The Broons!
by Andrew Velzian
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: The Broons are aff tae Auld Reekie fur a wee break...
_____________________________________________________________________
Part 1.1. Driving to Edinburgh in a rented mini-bus...
“Gies a shot o yir phone, Bairn,” Joe threw his arm out.
“Nah, I’m BBS’n.” She continued tapping on her Blackberry.
“Fuck sake, needin tae check ma coupon!”
“Ah’ll slap yir coupon onymore o that talk,” Pa glared over his shoulder.
“Joe!”- Maw turned in her seat - “Whit have ah telt ye aboot that language! And are you gambling again?”
“No,” Joe challenged out the window.
The following silence was broken by Hen.
“Here...” Hen reached over for Horace’s laptop. “Use this...”
Stopping short after seeing what was on the screen,
“Eh? Whit? What the..?”
Looking up at a red-faced Horace,
“Jeeso bro that’s fuckin nasty...”
Hen sits back crossing his arms.
“Look,” Sted Head Joe turns round. “Can ah just check the fuckin footie scores eh?”
Since the time Maw effortlessly picked up Joe’s box of weights in front of Jeannie, he was determined never to let such an embarrassment happen again. This resulted in him taking steroids by the handful and spending all his free time on the weights at the gym. It also explained his anger issues.
“Pissflaps,” Horace muttered as he handed his now blank laptop over to his brother.
As for the twins, they were sprawled out over the double seats at the back, tripping out their boxes. Staring into his twin’s eyes, the twin states:
“I just can’t work out if you’re really you or not, you know, deep down. Or just another twin like...”
After a pause they burst into shoulder shaking schoolboy laughter.
“SHUT IT!” shouted Joe. “Fkin junkies,” a bit more quietly.
Pulling his baseball cap lower and putting a fresh toothpick into the side of his mouth, Hen exasperates,
“Too much cussin, blood, innit.”
“Ah’m stervin,” whinged Daphnie.
“You’re ayeways stervin,” Maggie replied nonchalantly whilst checking herself out in her compact.
Maw sighed. “There’s some jam pieces in the cooler.”
“I’m sick o thon jam pieces. Nae wonder ah’m the size o a hoose!”
“Tch,” came from Paw in the front. “Just got a big appetite girl, nothing wrong with that. Plus, if it bothers ye that much ye’d get oaf yer arse and do something aboot it!”
“AAAGGHHH!” Grandpa shot up from his slumber. “Fuckin hell, whar’s the life rafts!” His panic merged into confusion as he took in all the shocked staring faces. “Ach crivens. Just a dream.”
“That’s right, Gramps, just a wee nightmare. Wis thon boat torpedoed again?” Maw soothed.
“Aye, aye it was. Horrible, Maw, ah fair scairt masel.”
“Weren’t even in the Navy, ye auld cunt ye,” Joe sighed with scorn.
At this moment Pa screeched the van to a halt on the hard shoulder and near threw himself around in his seat.
“Right! Not another word oot yer mooths, do you shower o shite understand me? Here we are on oor way doon to the bonniest capital city in the world, gettin a bit o pride aboot ye’s afore the voting comes, and all you lot can do is moan and snipe and…Hen! Whit the hell are ye doing wi thon rizlas? Jeeso. And anither thing...”
At this moment Bairn erupts into a flood of tears that she has no intention of stemming, nor quieting the accompanying wails that come wi it.
“Ach Bairn...” Pa consoles her. “Ah wisnae shouting at you my wee lamb, want to come up and sit with me and Maw? Sorry tae upset ye...”
She shakes her head.
“What is it, pet? Needing the toilet?” Maw chimes in as the expert on all things wrong with the Bairn. She exchanges a concerned glance with Pa.
“Naawwww,” she sobs. “Amelia de-friended me on Facebook.” And this admission is enough to bring on a fresh torrent of sobs.
Pa turns round and grips the steering wheel till his smoke stained knuckles turn an almost jaundiced white.
“Not. One. More. Word. Fae Naebday”.
And on that note the Broons mini-bus of madness slowly eases from the hard shoulder and joins the rest of the East bound traffic.
Part 1.2. Outside The Caledonian Hotel, West End Princes Street
“Right,” Pa stood tall, or as tall as he could. “A’bdy back in the hotel foyer for six p.m. Nae ifs, nae buts, just be here. Right Maw, fancy a daunder doon the Nor Loch?” he smiled reaching for her hand.
“The whit loch?” Maggie looked up from her open purse. “In Edinburgh?”
Without removing his gaze from the hotel’s architecture, Horace spoke up,
“Princes Street gardens, used to be the Nor Loch. They drained it when building the New Town. Uncovered loads of drowned dugs, corpses o criminals and the like, all fae the Auld Toon.” Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Horace started to take in the surrounding buildings before carrying on… “Used to drown witches in it, those they didnae burn alive, that is. Loads of them in auld Edina by aw accounts-”
Maggie caught Daphnie’s smirk at this last comment.
“Fuck off you,” Maggie hissed under her breath.
Grandpa shook his head at this exchange, and while Horace waffled on about witches being mere herbalists and Hen asking if he knew their address, he sidled over to Joe who was eyeballing a group of bare chested teens outside the amusement arcade on Shandwick Place.
“Let’s knock fuck oot thum,” he whispers, joining in the stare off.
“I’ll fuckin shite on their bloodied corpses, Gramps, never mind batterin the wee shites,” Joe snarled.
Shocked, Grandpa took a step back. “Jesus wept, son! What happened to a wee friendly paggering?”
Hell’s wrong with this family, he thought, as he walked over to Hen who was mixing imaginary decks with a hand cupped to his ear. Gramps stopped and stared for a moment.
“I’m aff,” he announced and headed in the opposite direction.
To be continued…
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: The Broons are aff tae Auld Reekie fur a wee break...
_____________________________________________________________________
Part 1.1. Driving to Edinburgh in a rented mini-bus...
“Gies a shot o yir phone, Bairn,” Joe threw his arm out.
“Nah, I’m BBS’n.” She continued tapping on her Blackberry.
“Fuck sake, needin tae check ma coupon!”
“Ah’ll slap yir coupon onymore o that talk,” Pa glared over his shoulder.
“Joe!”- Maw turned in her seat - “Whit have ah telt ye aboot that language! And are you gambling again?”
“No,” Joe challenged out the window.
The following silence was broken by Hen.
“Here...” Hen reached over for Horace’s laptop. “Use this...”
Stopping short after seeing what was on the screen,
“Eh? Whit? What the..?”
Looking up at a red-faced Horace,
“Jeeso bro that’s fuckin nasty...”
Hen sits back crossing his arms.
“Look,” Sted Head Joe turns round. “Can ah just check the fuckin footie scores eh?”
Since the time Maw effortlessly picked up Joe’s box of weights in front of Jeannie, he was determined never to let such an embarrassment happen again. This resulted in him taking steroids by the handful and spending all his free time on the weights at the gym. It also explained his anger issues.
“Pissflaps,” Horace muttered as he handed his now blank laptop over to his brother.
As for the twins, they were sprawled out over the double seats at the back, tripping out their boxes. Staring into his twin’s eyes, the twin states:
“I just can’t work out if you’re really you or not, you know, deep down. Or just another twin like...”
After a pause they burst into shoulder shaking schoolboy laughter.
“SHUT IT!” shouted Joe. “Fkin junkies,” a bit more quietly.
Pulling his baseball cap lower and putting a fresh toothpick into the side of his mouth, Hen exasperates,
“Too much cussin, blood, innit.”
“Ah’m stervin,” whinged Daphnie.
“You’re ayeways stervin,” Maggie replied nonchalantly whilst checking herself out in her compact.
Maw sighed. “There’s some jam pieces in the cooler.”
“I’m sick o thon jam pieces. Nae wonder ah’m the size o a hoose!”
“Tch,” came from Paw in the front. “Just got a big appetite girl, nothing wrong with that. Plus, if it bothers ye that much ye’d get oaf yer arse and do something aboot it!”
“AAAGGHHH!” Grandpa shot up from his slumber. “Fuckin hell, whar’s the life rafts!” His panic merged into confusion as he took in all the shocked staring faces. “Ach crivens. Just a dream.”
“That’s right, Gramps, just a wee nightmare. Wis thon boat torpedoed again?” Maw soothed.
“Aye, aye it was. Horrible, Maw, ah fair scairt masel.”
“Weren’t even in the Navy, ye auld cunt ye,” Joe sighed with scorn.
At this moment Pa screeched the van to a halt on the hard shoulder and near threw himself around in his seat.
“Right! Not another word oot yer mooths, do you shower o shite understand me? Here we are on oor way doon to the bonniest capital city in the world, gettin a bit o pride aboot ye’s afore the voting comes, and all you lot can do is moan and snipe and…Hen! Whit the hell are ye doing wi thon rizlas? Jeeso. And anither thing...”
At this moment Bairn erupts into a flood of tears that she has no intention of stemming, nor quieting the accompanying wails that come wi it.
“Ach Bairn...” Pa consoles her. “Ah wisnae shouting at you my wee lamb, want to come up and sit with me and Maw? Sorry tae upset ye...”
She shakes her head.
“What is it, pet? Needing the toilet?” Maw chimes in as the expert on all things wrong with the Bairn. She exchanges a concerned glance with Pa.
“Naawwww,” she sobs. “Amelia de-friended me on Facebook.” And this admission is enough to bring on a fresh torrent of sobs.
Pa turns round and grips the steering wheel till his smoke stained knuckles turn an almost jaundiced white.
“Not. One. More. Word. Fae Naebday”.
And on that note the Broons mini-bus of madness slowly eases from the hard shoulder and joins the rest of the East bound traffic.
Part 1.2. Outside The Caledonian Hotel, West End Princes Street
“Right,” Pa stood tall, or as tall as he could. “A’bdy back in the hotel foyer for six p.m. Nae ifs, nae buts, just be here. Right Maw, fancy a daunder doon the Nor Loch?” he smiled reaching for her hand.
“The whit loch?” Maggie looked up from her open purse. “In Edinburgh?”
Without removing his gaze from the hotel’s architecture, Horace spoke up,
“Princes Street gardens, used to be the Nor Loch. They drained it when building the New Town. Uncovered loads of drowned dugs, corpses o criminals and the like, all fae the Auld Toon.” Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Horace started to take in the surrounding buildings before carrying on… “Used to drown witches in it, those they didnae burn alive, that is. Loads of them in auld Edina by aw accounts-”
Maggie caught Daphnie’s smirk at this last comment.
“Fuck off you,” Maggie hissed under her breath.
Grandpa shook his head at this exchange, and while Horace waffled on about witches being mere herbalists and Hen asking if he knew their address, he sidled over to Joe who was eyeballing a group of bare chested teens outside the amusement arcade on Shandwick Place.
“Let’s knock fuck oot thum,” he whispers, joining in the stare off.
“I’ll fuckin shite on their bloodied corpses, Gramps, never mind batterin the wee shites,” Joe snarled.
Shocked, Grandpa took a step back. “Jesus wept, son! What happened to a wee friendly paggering?”
Hell’s wrong with this family, he thought, as he walked over to Hen who was mixing imaginary decks with a hand cupped to his ear. Gramps stopped and stared for a moment.
“I’m aff,” he announced and headed in the opposite direction.
To be continued…
About the Author
Born in Dunfermline, raised on the Orkney Isles and now residing in Cheshire, Andrew Velzian says he scribbles a few stories in between working and sleeping.