The Foostie Cabbage Fiasco Part 4

So, there it wis, a brain sittin oan the parlour flair in a cairrer bag, an me an the Four Marys were aw sittin roond it lookin at it in sudden silence. Noo tae be clear we aw kent whit a brain looked like, cos we had no long feenished cuttin yin tae pieces in oor Neuro-anatomy classes, takin tiny slices aw the way through an peerin at the intricacies o whit makes us tick... or wis that the heart, ah get mixed up... anyway, we aw knew whit yin looked like, intimately, except this yin wisnae cut intae slices, it wis complete an brain-shaped, except fer a big dent oan the left Frontal lobe. "Whit's that hole?" says Mary Hopkins, an Mary Peters jist stuck her finger up at her. "Oh."

"It's very green" says Mary Whitehouse, like that wis a guid thing. We aw nodded an kept lookin at the green thing lyin in the bag, seconds passed... "Is that fur?" says Mary Hopkins, an we looked at it a bit harder, an she wis right, it wis a bit furry, oan the bits where the green wis slightly darker... mair seconds passed... Mary Immaculate reached ower an poked it wi her stick o rhubarb, like she wis expectin it tae move, but it didnae... Mary Peters reached ower, took the rhubarb fae Mary's hand an walked straight ower tae the pedal-bin, popped the lid open an dropped the rhubarb in, then turned an gied the Virgin a look that only a mother-in-trainin could gie, a look that wid've withered Shirley Temple's curls... then quiet again, as we aw looked doon at it lyin there, the brain-shaped elephant in the room...

It wis Mary Hopkins that said whit maist o us were thinkin. "Where in God's name did THAT come fae?"

Actually she might've said "Where the fuck" but ah'm sparin yer blushes here. We were still aw thinkin it jist the same. In the next second or twa we aw lifted oor gazes fae the brain lyin oan the flair, an up an roond tae each ither's faces, an ah wid say by the time three seconds had passed aw oor looks had landed oan the same one face... the maist glaikit face in the room, an at jist that second, the maist guilty-lookin...

"Oh. Aye. Eh, ah meant tae tell ye. Eh..."

Mary had barely got that oot afore Mary Hopkins berated her wi a bit rhubarb. Well, tae be mair specific she berated the Mother o God while batterin her wi a bit rhubarb, aye, that's mair how it wis. It wis like "Ah knew it!", *picks up rhubarb*, "You!", *batter*, "Great!", *batter*, "Big!", *batter*, "Lump!", *batter*, "o!", *batter*, Uselessness!"...

Poor Mary cowered under the shower o blaws, hands up ower her heid, een openin an shuttin between each thwack o a rhubarb stalk. Eventually Mary stopped, an handed the rhubarb tae Mary Peters who went straight ower an dropped it in the pedal-bin wi the first...

"Ah think we're gaunnae need a bigger pedal-bin" ah ventured, but ah don't think anybody got the joke so ah let it pass. Mary Whitehouse, in that awfy serious way o hers, speired at Mary, "So Mary, would you like to enlighten us as to how a brain ended up in the hall cupboard?" showin aff her poshness as she wis wont.

"Hmm, well," started Mary, "Ye know how ah dae ma stint at the Loafs an Fishes oan a Friday?" (This wis her Bible Group's Friday dinnertime soup kitchen mission doon the Grassmarket) "an ye know how by the time we get cleared away it barely gies me time tae run up tae the School, well that's how ah wis last an ah got a brain tae masel" (The rest o us had aw had tae share a brain one between two, whereas, an this came as nae surprise, Mary wis the odd yin oot, again...)

"An then," she continues, "Ye mind ye asked me tae pick ye up a cabbage fae Farmer Jack's when ah wis doon at the Barony Brunch?" (This wis her Youth Fellowship Friday mornin soup kitchen mission doon Broughton Street) "Well, by the time we'd got cleared away ah forgot yer cabbage, ah'm sorry Mary, so ah grabbed yin fae the store at Tollcross, ah meant tae hide the bag. So then ah got up tae the School, grabbed ma brain, an then ah had a great thought, ah thought we could aw practice oan it here, cos..." an left the sentence trailin, leavin us aw tae fill in the bit aboot how she hadnae a snawbaw's chance in hell o passin her brain exam, or indeed ANY brain exam...

"So you put your brain in a co-op carrier bag," says Mary, "and hid it in the hall cupboard..."

"Aye, but then ah forgot" says the glaikit yin, "Ah mind stickin it in the lobby press till ah found a better bag, but then ah forgot..."

"And my cabbage..." Mary wis pittin oan her best Miss Marple interrogation here, "I presume is..?"

"Eh, in the Anatomy Department, in a box marked 'Brain' ah suppose..." an Mary looked roond at us aw like this wis the maist normal thing in the world. "Ah wis gaunnae surprise ye aw..."

"Surprise us aw ye did! cries Mary "Ya great dunderheid ye!"

Mary Whitehouse pursed in her lips, "Oh no, Mary, you can't do that with a brain, oh no, no no no no..."

An then Mary Peters started up her best impression o a chicken that's jist had half its heid chopped aff, she kept this up fer the best pairt o the next twa hours ah may tell ye, *looks tae camera...*

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god what are we gonna dae what are we gonna dae wi it help we cannae throw it out they'll find us help what are we gonna dae it'll turn up at Seafield at the municipal dump or if we flush it it'll float up oan Portobello beach when the tide comes in an some holidaymaker'll find it help oh daddy oh HELP what's ma daddy gonna say it'll be in aw the papers front page Brain Washes Up On Portobello Beach it'll say Holiday Ruined says Man fae Glasgow help Polis Efter Culprits Wanted Alive or Deid oh my god... an so she went oan... ah felt like slappin her, fer her ain good like...

But she had a point ah had tae admit, we aw had tae admit, it wis one thing haein a brain sittin in the middle o the parlour flair, it wis quite anither pittin yin oot fer the weekly uplift, we aw agreed thae black bags split open awfy easy an it wid be aw ower the road right in front o the flat attractin seagulls an pigeons so that wis a no-no, we thought aboot burial but when we counted there wis at least twenty-three ither student flats *that we kent o* aw lookin doon oantae oor common back green so that wis oot, damn tenements, so we landed oan cremation. Mary stopped cluckin long enough tae go grab the matches tae spark up the fire. She then proceded tae show us at length how guid she wis at makin kindlin sticks oot o newspaper. She had a grab at ma Sunday Post but ah held her aff an threw a Sunday Times Sports Section in her face. At least that kept her occupied fer a bit, an it chokes me tae admit it but she couldnae half make guid kindlin sticks, nice an tight... it wis oan account o thae nimble wee fingers o hers, we aw said she wis cut oot fer brain-surgery, or sewin dolls' claes doon at the Doll's Hospital...

Ye should've seen her beamin wee face when her firelighters caught first time, bless, it wis like she'd jist discovered fire... which she then blew intae a guid-gaun blaze, in fact ah found her smile lit by the flickerin flames slightly unsettlin... she wis suddenly enjoyin this a wee bit too much... mibbe she wis jist, like masel, grateful fer a bit o heat at last, soon she had a guid fire burnin...

Then, efter a wee bit struggle gettin tae grips wi it, Mary an Mary picked the brain up usin rhubarb stalks like chopsticks. There wis laughter at this point, but ah wid describe it mair accurately as hysterical raither than humourous, oor hormones were cyclin at cruisin speed by this time, adrenaline wis splashin aboot the room like sweat. But efter a few gigglin fits fae Mary an us aw haein a guid laugh at a stalk o rhubarb that looked like a penis, we eventually got the brain moved the three feet fae the bag tae the fire, an there it sat, flames lickin roond its sulci an ower its gyri...

Twenty minutes we sat an watched it, an in twenty minutes not a thing happened. We sat there watchin it, it sat there, slightly singed, charrin a wee bit, but essentially daein nothin, it widnae burn. Mary kept up a guid fire aw ths time, maist o the Sunday papers went oan it, no mine tho, ah held oan tight, an then yin o the dinin chairs got broke up an tossed oan, no mine tho, ah held oan tight...

As ye might imagine, the tension wis rising aw this time, we had a brain sittin in oor fireplace, defyin the power o fire, five trainee doctors seein their glitterin careers blawin oot the windae like smoke, an a hunner stalk o rhubarb we didnae ken whit tae dae wi. Suddenly, the stress aw got too much fer Mary Whitehouse, aw her zen left her in a puff as she screamed an jumped up, ran oot the room, an started bangin aboot in the lobby press. Ah thocht she wis mibbe lookin tae see if there wis another brain there, but presently we heard an "Aha!" an she came runnin back through wi the set o gairden shears in her hands an ran ower tae the fire. Ah had a fleetin thought that she might be aboot tae attack Mary Peters, an thought there must be some philosophical irony in that, it wid make fer a great Swedish film, but she didnae, insteid she attacked the brain, still sittin there in the grate, wi a great big defiant smile oan its... well thankfully it didnae hae a face, tho the way it wis sittin it still looked like a smile, an started choppin it intae wee bits. Ah think this gave her an outlet fer aw the pent-up peevishness she had stored, an she soon had the offending article chopped intae whit looked like bits o tofu. Typical o her...

They still didnae burn mind, we pit this doon tae the picklin process, an the awfy strong vinegar they use, but at least they charred roond the corners an looked like burnt tofu. Then Mary Hopkins had the great idea o stirrin them in wi the grey shite in the pot. The Holy Yin tried tae make up fer aw the bother she had caused by choppin up a bit rhubarb an stirring it in an aw. Soon we had a pot fu o thick, grey-black lumpy shite that had just a tinge o green. It didnae look like goulash, it didnae look like stewed rhubarb, but maist importantly, it didnae look like a brain in a pot.

We had a show o hands tae confirm that oor cerebral conundrum had a solution at last. We scooped the cabbage/bean/rhubarb/brain concoction intae the co-op carrier bag, tied it up tight, took it oot an dropped it intae oor rubbish bin, an dropped another bag oan top o it. Finally, it wis oot the hoose an oan it's way tae wherever.

We went back intae the parlour, sat roond in a circle, an took a vow, never tae mention the events o that day tae anither livin soul, an that's how it's been, fer many many years... so don't you say a word, this is strictly between you an me. Noo, aff.