The Uniform Is The Only Style

Recently I was travelling home from work on a Saturday lunchtime on the train about lunchtime.

When I got on the carriage was kind of half full. Opposite me at the other window was a couple sitting across the wee table from each other.

The man was in full Celtic regalia. Celtic shirt, dark green trackie trousers, white trainers. The girl had on white trousers with a silver belt, a thin white hoodie top with a silver design on the back. I could see the back as she was bent forward with her chest against the table edge and her arms hugged around her.

He started whistling some tune and after a very short time I noticed it repeating. It was either a very short song or that's the only bit he knew. I think the latter.

As well as whistling he was singing a line, again the same thing over and over.

"The uniform is the only style.....whistle whistle whistle...the uniform is the only style.....whistle whistle whistle.....". I've Googled this phrase and found nothing on it. I thought it must be some well known song but it seems not. It was a new composition.

He was slouched back in his seat while entertaining the troops with his right foot up on the seat opposite beside his girlfriend. Suddenly he sat up and said to her...

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking invited the cunt intae the hoose, you fucking invited Archie in, don't gie me any o' your shite, shut the fuck up".

He leant back again, and was silent.

I was scared to look across in case I caught his eye and he turned on me, as I had the feeling he may do that.

She was silent.

He then leant across the small table and put his arms around her.

She was crying. She was wiping her eyes. She leant back in her seat which exposed her stretched belly. She was pregnant. About 6 months by the looks of it.

Now that's how to properly court a girl in Glasgow. They probably were still courting. The baby's probably not his.

Would You Like a Brick With That?

The neds round my way are getting more vicious as they are all over the place. My street is used as a thorough fare between two particular areas, and the neds from each place don't appear to like each other too much. On Friday and Saturday nights we can hear banging, shouting and screaming going past. I've had my cars keyed a couple of times and vandalised more but the incident that happened recently was the worst by far.

A neighbour had come back from the town on the train about 10pm and was walking back home. The route dictates that you have to walk through either one of two tunnels, which is invariably where a bunch of neds hang out. It's pot luck whichever route you choose from the station as the streets go in a circuitous route back to the same point where you must go through these tunnels to get to our street. If you see one tunnel is blocked you might have a long walk back to the station to go back again through the other just to avoid them.

A few months ago a guy walking his young daughter back from school had to walk through the tunnel and past a group of neds. He asked them to stop swearing because of his daughter. They beat him to the ground and kicked his head in. He was an off duty Police Officer.

I've been beaten down and kicked in the head before. Luckily the offender was wearing his white trainers which were relatively soft when hitting my skull. They matched his all white tracksuit. The policeman actually laughed when I gave him that description. That was in Finnieston.

My neighbour isn't frightened of them so he walked straight through this group of about eight males/females, about 15-18 years old. And there the games began.

"Whit you lookin at?" said one guy.
"Nothing, pal."

"Whit'll ye dae if I punch you?", said a wee lassie, which she promptly did, right to the side of his head.

"What'll you do if I do that to you?" he asked back.

At which point they started to surround him. He got off his mark. He might not be scared but he's not stupid. Eight wee psycho neds against one. They chased him the couple of hundred yards past his house and got round him on all sides.

The slab of concrete they threw first just missed his head. I found it later beside my car, happy it wasn't on my car. It was about 18 inches long, 3 inches deep, by 7 inches wide with a metal rod sticking out both ends.

Next came the brick. Straight in his face, and he went down. We heard screaming outside and by the time we looked out we just saw his wife run past. She told us she'd gone round the corner and they'd run off. His legs were like jelly so she had to drag him back to the house.

As I was standing outside later talking to a guy who'd seen it all, he commented that one of them was coming past again, but that he'd changed his top to avoid identification by the Police. A Police van turned up, seemingly spoke to the group, were given details of the change of clothes, but appear to have made no arrests at all.

The neds have some nerve. They've just smashed someone in the head with a brick, the Police are there and they're still wandering about.

And the icing on the cake, as they passed his 15 year old girlfriend enquired of me,

"Whit are you staring at you cunt?"

I said nothing to her. No respect or decency at all. Tch tch.

I'm going out this Saturday night. Let's see if I make it home.