Ah Cannae Tell a Lie Read online

  …

  This book is dedicated to Mr Ian MacKenzie (Consultant/General Surgeon) and all those involved in the cure for cancer. With special thanks to the Breast Cancer Care Nurses at Monklands Hospital, Elaine Ferguson, Mary McGlade and Jackie O’Donnell.

  …

  Acknowledgements

  …

  The author would like to thank Ian Taylor, John Thompson, Alan Ritchie, Ian Whitelaw, Tom Kelly, Bill Hunter, Dick Waddell, Jack Hunter, Tom McNulty and David Marr for their contributions. I hope I did them justice.

  Website: www.harrythepolis.com

  Email: [email protected]

  Harry Morris aka Harry the Polis, is available for Stand-Up Comedy Storytelling, Guest Speaking, Script/Sketch Writing.

  All enquiries to [email protected]

  Postal address:

  P.O. Box 7031

  Glasgow

  G44 3YN

  Harry Morris is registered with the Scottish Book Trust for Live Literature events

  For Absent Friends

  …

  ‘We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this, we imagine that hour as placed in a obscure and distant future.

  It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun, or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.’

  Marcel Proust

  Adopted by the charity

  ‘The Care of Police Survivors’

  Contents

  …

  Title

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  For Absent Friends

  Introduction

  PART ONE

  The Writer

  This One’s For You!

  The Police Chase

  Nothing But The Truth

  Mistaken Identity

  Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit!

  The Braehead Scam

  Harry’s Police Contacts Page

  Kiss It Better!

  God Bless Us All

  Polis on a Horse

  Bridget’s Date

  A Rouble Millionaire

  Sophie’s Choice

  Was That Sore?

  Mental Hospital Phone Menu

  The Blonde Story

  Arthur or Martha?

  PART TWO

  A-ttention!

  Harry’s Moneysaving Ideas

  National Service

  Toe Nails?

  That’s My Mother!

  Van Graffiti

  Speeding

  Honey Come Back

  The Blackhills of Glesca!

  The Best Man

  Who?

  What’s Up Doc?

  Barking Mad

  Spartacus

  Fact or Fiction?

  Wrong Side of the Bed

  Glesca Bomb Alert

  Airport Alert

  PART THREE

  The Final Orgasm!

  Drink!

  Devine Intervention

  Knife, Fork and Yuck!

  Jackie Wilson said

  Do your Best

  Ze Wrong Answer

  Family Values

  Fore!

  Fact or Fiction?

  Don’t Think So!

  Lucky Jim

  The Robbing Mail

  You’re Booked

  Just Like Amy

  Pension Day

  Car Boots

  Home Made Soup

  PART FOUR

  Renovation Time

  True Facts!

  Moral of the Story

  True Facts!

  Wednesday Shopping

  My Life’s a Circle

  Disastarrgghhh!

  Two Babysitters?

  Eye Got Set Up!

  Know You Well

  F.orgot, B.ut I.nvestigating

  Blackhill Tales

  The Right of Reply!

  Stop!

  Dating Agencies

  Three Amigos

  Harry’s Police Contacts Page

  It’s How You Say It!

  PART FIVE

  Motorbiking

  The Hypnotist!

  Cathy the Cleaner

  I’m a Lesbian

  Purl One

  What Drugs?

  The Racial Card

  P. T. E.

  Embarrassing First Dates

  Harry’s Police Contacts Page

  Foreign to Me

  Hungry or What?

  Who’s Laughing Now?

  Go Before You Go-Go!

  Good News, Bad News

  Things Go Better With?

  Whatever Next?

  Brimstone and Fire!

  PART SIX

  Extremely Violent

  History’s Most Original Contraceptives

  True Facts!

  What a Liar

  Scottish Book Trust

  That’s a Charity

  Cursing on the Course

  Trust in Jesus!

  Ice Cold Moggy!

  Doing Good Business!

  Mistaken Identity

  Penny for your Thoughts

  That’s Okay!

  Order of the Court

  The Secrecy Button

  The Disturbance

  Carnival of Fun

  Old Bob MacDonald

  PART SEVEN

  Hospital Patter

  The Siamese Twins

  Marriage Means Sharing

  The Dawn Chorus

  The Notebook Diary

  Foot ‘n Mouth

  Speeding Kills

  It’s a Miracle!

  The Driving School

  Get off My Toe

  Off your Head

  Fact or Fiction?

  Trouble Maker

  The Chief Constable’s Ball

  D.N.A. All the Way

  Whereabouts!

  So There!

  Have a Nice Day!

  PART EIGHT

  Zoo Time!

  It’s who you Know

  All Bets off!

  Horse’s Arse

  Fact or Fiction?

  It Never Ends

  That’s My Dad

  Restoring Life

  The Body Swerve

  Stress

  The Story

  The Bloody Lot

  Harry Says, ‘Share With Me!’

  Thank you

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  Introduction

  …

  It’s that time again and so, as if by pure magic, or bad luck, whichever way you want to look at it, Volume 6 in the highly successful and popular Harry the Polis series of books appears – ‘Just like that!’

  Yet another collection of stories, jokes, anecdotes and tales (and many more lies) that are intended to tempt your laughter lines to make an appearance and have you flashing your gnashers.

  As per usual, like the others in the Harry the Polis series, you can open up this book, flick your way through it, stop anywhere you want, from beginning to end, and be certain to come across a story that will cheer you up.

  It is my hope that you’ll read them over and over, relating a certain joke, story or anecdote that gave you a right good laugh, or made you chuckle out loud.

  You will find as you read through this book that you just can’t keep some of the stories to yourself and you’ll want to share them with your friends. Well go ahead.

  Laughter is the best medicine, so grab a good dose of it and you’ll hopefully feel much better.

  Well!

  What are you waiting for now?

  Turn the first page and get crackin.

  Harry

  PART ONE

  The Writer

  …<
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  A writer died a very sudden death and arrived outside the Pearly Gates.

  Within minutes of his arrival Saint Peter came out to greet him and offered him two choices:

  ‘You can go to Hell, or you can go to Heaven!’

  The writer asked Saint Peter if he would allow him a sneak preview of each place, in order to see what would be in store for him.

  Saint Peter agreed to his request and escorted the writer down to Hell, where there were rows and rows of writers chained by the ankles to their desks, being whipped by demons as they typed away furiously in a flaming, steaming dungeon atmosphere.

  ‘I don’t fancy this place very much!’ the writer said.

  ‘Okay!’ Saint Peter said. ‘Come with me then.’

  At that, Saint Peter whisked him away to Heaven, where the writer was astonished to see that nothing here was different from Hell.

  Rows and rows of writers were chained to their desks, typing away, whilst also being whipped in a flaming, steaming dungeon atmosphere.

  ‘Holy shit!’ the writer remarked. ‘This place is just as bad as down below in Hell!’

  To which Saint Peter replied, ‘No it is not … Up here you get published!’

  This One’s For You!

  …

  ‘This One’s For You’ is a story about my old mate Donnie Henderson, who is becoming a bit of a cult figure with the readers of Harry the Polis books, so I thought I’d start with him.

  Donnie received a call to attend the scene of a serious road accident in Great Western Road in Glasgow.

  When he arrived at the location of the accident, it was pure carnage, with body parts and bits of vehicles scattered everywhere.

  Quickly, he took out his notebook and began taking notes of what he could see, a description of everything, and where it was positioned.

  After writing down several pages of items, Donnie came across an accident victim’s decapitated head and wrote in his notebook: ‘Head on boolevard!’

  This spelling didn’t look right to him, so he scored it out and wrote over it.

  ‘Head on bullavard!’

  This second attempt at spelling didn’t look right either, so he tried again for a third time.

  ‘Head on boullavard!’

  This spelling still didn’t look right to Donnie, who was a perfectionist when submitting a report, so he looked about to make sure no one was watching him, walked over and kicked the head about five metres away, then wrote in his notebook.

  ‘Head in nearby garden!’

  You’re a sick man, Donnie Henderson.

  The Police Chase

  …

  A Glasgow senior citizen was driving his brand new Mercedes SLK 200 convertible out of his driveway for the first time, taking it on its maiden drive along the motorway.

  As he drove onto the outside lane he floored it to 90 mph, thoroughly loving the wind blowing through what little hair he had left on his head.

  ‘This is awesome!’ he thought to himself, as he flew along the M8 motorway, enjoying the thrill of pushing the pedal to the metal even more.

  However, when he looked in his rear-view mirror, lo and behold, there was a police car following him, with blue lights flashing and siren blaring.

  Believing he was the next Lewis Hamilton, he thought to himself, ‘No problem! I can outrun them and get away!’ He then floored the pedal, accelerating faster. 100 mph. 110 mph. 120 mph. 130 mph.

  Suddenly he thought to himself, ‘What in hell’s name am I doing here? I’m far too old for this reckless behaviour!’ At that, he pulled over onto the hard shoulder and waited for the pursuing police car to catch him up.

  As the police car pulled up behind him, an officer got out and walked up to the driver’s side of the Mercedes, looked at his watch and said, ‘Sir! My shift ends in exactly fifteen minutes. Today is Friday and I’m heading off for a relaxing weekend with my girlfriend. If you can provide me with a reasonable explanation as to why you were driving at speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour, and it is an excuse that I have never heard before, then I’ll let you off!’

  The elderly driver looked seriously at the police officer for several moments before he replied.

  ‘It’s like this officer. Several years ago, my wife ran off with a policeman, and for one horrible moment there, I thought it was you bringing her back!’

  The policeman stared at the elderly driver with a blank expression on his face and said, ‘You have a good day sir!’

  Nothing but the Truth

  …

  Ninety-nine per cent of today’s solicitors give the rest a bad name! Allegedly.

  Apparently, you’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on!

  And the latest survey shows that three out of four people make up seventy-five per cent of the population! According to a new poll.

  Mistaken Identity

  …

  It was a quiet night with not a lot happening and my old mate Ian Taylor, the ‘beat’ cop for the Roystonhill area of Glasgow, was sitting in the police box, filling out his notebook, when suddenly he was disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching in his direction.

  On opening the door to the police box, he saw what appeared to be his police colleague chasing after a ned-type person, up the hill towards his position.

  Ian immediately sprang into action, drew his police truncheon and – WALLOP!

  He struck the ned, who promptly dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. At that, Ian jumped on top of him and whilst holding the struggling ned down, he proceeded to berate him for running away from the police, whilst administering a further couple of WALLOPS in order to enforce his authority.

  At that moment, a rather puffed-out and knackered police colleague arrived at the scene and managed to blurt out, ‘For fuxsakes, Ian, get aff him, he’s just been informed his wife is having a baby, right now! As we speak! So we were both heading for his house to try and lend a hand until the ambulance arrived!’

  As Ian released his grip, the expectant father, now slightly groggy and worse for wear, set off again, pursued this time by two very unfit, breathless polis, who arrived in time to see the ambulance leaving the house with expectant mother on board.

  They never found out whether the baby was a boy or girl, but you can be sure its father had a right good bedtime story to tell, when it was older!

  Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit!

  …

  One evening whilst on desk duty in the police station, the door opened and in walked a very irate male carrying a squashed dead rabbit.

  He dropped it onto my office desk and said in an aggressive voice, ‘Some bastard dumped this dead rabbit at my front door and I’ve just found it when I arrived home from work!’

  I looked at his face full of anger, as he stared back at me with steam coming out of his ears.

  ‘So you want to report that you’ve just found it?’ I said.

  ‘Too right I want to report it!’ he replied.

  To which I couldn’t resist saying, ‘Okay, sir! Give me your full name and address, and if nobody claims it within three months, you can keep it!’

  Not exactly the response he was looking for, but it did eventually get through to him and provoke a laugh!

  The Braehead Scam

  …

  This is a ‘News Flash’ for you and any of your friends who may be regular customers at Braehead Shopping Centre.

  I hate to admit it, but over the last month, I have become the victim of a very clever scam whilst out shopping.

  Simply going out to buy some bits and pieces has turned out to be quite a traumatic experience for me, and don’t you dare be so naïve to think it couldn’t happen to you.

  Here’s how the scam works:

  Two seriously good-looking young girls of about 19 or 20 years old come over to your car as you are loading your bags of messages into your boot.

  They both begin cleaning your windscreen with a cloth and some Windolene, expo
sing their cleavage, and with their neatly refined breasts almost falling out of their skimpy wet T-shirts. It is impossible not to notice, or afford oneself a second look.

  When you thank them and offer to pay, they bluntly refuse any payment, but instead ask you for a lift to Clydebank.

  Unable to resist their request, you agree, and they both climb into the back seat of your car.

  On the way to Clydebank, they start kissing and caressing each other, and before you can say stop, they’re having lesbian sex in the back of your car.

  Moments later, one of them climbs over into the front seat of the car and begins to perform a sexual act on you, as you drive along the road. While this is happening, the other one slips her hand into your jacket pocket and relieves you of your wallet.

  As a result of this act, I’ve had my wallet stolen on November 4th, 9th, 10th, twice on the 12th, 18th, 21st, and three times yesterday. And just for the record, it’s a certainty to happen again this weekend, just as soon as I can buy some more wallets!

  Harry’s Police Contacts Page

  …

  Former Grampian police officer, recently retired, 52 years old, widowed, not exactly Robert Redford in the looks department but have a new car, my own house and a right good pension, in desperate need of a right good ride. Anything considered.

  Police Box 17/01.

  Kiss it Better!

  …

  Several years ago, all police officers were trained in the use of the new side-handled baton, or PR24, to give it the proper name.

  I was never any good at using it and preferred to use my patter to get me out of trouble, rather than my baton.

  One particular evening, I was accompanied by a young female officer, who shall remain anonymous, when we received a call to attend a complaint regarding a stray dog causing annoyance at someone’s house in the Port Glasgow area.

  As we arrived at the address and got out of the police panda car, I saw a placid-looking dog in the front garden of the house, and it greeted us by wagging its tail. It didn’t bother us, or do anything to suggest this was the dog referred to in the complaint, so as we approached and entered the front door, the dog followed us inside.