Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

Malky goes tae speak, then eh sort ay cannae.

— Aye, Jonty’s goat ye there, Hank goes. — If eh’s goat that much money, what does eh no come in n help the club fir?

Malky shakes ehs heid. — Naebody goat rich fae pittin money intae a fitba club, n quite a few goat poor, eh sais. — Let’s jist say Keith is part ay a wee consortium — in which I expect to hold a small interest — who are watching developments closely, n eh taps the side ay ehs nose again.

— Shite, Hank goes, n Malky hears but sort ay kids oan he disnae.

Then this wee guy comes ower n goes, — Hello, Malcolm.

— My good friend Mr Deans!

They start huvin a blether, about Herts’s chances the day. See, if it wis me that wis Paulo Sergio, ah’d tell thum aw tae gie the baw tae Ryan Stevenson. That’s aw ah’d say, jist one thing: gie the baw tae Ryan Stevenson. Aye sur, Ryan Stevenson.

Then the wee boy goes away but this big tall boy comes ower. Looks awfay posh; pan-loafy as muh ma would say. Malky introduces the pan-loafy boy tae us. — My good friend Donald Melrose QC!

The pan-loafy boy wi the funny letters eftir his name sais, — Malcolm. How are you?

— I’m just telling my cousins Hank and John –

— Jonty, ah goes, n Malky looks a wee bit pished oaf wi ays, but ah’ve ey been kent as Jonty, fae way back in Penicuik, n he should ken that, aye sur, eh should ken that.

— Jonty. . the boy goes, then looks at Hank and nods. Then eh smiles and turns tae Malky. — This fabled consortium, of Scotsman Publications myth, which may or may not exist, and, assuming it was said to do so, and I was indeed a member, though, as you know, no such verifying document proves the existence or otherwise of the undernoted so-called consortium. .

Ah’m tryin tae follay the boy, pan-loafy Donald, but eh’s talkin awfay fast n posh n ah cannae hear um right. .

— So. . and the boy smiles at ays again, — . . it could very well be a figment of the imagination of some of the more obtuse members of our local Fourth Estate. Eh turns tae Malky. — No minutes of meetings, no documentation, no emails between prominent members of the business community and high-ranking local city officials and councillors can be evidenced to exist, the boy goes, n ye ken eh’d be good as a lawyer cause naebody wid understand what eh wis sayin, no until ye wir in the jail. Ye would understand then awright! Aye sur, ye wid. Aye.

But what eh sais gits me tae thinkin, so ah turns tae Hank. — It wis like that dug Clint, Hank, mind Clint the dug?

Hank looks away, like eh’s no heard ays. Ah tugs ehs sleeve. — What, Jonty?

— And sorry, you are, again. .? Pan-loafy Donald goes.

— Jonty, ma cousin, Malky goes.

— Aye, Jonty, ah goes. — Aye sur. Jonty. Jonty MacKay.

— What about Clint the dug , Jonty? this pan-loafy Donald Melrose boy sais. But the word ‘dug’ didnae seem right comin fae such a posh mooth.

— Mind ah goat Clint the dug, ay, Hank? ah goes tae Hank, but eh jist shrugs it oaf like eh cannae remember, so ah turns back tae pan-loafy Donald. — But see whin ah goat um, Clint the dug, eh hud somethin in ehs throat. But ah hud went tae the skill tae tell everybody ah hud a puppy, Clint the dug, n everybody wanted tae see um, ah explain n Donald looks tae Malky, whae looks tae Hank. Ah carries oan. — Then ah goat hame n the dug hud goat pit doon. Somethin in ehs throat. Mind, Ma n that, ah goes tae Hank, whae’s still lookin away acroass the room, — they sais tae ays, Ma n real faither Henry, ‘Clint the dug wis taken ill, n eh couldnae swallay right.’ So they hud um pit doon.

— Fascinating, this posh Donald boy goes, then asks, — And your point here is?

— Everybody sais, ‘Whaire’s this puppy, this Clint the dug?’ But whin ah telt thum what hud happened, they jist goes, ‘Yir talkin rubbish, Jonty, thaire’s nae Clint the dug, you jist made aw that up!’ N ah couldnae prove thaire wis, aye, but they couldnae prove thaire wisnae. Naw sur, they could not! But it meant it wis up tae me tae prove it, cause ah’d sais tae everybody thit thaire wis a Clint the dug. N thaire wis! Mind, Hank?

Hank’s still lookin away but. — Jonty, Malky goes, in a low voice.

Posh Donald, eh’s sortay like a bloodhound ehsel wi they hooded, bloodshot eyes. Aye, that’s what eh looks like! Mibbe it wis Clint thit pit ays in mind ay that, but Clint wisnae a bloodhound. — Hmmm. So you’re drawing an analogy. . Jonty, this posh Donald goes, — an analogy between the existence of this unfortunate canine. . Clint –

— Aye sur, Clint the dug, aye sur –

— And the hitherto much-disputed and speculated-upon existence of the consortium?

Ah ken whit an allergy is, cause it’s what Clint the dug hud, in ehs throat. — Aye sur, aye sur, aye sur. Ehs throat. Aye sur.

— Your cousin is a fascinating fellow, with a rather interesting and speculative perspective on life, Malcolm, Posh Donald sais, then eh turns tae me. — Jonty, we must resume this discussion another time. Eh looks at ehs watch. — Right now the game is about to commence and we should take our seats.

So we goes outside intae the good bit wi the seats, lookin ower at oor auld seats in the Wheatfield. Seats we dinnae need any mair! No now! Malky whispers in ma ear, — Keep it doon a wee bit, Jonty, n try no to show me up, no in front ay a member ay the consortium!

The teams ur comin oot tae a big cheer.

— But he wis sayin thaire isnae a consortium –

— Shh! Here’s the boys comin oot.

Ah starts twirlin ma skerf tae try n git some atmosphere gaun, ye goat tae git some atmosphere, n this steward boy comes ower n says, — Nae twirlin ay skerfs oot here, mate, go ower thaire if ye want tae dae that, n eh points ower at oor auld seats in the Wheatfield Stand.

— Jist tryin tae git some atmosphere gaun. Aye sur, atmosphere, ah tells the boy. Cause naebody sings ‘Hearts, Glorious Hearts’ or ‘The Gorgie Boys’ ower here.

— Ower thaire fir the twirlin ay skerfs!

N aw pits the skerf doon n looks aroond n ah’m jist aboot the only yin wi a skerf oan here! Malky bends intae ays n goes, — That’s a big no-no in here, Jonty. Yir no ower in the Wheatfield now! Thaire’s different standards ay behaviour required for the hospitality, Jonty. Ye cannae git away wi murder in here!

— Sorry, Malky. .

— Showin us up like that in front ay members ay the consortium, Malky sais, n eh’s no very happy. — It’s no every day that somebody like me, an ordinary laddie fae Penicuik –

— Aye sur, Penicuik, the Cuik, the Cuik, the Cuik –

— Ah could even git asked tae join the consortium!

— Bit thaire’s nae consortium, the boy just sais. Ah turns tae the pan-loafy Donald, whae’s sitting behind ays. — Ay, Donald, ay, pal, ay, thaire’s nae –

Malky tugs ma sleeve. — Jonty! Enough! Behave yirsel! Unbelievable. Eh shakes his heid.

— Sorry, Malky –

Malky’s awfay upset wi ays now, lookin aw that hurt wey. — See, Jonty, ah thoat thit if ah took ye here ah could educate ye. Help ye better yirsel. Eh shakes ehs heid again. — But ah wis wrong.

Now Hank’s gittin aw huffy n eh turns oan Malky. — Well, if that’s what ye think ay us, we’ll jist go! Come oan, Jonty!

— Naw, stay fir five minutes, please, Hank, five minutes, ah sortay begs, hudin um doon cause Templeton’s jist gied Ryan Stevenson the baw n it’s grand here cause ah got a nice smile fae a blonde-heided lassie in a sortay broon fur coat, sittin in front ay us, n they say ye even git a free half-time pie! — Stey till the half-time pie, ah goes tae Hank, whae shrugs n settles back, n Malky does n aw, n it’s barry-barry cause the baw goes zing! Right intae the net! N wir aw pals again, huggin each other, n ah goes tae the blonde lassie, — Ryan Stevenson; aye sur, aye sur. Ryan Stevenson, mind ah sais?