I have an acquaintance. He’s not a mate, and he certainly isn’t a friend.
He’s Scots, which in and of itself is not bad. I know lots of very intelligent, very charming Scottish people. Not one of them comes from Glasgow.
I’m going to make a sweeping generalisation now. Most Weegies are aggressive, combative gobshites. They’re even more opinionated than I am, and are capable of talking complete bollocks with complete conviction for hours on end. My acquaintance has all these sterling qualities, coupled with a complete inability to talk quietly. Everything he says is shouted at the sort of volume used to stun elephants, and at breakneck speed. He’s a verbal Scottish Motorhead.
Yesterday I was having a quiet pint with a friend. He and I don’t always agree, but one thing we have in common is we’re both quietly spoken. We were standing by the bar, and Weegieboy came in and stood at one end, clearly having been somewhere else first, if you get my drift. We just ignored him. However, his attention was attracted by a bunch of estate agents at the other end of the bar. They too were in an excitable state, but were merely boisterous as opposed to pissed Weegie.
Somehow or other, Weegieboy got into a conversation with them, but instead of being sensible and going to join them he carried on the conversation from where he was. This made life difficult for my friend and myself.
Anyway, Weegie launched off on one about how we’d never had the chance to vote on membership of the EU before. I lost patience at this point.
‘How old were you in 1975?’
‘Am 58 now.’
‘So in 1975 you got to vote in the referendum on whether or not to join the EEC?’
‘Ah didnae vote ferrit.’
‘Lots of other people did. It’s called democracy.’
This didn’t go down too well, and my friend and I had to ask him to keep the noise down a bit. He was attracting some looks from the staff as well, which didn’t bode well.
Eventually he lurched off, initially missed the door, and finally made it out. Of the wrong door. He should have used the back door, since this had access to the carpark where his wheels were parked. I only found that out by chance when another friend arrived later and said he’d just had to take avoiding action as he drove up the road.
Later, one of the departing estate agents came over and said, ‘I hope we didn’t upset your friend.’
As one man we all said, ‘He’s not our friend. We just know him.’