Obviously, A’ve hud ma hole. A’ve never lied aboot it. A pulled an elder burd, ma big cousin’s pal. Paula Cook, hur name is. A wis only thirteen n she wis sixteen, wee bit chubby A’m no gonnae lie. Cook by name, cook by nature n aw that. She wis heavy geein me the eye. Ma cousin wis laughin hur heed aff. Yass! The wee man’s gonnae pop his cherry n that wis it. We went a walk back tae hur bit. She hud an empty, hur maw n that wur away on a night oot. Easy does it, man. The younger burds fae our bit ir aw goody-fuckin-two-shoes n don’t really run aboot the streets. The elder chicks ir wit it’s aw aboot. They’re the bad wans who smoke n drink n that. There’s a few absolute tidies that hang aboot wae the YT who ir worth chasin. They’re elder but n yi say awright in passin but we huvnae really spoke tae them yit.

There’s fantastical fuckin tales how cunts got their hole. At the caravans at Craig Tara? At yir grans in Glesga? Nae bor, mate. Next fur the Azzy boy wis Sophie McKay. She’s a couple ae year elder anaw n got ma number fae somebody n asked us tae meet hur. Same sketch again, doon tae hur bit n nae fuckin aboot. The elder burds didnae dae much outside. Right intae a nice warm gaff, Oasis on, dae it properly. Meant every time A heard ‘Champagne Supernova’, fae then on, A got a semi thinkin aboot it. Naw, yi huv tae treat the lassies wae respect n that. Fuckin hope cunts wid dae the same fur ma big cuz, Stacey. A kin obviously take the moral superiority cos A’m no a daft virgin n A dae on regular occasions. No a fuckin bully but – hate they cunts.

There’s six ae us in the stables. We’re the troops our age. Three ae us ir fourteen n the other three ir fifteen awready. There’s ma best mate, Danny Stevenson. We’ve been best muckers fae our maws planked us doon next tae each other on the playgroup mat in the village hall. We’ve grew up the-gither, drunk our first beers the-gither n our first bottle ae wine wis halved between us. He’s a tall thin cunt, always git a Lacoste tracky on n never git Nike Air Max trainers aff his feet. He’s a perfectly healthy cunt but he’s git a thin face n black pockets roon his eyes. It gees yi the impression he’s always growlin at everywan he looks at. The burds must like the scowly look cos he dis nae bad. His maw n da huv git a wee bit ae poppy tucked away, enough tae git a whinin Danny his fuckin Lacoste tracksuits. The spoilt cunt’s moanin fur a Berghaus jakit, a Mera Peak. The weather is pish here, especially the night, but our dossin aboot the streets doesnae qualify fur a high quality mountaineer’s jakit, complete wae storm flaps, a map pocket n Gore-Tex lining … two hundred and fifty bucks. A’ve asked fur wan anaw but it wis just a token request. Ask fur suhin daft n you’ll end up wae few score notes in yir hand. A prefer that anyway. A Berghaus wid be minted but. It’s the quintessential fashion piece ae the Scottish ned, n if yi huv wan, yir a made man.