Thursday, 22 March 2012
In the evening, two lads turn the corner into our street and only take a couple of steps before stopping to engage in a hearty argument, shouting and pushing at each other. Gerry is more vigorous than Mick and rails at his pal, who drops his head and starts to walk on.
As they near the end of the street where it meets Govan Road, they stop again and Mick droops down on to the ground and slumps into the corner by the railings at the close mouth.
Gerry bends down and pokes his finger into Mick's face.
"It's back therr, it's back therr," he is roaring aggresively, "Jist get back therr n get it, go oan, goan gerrit."
"Naw, Ah canny," says Mick, curling up into himself and shaking his head, " Ah'm no gaun back." He mumbles a lot.
The pair are 30 somethings, thin, thin, thin with big jumpers hanging baggily around their skinny bodies.
Gerry starts the shouting again, just the same stuff, "Ye've goat tae go back, c'mon, go back n gerrit. It's oan the table in there, in the living room."
A little gaggle of children come dancing by and stop in front of the men; a few five or six year old boys, a couple of older boys, all led by a nine year old smarty pants girl.
She squawks to the street, "They're junkies, ha ha, they're looking fur their hash, look at them, they're junkies." And she continues, even addressing the men directly, "Yous are junkies. Wherr's yer hash? Haha!"
The wee gang of boys are laughing too and jeering at the men.
Mick in the corner is still sitting with his head drooping on his chest. Gerry turns on the marauding mob of children, "Haw, see you," he points to a boy, "Ah know your faimly, Ah know your faimly, Ah'll be huvin wurds wi your faimly."
"Naw ye don't," the boy retorts.
Gerry draws up, "Aye, Darren McC. right. Your cousin. Ah dae know'm, n ah'll be huvin words."
But the boy is unperturbed and faces up to him, "Ah'm no related tae him."
"Aye, ye ur n Ah'll be huvin words," and so it goes on and on, back and forth.
The girl hails a wee blondie boy cycling past on a bike.
"Heh, they're two junkies looking fur their hash."
He stops, turns his bike around and comes back to listen while she recounts the tale of how these two men have been fighting and how they've lost their hash and how it's dead funny.
And all the while, Gerry and Mick stand on the pavement and sit in the corner and listen helplessly.