Loitering on corners; a traditional Govan pastime in which the full gamut of human emotion may be observed. Humour and comradeship, anger and vindictiveness, mockery and shame, a sharing of knowledge and ideas, the exchange of news and views. All this and more, carried out in a spirit of aimlessness, have been witnessed on the street corners down the generations.
At this particular street corner, a stone's throw or so from Govan X, we get an interesting insight into the entrepreneurial skills of a well off young loiterer. We're just staunin, kicking our feet from side to side because it's February and freezing still. A large wad of notes is drawn from the youngster's pocket and a Twenty Pound Note is peeled off. He's a wee smarty with a runt of the litter look, in his late teens but still has to show his i.d. when he wants a packet of fags.
We are invited to check oot the twenty. It's one of the new Bank of Scotland kind, crisp and colourful. Look at the front. Look at the back. Hold it up to the dull street light.
The paper's different fae the real wans.
Naw it's no'.
Aye, it is. It is.
Therr's nae hologram.
Aye - look.
The Caxton amongst us proclaims it a fine counterfeit note, well worthy of praise.
Govan's own city trader is well friendly and full of fun. He explains that he pays his supplier a tenner for a £20 note. Then he goes out and spends, taking care to distribute the fake currency evenly throughout the community. He's given this a fair bit of thought.
"Right, so, this is wan 'hing a dae," he says with a grin. "Jump a taxi an' oan the wey ah go, let us aff a minute driver till ah get cash. So then ah go up tae the cash machine and kid oan ah'm gettin money oot and then a pey 'im wi' the fake. Dead easy - just pass them aff in chippies, cairry-oots en'in like that."
"Whoodje get them affa?"
"Naw," he says very firmly and with a quick shake of his head. "That's the 'hing. Ah can't tell ye that." And he rolls the note back in with the rest and stuffs it in his pocket with a knowing look.