A loast weeken' in ri middle e' ri week
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Romance
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Ri moarnin' efter ri moarnin' efter ri night afore... mibbes.
_____________________________________________________________________
'E didnae need tae open 'es een, 'e could smell it. 'Es lug wis in a stinkin' aul' ashtray an' 'es throat felt lit 'e hid been inhalin' ri fag-en's aw night long. Bit rat wisnae whit brote 'um oot e' 'es slumber, naw, rat wid bey ri big toe rit nearly poaped 'es left eye oot. It wis a wummin's toe, ri nail wis paintit purply pink and rur wis a gold ring whair ri toe jine't oantae ri fit.
“Watter,” 'e managed tae croak, “ huv ye git ony watter rer?”
“See whin ye gerrup fur some,” says a wummin's vice fae aboot five an' a hauf fit fae ri big toe, “ye widnae like tae bring me some tae, wid ye?”
'E taen a wee meenit tae gaithur 'es thotes, quite shair rur wis a wye roon ris wee conundrum. 'E open't 'es good eye, ri wan rit hid jeest been poked, an' tried tae focus beyond ri big toe. Furst 'hing tae dawn oan 'um wis ri certain fur sure fact rit 'e wisnae et 'es ain bit. Rur wis a vague recognition e' ri wallpaper an' nuhin' else. 'E clear't 'es throat is best 'e could.
“A 'hink yu'll fun rit a'm a guest in ris hoose, an' guests is s'posed tae get luc't efter. Ken whit a'm sayin' here?”
“Fuckin' men,” says ri vice. It didnae sound too friendly. 'E didnae lerrit borr 'um. “A wis furra lie-in ris moarnin' so a wis.”
“Bring mey some watter an' ye kin kip aw day efter rat. How dis rat sound?”
“Yur no' gawny shurrup tae a dae it, ur ye?”
“Ye seem tae ken mey weel.”
“Aw right, aw right a'm gaun',” she says, an' dinked 'um in ri same peeper again wi' ri same big toe whin she stirred, “a'll no' bey a meenit.”
'E could a' scream't, bit e' didnae 'hink 'e could gether enough saliva tae make it worthwhile. 'E settl't furra wee barb. “Make shair ye run ri tap furra meenit wull'nt ye? Ye ken whit ri watter's like nooadays.”
'E slurched 'es lug oot e' ri ashtray et ri saikint attempt an' birrult roon tae get a swatch et 'ur erse, birry couldnae focus. She didnae seem tae bey in ony hurry tae cover 'ersel' up.
'E wiped 'es ear oan ri black sheet an' managed tae spill ri coantents e' ri ashtray while 'e wis et it, 'hinkin' ri end result luc't worse rin a damp patch. 'E slid ower tae ri wa' so's tae distance 'esel' fae ony blame.
“Jeezo!” she says whin she gote back wi' ri watter, “a jeest chinged rem sheets rur day rer an' luck et ri state.”
“Ye shouldnae smoke in bed,” says he, drinkin' in ri view, “in fact, ye shouldnae smoke at aw.”
“A don't smoke me. Well, mibbes r'oad joint ur two, jeest tae bey sociable, ye ken?”
“Rem's no' roaches lyin' rer, an' a don't smoke sa ye musta bin smokin', eh?”
“It musta bin Selma rit wis smokin'.”
“Selma?”
“Ri wee burd wi' ri purple an' yella hair.”
“Here! A wis getting' right intae hur last night doon et ri Shove Inn. It's aw comin' back te mey noo.”
“A 'hink yu'll fun rat wis ri night afore,” she says, idly scratchin' et ri upper inside e' 'ur thigh. It didnae register et furst sin' 'e wis getting' a right eyfuul. Whin whit she says did sink, in 'e luc't suitably puzzl't.
“How's rat again? Whit day is it ataw? Whair um a?”
“Right, right. Wee Selma brung ye roon' tae ma bit last night 'cos 'ur ex wis hasslin' 'ur an' because ye hud a cairy oot an' a lump a hash........”
“........Ma hash, 'e interruptit. Whirruva done wi' ma hash?”
“Search me.”
“If y'uv goarit oan ye a'll fun it. C'mere ower here a wee meenit tae a search ye.”
“Yurra funny bastart right enough. A sussed rat oot last night so a did.”
“Whair's ma sokes? Fun ma sokes an' wu'll fun ma hash.”
“Ye keep yur hash in yur sokes?”
“Huv ye ever shared a hoose wi' folk ye darenay turn yur back oan?”
“Say nae mair. Whair'll yur sokes be?”
“In ma trooser poakit.”
“Yur jeans is lyin' rer et ri fit e' ri bed.”
“Wull, see's rum here wull ye?”
“Jeezo! A thote a wis tae get a lie-in efter a brote yur watter?”
“Yu'll need tae take a dustpan an' brush tae rey sheets afore ye even 'hink aboot getting' back in here wummin'.........unless yur wan e' they clarty bisoms.”
“Haud oan,” she says, ignorin' ri slight, “a'll bey back in a wee meenit.”
“SA WHAIR UM A?” 'e shoutit efter 'ur, “WHAIR RI HELL UM A?”
She paddit in wi' a damp tea towel an' stertit dabbin' et ri fag ash. “Ma hoose.......ma flat,” she says.
'E flung 'es een tae ri heavens, lerrin' 'ur see jeest whit a numptie 'e thote she wis. “A meant geographically....whair um a exactly?”
“Solkits.”
“Here hen. Try tae keep up wi' mey here, ur ur ye jeest actin' thick tae get a rise oot e' mey? Whairaboots in Solkits um a?”
“Ri high flats.”
“Lambie ur O'Connor?”
“Eh? Oh, Lambie Coort.”
“Whit flair.”
“Near ri middle, bit how?”
“A waant tae ken whit windaes tae fling stanes et whin a git oot e' ri place is how.”
“Noo yu'r jeest bein' funny again, uren't ye?”
“Ma murr an' faira styed in O'Connor coort fur years so rey did. Great views ower ri bay and ri Cumbraes.”
“Aw a kin see is ri Glebe.”
“Ah! Fun ma hash. D'ye waant a wee nibble?”
“A don't ken how ye kin eat it lit rat. Disnae taste vury nice. Bit aye, a'll huv a wee bit, aye.”
“Whit ur ye dain' noo?”
“Gerrin' back intae bed...ma bed by ri wye. Shove up.”
“Whair's yur weans?”
“Ri youngist shot ri craw aboot six munss ago so she did. How? Whit makes ye ask?”
“A kin see 'ur skill uniform in ri wardrobe rer, reflected in ri mirra”
“Rat's mine, no' ri wean's. If ye dig in furthur yu'll fun a maid's outfit an' some e' rat spray-oan Latex-Lurex-Velcro gear.”
“Oh aye,” 'e says, raisin' ri wan eyebrow an regardin' 'ur in a much diffrint light, “rat's it, a'll need tae get masel' hame so a wull.”
“How?”
“Tae get ma camera is how.”
“Rat's you wi' ri jokes again. A kin tell. Whit's yur name ony road?”
“Yu'r a funny wan right enough so ye ur.”
“How?”
“Whair did ye say rat wee Selma styed.”
“A didnae. Bit she's right up above is oan ri nixt flair rer.”
“Wull. She probly heard ye screamin' ma name fae ri tap e' ri wardrobe in ri night.”
“Naw, no way.”
“How?”
“ 'Cos she wis in here wi' us fur maist e' ri night. She wis watchin' oot ri windae fur ri polis liftin' 'ur ex-man. Bit she wis jinin' in et ri same time.”
“Oh Goad.”
“Whit? It wis your idea tae huv a threesome.”
“A'm gonnae huv tae lea' aff rat Jack Daniels so am ur.”
“How?”
“A mean. A used tae could booze an' dae ri hash et ri same time birra cannae seem tae dae it rese days ataw. A'v missed aw ri fun so a huv.”
“Wull, a kin vouch furrit rit ye wur rer...an' so kin wee Selma. Noo! Kin a go back tae sleep ur whit?”
“Aye, nae borr. Bit jeest wan 'hing, eh?”
“Whit's rat ren?”
“Watch whit yur dain' wi' rat big toe wull ye? S'lethal rat so it is.”
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Ri moarnin' efter ri moarnin' efter ri night afore... mibbes.
_____________________________________________________________________
'E didnae need tae open 'es een, 'e could smell it. 'Es lug wis in a stinkin' aul' ashtray an' 'es throat felt lit 'e hid been inhalin' ri fag-en's aw night long. Bit rat wisnae whit brote 'um oot e' 'es slumber, naw, rat wid bey ri big toe rit nearly poaped 'es left eye oot. It wis a wummin's toe, ri nail wis paintit purply pink and rur wis a gold ring whair ri toe jine't oantae ri fit.
“Watter,” 'e managed tae croak, “ huv ye git ony watter rer?”
“See whin ye gerrup fur some,” says a wummin's vice fae aboot five an' a hauf fit fae ri big toe, “ye widnae like tae bring me some tae, wid ye?”
'E taen a wee meenit tae gaithur 'es thotes, quite shair rur wis a wye roon ris wee conundrum. 'E open't 'es good eye, ri wan rit hid jeest been poked, an' tried tae focus beyond ri big toe. Furst 'hing tae dawn oan 'um wis ri certain fur sure fact rit 'e wisnae et 'es ain bit. Rur wis a vague recognition e' ri wallpaper an' nuhin' else. 'E clear't 'es throat is best 'e could.
“A 'hink yu'll fun rit a'm a guest in ris hoose, an' guests is s'posed tae get luc't efter. Ken whit a'm sayin' here?”
“Fuckin' men,” says ri vice. It didnae sound too friendly. 'E didnae lerrit borr 'um. “A wis furra lie-in ris moarnin' so a wis.”
“Bring mey some watter an' ye kin kip aw day efter rat. How dis rat sound?”
“Yur no' gawny shurrup tae a dae it, ur ye?”
“Ye seem tae ken mey weel.”
“Aw right, aw right a'm gaun',” she says, an' dinked 'um in ri same peeper again wi' ri same big toe whin she stirred, “a'll no' bey a meenit.”
'E could a' scream't, bit e' didnae 'hink 'e could gether enough saliva tae make it worthwhile. 'E settl't furra wee barb. “Make shair ye run ri tap furra meenit wull'nt ye? Ye ken whit ri watter's like nooadays.”
'E slurched 'es lug oot e' ri ashtray et ri saikint attempt an' birrult roon tae get a swatch et 'ur erse, birry couldnae focus. She didnae seem tae bey in ony hurry tae cover 'ersel' up.
'E wiped 'es ear oan ri black sheet an' managed tae spill ri coantents e' ri ashtray while 'e wis et it, 'hinkin' ri end result luc't worse rin a damp patch. 'E slid ower tae ri wa' so's tae distance 'esel' fae ony blame.
“Jeezo!” she says whin she gote back wi' ri watter, “a jeest chinged rem sheets rur day rer an' luck et ri state.”
“Ye shouldnae smoke in bed,” says he, drinkin' in ri view, “in fact, ye shouldnae smoke at aw.”
“A don't smoke me. Well, mibbes r'oad joint ur two, jeest tae bey sociable, ye ken?”
“Rem's no' roaches lyin' rer, an' a don't smoke sa ye musta bin smokin', eh?”
“It musta bin Selma rit wis smokin'.”
“Selma?”
“Ri wee burd wi' ri purple an' yella hair.”
“Here! A wis getting' right intae hur last night doon et ri Shove Inn. It's aw comin' back te mey noo.”
“A 'hink yu'll fun rat wis ri night afore,” she says, idly scratchin' et ri upper inside e' 'ur thigh. It didnae register et furst sin' 'e wis getting' a right eyfuul. Whin whit she says did sink, in 'e luc't suitably puzzl't.
“How's rat again? Whit day is it ataw? Whair um a?”
“Right, right. Wee Selma brung ye roon' tae ma bit last night 'cos 'ur ex wis hasslin' 'ur an' because ye hud a cairy oot an' a lump a hash........”
“........Ma hash, 'e interruptit. Whirruva done wi' ma hash?”
“Search me.”
“If y'uv goarit oan ye a'll fun it. C'mere ower here a wee meenit tae a search ye.”
“Yurra funny bastart right enough. A sussed rat oot last night so a did.”
“Whair's ma sokes? Fun ma sokes an' wu'll fun ma hash.”
“Ye keep yur hash in yur sokes?”
“Huv ye ever shared a hoose wi' folk ye darenay turn yur back oan?”
“Say nae mair. Whair'll yur sokes be?”
“In ma trooser poakit.”
“Yur jeans is lyin' rer et ri fit e' ri bed.”
“Wull, see's rum here wull ye?”
“Jeezo! A thote a wis tae get a lie-in efter a brote yur watter?”
“Yu'll need tae take a dustpan an' brush tae rey sheets afore ye even 'hink aboot getting' back in here wummin'.........unless yur wan e' they clarty bisoms.”
“Haud oan,” she says, ignorin' ri slight, “a'll bey back in a wee meenit.”
“SA WHAIR UM A?” 'e shoutit efter 'ur, “WHAIR RI HELL UM A?”
She paddit in wi' a damp tea towel an' stertit dabbin' et ri fag ash. “Ma hoose.......ma flat,” she says.
'E flung 'es een tae ri heavens, lerrin' 'ur see jeest whit a numptie 'e thote she wis. “A meant geographically....whair um a exactly?”
“Solkits.”
“Here hen. Try tae keep up wi' mey here, ur ur ye jeest actin' thick tae get a rise oot e' mey? Whairaboots in Solkits um a?”
“Ri high flats.”
“Lambie ur O'Connor?”
“Eh? Oh, Lambie Coort.”
“Whit flair.”
“Near ri middle, bit how?”
“A waant tae ken whit windaes tae fling stanes et whin a git oot e' ri place is how.”
“Noo yu'r jeest bein' funny again, uren't ye?”
“Ma murr an' faira styed in O'Connor coort fur years so rey did. Great views ower ri bay and ri Cumbraes.”
“Aw a kin see is ri Glebe.”
“Ah! Fun ma hash. D'ye waant a wee nibble?”
“A don't ken how ye kin eat it lit rat. Disnae taste vury nice. Bit aye, a'll huv a wee bit, aye.”
“Whit ur ye dain' noo?”
“Gerrin' back intae bed...ma bed by ri wye. Shove up.”
“Whair's yur weans?”
“Ri youngist shot ri craw aboot six munss ago so she did. How? Whit makes ye ask?”
“A kin see 'ur skill uniform in ri wardrobe rer, reflected in ri mirra”
“Rat's mine, no' ri wean's. If ye dig in furthur yu'll fun a maid's outfit an' some e' rat spray-oan Latex-Lurex-Velcro gear.”
“Oh aye,” 'e says, raisin' ri wan eyebrow an regardin' 'ur in a much diffrint light, “rat's it, a'll need tae get masel' hame so a wull.”
“How?”
“Tae get ma camera is how.”
“Rat's you wi' ri jokes again. A kin tell. Whit's yur name ony road?”
“Yu'r a funny wan right enough so ye ur.”
“How?”
“Whair did ye say rat wee Selma styed.”
“A didnae. Bit she's right up above is oan ri nixt flair rer.”
“Wull. She probly heard ye screamin' ma name fae ri tap e' ri wardrobe in ri night.”
“Naw, no way.”
“How?”
“ 'Cos she wis in here wi' us fur maist e' ri night. She wis watchin' oot ri windae fur ri polis liftin' 'ur ex-man. Bit she wis jinin' in et ri same time.”
“Oh Goad.”
“Whit? It wis your idea tae huv a threesome.”
“A'm gonnae huv tae lea' aff rat Jack Daniels so am ur.”
“How?”
“A mean. A used tae could booze an' dae ri hash et ri same time birra cannae seem tae dae it rese days ataw. A'v missed aw ri fun so a huv.”
“Wull, a kin vouch furrit rit ye wur rer...an' so kin wee Selma. Noo! Kin a go back tae sleep ur whit?”
“Aye, nae borr. Bit jeest wan 'hing, eh?”
“Whit's rat ren?”
“Watch whit yur dain' wi' rat big toe wull ye? S'lethal rat so it is.”
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He has a number of publications to his name, including Coont Thum and Tattie Zkowen's Perfect Days, both of which have been published by McStorytellers.