I never forget a face, but there are certain faces I’m more inclined to remember than others. In particular, I am inclined to remember the face of anyone who has called me a poof, a hoor, or a junkie. In fact, if someone has called me all three then they become lodged in the memory bank. After all, it’s not an every day event.
You can imagine my amazement then, whilst standing at a bus stop on Junction Street on Saturday, I turned to stare right into the spotty face of one of my tormentors from the game at Newlandsfield. Resplendent in Pollok replica jersey, this ‘gentleman’ and his three mates came to my attention when I overheard them interrogate an 8 year old as to “whit team he supported”.
I decided to ask them if they required directions to City Park. Not because I particularly wanted to speak to them, but because I can never resist good blogging material. Also, the bus journey to the game was only ten minutes so I figured I could endure any abuse, verbal or physical.
Quite what these guys were doing in Leith when they arrived at Waverley Station, I’ll never know. Presumably their GPS (Glesga Positioning System) was low on batteries and redirected them the long way round. Perhaps there is some kind of Ned homing device which inexorably draws Neds the world over to each other. God knows, Leith is full of the tracksuited wee toe-rags.
Anyway, within seconds of speaking, I had gone from being “man at the bus stop” to being “Big Man”, “Pal” and “Big Yin”, terms of endearment delivered with that certain friendly menace that only seems prevalent in the west.
To be fair, these lads (and the wee Senga who was with them) were nice enough. Their only fault was to be optimistic enough to believe that they would actually get into City Park on Scottish Cup day with what looked like about 48 cans of lager and 4 bottles of Buckfast. Not a chance (I later discovered they were turned away at the gate).
I say 48 cans of lager. I should really be more precise and say 47, as I should discount the one which was accidentally poured all down my trouser leg by the guy in the seat in front as the bus came to a sudden stop.
All the way to City Park, I was questioned relentlessly about “Wull thur be Polis there and that?” or informed that “They wur usually banned fae Newlandsfield but”. What is it about anywhere west of the airport that the word “but” seems to be tagged onto the end of sentences?
Anyway, we won 1-0, so what do I care. There may be “only one Nicky Walker” but there are two clowns in the Pollok defence who have the ability to collide with each other and leave him through on goal.
Miller and Hansen anyone?
on Dec 5th, 2008 at 7:46 pm
Pal / Big-yin.. delivered with that glaswegian friendly menace. So true!