Street Life

I work in the Financial district of Glasgow. To any of you chaps in a proper large City you would find the naming of this hilarious as it comprises of about three blocks and the buildings are about 100 metres tall at their highest. Compared to London, where I did get lost in the docklands or New York where you can live in almost perpetual shade its very small and dinky.

We do have character

Oh yes. Bags and bags of the stuff. Trying to picture a denizen of Glasgow in your head? Picture a honking goose. There.

So while it's an admirable thing to live in this once proud City. One thing to always be aware of is the touchiness of the people.

Perhaps it has its roots in our much touted razor gang violence of the early 20th century. Or perhaps we are just a bunch of prickly, paranoid bastianos.

Today I had one such encounter with one of my fellow Glaswegians.

Before you read on, I must warn you of the swearing ahead. We are an absolutely foul mouthed bunch. And the below is quite a tame example of such.

The scene

Working full time means that I have to fit in steeming wherever I can. The train journey to and from work, lunchtimes and sadly, I am one of those annoying people who walk along the street glued to my phone. Others dodging out of my way shaking their head at the modern generations inability to look away from their smartphone.

This morning was such an occasion, I was walking along, coffee in hand scrolling through my feed, commenting and all that jazz when I almost bumped into some tit in a suit.

Aye watch where yer fuckin goin! The goose of a man honked, flapping his suited arms wildly.

Oh sorry mate I remarked distractedly looking up for a moment before looking down again.

First mistake. Not giving the demented goose all my attention seemed to enrage it.

Fucking put yer phone away and ye'll no walk intae cunts know whit ah mean?

I looked up again in bafflement. He was still in front of me. Purple of face. Apoplectic even at my continuing disrespect.

Sorry dude. I said again, ever the diplomat. I then sidled around him and prepared to walk on.

Second mistake. It seemed I was not taking him seriously. He positively bellowed.

AYE, WALK AWAY, WALK AWAY YA DICK!

It was then I realised that I had been so engrossed in my phone that I had forgotten the societal norms required of a Glaswegian. In fact it had been remiss of me to forget my part in this play.

I sighed, then mentally donned my glaswegian-ity with a sigh before turning back to the silly fellow and replying:

GO AN TAKE A FUCKIN FUCK TAE YERSEL YA FANNY

Translation for the non-scots among us - Kindly depart dear fellow you are a most disagreeable sort.

I did roar my reply quite loudly, embarassingly so. The honking goose chap looked taken aback that I had escalated everything so quickly. He tutted then turned and walked away muttering.

I tipped an imaginary hat to the onlookers pretending not to be watching and walked calmly on with a spring in my step at fulfilling my Glaswegianity for the week.

Fifty paces distant I heard the goose shout

Yer a narsole!

I smiled and shouted back.

Aye, yer MAW!

Translation for the non-scots among us - Your mother. With all the dread things that implies.

Again, I smiled to my beloved city and you know, I think she smiled back.