sent doon, ah mind ay this boy in Perth gien me that Russian dude’s book Crime and Punishment . Thir’s eywis a copy circulatin roond in the nick, but ah never bothered before, no bein much ay a reader, likes. Liked this yin but, n it fair goat me thinkin aboot yon policy.
In the book, the gadge kills the auld money-lendin wifie that everybody hates. Now if ah wis tae top masel it wid pure be suicide, n they dinnae pey oot for that. But what if ah wis tae git killed, murdered likes, by some other party? Aye, the insurance thing hus tae be done; fir Ali and the wee gadge. It’s the wey forward. Ah’m pure chronic, man, so when ye think aboot it, it makes sense tae leave the gig. Ah love those kittens tae death, but let’s face it, man, ah am one big liability. Cannae make money, cannae keep straight, cannae stoap bringing grief back hame tae the bosom of. Ah am killing that chick slowly, man, she’ll soon be back oan the gear herself, then wee Andy’ll git taken away. Naw, ah’m no huvin that. So it’s the insurance, man. Split. Leave the gig, makin sure the Ali-cat and Andy-cat are provided for. It’s like that Family Fortunes thing whaire they ask the gadges what they want, likesay £20,000 insurance bread or a fucked-up, penniless, unskilled, junkie wi a ragin habit which will jist not go away. No much ay a contest for the sane of mind, man. So it’s time tae go, bit it hus tae be done jist right.
The big, bad shock ah wis oan aboot came yesterday when ah wis lookin aroond the gaff for her purse n some dosh, n ah found a diary by mistake. Well, ah jist couldnae help masel, man, hud tae huv a wee nose. Ah mean, ah ken it wis wrong n that, dead wrong, but cause wi hudnae been speakin ah jist hud tae git intae her state ay mind. Big mistake but, man, ignorance wis pure bliss. What sort ay goat ays wis what she wrote: it wis like she was talkin tae wee Andy.
I don’t know where he is, your daddy. He’s let us down again, pal, and I’m the one again who’s got to be strong. Your dad can mess up, but I can’t. Just because somebody has to be strong and I’m just a wee bit better at it than your weak, stupid daddy. I wish he was a real bastard, because that would make it easier. It makes it hard that he’s the nicest man you’ll ever meet, and don’t let anybody tell you different. But I can’t be his ma and your ma as well. I can’t cause I’m not strong enough. If I was strong enough I would, even though I know he’d be taking me for a mug. I’d still do it though, if I was strong enough. But I’m not and I have to put you first. Just because you’re that wee.
It hit ays hard, man. Read it once, twice, and it must be said, found masel sheddin one or two tears, no just for me, but for the catgirl authoress. Aw that love goin tae the wrong place. Ah mind when ah wis younger ah wis just crazy, crazy, crazy aboot that lassie, but ah thought, this is a wee bit oot ay yir reach, man. A top-six SPL chick isnae gaunnae hook up wi an East of Scotland League journeyman. But the Junk Cup kin be a great leveller and there’s the luck ay the draw tae consider. Aye, one time we were walkin hame thegither eftir a session, totally fucked, when it jist sortay happened. Ah think aboot what eight years wi me has done tae her. Naw, ah’ve got tae let her go, and leave the gig, and gie her a good pey-oaf.
It’s got tae be done, man.
So it’s after the counsellin do, ah’m shamblin up the Walk, tryin tae get intae a stride pattern before the old cramps and sweats commence and ah start spazin oot. Ah’m trying tae cheer maself up by thinkin aboot blondes and books and ah’m contemplatin that intelligent blonde lassie, the one wi the deep voice that’s meant tae be the thinkin man’s chug. Ye’d be able tae talk Russian novels awright wi her, too right. Oan that very subject, thir’s a wee bookshop opened up and ah cross ower tae huv a quick look inside. Problem is thit the timin’s a wee bit oaf n this
In the book, the gadge kills the auld money-lendin wifie that everybody hates. Now if ah wis tae top masel it wid pure be suicide, n they dinnae pey oot for that. But what if ah wis tae git killed, murdered likes, by some other party? Aye, the insurance thing hus tae be done; fir Ali and the wee gadge. It’s the wey forward. Ah’m pure chronic, man, so when ye think aboot it, it makes sense tae leave the gig. Ah love those kittens tae death, but let’s face it, man, ah am one big liability. Cannae make money, cannae keep straight, cannae stoap bringing grief back hame tae the bosom of. Ah am killing that chick slowly, man, she’ll soon be back oan the gear herself, then wee Andy’ll git taken away. Naw, ah’m no huvin that. So it’s the insurance, man. Split. Leave the gig, makin sure the Ali-cat and Andy-cat are provided for. It’s like that Family Fortunes thing whaire they ask the gadges what they want, likesay £20,000 insurance bread or a fucked-up, penniless, unskilled, junkie wi a ragin habit which will jist not go away. No much ay a contest for the sane of mind, man. So it’s time tae go, bit it hus tae be done jist right.
The big, bad shock ah wis oan aboot came yesterday when ah wis lookin aroond the gaff for her purse n some dosh, n ah found a diary by mistake. Well, ah jist couldnae help masel, man, hud tae huv a wee nose. Ah mean, ah ken it wis wrong n that, dead wrong, but cause wi hudnae been speakin ah jist hud tae git intae her state ay mind. Big mistake but, man, ignorance wis pure bliss. What sort ay goat ays wis what she wrote: it wis like she was talkin tae wee Andy.
I don’t know where he is, your daddy. He’s let us down again, pal, and I’m the one again who’s got to be strong. Your dad can mess up, but I can’t. Just because somebody has to be strong and I’m just a wee bit better at it than your weak, stupid daddy. I wish he was a real bastard, because that would make it easier. It makes it hard that he’s the nicest man you’ll ever meet, and don’t let anybody tell you different. But I can’t be his ma and your ma as well. I can’t cause I’m not strong enough. If I was strong enough I would, even though I know he’d be taking me for a mug. I’d still do it though, if I was strong enough. But I’m not and I have to put you first. Just because you’re that wee.
It hit ays hard, man. Read it once, twice, and it must be said, found masel sheddin one or two tears, no just for me, but for the catgirl authoress. Aw that love goin tae the wrong place. Ah mind when ah wis younger ah wis just crazy, crazy, crazy aboot that lassie, but ah thought, this is a wee bit oot ay yir reach, man. A top-six SPL chick isnae gaunnae hook up wi an East of Scotland League journeyman. But the Junk Cup kin be a great leveller and there’s the luck ay the draw tae consider. Aye, one time we were walkin hame thegither eftir a session, totally fucked, when it jist sortay happened. Ah think aboot what eight years wi me has done tae her. Naw, ah’ve got tae let her go, and leave the gig, and gie her a good pey-oaf.
It’s got tae be done, man.
So it’s after the counsellin do, ah’m shamblin up the Walk, tryin tae get intae a stride pattern before the old cramps and sweats commence and ah start spazin oot. Ah’m trying tae cheer maself up by thinkin aboot blondes and books and ah’m contemplatin that intelligent blonde lassie, the one wi the deep voice that’s meant tae be the thinkin man’s chug. Ye’d be able tae talk Russian novels awright wi her, too right. Oan that very subject, thir’s a wee bookshop opened up and ah cross ower tae huv a quick look inside. Problem is thit the timin’s a wee bit oaf n this
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