A 21st Party. What To Take? Bottle? Food? Gun?

I heard a disturbing story a few weeks ago from a guy I work with.

One of his pals went to a 21st party in a house on the southside of Glasgow. It was a joint 21st for two friends.

One of the families was there, over from Africa, and what a contrast. He said the house was packed full of wee Glasgwegian neds, and huge black guys.

The night was going well with plenty of bevvy consumed as you'd expect, people dancing and everyone on a high, until one of the little neds decided to move things on a level and glassed one of the black guys in the face. Reason? Unknown.

Chaos breaks out. Girls screaming. People banging into each other to get away.

One of the black guy's friends steps up beside him. He was well over 6 feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, and he squares up to the ned who was still acting the hardman with all his mates, strutting around on his toes like a boxer waiting for someone to try something with him.

The black guy stripped off his shirt and his muscles were practically glistening under the lights. at the sight of this the ned immediately backed up, but was still shouting abuse, his hands stretched out behind him, either to check if was up against the wall or if any of his mates were still there.

Seconds later, the black guy reached behind him and pulled a gun from the waistband of his trousers and started waving it about.

This guy said he was standing at the edge of the room when this was happening and he had never seen a room empty so quickly. And so quietly. He ran with everyone out to the street and he even saw the ned at the front of the surge of people. Wee shitebag.

Tesco Hikers

I was in Tesco in Milngavie one morning this week when I noticed the suburban country set were out in force. Everywhere I looked there was retired people in fleeces or large red waterproof jackets and some with sturdy 'walking shoes'.

I don’t know why they’ve opted for this look. It’s a bit like neds in their tracksuits, looking as if they should be training, these retirees seem to wish to look as though they are going off for a bit of cross country hiking.

However a quick walk out to the car park will prove this attempt fruitless as they've all got their Mercs and Beemers parked there ready to take them back up the road to their desirable detached villas.

It's another one of the looks adopted by people who I would say are well off. There is one I have noticed of some of the mature ladies that live in that area, and that is to turn up the collar of their blouses under their wool sweaters so it stands vertically (imagine Elvis's jumpsuits). It's a strange one but one that I find is quite common. In fact it's a giveaway sometimes when I get on the train going home from work, particularly on a Saturday when they've beem out shopping or lunching in some tasteful but expensive eatery, as the train can go down either one of two lines, and when I see an upturned collar under a piece of expensive wool, I know I'm on the right train.

Murder In Progress...Go Around

I was driving through Drumchapel a few nights ago, and there was a queue of traffic in front of me going onto a roundabout. It's a major roundabout on the main road through the west of Glasgow. It's the A82 road, I've checked and it actually starts in Inverness in the (almost) north of Scotland (as far north as I've been) and it ends in the centre of Glasgow where it meets the M8.


Over a small grassy hill beside some shops came a posse of neds. There was about 10 of them. Every single one of them was wearing a tracksuit. I wouldn't expect anything else of them. It's the next national dress. Looks shite though.


They piled across the road, fighting with each other, kicking each other. They didn't even stop for traffic. One car came off the roundabout at a bit of speed and nearly killed one of them as he strolled across the road. I accelerated slightly before being quickly told not to by the wife in case 10 of the wee bastards decided to stop killing each other and decided to come after a moving car. It's unbelievable. How fucking stupid are these people to have a fight as they're crossing a main road?

I remember a time some years ago when I was driving back from Stepps, north east of Glasgow. We had gone to see a band who we would potentially hire for our wedding (see next post), and we were going along a dual carriageway and came up to a junction with traffic lights where there was a pub on the corner standing alone as often in Glasgow, pubs do.

As I neared the junction, the pub doors opened and about five people tumbled out. Two were fighting with each other. The five were followed by about thirty or forty others (thirty or forty...no shit) and these two guys were oblivious to anything else and brought their fight to the centre of the road. One guy went down on the road and the other started kicking him in the head. It was some sight. I saw a gap near the central barrier at the right and realising the potential danger I (and my car) was in, I slowly moved the car round them and horsed it down the road, looking at the fight in my rear view mirror.

Drunk Diving

I was out at the weekend for a wee swim with my son and went to the PlayDrome in Clydebank. I paid a little more for the thrill of having large chutes available so we could experience sliding down the massive chute and disappearing into the swirling pool at the bottom, and trying to clamour back to the surface and coughing out the water from my airways. Oh the joys.

Alas only one chute was open. The wee one. I say wee, it's still as high as the ceiling but to get up any speed you have to get your arse off the surface and slide on your heels and shoulder blades. This of course causes acute pain to those areas sliding along hard plastic at speed. I did it once. Never again.

Anyway, the wave machine was next. Bloody fantastic. I now know if was actually at sea, I'd drown. I never appreciated how hard it was to swim vertically. I had to do it as my son was there and I didn't want him to see me struggling to stay afloat and coughing with each mouthful of water, so I smiled at him and tried to keep my head above the water. Several times though the wave came up behind me, totally covering me, and I had to bob through the water to a calm bit to push the hair and water out my eyes and force myself to shout "Great isn't it?!"

The pool was also quite busy with your groups of various ages.

The twelve year olds were amusing. They were sitting opposite us in the jacuzzi at one point and the boys were fighting with each other, and twisting each other's arms in a clear show of masculinity for the girls who just talked amongst themselves. Unimpressed. At one point, the girls asked them;

"Do any of yous fancy any of us?"
"Aye" says one boy as they confer with each other.
"Which wan?"
"Her" one boys says, pointing. Oh so romantic.
"Which wan o' yous though?"
"Him". One of them pointing.

So that's how you chat up a girl. So many of my teenage years wasted. If only I'd known the secret, I'd have got my Nat King much earlier. Not at twelve though. That would be illegal. Good, but illegal. I'm not condoning that, oh no.

The next group were the neds. The eighteen year old guys with the muscled bodies, shaved heads and battered faces. They were running round, splashing people, throwing floats around, just missing me, and making a friggin nuisance of themselves. At one point a blue float flew past me within inches of my face and I turned and stared at the prick and mouthed something which hopefully looked like "What the fuck are you doing you little prick?", while letting mt jaw hang slack as if I had more to say. I got a palms raised apology, and I stared at them for a few seconds longer to show them I wasn't to be messed with.

Now clearly, if my son hadn't been there, there's no fucking way I have even looked at them. If I had, I'd have apologised to them for being in their way. There's no way they were going to set about me in the pool in front of everyone and even if I'd got out, changed and reached the front door, I can run like a motherfucker if someone's chasing me, and I've got a car as well.


Then there was the two older neds. You know the guys whose intelligence didn't quite corrolate with their physical age as they grew. I'm sure there's a medical term for that. Two guys, again, very fit looking, shaved heads, unshaven, battered, scarred faces, and clearly a bit pissed. It was 3pm, and they at the swimming pool...drunk.

They were being a bit loud and unruly, and I pished myself laughing as the pool manager, some overweight goober in a shirt and tie, and a wee radio, called one of them over to the side and said "I need a word" and indicated he should move up the shallow end. I watched as the man gestured for the drunk to leave the pool and get out, which he sheepishly did. The hardman seemed to know he'd met his match. A pool manager with a bad tie.

Burberry x 5

Now there's Burberry and there's fake Burberry.

I recall a few years ago, there was a rise in people wearing Burberry, but unfortunately for the Burberry company, it was mostly 'undesirables.'   Neds.

At the start of the week, I passed the job centre on Renfield Street and outside were 8 neds. In full uniform. Tracksuits a-plenty.

I haven't seen Burberry caps for some time but as I walked past I saw that 4 of these guys had the fake Burberry caps perched on the back of their heads. I stared at them as I walked past. Couldn't help it. When I passed them I saw another three neds coming towards me. All wearing tracksuits. One of them was holding his fake Burberry cap in his hand but doing something you don't see too often. He was busy stuffing it down the front of his tracksuit and into the front of his underwear. God knows why. Maybe his tracksuit pockets aren't big enough.

John My Pal, The Attempted Murderer

When I was at school I'll never forget my first day at secondary school.

I was from one of the better schools in the area. I'm not bumming myself up, that's what the other kids told me. Until then I'd never known the other schools were so shit. Apparently we were the only school that had carpets. "Did you not?" I used to ask confused. Anyway first day in registration, just getting used to the fact you get totally split up from your mates all day, me and another guy practically clinged to each other when we realised we were in registration together. Being quite shy, the both of us, we sat up the back.

Little did we know, the nutters, being workshy and a bit mental sat up the back too. Beside us.

What fun they had that first day, taking the piss out the two "poash boys". How amusing it was for them that we wore blazers and ties to school.

"Why are ye wearing them?"

"Because we've got to," we said eyeing up their windcheaters and open neck shirts.

"Who says ye've got to."

"Our Mums."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha."

And so many more.

Strangely, over that first year with sitting beside them for the first ten minutes of every day they began to realise we were not a couple of posh wee wankers from a privileged background and we realised they were not complete psychos...all the time. They were nice once we became their pals.

John and Bob. Twas their names. Or Joan and Boab, to give it the correct phonetics. As it turned out the most quiet and most violent put together.

John had the edge on the two of them as to who was more liable to act like a psycho. Later on I knew his reputation and if I hadn't known him I would never have gone within a hundred metres of him.

One day wee Boab even asked me to put in his earring (left ear). How close were we? I do recall having to stab this little thing through his ear and feeling the skin give as it slipped through which was my very first time. I was an ear virgin. Thanks Boab.

I also recall the time in Religious Education when I was sitting beside John. He mentioned to me something about a hoor.

"A what?" I innocently asked.

"A hoor," says he.

"What's that?" I asked, Well, set a match to the fucking firework why don't you. Just so happened Boab was sitting across the other side of the room. The teacher had the idea of keeping them apart and sitting them with the people of the class least likely to cause trouble. Me.

"Haw Boab!" shouts John.

"Whit?!"

"He disnae know whit a hoor is, ha ha ha."

"WHIT?!"

"He disnae know whit a hoor is,"  he shouted louder.

"Ha ha ha ha."

The volume of their voices was quickly getting the attention of everyone else and also the teacher. I was more embarrassed by the fact he was shouting across the room saying I didn't know something than the fact I didn't know what a hoor was, as I had no clue what he was talking about. He could've just bloody explained to me. So inconsiderate.

It reminds me of the time when I was at the dinner table with my Mum and two older brothers. I was maybe around twelve. The news was on and a brothel was mentioned. In a moment of sheer madness, I turned to my mother and asked what a brothel was. As soon as I'd said it I realised I actually did know what a brothel was. My Mum replied though.....

"It's where loose women hang around and loose men go and......." and she sort of trailed off. Silence across the table. Pass the salt ummm, please.

Anyway, as the years rolled on we got older and me and John never saw much of each other other than passing in the corridor at school.

When I left school it was the time of the "casuals". The neds of the day. They weren't so fond of tracksuits then. It was more kind of jeans, tracky tops or jumpers and definitely...most definitely a scarf wrapped in a certain way around their neck so it appeared to be one single roll around there. Mostly Rangers and Celtic colours. I don't think Burberry was the thing then.

The casuals used to hang about at the village centre at night and it came to a point where you went detours just to avoid the place, or approach it along a long road so you had a good view to see if the door to the chippy was clear.

One incident sticks in my mind though. Walking through the village one Friday night as I thought it was clear but at the last moment I saw a group of casuals and at that point it was too late to turn back because that would just give reason to verbally abuse me or chase me.

Walking closer to them, some of them turned, a few stared menacingly at me, just waiting for me to make eye contact so they could start on me. I heard a couple of comments made towards me, baiting me. Some more, then out of the terror a light......

"Alright, mate?  Leave him alone...he's alright."

I looked up.

"Alright John," I smiled in relief, nodded quickly and kept on my way.

One of times I was very glad of those mornings we sat together in the first scary year of secondary school.

I did hear though a few years later that he was arrested for attempted murder after glassing someone in the face at the local pub. Still, nice bloke though.

It Was Like Saving Private Ryan

On my travels last week I picked up a local paper in Milngavie, the Milngavie and Bearsden Herald. I sometimes think that local papers thrive on the sensational headlines that you normally see adorning The Sun.

This headline was "Yobs on Rampage."  Excellent.

It described how "violent neds caused a night of bloody carnage...thugs armed with wooden poles prowled the streets looking for victims...gangs clashed on open ground...two plain clothes police officers arrived in an unmarked car,  and soon realised they needed backup."

One resident said;

"We guessed it was another fight and didn't even bother looking out the window."  They're clearly used to it now.

"The neds are only young teenagers but go at each other like frenzied animals."

My favourite line of all was this quote from a resident;

"The view from my window was like something out of Saving Private Ryan - pure chaos. There were four police cars, a van and an unmarked police car with officers everywhere".

Now if I recall in Saving Private Ryan there were no police cars, no police vans, certainly no unmarked police cars, and I'm sure no police officers. There were soldiers with arms and legs blown off and their faces cut to shreds. No real comparison.

A slight exaggeration on their part. But I'll bet the newspaper reporter nearly creamed himself when he heard that quote. That's me on the front page for sure!

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.

Two Bob For The Phone, Mate?

Yesterday I was walking to work on Union Street, and two neds in white track suits come out of a phone box asking if I can tap them two bob for the phone. I haven't heard that in years.

I replied with a look of concern "Did some wee bastard steal your mobiles you couple of fannies?".

Actually I said "No, I only carry notes on me".

That's not true either. I just said "No, sorry". Why the hell did I apologise?. It's the polite part of me, pushed along by the part of me that doesn't want to get stabbed.

Aw Whit Man

I was standing in Game in Braehead Shopping Centre a few hours ago, looking at some PSP games, when two young likely lads sidled up beside me. I say “likely lads”….I mean neds.

One of them picked up a game, and this conversation happened:-

Ned 1 “Aw whit man” (hands game to his mate)
Ned 2 “Aw whit man” (hands it back to his mate)
Ned 1 “Aw whit man” he says staring at the game and grinning
Ned 2 “Aw whit man” he says leaning over and also looking at the game .

That was it.

I was so tempted to get my 8 year old son to say it in earshot of them, but after considering it for a few seconds more, thought better of it, for fear I may have assaulted, head butted, banjoed, knifed or head stamped (happened before and I didn’t like it).

Probably best I didn’t.

I could have taken them though. Both of them. Couple of fannies.