A whistleblower from Drawda Men’s Shed has been labelled ‘a great big dryshite by members of the very organisation he blew the whistle on.
Marty Hackett, a 62 year-old former teacher had been encouraged to join the local men’s shed by wife Maureen after taking early retirement.
Initially things went well. The relief of not having to spend as much time with his wife gave him a new lease of life and like most lonely men that age he wanted to experience the camaraderie of woodturning. The routine helped fill the void of retirement and Marty even began to look forward to Friday mornings when the men would check each other’s prostates and then go for some ale.
But things soon turned sour. The group had just finished carving out a couple of Formula One cars from some donated wood. The kids at the Special School, they all agreed, would be chuffed to get their hands on them.
Bill, the High Shed Dragon, suggested that as a reward for a great team effort, they should do a spot of bird watching. Everyone agreed it’d be a great idea and soon the men were comparing binocular sizes and outboring each other with tales of how they’d once repaired the cord that lets the binoculars hang freely from the neck.
Jim recommended carrying twine at all times while Alfie got angry with Pat after Pat suggested that it was a similar job to repairing a snagged cord on a pair of glasses. “Completely different beasts,” piped up Frank. Marty could only nod in agreement. “These guys are great,” he thought.
A keen birder himself, Marty had a pep in his step going home. This would be a great way to bond with the group. Recruiting Maureen, they carefully cut out cards with silhouettes of the most common types of bird for all the shedders. Someone in Bettystown had spotted a corncrake and texted LMFM about it, would they be as lucky the following day? Everyone was to meet at 6.30pm at the Shed for a spot of evening birding.
However, Marty was shocked by the scene that greeted him. To a man, it appeared that the shedders were having a communal stroke. Everyone was huddled around the back window shaking and groaning slightly as if in the midst of some sort of fit.
What was going on, he thought? They’re using binoculars alright and they seem to be taking notes but he couldn’t see any birds at all. In fact, the only thing that could be seen from the back window was… the Girl Guides Hall.
Marty’s duck whistle fell from his lips and hit the ground with a sad quack. “They’d been talking about girls, not birds!” he mouthed silently before leaving. On his way home he called the Whistle Blowers hotline before going into hiding.
“We know it was Marty so we do,” fumed High Shed Dragon Bill. “We should’ve known he’d get the wrong end of the stick that’s stuck up his arse. He’s nothing but a great big dryshite anyway. We’re all bird lovers here, the lads love their bluetits and there were plenty of horncrakes spotted the other evening. Sure don’t I follow loads of birds on Twitter. It’s Marty’s word against ayrs, we’re not worried.”
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