fucked her once.
I went through a phase when I fucked loads of women. This was after I discovered that all you had to do was be what they wanted for about twenty minutes. I suppose we're talking about a certain type of woman here. Each time you went through that bullshit act to get closer to them, you got further away from what you wanted to be. At the time it made me feel good about myself because I was younger. This shagging period represented a change in what I was doing before, which was not getting a ride and this was not a good place to be, for all sorts of reasons. Now it seems a very good place to be, but that was then. I doubt if a shag would make me feel good about myself now. I doubt if I'll ever fuck again. It wasnae about sex anyway, no at that time, what it was about was . . . oh fuck all this shite. Stick to the Stork; maybe if I could kill the Stork.
No.
I'll never fuck again.
I hear the nurses leave, their sensible shoes clicking on the floor. I'm alone with my lady friend. I wonder who she is?
— It's funny seeing you here. Roy. It's been a long time. Who the fuck are you?
— I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It's your old pal Dempsey. Alan Dempsey. He's no longer with us, Roy. I thought you'd like to know that.
WHO ARE YOU?
It's no good. I hear her steps start up and fade. She's leaving.
Dempsey. Ali Dempsey. Demps. Total Niddroid. One of the top boys. One top boy deid, another a cabbage. The Cabbage and Ribs.
The bearer of bad news departs but the sound of her leaving becomes the sound of someone else appearing.
— Yir gaun back tae yir right fuckin room, son. Ah goat they cunts telt. Ah sais, youse cunts git ma fuckin laddie back in that room or ah'll git ma fuckin shotgun right now n yis'll be needin mair fuckin beds thin ivir by the time ah've fuckin finished!
—The laddie disnae need tae hear that, John. It's aw sorted now, son. We goat them aw sorted oot.
— Too fuckin right we did. Eh hen? Telt these cunts the score.
— Yes, well you'll have to leave now, Mr and Mrs Strang. I need to get Roy prepared
— Aye, wir gaun . . . bit naebody better try n move him ootay this room again . . . right! Cause like ah sais, ah'll be right doon herel
— Nobody's moving Roy, Mr Strang. Now let's just keep our voice down shall we, it might upset him.
Aye, right.
— Aye, well, so long as youse mind what ma man sais!
— Yes Mrs Strang.
— Tro Roy!
— Cheerio son. Mind son, we'll no lit thaim dae nowt tae ye. Like ah sais . . . cheerio Roy!
CHEERIO YA FUCKIN RADGE.
Nurse Beverley Norton is getting me sorted. Patricia must have finished her shift. Talk to me in your soft Coronation Street accent, Nurse Norton. Just like Dorie's . . . naw, no Dorothy's.
—We've got a visit from Dr Park this afternoon, haven't we, Roy loovey? Got to get you all nice and spruced up for Dr Park.
Fire ahead Nurse Norton. Never mind auld Strangy here. Roy Strang. Strangy fi Muirhoose. A vegetable now likes, but still a sound cunt. Still a top boy. Now Dempsey's wormfood though. The rest? Who the fuck kens. Two years ah've been here. Thir probably in Saughton, or worse, in some tenement or Gumley's, Wimpey, or Barratt box with a bird and brat checkin oot B&Q's wares. Sittin in front of the telly. Are they cabbages too? C'mon you cabbage. Not as much as me: a biodegradable piece of useless shit incapable of fulfilling its intended purpose in this life, just as incapable of passing on to the next one.
Thank fuck for a childhood in a large Scottish housing scheme; a wonderful apprenticeship for the boredom that this kind of semi-life entails. Pull the fuckin plug.
Wonder how Demps kicked it?
Thank fuck for Sandy Jamieson. Time
to
go
back
down
under
Bruce – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – It's all about good service, old Dawson explains to us, wiping large remnants of a substantial starter from his face. Sandy and I eagerly set to work on our hors-d'oeuvre
I went through a phase when I fucked loads of women. This was after I discovered that all you had to do was be what they wanted for about twenty minutes. I suppose we're talking about a certain type of woman here. Each time you went through that bullshit act to get closer to them, you got further away from what you wanted to be. At the time it made me feel good about myself because I was younger. This shagging period represented a change in what I was doing before, which was not getting a ride and this was not a good place to be, for all sorts of reasons. Now it seems a very good place to be, but that was then. I doubt if a shag would make me feel good about myself now. I doubt if I'll ever fuck again. It wasnae about sex anyway, no at that time, what it was about was . . . oh fuck all this shite. Stick to the Stork; maybe if I could kill the Stork.
No.
I'll never fuck again.
I hear the nurses leave, their sensible shoes clicking on the floor. I'm alone with my lady friend. I wonder who she is?
— It's funny seeing you here. Roy. It's been a long time. Who the fuck are you?
— I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It's your old pal Dempsey. Alan Dempsey. He's no longer with us, Roy. I thought you'd like to know that.
WHO ARE YOU?
It's no good. I hear her steps start up and fade. She's leaving.
Dempsey. Ali Dempsey. Demps. Total Niddroid. One of the top boys. One top boy deid, another a cabbage. The Cabbage and Ribs.
The bearer of bad news departs but the sound of her leaving becomes the sound of someone else appearing.
— Yir gaun back tae yir right fuckin room, son. Ah goat they cunts telt. Ah sais, youse cunts git ma fuckin laddie back in that room or ah'll git ma fuckin shotgun right now n yis'll be needin mair fuckin beds thin ivir by the time ah've fuckin finished!
—The laddie disnae need tae hear that, John. It's aw sorted now, son. We goat them aw sorted oot.
— Too fuckin right we did. Eh hen? Telt these cunts the score.
— Yes, well you'll have to leave now, Mr and Mrs Strang. I need to get Roy prepared
— Aye, wir gaun . . . bit naebody better try n move him ootay this room again . . . right! Cause like ah sais, ah'll be right doon herel
— Nobody's moving Roy, Mr Strang. Now let's just keep our voice down shall we, it might upset him.
Aye, right.
— Aye, well, so long as youse mind what ma man sais!
— Yes Mrs Strang.
— Tro Roy!
— Cheerio son. Mind son, we'll no lit thaim dae nowt tae ye. Like ah sais . . . cheerio Roy!
CHEERIO YA FUCKIN RADGE.
Nurse Beverley Norton is getting me sorted. Patricia must have finished her shift. Talk to me in your soft Coronation Street accent, Nurse Norton. Just like Dorie's . . . naw, no Dorothy's.
—We've got a visit from Dr Park this afternoon, haven't we, Roy loovey? Got to get you all nice and spruced up for Dr Park.
Fire ahead Nurse Norton. Never mind auld Strangy here. Roy Strang. Strangy fi Muirhoose. A vegetable now likes, but still a sound cunt. Still a top boy. Now Dempsey's wormfood though. The rest? Who the fuck kens. Two years ah've been here. Thir probably in Saughton, or worse, in some tenement or Gumley's, Wimpey, or Barratt box with a bird and brat checkin oot B&Q's wares. Sittin in front of the telly. Are they cabbages too? C'mon you cabbage. Not as much as me: a biodegradable piece of useless shit incapable of fulfilling its intended purpose in this life, just as incapable of passing on to the next one.
Thank fuck for a childhood in a large Scottish housing scheme; a wonderful apprenticeship for the boredom that this kind of semi-life entails. Pull the fuckin plug.
Wonder how Demps kicked it?
Thank fuck for Sandy Jamieson. Time
to
go
back
down
under
Bruce – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – It's all about good service, old Dawson explains to us, wiping large remnants of a substantial starter from his face. Sandy and I eagerly set to work on our hors-d'oeuvre
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