Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh Page A

Begbie that highly in a square-go, withoot his assortment ay stanley knives, basebaw bats, knuckledusters, beer glesses, sharpened knitting needles, etc. Masel n maist cunts are too shite-scared tae test this theory, but the impression remains. Tommy once exposed some weaknesses in Begbie, in a square-go. Gave um a good run for his money, did Tam. Mind you, Tommy’s a tidy cunt, n Begbie, it has tae be said, came oot the better ay the two.
    Myth: Begbie’s mates like him.
    Reality: They fear him.
    Myth: Begbie would never waste any ay his mates.
    Reality: His mates are generally too cagey tae test oot this proposition, and oan the odd occasion they huv done so, huv succeeded in disproving it.
    Myth: Begbie backs up his mates.
    Reality: Begbie smashes fuck oot ay innocent wee daft cunts whae accidently spill your pint or bump intae ye. Psychopaths who terrorise Begbie’s mates usually dae so wi impunity, as they tend tae be closer mates ay Begbie’s than the punters he hings aboot wi. He kens thum aw through approved school, prison n the casuals’ network, the freemasonaries that bams share.
    Anywey, these myths gie us the basis tae rescue the night.
    — Look Hazel, ah ken Franco’s uptight. It’s jist thit they guys pit his brar Joe oan a life-support machine. Thir a close faimlay.
    Begbie is like junk, a habit. Ma first day at primary school, the teacher sais tae us: — You will sit beside Francis Begbie. It wis the same story at secondary. Ah only did well at school tae git intae an O Level class tae git away fae Begbie. Whin Begbie wis expelled n sent tae another school en route tae Polmont, ma performance declined, and ah wis pit back intae the non-certificate stream. Still, nae mair Begbie.
    Then, when ah wis apprenticed as a chippy wi a Gorgie builder, ah goes along tae Telford College tae dae ma national certificate modules in joinery. Ah sat doon tae ma chips in the cafeteria, whin whae comes along but that cunt Begbie, wi a couple ay other psychos. They wir oan this specialist course in metalwork fir problem teenagers. The course seemed tae teach them tae manufacture thir ain sharp metal weapons ay destruction rather than have tae buy them fae the Army n Navy stores.
    Whin ah left ma trade n went tae college fir A Levels, then oantae Aberdeen University, ah half expected tae see Beggars at the freshers ball, beating tae a pulp some four-eyed, middle-class wanker he imagined wis starin at um.
    He really is a cunt ay the first order. Nae doubt about that. The big problem is, he’s a mate n aw. Whit kin ye dae?
    We quicken our step and follay them doon the road; a quartet of fucked-up people thegither.
    A Disappointment
    Ah minded ay the cunt. Fuckin sure n ah did. Ah used tae think he wis a fuckin hard cunt, back it Craigie, ken? He fuckin hung aroond wi Kev Stronach and that crowd. Fuckin bams. Dinnae git us wrong like; ah thoat the cunt wis fuckin sound. But ah mind, thir wis one time some boys asks the cunt whair he fuckin came fae. This boy goes: — Jakey! (that wis the cunt’s name like), ur you fae fuckin Grantin or Roystin? The cunt goes: — Grantin is Roystin. Roystin is Grantin. The bastard went right fuckin doon in ma estimation eftir that, ken? That wis back it the fuckin school though, ken? Fuckin yonks ago now.
    Anywey, the other fuckin week thair, ah wis doon the fuckin Volley wi Tommy n Secks, ken Rab, the Second Prize, likes? This cunt, this Jakey cunt, the big fuckin radge boy fae Craigie, he comes intae the pub. He nivir fuckin lits oan tae us. Ah mind ay smashin loads ay fuckin crabs tae bits wi stanes wi that cunt. Doon the fuckin harbour, ken? He nivir fuckin recognised us. Didnae fuckin ken us fae Adam . . . the cunt.
    Anywey, the cunt’s mate, this fuckin plukey-faced wide-o, goes tae pit his fuckin money doon fir the baws it the table. Fir the pool, ken? Ah sais tae um: — That cunt’s fuckin nixt mate, pointin tae this wee specky gadge. This wee cunt’s goat his fuckin name