The Hamish shuffle, happ’ly pioneered
By Carlin’s eldest son, did first appear
Within a mosh pit in a club. This dance
Preserved one’s pint from spillage. By a stance
Hunched over and with both hands on the drink
One moved one’s feet from left to right. Just think
How many times you’ve upped to dance but stopped
Because you’ve too much drink left. Nothing dropped
From out of Hamey’s pint.
Twas the New Year.
The Pink folk had returned from Christmas cheer
Back to the Pink House. All of them preferred
The squalor of the Pink. Each one declared
The pleasure felt in setting up one’s feet
Upon the sofa. Now they could regreet
Their old friend marijuana, left behind
Too many weeks. By some means undefined
They picked up where they left off; down some track
That took them further from the herding pack
And deeper into lands and ways unknown.
In January examinations drone,
And ill-prepared the students wish they’d tried
To work more during term. Had they applied
More effort then, instead of smoking gear
And talking shite while drinking cans of beer
Then now they wouldn’t be in such a mess.
So strategies on how to pass the test
With min’um actual work were thought out. Though
This didn’t really work; the stereo
And video games were too distracting. Free
From home for four months now a good Degree
Had less appeal than once it had. Instead,
Our heroes found they’d rather lie in bed
Til afternoon, then stroll down to the park,
Go through museum’s doors to see what mark
An artist left on canvas; or else stare
At turtles swimming like they didn’t care
What chap threw money at them. Fish
Confined behind a thick glass plate; a swish
Of fins across the surface. Then a glance
At dinosaurs encased in plastic. Chance
In form of asteroid had done for them.
Then up the stairs to see which shining gem
Engaged the eye the most. The fur-lined rocks
With glass instead of moss received most gawks.
The radioactive room, a major draw,
Enticed with its fluorescence. Greatest awe
Was felt when down some stairs was passed
An iv’ry sculpture, spheres in spheres amassed
Five layers deep, and carved to show a scene
Of men and women, houses, a ravine
Formed by two mountains tall. To understand
Why several of our heroes took unplanned
Excursions to this place requires no thought;
There’s little joy in doing as we ought.
“To do things as we ought” – what does it mean?
To do as others do, keep things routine
By working hard and building up enough
Reserves to buy a house and overstuff
With things that other people have. Some folk
Inside the Pink House started to invoke
The shades of Marx and Engels to explain
Why working for the man is such a pain.
Then two or three began to think TV
Was shite and propaganda and should be
Thrown out the window. Some folk just felt bored
With studying a topic they abhorred
And wished to leave their college. This in due
Course Levin, Hamish did; they felt the screw
Of daily concourse to their class a waste.
They waited for a job without great haste
And Levin got one. Hamish meanwhile played
The waiting game for longer. He betrayed
No great anxiety to find some work
But this was not because he wished to shirk
The daily slog. His motivation weak
He simply didn’t mind what happened. “Seek
What you might find,” the proverb goes. The chair
Beside the window ’came his home. Twas there
He ’came acquainted with the “schizo kid”
A child who twice a day walked by and did
A lot of visionary waves and shouts
Concerning hell and school. The boy was stout
And seldom seemed much happy. Hamish bode
His time, a-sitting on his chair. It flowed
From day to day and week to week and folk
Dropped in occasionally to talk and joke
And ask if Hamish'd seen a job walk by
Yet. Hamish, patient, knew with certainty
That what was his wouldn't pass him. So
Within five months he'd got a job to go
To. Twas a night club, named as 'M.' He went
There several nights a week, to earn his rent,
By picking up used bottles, glasses, crap,
Returning to the bar by any gap
He could, and going out again for more.
He'd dance about to make it less a chore
But always when he got home his poor feet
He'd have to fill a bucket them to steep.
But all in all, the work was not unkind
He liked the crowds and company. But mind:
The vicissitudes of fate cannot be dodged
They find us in the end to fair dislodge
Our sense of confidence. When Hamish felt
His stride becoming firm, then he was dealt
With fate's destabilising shake. Once night
He went to work as usual. Thus his plight
Began. Before commencing, drawn aside
Was he. The manager, dissatisfied,
Asked Hamish for the laptop back. "The wha?"
Asked Hamish in return, bemused. "Ah, hah,
You know just what I mean." But Hamish dint.
He wanted to start work. He made a squint
And shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said. "OK,"
The boss said. "Right. You came in yesterday
And took the laptop underneath the stairs
Out with you." Hamish, man not of affairs,
Did not deny it; looked instead perplexed.
"Don't think I took it." Now the manager flexed
His muscles. "Got it on the tape," he said;
And pointing at the cameras overhead
He seemed to say the case was closed. "Now why
Don't you go home and bring the laptop by
This evening." So Hamish went on home
But couldn't find the laptop with a comb
Which made him think the boss was wrong. Going back
He told the manager there was no crack
He hadn't looked in. Logic seemed to say
That if he couldn't find it then no way
Could he have stole it. Strangely though the man
Did not seem swayed by this. "All right; you can
Go home. And don't come back until you've got
The laptop with you." Hamish felt a knot
Of intricate design was tying round
Him. Sense was missing; if he had not found
The thing by now then never would it be.
Returning home he fixed a cup of tea
And thought things over. But he couldn't make
Much reason from it. All night kept awake
The next day he went down to see his friends
Inside the Pink House – hoped they'd apprehend
Some vital link he'd missed. They were incensed.
The manager had clearly took against
Young Hamish for no reason and made up
A plot to oust him. They would put a stop
To all this nonsense. Donning their trench-coats
&
nbsp; McCochall, Erwan, McIlroy, did vote
To march straight to the V-Bar and demand
To see the so-called "tape." They went as planned
In early afternoon. The bar was dead;
Just them and bar staff. Hamish went and said:
"Gon let us see the boss." One left to get
Said individual. He seemed rocked; the sweat
That beaded on his brow bespoke his fear
At seeing three young toughs a-coming near.
But wily was he: played the age-old game
Divide and conquer. Single was his aim:
He asked that Hamish come aside to speak.
This left the other three alone to seek
What mischief that they could. So surlily
They asked for water at the bar. The three
Returnéd to their seat to wait it out
Since Hamish, innocent beyond a doubt
Had but to show the manager twernt he
Had been recorded on CCTV.
But soon did Hamish reemerge. The cops
Arrived some moments later. With their props
Of batons and of cuffs they went to talk
With Fat-Face, he the manager. They walked
Into the other room. Young Hamish sat
Beside his friends. "He hasn't shown me that
Tape yet," he told them. All the three were 'raged
The farce continued. Levin himself gauged
The cops would side with Hamey's boss. The pigs
Came out again ten minutes later. "Frig
That swine," did Levin spit. They took aside
The hero of this tale; twas clear what side
The cops were on, for promptly did they put
Young Hamish in arrest. The boss, a brute,
Did sneer as Hamish frog-marched through the door
Held either side by pigs. The three were sore
That things had ended up like this. "How long
Will he be gone?" they asked. To right this wrong
Was all that they did wish for; but alas
The State was much too strong. The upper class
Could stamp upon their necks all day. The three
Went home. The Gortenaghy wan would be
Alone on this. So meantime Hamish went
To Musgrave Street Police Station. He spent
A good few minutes locked inside a dark
And tiny room before the peelers parked
Their overweight and portly bums on seats
Beside him. "All right. So you're" – glance at sheet –
"Here, Hamish Carlin, now; so what d'you have
To say?" His tone, of bored attempt to chaff
His suspect into speech did not succeed;
Young Hamish simply shrugged and asked why he'd
Been 'rested when he'd done not one thing wrong.
He'd heard a thousand times. "You're here because
You stole a laptop." Hamish looked the fuzz
Between the eyes and said: "I didn't take
It." "We have seen the video son; you'd make
A poor career from theft. So tell us why
You went back home to look for it." The guy
Leaned forward, pressing. Hamish scowled and said:
"The boss just tole me to." He wished instead
He'd told his boss to die in hell. This line
Of questioning was boding ill. Like vine
The tendrils of the facts were creeping round
Him. "Told you too. I see. I feel I'm bound
To ask you why you went to get it if
You knew it wasn't in your house. A whiff
Of contradiction here, you see. A lad
Who felt completely certain that he had
Not taken something wouldn't go to look
To just make sure." The police aimed to hook
Young Hamish like a fish. But Hamish did
Not wish to be fried yet. His healthy id
Was good enough for this. He did explain
Things thus. "It's cos of all this talk of seein'
Me on the video. I don't think I took
The laptop, but yous keep on sayin I snook
It out and that the tape shows me. I'm sure
I dint but maybe its my mem'ry. See when you're
Bein told that you're on tape, but never shown
You start to doubt yourself. So I was goin
To see the boss today to see the tape
Myself. So what's it show?" To pull a drape
Around this latter question, act like he'd
Not heard, the peeler claimed that Hamey's deed
Could land him in hot water. Hamish pressed:
If everyone who'd seen the tape assessed
That Hamish'd done the deed, then why was the
Accused alone denied the chance to see?
But Hamish didn't know the peelers' rule:
You ask but never answer questions. Mule
Himself though Hamish was they wouldn't budge;
They merely took down notes in case a judge
Would ever want to see the case. The chance
Of that was slim; twas evident by glance
The case was going nowhere. Hamish: "Why
Is RUC still on your station'ry
Instead of PSNI?” The peelers wrote
This question down, like others I could quote;
The transcript still exists somewhere, Lev thinks.
The author couldn't spell so oft the ink
Would state that Hamish hovered up the stairs
And down again. For three hours more they were
Locked at it. Then the tired old peeler let
Our hero go. His friends had gan to fret
That never would they see the lad again
When calmly on the door he knocked. The zen
Art master seemed to take it in his stride
E'en though he had been misidentified
Accused of something that he did not do.
The peelers never called for him. Adieu
Did Hamish bid to Belfast after that;
Not keen on being treated like a cat
That chaséd by a dog is.
Take your oar!
We sail straight onwards. Next stop Canto Four.
Canto Four