Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

I’m no ready tae stop .

But if I say that in all honesty tae Tom and Amelia, the game’s fuckin over .

Day 31

Swanney leaves; his time here is up. Most people are relieved, cause he’s been a bit ay a cunt tae them. I think it’s a defence mechanism with him. Something scares him: it’s buried deep, but you can sense it. He’s usually fine wi me, like when I first kent him at the footballfitba. As he comes to my room to say farewell, he talks about getting some poppy thegither and gaun oaf tae Thailand. He starts slaverin about oriental girls, stuff about their fanny slits running east — west rather than north — south, and I find myself tuning it out. It’s hard tae listen tae anybody else’s libidinous fantasies when your own are so raw and vivid .

I would fuckin kill for a ride right now .

Journal Entry: On housebreaking

I have to be honest and admit it: I love housebreaking! And the main motivations are not even monetary gain or class-war politics (although I’ve only ever screwed, or intend to screw, big, posh homes). No, it’s primarily about being interested in how other people live. I generally treated the places I broke into with respect, encouraging accomplices to do the same. In one house, judging by the pictures on the walls and the fridge, the holidaying family seemed really nice, so I wrote them a note apologising for any hassle and trauma caused by the break-in. I stressed that it wasn’t personal and we needed the money, told them how we gained access and even offered some basic tips on home security .

The behaviour in my last house, the QC’s place, where I wrote the stuff on his wall about Cha (basically to placate Begbie, who I felt was getting dangerously radge), was pretty much out of character .

I knew it wasn’t the case, but I always regarded myself as more of a guest than a thief .

Day 32

Missing Spud and Swanney (I’m probably the only one with regard to the latter). Keezbo very depressed. Talks the same shite over and over. He always seems like he wants to tell me something profound, so I sit him down, all ears, and then it’s back tae the same old about being imprisoned by Moira and Jimmy oan the balcony at the Fort. I love the man, but he’s starting tae fracture my tits and I find myself avoiding him as much as I can .

Now I’m empathising with Tom and Skinny-Specky; they must feel like that all the time. But fuck them, they’re gittin fuckin peyed fir it .

Journal Entry: Concerning my ma and her ma

My ma was taking me to the dentist. I was about ten. It was a hot day so we stopped in Princes Street Gairdins for some tea for her n juice for me. A group of tourists asked us directions in broken English, and she started spraffin away in perfect French, engaging them in an extended conversation .

Afterwards, when they left, she looked guilty. Embarrassed that she’d done this in front ay me. I kept asking her how she kent so much French; I wouldnae let it go. She eventually confessed tae us that she’d got a scholarship tae James Gillespie’s Girls’ School, but her cunt of a ma, auld Granny Fitzpatrick, wouldnae let her go. Said it was ‘too far’ fae Penicuik, being ‘two buses’ away. The worst part wis I mind ay Ma sayin, ‘Ah suppose it wis for the best .’

Even then I thought: wis it fuck for the best .

Day 33

After brekkie, two newcomers tae the unit. A wee gadgie, his gait hobbled tae a slow shuffle, and wi a pronounced tendency tae drool, and an astonishingly fat lassie, even bigger than Keezbo. There’s no fuckin way she could’ve been a smackheid, surely. But the politics ay the situation hold little interest fir me, as I’m anticipating getting the fuck oot myself, and am determined to tough it oot .

Yet I find myself oddly resenting them, this duo who look so alone, so scared. It’s pathetic and wrong tae feel this way, but tae me the cunts are strangers, intruding on our wee scene .

Day 34

Some fucker’s always upset some cunt the previous day, so breakfast is generally where the nervous reparations are made. The porridge is good this morning, thick rather than watery or lumpy .

Molly getting humped regularly by Sick Boy has upset Seeker, who — as alpha male — obviously feels that he should have first dibs on any ganting-on-it minge. Too bad for him that, in human society, dominance is always a wee bit more complex than in the animal world. The hardest cunt might no always be the biggest fanny merchant; in fact, they very rarely are. Sometimes they might be behind the handsome gadgie or the gabby, cocky fucker, or even the sportsman, comedian or intellectual in the riding queue. No wonder they can get so uptight .

Seeker and I are still doing the weights. It’s been this ritual, much more so than the group or individual sessions with Tom, that’s kept me going through this nasty and debilitating bout of depression. The other day, when I tried tae tell him I wisnae up tae it, the cunt just wisnae hearing us. ‘C’moan. Yir daein it.’ I know enough about psychopaths through Begbie to sense when they have their non-negotiating heids on, so I got up and struggled through my sets. And yes, by forcing myself intae it, feeling the burn, getting the blood circulating, my mood started to swing north .

So I’ve been saved by the biggest drug dealer in the city!

Him standing over me, mother hen watchful behind those cold, dark lenses, ready tae catch the weights in his huge hands when I work tae the point ay failure. Ironically, through this activity, thicker veins are coming up oan my airms, forcing themselves tae the surface ay ma skin. I wonder if this is the real motivation?

I found a skipping-rope in a drawer the other week, and I started doing boxer’s three minutes skipping, one minute rest, working up to six rounds after the weights, and I’m still at my push-ups and squat thrusts. I reciprocate and get Seeker intae the rope, despite his initial cynicism. It looks strange, him skipping on the back patio, stripped to the waist, hair tied back, mirror-lens shades still on .

Started writing mair stuff in the journal. Trying tae think ay how I got intae this mess. All that came out was being with my auld man in Orgreave .

Day 35

Feeling fucking brilliant again! That rope rules. Can’t shut the fuck up in the one-on-one session with Tom. Although I ken I’ll probably feel different tomorrow, I’ve decided right now that he’s an excellent gadge. He’s actually read Tender Is the Night, and it’s great tae have somebody here who you can talk tae about books, films and politics. A long discussion on Scorsese and De Niro, him insisting that their best collaboration was Taxi Driver, me holding out for Raging Bull. ‘Taxi Driver was Schrader’s film,’ I insist, ‘he was the genius behind it .’

I sit outside in the garden after dinner, when everybody else goes straight tae the telly. The evening shadows the overhanging trees, as sparrows flutter down to feed off our discarded crumbs. I can hardly hear the rambling, squabbling junky voices above the booming tones of the television newsreader .

Journal Entry: Stabbing Eric ‘Eck’ Wilson at school

It was second year at school, in the Tecky Drawing class, and the teacher was out somewhere. Two blows to the back of my head, with accompanying slack-jawed laughter. Not the first time this had happened, and I knew instantly who the perpetrator was. I turned round, instinctively pulling out the flick knife .

SLAM! One in the hand of Eck Wilson. Horror! His coupon was a sight to behold. SLAM! The chest. SLAM! The gut. The nastiest, most contrived strike, really wanting tae hurt the paralysed Eck wi that yin .