontal position, with a smoking foot, when clad only in a green army towel. To be perfectly honest, I was not actually feeling any pain either, only my cool had been disturbed but Jungle Feet was standing at the foot of my bed, still beaming, confidentally expecting some reward for his professional services. To be fair, when I inspected my toe there was no trace of the little round corn which had been there a few minutes ago, to tell the truth I never did see it again, neither then or ever since.

Just like The Great McBain, Jungle Feet appeared to be a great magician, as usual, I could not explain how it was done, this was the mysterious east so I could only conclude it must be magic. I fumbled in my pants pocket draped over my locker, gave him the two Straits dollars he requested, still beaming he wandered out of my life and away down the stairs to become another strange, but memorable, little episode in my Army Daze memories.’

You can read about ‘Jungle Feet’ and other army stories in My Army Daze by Andrew Wishart. Just follow the link below for details of other tales of My Early Daze and My Rock ‘n Roll Daze;

Andy Wishart.  (Made in Scotland).


Series of interesting wry Daze memoirs from Scotland. YouTube link ;

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