Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— It’s great tae see you as well! I’m up visiting Mum and I thought –

— I’m proud ay ye, ye ken that, ah just blurt oot.

— Terry, this isn’t like you –

— Call me Dad, son.

— Now you’re really scaring me. Is everything okay?

So ah tells um the fuckin lot.

After ma spiel, Jason just looks at me and says, — I’m really sorry. I know that you’ve always been sexually active, that it’s a big part of your life, and you like to do the. . you know, videos.

For some reason, ah’m feelin masel shiver. It’s like the eyes ay the world ur oan ays. Normally ah lap that up, but no now. Ah kin barely look him in the eye. — Ah bet ye ah embarrassed ye, me daein the scud n that, wi you bein at college.

Jason jist goes n gies ays that wee half-smile ay his. He wis ey a happy laddie; nowt seemed tae bother him. But deep n aw. Enigmatic, as Rab Birrell might say, oan one ay his intellectual casual websites. Cunt thinks it wis some kind ay postmodern statement tae punch a cunt in the mooth last century, but it’s apparently ‘reactionary’ now. — I always tried to respect that the porn stuff was your thing.

— Ye did, ah tell um. — You were always a great wee guy, and you’ve ey made ays proud.

— Well, thanks. . Jason goes, — but you’ve never really opened up like this before. .

— Mibbe ah should’ve. Mibbe that’s what wis wrong! What kind ay faither was I?

Jason shakes his heid n shrugs. — We don’t need to get into this. I mean, you are what you are, and I love you. You know that, right?

Ah feel a tennis baw stuck in ma throat n ma eyes tear up. It dawns oan ays for the first time that eh really does. Eh loves ays, in spite ay. . nowt. Eh wis eywis jist happy tae hing oot wi me. Ah wish ah could’ve gied him mair. — Ah love you. . son. Ye ken that, surely?

— Of course I do. I always have.

— But I was never a faither. Was ah?

— They come in all shapes and sizes. I’m not going to bullshit you, Ter— Dad. Grandad, he was my traditional father. Mum was as well. Between them, they gave me everything I needed as a kid, Jason goes, and ah glance up tae see how worried he is tae see me so down, ma heid bowed. — But. .

Ah force masel tae look up.

— You came into your own when I got to my teens. You were my best friend and the best big brother I could have wished for. And believe you me, that was exactly what I needed right then.

We sits up wi a couple ay beers n pit the world tae rights. I realise that it’s great havin him here. He looks at the books on the shelf and shakes his head.

— What? ah goes.

Then we look at each other n burst oot laughin uncontrollably.

When Jason leaves ah cannae settle n ah decide tae have a wee bit ching, but ah mind that ah shouldnae touch it. Ah flushes it doon the toilet soas no tae be tempted. Ah realise that ah’ve goat three great sons n a barry daughter, n that’s only the yins the CSA would ever be able tae pin oan ays, so ah’ve plenty tae live fir. Ye kin live without a ride. Ah pick up Rab Birrell’s copy ay Moby-Dick .

Ah’m readin the book, thinkin aboot the round ay gowf Ronnie n me are gaunny fit in the morn, ah’m fair lookin forward tae it! So ah reads till ah’m exhausted, then practically crawl through tae bed n huv a deep sleep.

Ah wakes up feelin mair rested than ah’ve done in yonks, n lookin forward tae gettin on the links wi Ronnie. This time we’re headin doon tae Peebles, and the Macdonald Cardrona Golf and Country Club. These pills are making me much calmer, and ah enjoy the drive tae the Borders in the weak morning sun.

One thing aboot gowf clubs is that it’s maistly middle-aged fuckers n auld cunts. Any fanny thaire tends tae be strictly boilerhoose material, so thaire’s fewer temptations. A bit ay wholesome fresh air, n a few fuckin peeves eftir, what mair dae ye want?

Ronnie’s chuffed wi ma progress, but the puttin is still away tae fuck. Ah’m relaxed enough, but ah keep missin shots oan the green that look easy. — Concentrate, Terry, he goes, as we get oan the rough at the seventh, — try and empty your mind of everything except that hole. .

N ah’m realisin that ye do huv tae concentrate. Focus on that hole. On gittin it intae that fuckin hole. That dark fuckin hole. Black everything else oot. Jist a smooth, easy stroke. . it rolls off the roughage oantae the green n curves slightly in n. . bang! Right intae that fuckin hole! — Ya fucker!

— Wow! What a putt, Terry. You’ve got it! You really are a goddamn natural at this!

Ah think ah’ve cracked this gowf shite. Ma game’s gittin better! Aw through watchin n listenin tae Ronnie, the voice ay experience. It’s jist like when ah started hingin oot at the Tivoli Bingo Hoose tae bag aw the auld burds. Ye kin only learn so much fae schoolies, before ye start gaun fir thair mas. When ah wis in ma teens n pittin aw they wee burds through thair paces, n they went ‘Whae showed ye how tae dae that?’, ah’d eywis think: probably your fuckin ma. Either that, or the Classic cinema in Nicolson Street. Guaranteed! This gowf’s the same: if yuv goat game, yuv goat game, ay, ye jist need the experienced heid tae help bring it oot. But thaire’s something else gaun oan n aw. Ye huv tae be thaire in the moment, soas yir focused oan the job at hand, but also outside the moment, so that other stuff gaun oan aroond ye disnae pit ye oaf. It hit me that gowf is exactly like scud for that. You’ve goat tae be able tae swing that big fuckin club oan demand, n let nowt distract ye fae gettin that hole.

Things are gaun well, and Ronnie’s aw chuffed later oan in Spikes clubhouse bar. The peeves are gaun doon nicely. Then eh looks at me a bit hangdog and says, — I’m meeting a lady tonight. We’re going out to dinner. The woman from the speed-dating club you took me to.

— Sound. Good on ye.

So ah drives um back intae toon n the hotel. Something aboot what eh sais didnae chime, so as eh vanishes intae the Balmoral, ah stalls for a bit. Sure enough, ah sees her comin ower the road. Of course, it’s no the burd fae the quick hookup club at aw, it’s Sal. She looks different, posher, mair sophisticated, aw dolled up as she steps into the hotel. Ah takes off n heads back tae ma fuckin lonely flat.

Ah gits hame n ah dozes oaf reading Moby-Dick , aboot the cunt chasing the whale. Ah’m thinking: nivir mind Moby-Dick, what aboot perr Terry’s fuckin dick?

RIGHT, LAWSON, THAT’S it finito

wi us, cuntface, time tae cast

aside the yoke ay oppression

n go full oot fir independence!

Aye, ah’m separatin masel fae

ye! You hud yir chance wi this

union n ye fucked it up! N lit ays

tell ye, before ye start makin

jokes aboot separatist pricks,

mind yir jist a big, useless fanny

withoot me! So it’s adios, bawbag

(cause it’s aw ye are withoot me),

n ah’ll be seein ye in the next life!

Ye see, Terry, if you’re no daein any

ridin, dinnae expect me tae sit in

scabby keks sweatin like an auld

piece ay cheese, while you pump

ays wi blood-thinnin chemicals jist

tae try n stoap ays fae standin tae

attention in the presence ay a lady.

Cause it’s no happenin, mate, it’s no

fuckin well happenin. You mind ay

thum, Terry, aw they tunnels ay love

ye poked ays intae ower the years.

A long wey fae thon tight fanny ay

thon wee Rachel Muir whae wis

jist thirteen whin ye forced ays up