Tasteless
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: When you’re speechless on Xmas Day.
Swearwords: A couple of mild ones.
Description: When you’re speechless on Xmas Day.
Sumb'dy geid me rat stinkin' heid caul' in the run up tae xmas day. A cannae pinpint ri exact day whirr it wis xmas eve ur ri day afore sin' ye tend tae rub noses wi' a fair nummer a' acquaintances an' relatit ower rat particular calendar period; bit rest assured, sumb'dy geid me it.
Fur wan reason ur anurr, A get owerfaced wi' turkey dinners in the run up, sa ri last 'hing A waant tae sit doon tae oan xmas day is turkey wi' aw ri trimmins; no' whin A'v gote a choice in it.
Leg a' lamb, rat's wan e' ma favourites an' rat's whit A opted fur. Rat wid dae fur me. A made up a marinade oan xmas eve moarnin' an' coatit ri leg a' lamb in it afore A wint oot furra swaally, jist tae be oan ri safe side; a guid move as it turn't oot. It sat in ri middle e' ri fridge fur twinty four 'oors so's ri marinade could take haud.
Funny how ye don't see some folk fae wan year's en' tae ri nixt. A gote involved roon' ri pool table despite ma een no' bein' whit rey used tae be, bit A still ken ma wye roon' rat table. A won a fair few gemmes, wis robbed whin A loast wan ur two urrs, an' three pairts pished whin A lumburt oot e' ri pub et weel efter dork A'cloke.
A noticed it whin A brushed whit's left e' ma teeth. A couldnae taste ri toothpaste an' rat usually wakes me up as shin as it hits, lik' splashin' yur fizzer wi' caul' watter. A wis still in ma dressin' goon whin A slid ri leg a' lamb oot e' ri fridge tae lerrit huv a coupla 'oors et room temperature afore A rattl't it intae ri oven, an' rat's whin a noticed rit a couldnae talk, an' rat's whye ri leg a' lamb didnae hear ri compliment a flung in its direction. A'd loast ma vice.
A couldnae taste ma purridge, no' rit it really tastes a' ony'hin' onywye s'A wisnae aw rat concerned et rat.
Ma brur phoned me, it wis a quarter past ten an' A'd bin expectin' it.
“Whit's fur ma dinner ris year?”
A hudnae an answer furrum. A tried tae talk an' nu'hin' wis forthcomin' s'A hung up oan 'um an sent a text. Normally it's a ritual whare A tell 'um it's shit wi' sugar oan it, tae which 'e asks when wull it be ready an' ren A tell 'um it's oan ri table noo an' we huv a wee laugh et rat. Ren A get aw serious an' tell 'um tae tell 'e's burd tae stert gerrin' ready cos shu'll be sittin' doon tae 'ur dinner in aboot five 'oors. Ri text didnae exactly cover aw rat birry gote ri message rit A couldnae talk.
A hud ri table aw ready et hauf aleevin. A slammed ri lamb in oan a low light an' wint oot fur a wee walk, jist tae say A'd been ower ri step. A usually walk alang ri prom tae Solkits birra struggled ower Cannon Hill insteed; a hud tae stope et ri tap fur tae get ma breath back. A sook a barley sugar whin A'm oot walkin' birra spat it oot whin A realised rit A couldnae taste it. Even ma ipod soundit diffrint an' A guessed rat wis tae dae wi' ri stinkin' heid caul'.
A couldnae smell ri lamb roastin' whin A gote hame an' A hud tae check rit A'd lit ri oven. Even whin A open't ri oven door A couldnae smell nu'hin' birra gote a wee blast aff ri heat.
A footert aboot ri hoose an' stacked a shitload a' music up oan ri media player so's it wid jist pump oot aw day an' A widnae huv tae gerrup tae it. Ma brur ay waants tae ken who's playin whit bit rat burd e' his is a Philistine whin it comes tae guid tunes. A 'hink she jist waants a guid moan because she hus tae wait tae she gets hame tae watch Eastenders ur some ur pish rit she hud tae record because A'll no huv it oan.
Wee Shug’s wee dug fae doon ri close wis scratchin' et ma door s'A lerrum in an' e' parked 'e's erse in front e' ri oven efter a cursory howdoo fur yours truly. 'E ay kens whin rur's a leg a' lamb in ma oven an' 'e's jist makin' shoor 'e's name's oan ri bone. As if A wid dare tae oafur it tae some ur dug. 'E keeps 'e's distance while A turn it ower an' baste it, runnin' some juice aff fur ma gravy. A'v choped hauf a rid ingyin fur tae go in ri gravy tae an' A poaped a slice intae ma gub fae habit birra couldnae even taste rat. It wis fair scunnerin' me bey ren so it wis.
Wee Shug chapped ri door an' came in tae luck fur Muggins, rat's whit 'e cries ri wee dug, an' Muggins jist ignores 'um 'cos whin rur's a leg a' lamb in ri oven A'm 'e's best pal bey a guid mile ur mair.
“A kin smell rat doon ri close,” says Shug. “A'm 'hinkin' ri hale street kin smell it.”
A jist nodded in agreement.
“Cat gote yur tongue?”
A wint intae ri bureau drawer an' brung oot a pen an' writin' pad. 'Heid caul', A wrote. 'Cannae smell nu'hin', cannae taste nu'hin'.'
“Aye,” agreed Shug, “it's gaun' aboot.” 'E chased Muggins roon' an' snapped 'e's lead oan 'um whin 'e cote 'um. “Whit time should A sen' 'um back up aboot?”
'Fourish.' A wrote. 'Irrull be cool bey ren.'
A pit ma roasties in, tatties an' parsnips so's A'd huv rum ready aboot ri same tum as ri leg a' lamb. Ri mash, carrots an' sprouts wis aw pre-cooked an' wis staunin' by ready tae be micrawaved while A wis dain' ri carvin'. A peel't wan e' rem wee mini Marathons absent mindedly an' a meenit later A thote A wis chewin' putty; wi lumps in it.
Albert ri taxi driver came in wi' ma brur an' 'e's burd an' sat doon' in ri kitchen.
“A could smell rat doon' ri street so A could,” 'e says, “if ma aul' maw didnae huv ma dinner aboot ready A'd a' styed here fur tae eat.”
'E says ri same 'hing ivry year birra like tae hear it aw ri same. A made 'um a cup a' tea an' wrote doon whye 'e wid jist huv tae blether tae ma brur an' 'e's burd 'cos A'd loast ma vice.
Ri leg a' lamb luc't guid enough tae eat whin A brung it oot tae rest an' cool doon a wee bit. A taen a wee thin slice aff it an' A couldnae taste it. Ri texture wis spoat oan birra couldnae guess as tae how it tastit.
Ri meal wis a big success. A right enjoyed watchin' ma brur an' 'e's burd gerrin' right in roon' aboorit even if A couldnae taste it masel'. Rey even hud seconds whin rey seen ha much wis left.
“Whye no' try a wee gless a' whisky?” suggestit ri brur's burd. Meanin' she wis efter wan 'ursel. A played alang birra still couldnae taste nu'hin' s'A didnae bor wi' ony mair. It widda been wastit oan me.
Muggins came tae ri door bang oan four A'cloke. A'm shoor e' kin tell ri time rat yin. 'E luc't up et me expectantly because A usually tell 'um 'e's jist in time tae dae ri dishes, bit how dae ye explain tae a wee dug rit yu'v loast yur vice? Even wan as intelligent as a Jack Russell? 'E tore 'esel' awa fae whirriver 'e thote aboot rat whin A sat a plate a fatty scraps doon in front 'e 'um. 'E wisnae long wi' it ataw. A lerrum oot ri door wi' 'e's bone an' 'e turn't roon an' luct up et me again wi' rat puzzl't wee luk aboorum. 'E wis probly wunnerin' how comes A didnae advise 'um no' tae let Wee Shug make a pote a' soup wi' it afore lerrin' 'um et it 'esel'.
Albert came by fur ma brur an' 'e's burd tae run rum hame. 'E hud anurr cup a' tea tae wash doon 'e's leg a' lamb piece an' explained rit ri taxi run gote 'um oot ri hoose fur hauf an 'oor. It wis bedlam roon' et his bit.
As much as A fun' ri hale xmas 'hing tae be tasteless, ris year it turn't oot tae be double tasteless.
Fur wan reason ur anurr, A get owerfaced wi' turkey dinners in the run up, sa ri last 'hing A waant tae sit doon tae oan xmas day is turkey wi' aw ri trimmins; no' whin A'v gote a choice in it.
Leg a' lamb, rat's wan e' ma favourites an' rat's whit A opted fur. Rat wid dae fur me. A made up a marinade oan xmas eve moarnin' an' coatit ri leg a' lamb in it afore A wint oot furra swaally, jist tae be oan ri safe side; a guid move as it turn't oot. It sat in ri middle e' ri fridge fur twinty four 'oors so's ri marinade could take haud.
Funny how ye don't see some folk fae wan year's en' tae ri nixt. A gote involved roon' ri pool table despite ma een no' bein' whit rey used tae be, bit A still ken ma wye roon' rat table. A won a fair few gemmes, wis robbed whin A loast wan ur two urrs, an' three pairts pished whin A lumburt oot e' ri pub et weel efter dork A'cloke.
A noticed it whin A brushed whit's left e' ma teeth. A couldnae taste ri toothpaste an' rat usually wakes me up as shin as it hits, lik' splashin' yur fizzer wi' caul' watter. A wis still in ma dressin' goon whin A slid ri leg a' lamb oot e' ri fridge tae lerrit huv a coupla 'oors et room temperature afore A rattl't it intae ri oven, an' rat's whin a noticed rit a couldnae talk, an' rat's whye ri leg a' lamb didnae hear ri compliment a flung in its direction. A'd loast ma vice.
A couldnae taste ma purridge, no' rit it really tastes a' ony'hin' onywye s'A wisnae aw rat concerned et rat.
Ma brur phoned me, it wis a quarter past ten an' A'd bin expectin' it.
“Whit's fur ma dinner ris year?”
A hudnae an answer furrum. A tried tae talk an' nu'hin' wis forthcomin' s'A hung up oan 'um an sent a text. Normally it's a ritual whare A tell 'um it's shit wi' sugar oan it, tae which 'e asks when wull it be ready an' ren A tell 'um it's oan ri table noo an' we huv a wee laugh et rat. Ren A get aw serious an' tell 'um tae tell 'e's burd tae stert gerrin' ready cos shu'll be sittin' doon tae 'ur dinner in aboot five 'oors. Ri text didnae exactly cover aw rat birry gote ri message rit A couldnae talk.
A hud ri table aw ready et hauf aleevin. A slammed ri lamb in oan a low light an' wint oot fur a wee walk, jist tae say A'd been ower ri step. A usually walk alang ri prom tae Solkits birra struggled ower Cannon Hill insteed; a hud tae stope et ri tap fur tae get ma breath back. A sook a barley sugar whin A'm oot walkin' birra spat it oot whin A realised rit A couldnae taste it. Even ma ipod soundit diffrint an' A guessed rat wis tae dae wi' ri stinkin' heid caul'.
A couldnae smell ri lamb roastin' whin A gote hame an' A hud tae check rit A'd lit ri oven. Even whin A open't ri oven door A couldnae smell nu'hin' birra gote a wee blast aff ri heat.
A footert aboot ri hoose an' stacked a shitload a' music up oan ri media player so's it wid jist pump oot aw day an' A widnae huv tae gerrup tae it. Ma brur ay waants tae ken who's playin whit bit rat burd e' his is a Philistine whin it comes tae guid tunes. A 'hink she jist waants a guid moan because she hus tae wait tae she gets hame tae watch Eastenders ur some ur pish rit she hud tae record because A'll no huv it oan.
Wee Shug’s wee dug fae doon ri close wis scratchin' et ma door s'A lerrum in an' e' parked 'e's erse in front e' ri oven efter a cursory howdoo fur yours truly. 'E ay kens whin rur's a leg a' lamb in ma oven an' 'e's jist makin' shoor 'e's name's oan ri bone. As if A wid dare tae oafur it tae some ur dug. 'E keeps 'e's distance while A turn it ower an' baste it, runnin' some juice aff fur ma gravy. A'v choped hauf a rid ingyin fur tae go in ri gravy tae an' A poaped a slice intae ma gub fae habit birra couldnae even taste rat. It wis fair scunnerin' me bey ren so it wis.
Wee Shug chapped ri door an' came in tae luck fur Muggins, rat's whit 'e cries ri wee dug, an' Muggins jist ignores 'um 'cos whin rur's a leg a' lamb in ri oven A'm 'e's best pal bey a guid mile ur mair.
“A kin smell rat doon ri close,” says Shug. “A'm 'hinkin' ri hale street kin smell it.”
A jist nodded in agreement.
“Cat gote yur tongue?”
A wint intae ri bureau drawer an' brung oot a pen an' writin' pad. 'Heid caul', A wrote. 'Cannae smell nu'hin', cannae taste nu'hin'.'
“Aye,” agreed Shug, “it's gaun' aboot.” 'E chased Muggins roon' an' snapped 'e's lead oan 'um whin 'e cote 'um. “Whit time should A sen' 'um back up aboot?”
'Fourish.' A wrote. 'Irrull be cool bey ren.'
A pit ma roasties in, tatties an' parsnips so's A'd huv rum ready aboot ri same tum as ri leg a' lamb. Ri mash, carrots an' sprouts wis aw pre-cooked an' wis staunin' by ready tae be micrawaved while A wis dain' ri carvin'. A peel't wan e' rem wee mini Marathons absent mindedly an' a meenit later A thote A wis chewin' putty; wi lumps in it.
Albert ri taxi driver came in wi' ma brur an' 'e's burd an' sat doon' in ri kitchen.
“A could smell rat doon' ri street so A could,” 'e says, “if ma aul' maw didnae huv ma dinner aboot ready A'd a' styed here fur tae eat.”
'E says ri same 'hing ivry year birra like tae hear it aw ri same. A made 'um a cup a' tea an' wrote doon whye 'e wid jist huv tae blether tae ma brur an' 'e's burd 'cos A'd loast ma vice.
Ri leg a' lamb luc't guid enough tae eat whin A brung it oot tae rest an' cool doon a wee bit. A taen a wee thin slice aff it an' A couldnae taste it. Ri texture wis spoat oan birra couldnae guess as tae how it tastit.
Ri meal wis a big success. A right enjoyed watchin' ma brur an' 'e's burd gerrin' right in roon' aboorit even if A couldnae taste it masel'. Rey even hud seconds whin rey seen ha much wis left.
“Whye no' try a wee gless a' whisky?” suggestit ri brur's burd. Meanin' she wis efter wan 'ursel. A played alang birra still couldnae taste nu'hin' s'A didnae bor wi' ony mair. It widda been wastit oan me.
Muggins came tae ri door bang oan four A'cloke. A'm shoor e' kin tell ri time rat yin. 'E luc't up et me expectantly because A usually tell 'um 'e's jist in time tae dae ri dishes, bit how dae ye explain tae a wee dug rit yu'v loast yur vice? Even wan as intelligent as a Jack Russell? 'E tore 'esel' awa fae whirriver 'e thote aboot rat whin A sat a plate a fatty scraps doon in front 'e 'um. 'E wisnae long wi' it ataw. A lerrum oot ri door wi' 'e's bone an' 'e turn't roon an' luct up et me again wi' rat puzzl't wee luk aboorum. 'E wis probly wunnerin' how comes A didnae advise 'um no' tae let Wee Shug make a pote a' soup wi' it afore lerrin' 'um et it 'esel'.
Albert came by fur ma brur an' 'e's burd tae run rum hame. 'E hud anurr cup a' tea tae wash doon 'e's leg a' lamb piece an' explained rit ri taxi run gote 'um oot ri hoose fur hauf an 'oor. It wis bedlam roon' et his bit.
As much as A fun' ri hale xmas 'hing tae be tasteless, ris year it turn't oot tae be double tasteless.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and ten collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and ten collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.