‘Place is hoatchin with polis but!’ Addison says.

‘So fuck, Azzy’s just passed n he’s chokin tae go a good spin. Git a Maccy Dee’s n that,’ Danny says. He sees ma expression. ‘Nae mess in Azzy’s shiny new brief, troops! Or they’ll be death in the camp!’

‘Right that’s that then. Strathy it is, boys,’ Wee Kenzie says.

‘Wit aboot the lassies? Think they’ll come a run?’ Danny asks us.

‘Aye, A says tae Gemma tae come but she’s no replied,’ A say.

‘You’re fuckin Gemma in the brain, mate,’ Wee Kenzie shoots back.

‘Say tae hur then tae git the rest ae them oot fur a spin – better wae the lassies oot fur a laugh n a swatch!’

‘Aye, Finnegan’s just wantin another pump at Toni!’ Broonie’s shoutin.

‘A’ve no fuckin went wae Toni, awright! Telt yees a hunner times!’

‘Fuckin baws, Finnegan! Two ae yees ir always sittin gittin a wee swally or a few joints or a wee munchy box! Yir full ae shite!’

‘We’re just pals, Kenzie! Fuckin swear doon!’

‘Aye, pals wae benefits!’

‘Naw, more like pals on benefits!’ Kenzie shouts.

We aw fuckin buckle again. Even Finnegan manages a smile. The night’s sorted. A wee run doon through Strathy, a Maccy Dee’s at Hamilton retail park, then back up the road.

Danny boy’s smilin away, leanin in ma driver’s windae. ‘Wit yi fuckin lookin it, fanny baws?’ A say tae him.

‘Nuhin, mate, just weird tae see you drivin! Always is when somebody passes their test.’

‘Aye, nae baw hair, Tokyo Drift,’ A shout tae him as he gets in his ain motor. He hud passed aboot two month ago, the cunt.

The tune blastin through the system is Michael Woods, ‘Solex’. We’re aw racin doon the Whifflet, then past the Shawheed flyover n fleein left ontae the Bellshill Road, doon past the Hilton hotel n the business park. The limit is fifty but we’re rallyin it dain eighty. Addison’s away oot n by like fuck in his Astra SRI. Finnegan is in an eld gold Peugot 306, pure nineties brief. Kenzie’s in Danny’s wee 206, the turquoise wan. Ma wee Corsa C isnae the fastest, but it looks no bad, black SXI wae lowerin springs n white 17” ten-spoke alloys. Fuckin spot on fur ma first wee shaggin wagon. The last cunt who hud it hooked it up fur beats n there’s red translucent wires leadin intae the boot fae the bonnet n tucked under the plastic door trims. Big Kenzie donated an eld 1200 watt, green Fusion sub n amp fae his eld Golf tae the cause ae tunage. That’s hooked up in the boot n bangin, dancin tae the vibrations ae the beats n makin yi feel the bass in yir chest n heed.

We’re drivin in the Bothwell-end gate, turnin aff fae the big roundabout. Past the entrance n intae the park wae the steel skeletons ae rollercoasters fadin in the darkness. We’ve still git the windaes doon wae Marcel Woods, ‘Lemon Tree’ pulsin through the motor as we’re cruisin through. There’s two polis motors sittin outside the main centre n we roll by casual, hidin the joints in the ashtrays. Yi go straight up fur half a mile, on a wee road through the park n the woods wae the loch on yir right-hand side. Then after that, as yi approach the Hamilton side, you’ve git a network ae wee car parks at the waterfront, aw appearin at different points doon the road. At night these could be full ae unsavoury characters n of course, the polis. Loadsa drug deals went doon here n a few lassies hud even been raped. It’s miles n miles ae dark woods, roads n secluded car parks filled wae the young teams ae every scheme in Lanarkshire. Yi huv tae keep yir wits aboot yi. Forget the scene ae Scottish beauty through the day, the loch n feedin the ducks n aw that shite – at night, these woods became a jungle. The night, ma first legally drivin a motor vehicle, we’re on safari.