Are you sure you can't stay in tonight?
The Good Lady was wearing a party dress, boots and stirring at a pot on the hob.
Whilst I found this scene witchily alluring, I remained focussed on my task of polishing my Hanish - a stout, nobbly length of wood about a foot long resembling one of those warty penises sported by tortoises and men from Colombia.
Afraid not lass, It is Hogmanay?
I said with a large but regretful smile.
Aw, but the neighbours are coming around and we have loads of good party food and drink in?
The Good Lady stuck a spoon in whatever barley concoction she was stirring and then tasted it. She nodded approvingly.
Aye, but lass, it's Hogmanay or as they say in old Gaelic, Huhg Mahnnay, the time when us men have to patrol the streets and help other men with their emotions.
I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn't make the rules.
It is a terrible time of year for men and their mental health. You know what men are like and we Scots are worse than average at bottling things up. That is why we have Huhg Mahnnay, which literally means "hug a man." We have to get out there and hug guys and let them know it is okay to be okay with their emotions.
I took a deep breath, I had never said so much in a single paragraph before and found it surprisingly tiring.
God, sometimes I forget you guys and the good work you do at this time of year.
She came over and hugged me resting her sweet-scented head on my shoulder.
It is a kindness and it is worth missing out on all the drinking and fun.
I sighed regretfully.
Then again, maybe I could have a wee snifter of Whisky to ward the cold off eh?
I grinned like a madman scenting whisky on a dogs testicles.
Let's make it a large one.
The Good Lady poured me a few fingers of a fine Lagavulin, it was only eight years old but literally shat on other brands of older whisky.
I threw it back and tucked my now shiny Hanish into the back of my jeans.
What exactly do you need the stick for again?
Asked the Good Lady, her cute little forehead rumpling up with curiosity like a hamster with a pine cone.
The stick? You mean the Hanish? Oh, it is just in case we run into any wild dogs. Give them a bit of a clout, you know.
I shrugged handsomely and patted her cheek.
Ha, those bloody wild dogs. You give them hell big guy. Conk one for me!
She went back to her pot of fetid grains that was simmering away.
I made a giddy up horsey face and set off out of the house.
Some minutes later in a darkened lane, I met up with a bunch of the guys.
Right dudes. We all got our Hanishes?
I looked at them sternly as they answered with a resouding Aye.
Right, you know the fucking drill. We go out there and if we catch even a sniff of a man showing emotion on this Hogmanay, we give them a beating. Got it?
Aye Cap'n!
They raised their Hanishes into the air as they shouted in acknowledgement.
We all took a swig from our large hip flasks and waited...
Nearby, a high keening noise came over the wind.
I jerked my head to the side then grinned wide.
Sounds like we got our first one. Come on men, let's batter the bastard!
We headed off, Hanish's held high, to batter the weak men of New Year's past.
My blood was pounding and I whooped for joy.
Happy Hogmanay you fuckers.
Author's note, some or all of this might be entirely made up and I might spend a happy evening indoors with my family and a bottle of fine Whisky. Happy New Year!
