Fucken...Hingmy

It’s been a tough week to be going outside by myself. I must look like a chump, or maybe in my fur-lined, red chunky knitted hoodie people are mistaking me for Father Christmas, wandering down Dumbarton Road merrily distributing fags and change. Yes, that really is what I have been walking around in. And of course it’s fake fur, I’m not Joan Collins, I even think the wool bit is polyester, but I think it looks cool, ok?

Anyway, on Monday morning I left the house to go to work and as I was crossing the road there was a guy in a tracksuit standing on the other side as if he was waiting for me.
‘Got a pound?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, though in fact I did have a wee nugget in my pocket, but I needed it for the bus.
He must have sensed the presence of the pound about my person, however, because he squared up a little and said sternly, ‘You’ve definitely not got a pound?’
‘Definitely,’ I snapped.
He didn’t look as if he was satisfied with this reply, but just as I was steeling myself for a mouthful of abuse and/or physical confrontation the wee burd he was with pulled on his arm and said, ‘C’mon, we’ll get a pound off someone else,’ and the guy sloped off after her.

On Tuesday afternoon I was on my way to work again and a steamer rolled out the boozer just as I was walking past.
‘Alright mate,’ he wheezed as he fell in step beside me.
‘Alright,’ I replied evenly.
‘Here,’ he continued. ‘Have you got…’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I muttered, quickening my stride.
‘I was only going to ask you for the time!’ he shouted after me.
‘No, you weren’t!’ I called back over my shoulder.

Tonight was the best though. The baby had gone to her bed and we were about to settle down with a glass of wine to watch a DVD when I decided that since it was Easter we should treat ourselves to some crisps as well. I put on my hoodie and ran out for some Pringles.

As I was coming up to the shop on the corner a guy in a cheap leather jacket came out of the close in front of me, a fag in one hand, rummaging in his pocket with the other. He looked up at me.
‘Got fifty pence?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, walking past him.
He hurried to catch up. ‘Got any change at all?’
‘No.’
He blew up. ‘There’s no fucken need to say it like that!’ he screamed. ‘I’m fucken sick of cunts' fucken…hingmy!’

I was getting pretty sick of cunts' fucking hingmy too, but I didn’t tell him so because he had started to kick the shit out of the bin outside the shop. I slipped past him into the shop and bought a tube of Pringles, slightly worried that when I stepped outside again the Pringles would reveal that I had in fact had some change in my possession the whole time. I might have to fight the guy and spill my Pringles. They were sour cream and chive as well.

Outside, he was gone. I saw him further up the street, harassing other people and shouting, stopping every now and then to root through his pockets.

What is it about me that attracts bams? What is it that I am doing wrong? Is it because I respond when someone speaks to me in the street? I could just blank people, but that would be miserable. Maybe I should try wearing my flat cap more often, you know, go a bit more incognito.

Hello Again

It has been a while hasn’t it? My only excuse for not posting for so long is that I have been busy. And it’s my blog anyway. So get it right up ye.

What has been happening? Right now I am lying on the floor typing. The baby is on a cushion next to me, watching me gravely while absent-mindedly chewing a plastic ring. I have just been feeding her a mixture of baby rice and formula milk. That’s right. We are moving her onto solids. I had intended to feed her it on a spoon, but I made it too runny so I put in her tommy tippee cup. She ate it all right, but ended it soaking, what with spillages and gagging.

Lynne is out with one of her pals tonight. So I have a glass of wine. Just a small one. I attempted to watch In The Night Garden as well, but the baby cried at the Ninky Nonk. Kids are meant to love that shit as well, but be careul clicking on that link. The noises are terrifying.

Last week Lynne and the baby went to visit Lynne’s folks. I stayed here by myself. We got a new sofa too, and had chucked out the old one, so for half the week I was in here, no family, sitting on the bare floor, drinking beer and eating junk. It’s funny but I am so used to having someone there when I go to bed that I couldn’t sleep. I would just lie in the dark, listening to the noises that the house made.

On the Wednesday night I cracked and bought some cigarettes. Coming out of the shop two guys were leaning against the shutter. One of them, with a big tan* across his fucking cheek, asked me if I had a spare fag. I said no. He pointed out that I had a full deck in my hand. I conceded that that was true, but kept walking. His friend then weighed in, asking me if I had a spare fag, just as if it was the first time anyone had ever mentioned it.

Here we go, I thought. I weaken in my no smoking resolve and end up getting a kicking in the street for it. That’s the thing about Dumbarton Road; you can hardly walk down it at night without some bam trying to tap you for fags and change.

‘Look, mate,’ I snapped. ‘These are my only fucking fags and I’m fucking smoking them, all right?’
‘Alright, there’s no need to have an attitude about it,’ said the guy with the tan. He looked genuinely upset at my lack of charity.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s been a hard day.’
‘Well, don’t take it out on me,’ he said huffily, and the pair of them walked off.


*for people who don’t live in Scotland; a tan is a facial scar, usually received from a knife or bottle.

Parenting Advice

A congratulatory email has come flooding in and alongside the well-wishing, there is much information in it that seems pertinent to young parents. I feel that a portion of it bears reproduction here:-

Heard some quality neds on the upstairs of the no.20 the other day. After the usual stuff about picking fights in the town ( every time ah punch som'bidy ma haun hurts), spraying graffetti etc , ned 1 says to ned 2 " ur yous wanting a boy or a girl?"

Ned 2- " ah want a girl so ah can punch her first boyfriend"

Girl ned- " ah just want the wee bastard oot, and am allowed to call it a wee bastard cos we no married".

ned 1 then passed on his experience of parenting , being the father of both Sean and Connor, advising that as children could learn from parents you had to be "heavy cautious wi' the blaw man".

ned 2 then rehearsed how he would coach his child to answer questions about suspicious bruising- " say yi walked intae a door, right, say yi walked intae a door".

So if you had any concerns about parenting rest assured that with competition like that you'll have no worries. Just as long as you are " heavy cautious wi' the blaw".

Thanks for that Michael.