‘It’s coz, YER MAW!’

Everywan is pishin themselves again. Jonathan hits a red neck n puts his heed doon.

‘Enough! Well done, Jonathan.’

‘How come we’re no dain Our Day Out? The other classes git tae dae that! We git hit wae Shakespeare!’

‘Because you have the privilege of having me for an English teacher. Our Day Out is beneath you all!’

‘Well we cannae understand this, Miss!’ Alison says.

‘Perhaps if you all opened your ears and closed your mouths, you might do a bit better.’

‘It wis wrote aboot a thousand year ago!’

‘It was written four hundred years ago …’

‘Our Day Out wisnae written that long ago!’

‘For goodness sake, will you forget about that silly play! You are a middle section deemed capable of reading something a little challenging. Macbeth may be difficult, but it is at least worthy of our attentions! Now turn to act one, scene one. What kind of drama is Macbeth?’

‘An eld boring yin!’ somebody shouts.

‘No, actually, it’s a tragedy.’

‘Tragedy! When yir pants fall doon and yir arse is broon, it’s tragedy!’

‘Enough! Now if anyone else talks out of turn, they will be heading to Mr McGiver’s office for a long chat about Shakespeare over lunch!’

Fuck that, A think. A’m envisionin ma chips n curry, that savoury delight wae the sweet caress ae ma wee bottle ae Irn-Bru. A’ll smoke a wee fag after it doon the Smokers’ Corner n A’ll be happy as larry. Our first day dain Shakespeare n we huvnae even opened the first page. This is the way most classes go. Unless yi huv a scary bastard ae a teacher that kin control their class. The proper eld-school teachers ir decreasin every year. Aw the new wans ir different. The young wans ir too busy havin yi make posters or watch videos. Givin yi wee star stickers on a fuckin achievement board. Dynamic approaches or some shite. The eld wans made yi copy oot texts n read the eld dusty books oot the supply cupboard. Either way, yi learn fuck aw.

The bell rings n we aw grab our bags n head fur the door. ‘Mr Williams, will you please wait behind!’ Everybody oohs n ahs on their way oot the door. A let oot a big sigh n stand in front ae the blackboard. She marches over n closes the door. ‘Sit, please,’ Mrs McLaughlin says, pointin at the front desk. A dae as A’m told, still thinkin aboot ma lunchtime munch n the fuckin queue that’s gonnae be formed in the wee shop noo. Every day the poor bastards in the shop ir tryin tae feed the five thousand n it’s a riot. She’s still wipin the fuckin blackboard. Hurry up, man! A’m thinkin in a wee huff.

McLaughlin finally turns and starts, ‘Alan, this last year I’ve seen some real potential in you. Have you thought about next year and what you want to do after school?’

‘Naw, no really, miss,’ A say, glancin at the door.