Rach A Sealladh
Last night I wished my life was more interesting. This was not what I had imagined. When I turned on my bedside lamp a few moments ago, everything seemed just as normal. As is my habit, I reached over for my phone to check for messages and… no phone? I could've sworn I had plugged it in the night before. I have been tired lately, so maybe I’m mistaken. I must have left it downstairs. As I swung my legs over the side of my bed and started to my feet, I immediately noticed something funny about my pictures, or rather, lack thereof. Opposite my bed, I have a gallery wall of photographs in mis-matching frames. Some are old family ones, like the one of my parent’s wedding day, others are far more recent, of me and friends on sunny holidays. More accurately I should say, I had a gallery wall. There were a number of gaps where photos should be. They hadn’t fallen on the floor. They were definitely there last night. At least I think they were. I stared at the wall, as if it would give me an answer. I realised the only ones left hanging were the black and white ones. That's bizarre. I need to splash some cold water on my face, try to wake myself up.
The bathroom was even more confusing. For starters, the stench - what was that smell? Good grief, it was bowffin, like the sewer was running straight through the room. Just what I needed to wake me up. Trying to stop myself from boakin, I quickly opened the cabinet to get my contact lenses. There were exactly zero contact lenses to be found. In growing frustration, I go back to my bedroom and pull my glasses from the drawer. So far, my phone, photos, and contact lenses have all gone a wee walkabout and I am stinking of something truly rank. Superb. Downstairs I headed, wondering if anything else could go wrong.
Whit in the name….? I wanted to go back to bed. First of all, my fridge had disappeared. Gone. Vanished. And all my food that was in it was on the floor in a slittery heap. Was every egg broken? Smashing. No pun intended. I’d need to pick up some messages later then. And possibly a new fridge. Who nicks a fridge? Wee bams. Reluctantly I turned to my living room and saw more photographs had disappeared (weirdly, again, the black and white ones were still there) and my TV was gone. Right, that’s it. I’m calling the police. Where’s my… och, no phone! I needed a strong coffee. At least my kettle had survived the mass home goods apocalypse.
Two coffees and one outfit change later, I made my way into my garage to grab my bike. I’d need to deal with the house later. I have a pager for work emergencies and it was bleeping at me non-stop. I like to cycle to my work at the hospital, get that extra wee bit of exercise squeezed into my schedule. Only, my bike seemed to have wheeled itself away this morning. And my car is away at the garage for a service. The day was getting better and better! Bus it was going to have to be then.
Oh fantastic, no buses have been turning up. Word on the street is that their wheels have gone. More precisely, their tyres. Disappeared off the face of the earth. As have the tyres from every single car I passed along the way, like someone went ‘snap’ with their fingers and stole every one ever to exist. Maybe for their wheelie good collection. Sorry, hysteria was setting in. I felt like I was losing my marbles. Perhaps those have disappeared along with everything else today. I needed to run. I hate running.
After a horrible run-come-jog, nearly passing out at least twice, and ending up soaked in sweat and feeling so mingin it would probably take two showers to feel clean again, I turned up to the hospital very late, only to find it was a physical representation of how my brain felt. In absolute shambles. Why can't one thing be normal today? Nurses were running around like headless chickens, doctors were shouting orders and I'm pretty sure I could hear at least three weans crying. Well, in retrospect, that's not all that unusual. Making my way swiftly to the staff room, I catch the eye of one of my colleagues making a coffee. I decided that a third can't do any more harm than the two already consumed this morning.
“Whit on earth is going on, Sarah?” I asked. She looked as frazzled as I felt. “I woke up and, like, half ma hoose is missing, and the hospital’s an absolute state!”
“We don't know!” she groaned. “All the penicillin based antibiotics have disappeared, hypodermic syringes, MRI scanners, the x-ray machines, the whole lot gone! Nobody’s got a clue whit’s goan oan! Just trying to keep the patients calm.”
Well, work today was going to be fun. But we’ve had stressful days before. Nothing a week's worth of coffee, a rolling chair and a wild amount of faked confidence can't handle. Hopefully.
By the end of my shift, things were just as hectic and I was completely wabbit. Of course, I had to walk home. I passed the library on my way home, so I decided to go in and pick up something to kill time this evening. Seeing as I have no telly. Besides, there is something very comforting and solid about the feel and smell of books. Something reassuring. I needed that today. My local library is big enough, but it’s not huge. After going up and down one aisle, I could see the two librarians together in eager conversation at the World History section. A pile of books was on the table behind them, as if they were pulling them out one by one, looking for something and then tossing them down. I wandered over, trying to look nonchalant. One of the books was huge, the pages were yellowed and soft with use. It was lying open towards the back. I flipped through the pages and was struck by the fact that many of the pages in the ‘S’ section were blank. Another book, same result. Aw naw. Aw naw. With a dawning realisation, I got up and grabbed an atlas, scanning through the maps. I ran to the big world map in its glass case on the wall. I saw what had happened. One thing was missing. Scotland - along with all its inventors and inventions, so it would seem - had been wiped from the map. And thus, it is tìoraidh an-dràsta to Scotland, or in other words, cheerio for now.
Honourable Mentions:
Telephone - Alexander Graham Bell
Colour photograph, X-ray- James Clerk Maxwell
Toilet S-Bend - Alexander Cumming
Daily disposable contact lens - Ron Hamilton
Refrigerator - William Cullen
Pedal bicycle - Kirkpatrick Macmillan & Thomas McCall
Pneumatic tyre - Robert Thomson and John Boyd Dunlop
Television - John Logie Baird
Penicillin - Sir Alexander Fleming
MRI scanner - Professor John Mallard and Professor James Hutchison
Hypodermic syringe -Alexander Wood
Dictionary
bowffin = an awful smell
boak/boakin = retch/retching
rank = disgusting, vile
slittery = sloppy, wet and messy
(the) messages = groceries
bams = idiots
mingin = horrible, unpleasant (often in context of a bad smell)
weans = children
wabbit = exhausted, tired out, without energy
* Scots is a native language, made up of several dialects, spoken in Scotland, alongside English and Scottish Gaelic. Scottish English is distinct from the Scots language, though they share a complex history. Many Scots use both Scots and Scottish English in their daily conversations, resulting in a rich and colourful mix. Despite it often being referred to as such, it is not ‘slang’. Accents, pronunciation, word usage and even spelling can vary enormously across the country. I am from the town of Clydebank, to the west of Glasgow. Most of the Scottish words I have used are common to where I live. No doubt, some people will disagree with my use, or feel they would have used other words - to them I say, in the nicest possible way, “Haud yer wheest!”
