Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

Heard the story ay ehs stepfaither tons ay times, the boy wi the fast, hard hands. Even tried tae cooncil the cunt in the Goth oan mare thin yin occasion. In ma ain wey, ah wis yon Alexander Shuglin wi the black gold standin in fir the E. Anywey, Richey apologises fir stampin my ticket. — It’s no me that’s chargin ye, Jason, it’s ScotRail, the perr cunt pleads, big eyes waterin, like ah wis gaunnae machete um oan the spot. — See if it wis up tae me…

— Nae worries, man, ah tells um.

Eh looks at ays n goes, — You’re a true friend, Jason. Ah count you as a friend. Ah hope you feel the same?

— Aye, Richey, course ah dae, ah tell um. Thank fuck it’s time tae disembark. Thon cunt wid talk umsel intae a doin; ah wis feelin ma bile rise n ma fists involuntarily clenchin n unclenchin jist bein around the cunt.

Dunfermline. Oot the fuckin train n yir stuck at the bottom ay a fuckin hill ootside the toon. How kin this be Fife’s top toon whin it’s no even oan the main rail line? Ah’d rather huv one ay they Kirkcaldy cunts thin yin ay they hoors any fuckin day, ah kin tell ye.

It’s a big hoose, like one ay they granite-type yins they goat up in Ebirdeen. It’s jist gittin dark whin ah’m chappin oan the door n a fat wifie in a big print dress comes tae answer. She’s goat short, black hair n beady eyes n the sort ay voice thit says ‘see how superior ah am tae a wee dwarf ratbag like you’. — Yes?

— Eh, ah’ve come tae see her man. Mr Mason. Eh, Oliver, ah elaborate, thinking thit the hoor shouldnae pit ehs first name oan the paper if eh doesnae want ays tae yaze it.

She pits a lemon-sucker ay a coupon oan n goes inside and shouts, — Oliver! Someone for you!

A minute later this boy wi thinin grey hair comes tae the door. Eh squints at ays ower a pair ay glesses. Looks a wee bit like an aulder version ay the Neebour Watson. — Who are ye and what d’ye want? eh snaps at ays.

Ah shows um the letter. Eh takes ehs specs oaf n pits thum in ehs cardigan pocket. Eh reads it, then looks at ays wi disgust oan ehs coupon. — You come to my home, upsetting my wife, disturbing me with this trivial matter!

— Sorry, neebs, but yir letter says thit ah jist hud a few days tae appeal. Dinnae trust yon post so ah thoat ah’d come in person, ken.

— Channels, Mr King, channels! In writing and to—

Cause the boy minds ays ay the Neebour, ah git a bit emboldened and cut the hoor oaf. — Bit ah thoat, mibbe be mair civilised, meet the chap, take um fir a pint up the East Port or something, state ma case, man tae man…

Eh thinks aboot this fir a bit as eh looks ehs up and doon, then stares at ma feet for a second or two. Then eh looks ays in the eye. — Hmm… alright, I’ll be round the East Port in five minutes. The lounge. They do a nice pint of Guinness there. You a stout man, Mr King?

— I’m mair thin partial tae a wee drop ay the black gold, Mr Mason.

— We’re getting off on the right foot here, Mr King. See you in five, the wee boy winks.

So ah’m sittin in the East Port n ah sets up the Guinness and sure enough auld Olly Mason comes in. Ah points tae his settled pint and he smiles. — Sorry, Mr King, misjudged ye a wee bit there. Thought you were one of these maverick types. I’ve no time for those who would try tae ride roughshod over procedure, Mr King: a right way and a wrong way to do everything. Nonetheless, your presence here shows that you have passion for the game and we always need that in Scottish Table Football.

— It’s ma life, ah tell um, takin the opportunity tae move strategically closer tae um, tae make room fir a bunch ay workies that come in.

— Well, as irregular as this is, I’m prepared tae give ye a hearing.

— Yir a gentleman, sor.

Eh pits the gless ay black gold tae ehs lips n takes a sip. Ehs ratty wee eyes focus oan me. — One thing I will insist, though, is that due to the somewhat irregular nature of this appeal, everything that passes between us is treated by both parties in the strictest confidentiality.

— Goes withoot sayin, neebs. Ah’m sure thit yir gaun oot oan a limb here n ah appreciate it.

Eh nods impassively. — State your case please, Mr King.

So ah talks aboot the specifics ay the case, n aw the while ehs lookin at ays, like ehs measurin ays up. — If you don’t mind me asking, Mr King, what height are you?

— Five two, well, five one and a half if ye want tae split baw hairs.

Eh sits back in the chair n eh’s nearly purrin like a pussy. — Marvellous… and you’re so very slight and slender, I’m guessing around seven and a half stones?

— Nearer seven, ah telt the hoor. — Cannae pit oan weight, no fir the lack ay tryin. Used tae be a jockey, ye see.

— Ah… cut short by injury, was it, your career?

— Mair a wee growth spurt. At fower seeven ah could’ve been officially registered as a dwarf. Total short-ersed heaven, ah contends, enjoyin the black gold. Ah’m nae fan ay Dunfermline as a toon, but this East Port’s a fair auld oasis. — Aye, ah explains, — then ah hud this daft wee growth spurt n that wis me five two before ah kent it. Story ay ma life, the extra inches eywis gaun tae the wrang department!

Olly boy looks like eh’s sizing ays up again. — Yes… that’s about the same height and weight as my daughter was, he sniffs, lookin a wee bit sad. — The amazing thing is, you’ve even got the same colouring and similar features to her. Those eyes… gazelle-like, I always used to say…

— What happened tae her?

— A tragedy, King, a tragedy. Olly shakes ehs heid n sips at his pint. — A young girl cut down in her prime in a horrific road-traffic accident. She’d been at one of those bloody raves and the idiot driving the car was probably out of his head on drugs… well, he lost control and my Kathleen was taken from us, he sais aw wistful n pathetic, ehs voice brekin up.

What could ye say tae thon? Eh tells me thit she wis jist nineteen n aw, same age as Lara. She wis ehs pride n joy, the boy explains.

Then eh pills ehsel thegither. — Sorry to go on, he says then looks at ehs watch. — Listen, why don’t you come back to mine for a malt? We’ve still got lots to discuss.

Well, a huv tae say that ah’d kind ay thought that wis it, but obviously no. — I can ensure that the reinstatement takes place, he turns and looks at ays like a polisman as we walk past the Carnegie Halls lit up for a performance, — but I cannot condone vandalism. You had nothing to do with the damage to the noticeboard?

— Oan muh ma’s life, a plead in sincere tones addin, — Word oan the street is it wis a disgruntled element within the Cooden support, wi it bein a Pars noticeboard n aw.

Olly thinks aboot this for a wee bit. — Yes, sadly we in Dunfermline have our share of bad eggs too, Mr King. But I can see that you’re cut from different cloth.

So wi gits back roond tae auld Olly Mason’s n thirs nae sign ay the wife. Eh seems tae read ma mind. — June’s at the Rotary club, she’s always there. Eh leads ays intae this big front lounge. Then eh picks up a photae oan top ay the piannay. It’s a young lassie. — Kathleen, eh sais, hudin it in front ay ays.

Ya hoor sor, a lovely wee bird n aw. Life kin be gey cruel. — Aww… ah goes, soundin like muh ma hearin aboot a dug that’s been run ower.

— Follow me, Mr King, he says n then the hoor bounds oot and up a big auld staircase n ah’m strugglin tae keep up wi um. N thir’s nae sign ay that fuckin bevvy yit.

— Jason, ah goes.

Eh stoaps n looks doon at ays fae ower ehs shoodir. — Let’s keep it on a semi-formal basis until we’ve done business, that is if you are the type of person I can count on to do business with?