– Look, Lloyd, ah’ve goat this gig organised at the Reck-Tangle Club in Pilton. Ah want you oan the bill. You first, then me. What dae ye think?

– When’s this?

– Next month. The fourteenth. It’s a while likes.

– Sound. Count ays in.

Ah was shite on the decks but ah reasoned that a deadline would force ays tae get my act thegither. Ah wisnae so chuffed when Woodsy telt me he wanted samplings of hymns and gospel music mixed intae techno, house, garage and ambient stuff, but ah was still up for it.

Anyway, ah decided tae spend a lot of time at home with the decks. A lot ay my mates, especially Nukes, Ally and Amber, were pretty supportive. They came round for a blow, and often brought dance records they’d borrowed. Ah started going tae a few clubs straight to watch the DJs and see what they did. My favourite was Craig Smith, the Edinburgh DJ at Solefusion, who always seemed to be having loads of fun with what he was doing. Too many seemed po-faced cunts with no spirit, and it showed in the Richard Millhouse. Ye cannae gie other cunts enjoyment if you cannae enjoy it yourself.

ONE AFTERNOON AH was settling down to a bit of Richard Nixon when the door went. Ah had the music on low, but ah still thought it was the yuppie cunts across the landing who complained about anything and everything.

Ah opened the door and before me stood auld Mrs McKenzie from doonstairs. – Soup, she spat out, her face screwed up.

Ah remembered. Ah had forgotten to go to the supermarket to get ingredients for a pot of soup. Ah always make a big pot on a Thursday before the weekend ay abuse starts so ah know I’ve got something nutritious in if I’m too fucked or skint tae dae anything else. Ah take auld Mrs McKenzie some doon in a tupperware bowl. She’s a nice auld cunt, but what started off as a one-off gesture of goodwill has now evolved into custom and practice and it’s starting tae fracture ma tits tae pieces.

– Sorry, Mrs Mack, no had a chance tae make it yit eh no.

– Aye … ah jist thought … soup … the laddie upstairs usually brings doon a bowl ay soup oan a Thursday … ah wis jist tellin Hector. Soup … ah wis jist sayin tae Hector the other day. Soup. The laddie up the stairs. Soup.

– Aye, ah’ll be makin it in a bit.

– Soup soup soup … ah thought we’d be gittin some soup.

– It’s aw in hand, Mrs Mack, ah kin assure ye ay that.

– Soup …

– THE SOUP ISN’T READY YET MISSUS MCKENZIE. WHEN I’VE MADE IT, WHICH WILL BE LATER ON TODAY, I SHALL BRING SOME DOWN TO YOU. OKAY?

– Soup. Later on.

– THAT’S IT, MISSUS MCKENZIE. SOUP. LATER ON.