Diary of a Shopkeeper, 23rd May

The view from Willie’s place.

‘Come in, beuy,’ said Willie Pickle.  ‘It’s allowed now, you ken.’

‘Where do you want your home brew stuff?’ I said, bobbing my chin down at the big plastic bucket of tins, bags and tubes I was carrying.

‘Before you put that anywhere,’ he said, ‘Would you mind satanizing your hands?’

‘Satanizing?’

‘Aye, there’s a tub of stuff by the door there.  It’s my old home brew bucket in fact, that’s why I had to get you to bring me a new one.’

I looked for somewhere to set down the gubbins I was carrying.

‘You better take that back outside until you’re satanized,’ said Willie.

I reversed onto Willie’s front doorstep and set his order down.  ‘Your garden’s coming at,’ I said.  ‘I did wonder though, why have you got that big trail of black footprints going across your lovely green lawn?’

Willie tugged at his beard.  ‘Between thee and me,’ he said, ‘It was a bit of a tactical error.’

‘How that?’

‘I don’t like to do it, but I had to spray a peedie bit of Roundup on a ground elder infestation over by the dyke.’  He pointed down the garden.  ‘And I did a very thorough job.’

‘You killed the ground elder stone dead?’

He nodded.  ‘Perxactly.  And also the rhubarb and the rosa rugosa.  Anyway, after I’d finished, I walked across the lawn to put the kit back in the shed.’

‘And your big size twelves were covered in Roundup that you tramped into the grass?’ 

He nodded, grimacing, and I laughed.

‘Sandra wasn’t pleased,’ he said.  ‘But I told her it was a feature, that I’d seen Monty Don do it on the telly.  I think she believed me.  I told her it was a religious theme.  She’s quite churchy, you ken, and she has a thing for Monty Don.  Says she’d like to see him in the full Monty, whatever that means. ‘We’re all on a journey,’ I told her, ‘Out of the Covid wilderness and into the Garden of Eden.’’

‘Don’t go in there with weedkiller on your boots,’ I said.  ‘Never mind Sandra, you’d be in trouble with the Almighty then.’

‘Same differ around this house,’ he said, and gave a nervous chuckle.

I nodded into his hallway.  ‘Can I get in about the sanitizer now?’

‘Would you mind taking your shoes off before you come inby?  It’s a new rule…’

‘…since the Roundup footsteps incident.’

He nodded. 

‘Tell you what,’ I said, ‘How about if I stay out here with my shoes on, and I just give your order to you, and you carry it inside.  That’ll solve all your contamination problems.’

‘And you won’t have to dook your head in satanizer either,’ he said.

‘Eh…no.  I think I’ll definitely bide outside theday, Willie.’  I took a step back in case he grabbed me and baptised me in the bucket.  ‘I should be hitting the road soon anyway.  Not so many home deliveries these days, but now the restaurants can sell wine again we’re busy with that.  Must head down Dounby way.’

‘Sin city,’ said Willie.

‘Really?’

‘So Sandra says.  I haven’t been there lately in case I’m led astray.’

‘Led astray?  What by for god’s sake?’

‘I don’t really ken, cause like I say I haven’t been there since 1997.’

‘What happened in Dounby in 1997?’

He looked over his shoulder and all around the garden, then said in a low voice, ‘I can’t go into details.  But it was show day.  And the incident in question involved a champion Shetland pony, a beer tent, and the Moderator of the Church of Scotland, who was there in an official capacity.  Say no more.’  He tapped the side of his nose. 

‘Actually, I’ll say one thing more,’ he went on.  ‘His capacity for beer was anything but moderate.’  He made a zipping sign across his lips.  Then he unzipped them again.  ‘The minister, I mean, not the pony.’

I raised my eyebrows and turned to gaze out at the view across to the Brough.  The breeze was chilly but the May sun glittered beautifully off the sea.  ‘God’s own country,’ I said.

‘Let me tell you,’ said Willie, ‘There’s a noise at the backdoor to heaven, somebody sneaking in, so Saint Peter goes running over to see what’s what.’

‘Who was it?’ I asked.

‘It was God!  Saint Peter gives a wee bow, and then he says to him, ‘Lord, it’s yourself!  Where have you been?’  God looks a bit sheepish.  ‘You know me,’ he says, ‘I’ve been everywhere.’’

I laughed.

‘’But where exactly?’ says Saint Peter.  ‘There’s a pandemic going on, folk are crying out for help, and you’re nowhere to be seen for weeks on end.’’

Willie was getting warmed up now, and forgetting to speak in hushed tones.

‘’I’ve been up in Birsay these past weeks,’ says God, ‘That’s where I’ve been.’’

‘’Birsay, Lord?’ says Saint Peter, ‘What were you doing there?’’

‘Working from home, beuy, working from home.’’

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 26th May. Other diaries continue to appear weekly. I am posting them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.