Thursday, April 26, 2007
Down Albion Street (excerpt)
Down Albion Street
Weekend, I'm walkin doon the road wae my buckfast tonic, startin tae get fired up, jist headin’ up tae Jo-Jo’s tae get mad wi' it, when a couple a wee dirty hairys walk up behind us and says:
'Awright ya wee fanny, whit you on yir ayn fir? You Billy-no-mates or sumthin..? Come wae us doon the park, here want tae get aff wae baith ay us doon the park, touch me and kellies fanny. Tell naybday but right, wee man....Here, geez a tan aur buckie ya div...Whit’s yir name?'
Yaas, a fought, I might get tae poke her or get ma hole… so we just walked alang and aw took a few tans of the buckie and the two lassies just messed aboot way my cap and pinched ma arse and giggled, jist messing aboot. I think they were pure into me to be honest – nutin serious but. I fink they wanted to go into the bushes and get bush happy. Ha-ha! If only Jo-Jo was here man, he's missing himself. What mad wee hairys they wir....still but...I would happily take them tae the bushes...But guess whit! As we walked alang the road a heard the big shout:
'Oi!! SCROTUM! YOU'RE GETTIN BANJOED!'
Whit! I didnay expect that. Ah, shat maself, on the other side of the road wiz a crew about 5 bodies, they were fuckin mental, and I was on ma own with two lassies. They might hink a wiz an arsebandit. I should daya bolt - run like fuck. But they wid chase me and batter me. I just walked alang averting my eyes, and the burds shout tae the boys and one of the boys says:
The biggest prick all cocky and sureivhimself, cap tipped tae the sky, was with his team and they aw walked er the road. The burds smiled tae thum. A pack a dugs right enough man, tannin cans a brew, boaills uh cider, smokin bifters, lookin fir a fight or tae attack some yuppy cunt.
'Awright ladies...whose the wee scrotum wae you? Tellum to geez a tan of his buckie or we'll Chib him ear tae ear... don't try tae run bawbag '
He looked right intae me. I turned white. I wiz freakin out, about to run off, but the bastard got a hold of ma jaket, pushed us around. He pulled out a big carving chib. It looked like a fucking butcheries knife. He waved it about all callousletting it glint in the light. He held it near ma face. I wiz tremblin' trying no tae show it – but they could tell.
‘I’ll fuckin hit yee, wee man…WHIT! WHIT...! You know we could tear you apart. No chance wee yin...WHIT! WHIT!’
And he wacked me on the side of ma face and it stung cause he wore a couple a gold rings, but it didnae bleed, it just hurt and bruised over. And I just passed him ma boaill.... pure panicked and intimidated wae the big yin holdin my collar…and cried oot:
'Here mate! Have my buckie...take it...take it aw!'
But he just laughed at me. Grabbed the buckie and smashed the bottle on the grund. All the squad laughed at me in the street diggin insults at me. The big prick growled, looked like he was goin to belt us again. But he started chanting and pointing:
'SHITEBAG! SHITEBAG! SOAPDODGIN SHITEBAG! Ha-ha!'
I ran like fuck, sprinting back doon Alba Street, away hame. Leaving them aw behind. Couple ay thum chased us fir a bit but my adrenlin was pumpin - a bolted fast as a dug. Ended up, the burds went away with the five big cunts and probably went tae the park. Pricks! I went on hame tae build a few joints and watch the tele, which iz pish, but I couldnay be fucked going tae Jo-Jo's now. I fuckin HATE Glasga! It's filled wae fuckin jakies and nae cunt gives a fuck aboot anycunt.
So I got hame, slammed the fuckin door, ma ma and da were oot at The Wallace Arms, a jumped intae ma room and clapst on ma bed and started tae build a joint, and lay back and sparked it up took a few meaty draws and relaxed, and just as ah wiz smoking ma joint my big bra came intae the room and says:
'Aye...' I said. 'Aye...amgauntaethegemmethemorra.'
Auch, it wizny aw bad aw the time.