Wi heads doon the road n gits tae the auld girl's. Joe n that wis awready thaire.
— Aye aye, Franco, that Sandra goes tae me.
— Aye, ah goes. Nivir saw eye tae eye wi her. Too much ah a mooth oan it. Dinnae ken how oor Joe kin be daein wi that. His choice but. Widnae fuckin well be mine anywey. At least her n Kate git oan, n that's a good thing, cause it keeps the bairns oaf Joe's back n lits us git a peeve in peace. Ah gits a can ay Rid Stripe open. Ah'm gaunny git fuckin well hammered; it's what Christmas is aw aboot.
Wi firin intae the lagers awright. Wir jist sittin thaire, thinkin through oor hangovers, 'if this cunt Greg or whatever ye call the boy, if eh starts gittin wide, eh's gaunny git a fuckin bat in mooth, Christmas or nae fuckin Christmas.'
Eftir a bit the door goes, n it's Elspeth. This tall, dark-heided cunt wi a side partin comes in behind her. Eh's aw done up tae the nines in a smart coat n suit – ye kin tell that this cunt really fancies ehsel. What goat me wis the side partin. Ken how some things jist git oan yir fuckin nerves fir nae reason? Bit then what really wound ays up wis thit eh wis cairryin a bunch ay flooirs. Flooirs, oan fuckin Christmas Day! — For you, Val, eh goes tae the auld girl, giein her a wee peck oan the cheek. Then the cunt comes up tae me n goes, — You must be Frank, n eh pits ehs hand oot.
Ah'm thinkin, aye, who the fuck wants tae ken, likes, but ah lit it go, cause ah didnae want tae cause a scene. Jist didnae take tae this smarmy poof at aw but, ye ken how it is wi some people? Try as ye might, ye jist cannae fuckin well take tae thum.
But ah bites the bullet n shakes the cunt's hand, thinkin, Christmas n that, the season ay goodwill.
— Good tae meet ye finally, eh sais. — Elspeth talks about ye a lot. In very glowing terms, I should add, the cunt goes.
Ah feel like asking the cunt what the fuck eh's oan aboot, is eh tryin tae git wide or what, but eh's turned away n eh's ower tae Joe. — And you must be Joe, eh goes.
— Aye, sais Joe, shakin ehs hand, but no gittin up oot the chair. — So you're oor Elspeth's felly then, aye?
— I certainly am, eh smiles, at her, n ah catch um giein her hand a squeeze. She's lookin aw that daft wey at um, like she's nivir been oot wi a gadge before.
— Love's young dream, that Sandra goes, cooin away, like one ay they big fat fuckin pigeons thit the auld man used tae keep. Ah mind ay wringin a couple ay the cunts' necks eftir eh'd battered ays once. The best thing tae dae wi they cunts, though, is tae set thum oan fire. It's barry watchin thum tryin tae take oaf, whin thir blazin away n screamin in agony. Ah'll gie yis fuckin cooin, ya cunts.
Sometimes ah used tae jist go doon tae the loft oan ehs allotment and burn a couple ay the bastards thaire, or git yin n nail it tae the hut. Jist tae see the expression oan the auld fucker's face when eh came hame, aw pished n upset. Blamed every cunt n aw; vandals, gyppos, neighbours, publicans. Wanted tae kill half ay fuckin Leith. Ah'd be sittin thair in the chair opposite, lookin aw innocent, jist gaun, — Ohhh . . . which one wis it they goat this time, Dad? N he'd be fuckin well jist aboot in tears. The cunt wid smash up the hoose in a fit ay rage, before hittin the boozer again. Come tae think ay it, it wis probably me that drove the cunt tae drink! Him n ehs fuckin daft pigeons.
That fuckin Sandra. Nivir mind the fuckin turkey, stick that fat cunt in the oven n wi'll be feedin half ay fuckin Leith through until next Christmas. Ah dinnae ken aboot stuffin it but, ah'll no be volunteerin fir they fuckin duties anywey. Nae fuckin chance!
So this big, bloated rooster's right up tae Elspeth's boy. — Ah'm Sandra, Joe's wife, she sais tae this Greg, aw that flirty, slutty wey.
This cunt goes up and kisses her twice, once oan each cheek, like some fuckin weirdo. Ah dinnae hud wi that, kissin a woman ye dinnae ken, in somebody's hoose. At Christmas, at a fuckin faimlay gatherin. Aye, ah'm watchin Kate, thinkin thit if eh does that tae her, eh's fuckin well gittin the nut rammed oan um. Fuckin smarmy poof.
But she sees me lookin at her, n she kens how tae behave. Goat her well fuckin trained. Aye, she kens no tae show ays up. Must huv a word wi Joe aboot that Sandra, embarrassin um like that. Ah ken that big cow; a leopard nivir fuckin well changes its spoats, right enough. Used tae call her the 32 bus, back in the day. That wis cause every cunt rode her roond the schemes. Still, it's no fir me tae say. So Kate pits her hand oot for him tae shake, n keeps her eyes doon, away fae his. — Ah'm Kate, she mumbles.
Handled that yin well. Aye, mibbe the message aboot eggin boys oan is startin tae git through. Jist as fuckin well, fir her sake. The wey ah see it is thit whin a lassie's wi somebody, she's no meant tae be giein other boys the come-on aw the time. Ye cannae trust a fuckin cow like that, n yuv goat tae huv trust in a relationship.
This Greg looks aw surprised, n gies a wee smile. Somethin creepy aboot that bastard. Ken how some cunts jist set yir fuckin teeth oan edge? The fucker reminds ays ay that cunt ay an insurance man thit used tae come roond oor bit whin wi wir bairns. Eh'd eywis gie us these sweeties; really crap yins like dolly mixtures, aw that cheap shite. Aye, ye could tell he wis a fuckin right oily cunt underneath it aw. Ah eywis took the sweeties oaf the cunt, but. Too fuckin right ah did. Nivir liked that fucker though.
The auld girl's been in the kitchen aw mornin, workin oan the meal. Her face is aw rid. She likes tae make a big effort fir Christmis. Widnae be me anywey. Fuck slavin ower a hoat stove oan Christmas Day. Ye cannae work oot what's gaun oan in some cunts' heids but. Now she's tryin tae organise every cunt; makin a big fuss aboot us aw openin oor presents under the tree. Ah'm no bothered wi aw that shite. Whae cares aboot fuckin presents? As far as clathes n aw that goes, ah've goat the money tae git what the fuck ah want. Ye like tae git what you want tae wear, no what some other cunt wants tae gie ye. Ay gied the burd two hundred quid fir clathes, n muh ma the same. Then ah gied Joe a hundred tae git somethin fir the bairns, n fifty bar tae oor Elspeth for whatever she wanted. The only presents ah goat wis fir ma ain bairns. That wis only because ah kent thit if ah gied June the money tae git thum somethin, like a fuckin PlayStation or a bike, they'd end up wi some plastic shite fae Ali's Cave. Aye, the rest wid go oan fuckin snout fir her. So that wis aw. The rest ay thum, it wis jist: here's yir fuckin Christmis present offay me, jist git what the fuck ye want.
It's the best fuckin wey. Aw that fuss aboot wrappin fuckin presents up? Ah couldnae be daein wi that. Fuck wrappin presents.
Rap some cunt's fuckin jaw.
Ah'm lookin ower at that Kate. Two hundred fuckin bar fir clathes ah gied her, n she comes intae muh ma's dressed like a fuckin frump, showin ays up. Oor Elspeth's made an effort, she's goat a nice black perty dress oan, aw fir that smarmy Greg cunt n aw. Even that fuckin cow Sandra hus. Mingin auld fuckin hen done up as spring chicken, mind, but at least shi's fuckin well tried. Kate but; a fuckin jaikey on Christmis Day! In muh ma's hoose n aw!
Thir aw makin a big fuckin fuss aboot presents. It's 'ooh, this is lovely' n 'oooh, it's jist what ah eywis wanted'. Then thir aw at me tae open mine, so ah jist thinks, might as well, keep the cunts happy. If it fuckin well means that much tae thum. Ah gits a blue pastel-coloured Ben Sherman oaffay Kate, n a yellaw Ben Sherman offay Joe n Sandra. In ma auld girl's parcel thaire's another Ben Sherman, a black, broon n light blue striped yin. Ah think ah must've asked fir Ben Shermans offay every cunt; mind you, ye cannae go wrong wi shirts. Thaire's one left, marked oan the gift tag: To Francis, from Elspeth and Greg. Merry Christmas.
It feels like another fuckin Ben Sherman, but whin ah rips it open it's a sweater wi the new club crest oan it.
— That's nice, muh mother sais. Elspeth goes, — Aye, it's the new yin. It's goat the original Harp crest, wi the ship for Leith, n the castle fir Edinburgh. Thir smilin at ays, n it gits right oan ma fuckin tits. Tryin tae take the fuckin pish here. Tae me, whin ye buy some cunt official club merchandise, it's like you sayin tae thum thit ye think thir a fuckin wanker. Ah widnae be seen deid wearin that shite. That's fir fuckin wee bairn n fuckin dippit cunts, that. —
Ta, ah goes, but through gritted teeth, ken?
Ah'm thinkin, that's gaun right in the bucket whin ah git hame, tell ye that fir nowt.
Ye kin understand it if it wis Elspeth thit made the mistake. Ah mean, that's birds fir ye. But if that Greg cunt wis in oan buyin it, it means thit eh wis tryin tae take the pish. Ah'm fuckin well fumin at that disrespect, so tae stoap masel fae sayin somethin ah shouldnae, ah go ben the scullery tae git another can fae the fridge. Then ah'm thinkin thit that Greg's such a big fuckin lassie ehsel, he probably disnae huv a fuckin clue either.
Ma heid's still nippin n ah swallay a couple ay extra-strength Anadin wi a moothfae ay beer. Whin ah gits back ah sees this fuckin Greg cunt's playin away wi Joe's bairns, oan the fuckin flair wi aw thair toys. Meant tae be the fuckin bairns' new toys, no fir some big pansy tae ponce aroond wi. Ah pills Joe aside n back intae the kitchen, n goes — Ye want tae watch that cunt aroond the bairns. Touch ay the fuckin Gary Glitters thaire, ah'll tell ye that fir nowt.
— Ye reckon? Joe sais, pittin ehs heid roond the door tae check it oot.
— Defo. Ye ken how fuckin plausible they cunts kin be. That's the thing. Ah'd lay ye even money thit that cunt's oan the stoats' register. Ye kin spot the type a mile away.
Muh ma sees us n comes ben. — What are you two oan aboot, standin here in the kitchen drinkin like fishes?! Git oot thaire n try n be social, it's meant tae be Christmas!
— Right, Ma, ah goes, lookin at Joe. That Greg cunt might huv brainwashed her, that's wimmin fir ye, no goat much brains tae fuckin wash in the first place, bit Joe n me huv been aroond long enough tae see right through a cunt like that.
Best keepin the auld lady fuckin sweet but, or shi'll huv a coupon oan her aw day. So wi gits back through wi the rest ay thum n ah sits doon n picks up the Radio Times. Ah starts tae circle aw the programmes wir gaunny watch. The wey ah see it is thit some cunt's goat tae decide, tae stoap every fucker fae squabblin, so it might as well be me. That's what ah like best aboot Christmas, jist sittin back wi a few cans n watchin a good film.
Ya beauty! James Bond's oan. Doctor No, n it's jist aboot tae fuckin well start.
Sean Connery, the best fuckin Bond. Ye dinnae want some fuckin poncey English cunt, no fir James Bond.
Mind you, no thit ah really agree wi huvin some cunt fae Tolcross as Bond. Thaire's cunts fae Leith thit could've done that joab jist as well as Connery. Auld Davie Robb, drinks in the Marksman, he must be aboot ages wi Connery. A fuckin hard cunt in ehs day, everybody'll tell ye that. Intae everythin, he wis. Cunts like that could've been good Bonds, if they'd goat the fuckin trainin, likes.
— Wir no watchin Doctor No, muh ma sais, — Come on, Francis!
— Ah'd awready picked it but, Ma, ah tells her.
She's standin thaire, wi her airms aw folded, the fuckin billy ay the wash-hoose, like she wants ays tae gie her the remote. Nae chance ay that. Sometimes ah think thit muh ma forgets thit this is as much ma hoose as it is hers. Ah might no huv steyed here fir years, bit this wis the hoose thit ah grew up in, so ye still eywis think ay it as your hoose. Ah think she sometimes firgets that. — Yuv seen it loads ay times! she moans.
— The wee yins might want tae watch the cartoon videos they goat fir Christmas!
— Toy Story 2 . . . one ay the bairns goes. That wee Philip, a sneaky wee bastard, that yin. Takes eftir ehs ma.
Some cunts are that fuckin clueless thit ye huv tae explain everything. — Naw, cause that's the whole point ay gittin a fuckin video, ah goes tae thum, — thit ye kin watch it any time ye like. Ye cannae watch the Bond film any time ye like. Ye either watch it or ye dinnae, n yuv goat tae watch a Bond film at Christmas. Joe? Ah turns tae ma brar.
— Ah'm no bothered, Joe goes.
Sandra looks acroas at him, then at me, then at Kate. Ye jist ken that big cow's gaunny say somethin cause she goes aw that huffy, puffed-up wey. — So wi huv tae watch what Frank wants again, ah take it. Fine, she goes, aw sarcastic.
— Dinnae fuckin start, Joe goes, pointin at her.
— Ah'm jist sayin what yir ma's sayin, thit the bairns –
Joe cuts her oaf. — Ah sais dinnae fuckin start. Eh lowers ehs voice. — Ah've telt ye.
She sits bristlin away on the fuckin couch, bit she's no lookin at anybody n she's no sayin nowt.
Joe looks at me, n shakes ehs heid.
It wis aboot time eh wis gittin her telt.
Muh ma looks ower at Greg n Elspeth. They've been sittin oan thair ain; jist whisperin away, n laughin tae thumselves in the corner, aw antisocial. Meant tae be a fuckin faimlay Christmas wir huvin here. If the cunts wanted tae dae that, they could fuckin well dae it ootside.— What dae youse two want tae watch? muh ma asks thum.
They look at each other like thir no bothered, and this smarmy cunt, this Greg poof goes, — Well, ah'm with Frank. Ah think it would be a good laugh tae watch the Bond movie. Then the cunt goes in this posh voice, — Ah, Mr Bond, I've been expecting you . . . n muh ma laughs n ah even sees a wee smile oan the corner ay Joe's lips.
Of course, the bairns are aw laughin now, n every cunt suddenly thinks it's aw a fuckin great idea tae watch the Bond movie, now thit this fuckin Greg wanker's intae it.
Ruined ma fuckin enjoyment ay the film.
These cunts; that two, that Greg n Elspeth; thuv been whisperin tae each other aw the wey through the fuckin picture anywey. Eftir makin aw that fuss aboot it, that cunt wisnae even watchin the film, right. At the end ay it, the pair ay thum git up n stand in front ay the telly. Ah'm jist aboot tae tell thum tae sit the fuck doon cause ah want tae change channels tae see that fuckin Snowman cartoon, fir the sake ay the bairns, ken, n thir blockin the signal fae the remote.
— We've got a little announcement to make, this Greg cunt goes, and Elspeth moves close tae um and they hud hands. Muh ma's lookin aw excited. It's like she's waitin fir the last fuckin number oan her caird doon at the Mecca. The Greg cunt coughs. — It's difficult tae know how to say this, but, well, yesterday, I asked Elspeth if she would do me the great honour of becoming my wife, and I'm delighted tae say that she said yes.
Ma auld girl stands up, aw delirious, n stretches her airms oot like that Al Jolson cunt, aw ready tae burst intae song. But it's tears she bursts intae, n she's sayin how beautiful it is; her wee lassie n she cannae believe it, n aw that crap. What a fuckin fuss tae make ower nowt. It's like some cunt hud slipped an ecky intae her sherry. Ah widnae pit it past yon Greg. Slylookin gadge, ken? Aye, Sandra n Kate are aw excited n Joe's wee yin says, kin she be a bridesmaid? and they say, aye, of course ye kin, n aw that shite. Ah couldnae fuckin believe ma ears. Gittin mairried! Oor Elspeth n this fuckin nonce cunt in the suit!
Her heid's in the clouds. That's Elspeth but, eywis thinkin thit she's better thin any cunt else. Spoiled rotten by bein the youngest, n the only lassie, that's what it wis. Nivir hud it rough, no like me n Joe. Thinks thit she kin jist suit ehrsel. Some cunt should tell her: it disnae fuckin well work that wey, no in the real world.
So ah'm fuckin well sittin thaire, ma nut poundin, n thair aw shriekin away as she pills oot a ring n sticks it oan her finger, showin it oaf. — It's beautiful, muh ma goes.
— Very nice, that Sandra sais. — Did eh git doon oan the bended? Bet eh did, she goes, lookin at that Greg, then glancin doon at ma brar like eh's nowt.
Fuckin Elspeth but. Ah dinnae ken what she's playin at. Ah mind ay that last boy she wis gaun oot wi, he wis a good cunt. Keith, the boy's name wis. He hud a big motor n aw, and a no bad flat. They pit the perr fucker away though, jist fir dealin a wee bit ay bugle. It's fuckin well oot ay order, cause jist aboot every cunt's at that game these days. Ye cannae really class charlie as drugs, no in ma book. Ah mean, it's no like it's schemies fuckin killin thirsels wi smack. What it is, is a designer accessory fir the modern fuckin age. That's the problem wi this fuckin country though; too many cunts livin in the Dark Ages, no prepared tae move wi the times.
This Greg cunt vanishes for a bit, then eh comes back wi
a huge boatil ay champagne n some glesses. The wey that Sandra's lookin at the boatil, ye'd think it wis a fuckin vibrator thit she wis gaunny stick up her fanny. So fuckin pretty boy pops the cork n it flies acroas the room, hittin the ceilin. Ah'm ower n checkin tae see if it's left a mark whaire it hit the paintwork, n if it hus, that cunt kin pey fir muh ma tae git her fuckin ceilin redone. Lucky fir him it husnae. Eh pours the drink intae the glesses. Joe takes a gless fae the cunt, but ah wave um away.— Dinnae like that stuff. That's crap, ah tell the boy.
— Stickin tae the beer, aye, eh goes.
— Aye, ah sais.
— Come on, son, it's a special occasion, yir sister's engagement, muh ma goes.
— Disnae bother me, ah dinnae like they fizzy bubbles, they git up ma nose, ah tell her, lookin ower at the Greg poof, wi ehs fuckin side partin n ehs suit n crew-neck shirt withoot a tie. Ah wanted tae tell her that he gits up ma fuckin nose, but ah kept quiet, Christmas n that.
Aye, it's no fir me tae say nowt, but ah'll run a check oan this cunt. Somethin fuckin right iffy aboot that radge. Eh looks the type ay cunt that's no too sure aboot whether tae catch the one or the six, if ye ken what ah mean. Probably one ay they fuckin bent shots that shag the young poofs up the Calton Hill. In the fuckin closet, n usin oor Elspeth as cover.
See, if that cunt gies her Aids, eh's fuckin well deid.
Well, that fuckin loudmoothed hoor Sandra goes, raisin her gless in a toast, — Tae Elspeth n Greg!
— Elspeth n Greg, every cunt sais.
Ah'm sayin nowt, but ah never take ma eyes oaf that cunt. Aye, pal, ah'm fuckin well wide fir you. Every cunt else's makin a big fuss, n even Joe shakes the boy's hand. Ah'm shakin nae cunt's hand, that's a fuckin cert.
— Well, ah'd best git the dinner served up, the auld lady sais. — This hus been the happiest Christmas I've hud in years. See, if yir faither wis here . . . she bubbles at Elspeth.
If oor faither wis here eh'd huv fuckin well done what eh eywis did – drunk us oot ay hoose n hame n made a fuckin exhibition ay ehsel.