Only an Excuse has just finished. We’ve aw tried tae watch it, but we didnae git the jokes cos we’re aw fuckin fleein n disconnected fae the normal. Jackie Bird is on givin it smiles n sparkles. Wit a fuckin absolute stunner she is. This national treasure needs more recognition, a Jackie Bird Day or suhin. A wonder if she’s single. The Azzy Boy wid take hur oot fur hur lunch at Pizza Hut. Me n Jackie wid go aw the way – Bonnie n Clyde wan O two point five. Rab’s talkin somewhere in the distance aboot Chewin the Fat. A’m heavy chewin ma jaw but A’m sittin back n chillin oot, ridin it, n noo A’m up dancin like a pro again, showin cunts how tae rave. Wee Broonie, Addison n Danny ir ma backup dancers n we’re aw ravin like fuck. Monica n Patricia jump up n start ravin n bouncin away. Everybody’s arms ir up in the sky n we’re flyin.

A kin hear Stacey’s tellin me tae calm doon. ‘Wee Azzy’s cookin oot his barnet!’ she’s shoutin, laughin. We’re dancin like fuck. Floorfillas’ ‘Sister Golden Hair’ is playin n sounds strange n beautiful cos A’m fleein, pure different. Wee Broonie’s gouchin n A’m strokin the couch like a dug, cos the ripples in the fabric feel magic tae ma mad eckto spider fingers. Seriously but, huv yi ever stopped tae feel the ripples? Addison n Finnegan ir huvin a heart-tae-heart sittin on the flair. Monica is makin eye contact wae us. A think Patricia is anaw, but A could be mistaken. It’s probably doon tae these mad fuckin pills A’ve been takin.

Jackie Bird’s dress looks like it’s shimmerin n the band’s playin faint n ghostly ceilidh music that’s makin me tingle. Time is just floatin by noo. Ma buzzin mind starts tae slow n A’m comin back intae maself. Everywan else is cookin, still dancin n fleein. PPK, ‘Resurrection’. Pure build up. The trance music is perfect fur these feelings n this drug. The beats huv layers like classical orchestras. The beat, the bass n the treble aw dancin the-gither makin its sweet symphony. Aw the layers givin colour tae our racin minds. The beat n pills cast a spell on yi. It’s supernatural aw this. The night’s a tragedy. A know A’m stull oot ma dial cos A’m talkin romantic. A feel more normal again noo. Still cookin but slowin gradually fae the mushroom-cloud come-up. Monica looks a wee bit oot it anaw. She’s took a couple n they’ve hit hur noo. Hur pupils ir massive n she looks gorjis. Naebody’s been near the toilet. Yi cannae pish on ecstacy cos hormonal changes in the body, apparently. Yi didnae want tae think aboot that in case it freaked yi oot. Yi need tae ride the wave. Breathe deep n just enjoy it.

The countdoon begins. Jackie is countin backwards doon fae ten. She looks so fuckin stunnin n A want tae gee hur a kiss fur the bells. Sorry, Monica doll, there’s only wan woman fur me, ma Lanarkshire belle. Just Azzy boay feelin that pure eckto love n that. Never mind Robert the Bruce, fuckin Jackie the Bird, know wit A mean?! We’re aw on our feet jumpin aboot goin mad. Everybody’s shakin their heeds, arms n arses. ‘OoooOoooOoooO!’ EIGHT. A catch Patricia lookin at us again oot the corner ae ma eye. She gives me a wee fly wink. Monica’s git hur arm roon me n she’s cuddlin intae ma side restin hur heed on ma shoulder. It feels like electricity when she touches us n A’m 99 per cent sure A love hur and Jackie, la mia bella, ma cherie, ma darlin. A love you tae. SIX … FIVE. Heed buzzin. THREE … TWO … WAN …