Tales of Govan Neds and Other Animals

It wiz fat Malky, who noticed the windae o’ The Jaguar Club, wiz open. How he spotted that, god only knows, ‘cause his eyesight’s aboot as bad as Mr Magoo’s. The lenses oan his specks ur so thick, it takes aboot three minutes fur daylight tae reach hes eyeballs. An’ a kid ye no’, that windae wiz only open a tiny wee peep. Jist a toattie, wee gap, maybe enough tae squeeze a coupla fingers through. A hud a go at first, masel, seein’ us am only a wee skelf, no’ goat a pick oan me, ye see. No’ like Malky, who’s a big fat basturt, goat hauns oan ‘im like a bunch a’ Chiquita bananas. But naw, the bugger widnae budge, stuck tight it wiz, wi’ layers an layers a Dulux. Desperate we wur a naw tae get intae that pub. Wanted tae get wan ower that manky bugger, Crosby, who ran the shoap. Wee arsehole hud us barred fae that boozer last year fur tryin’ tae sell eccies in the function suite tae sum Maws and Das, during a christening do. Hypocritical, wee fud. Tries tae make oot he runs a clean shoap, but if ye wur tae take hauf the twenties oota hes till an’ gie them a wee shake it would be like snow shooers in Sunny Govan, aw that coke residue comin’ aff them. Naw, whit bothered that wee tadger wiz that he wisnae gettin’ his cut. So noo, brekkin intae his gaff wiz ower opporchancity tae get some payback oan the wee jobby. Hate that wee Crosby wan. Weird friggin’ colour he is. Either he slaps oan that fake bake, like he’s pittin’ oot a fire, or he belongs tae some strange race o’ people wi’ bright orange coupons. Crazy wee fuck’n Oompah Loompah that he is!

But credit tae fat, Malky, never wan tae gie up too easy. He’s doon oan he’s knees, crawlin’ aboot. At first ah thought, he’s doon there prayin’, cos, you know, he’s wannae them, ‘a left fitter’. But naw, he’s oan the grun lookin’ fur somethin’. A says tae him, “Malky, fuck you daein?” “Tryin’ tae find summat tae wedge the windae.” He explains, voice aw herniated. “Well, move it pronto,” ah says, “afore some bugger decides tae pit in an appearance!” “Hah, fun somethin!” He squeals. In hes haun he’s haudin a coaper pipe, big cheesy grin oan he’s fizzer. “Jist needs a wee bit a’ adjustin.” An starts wackin’ it aff the kerb. Daft basket. “Christ oan a bike!” Ah screams at him. “Malky, you, waantin’ tae wake up the whole street?” “Calm doon, Davy,” he says, aw attitude, “A’m finished. Jist keep the edgy while ah dae this?” His face aw determination, Malky, he slots the flattened end o’ the pipe intae the gap and pulls his full weight doon ontae it. Which is quite a loat a’ weight a’ kin tell ye! Jist a wee groan it furst, but finally the windae gave wey, wi’ a loud crunch, n’ a shooer o’ cracked paint. Fur a heavy bloke, Malky sure goat his big carcass ower that windae sill an’ inside sharpish. “Come oan, Davy boy,” he shouts back, aw gallus, “Hurry the fuck up!” Which is easier said than done, as it wiz a big friggin’ drap doon tae that flair, an’ a’ve only goat these wee tiny legs. Normal sized boadie, but toattie legs. Jist aboot reach up tae ma waist n’ nae mair.

You know, maist folk think break’n enterin’ is a dawdle. They assume that wance you’ve done the break’n, it’s jist a matter a the enterin’. But naw, there’s a loat mair tae it than that. The place your tannin’ might huv a crackin’ security system or in the case a’ The Jaguar, a big, mad, bad-assed dug. Tyson wiz hes name. Hauf Dobermann, hauf Clydesdale. The biggest, scariest, friggin’ devil dug a’ve ever seen. Maist crims, the amateurs, wid faw doon at this first hurdle. Quick trip tae the Southern wi’ chewed up legs an’ a coupla bizzies staunin’ at the fit o’ their bed, ready tae ask some awkward questions. But no’ us boays, we’ve come prepared. Two rump steaks nicked oota Aldis, laced wi’ ma maw’s seroxat. A, fling them doon n’ then we wait. Stauning there in the dark, pure statues, scared tae move, shittin’ wurselves tae even breathe, waitin’, jist waitin’ fur the sound of a two hunner pound killin’ machine tae pad through the pub towards us, lookin’ fur blood. But, nothing, nae dug. Cannae believe it. Maybe he’s hud tae go tae the vets, emergency appointment. Some auld jakies fit stuck in its throat or summat? Efter aboot five minutes we felt it wiz safe tae turn oan a light switch. Wance wur eyes ur adjusted tae the brightness o’ whit a 60 watt bulb kin gie ye, we hud the battle ship grey tiles and mustard coloured ceilin’ tae contend wi. Nae taste, that Crosby wan. Nae fuck’n taste at aw. The Jag hudnae hud a lick a paint since about 1968. Must have thought when he took ower the gaff, ‘great paint joab, why chinge a winnin’ formula?’ Such a tight wad, wee bawbag. Then I realised, the room we’d jist broken intae wis actually the wummin’s toilet. I’d never had the pleasure a bein’ in there afore. Compared tae the Gents, it wiz a wee palace. Nae cracked mirrors or tiles. Nae menchies oan the wa’. Nae ankle deep, pools of pish tae huv tae circumnavigate. Almost perfect apart fae wan wee solitary detail. Some filthy bugger’s gone n’ left a durty big toaley, in the middle of the lavvy flare. You know, ah kinda feel sorry fur people who shite oan toilet flairs. Must be dead frustrating fur them, managing tae get aw the wey tae the bog, but the lavvy pan itself, is just so teasingly oot a reach. A perfect example of ‘so near, yet, so far.’ Me, a like tae get it straight intae the pot, nae touchin’ the sides. Cos that’s the kinda guy am ur. A love a challenge.

Big Malky though, he’s makin’ a chokin’ noise. An am thinkin’ the smell a that toaley’s caught his throat or somethin’, cos oor Malk’s goat an awfy weak stomach, onything gies him the boak. But as a follow his eyeline, a realise somethin’ else is botherin’ him, somethin’ far mair serious. Wan a the cubicles is occupado. That’s like French, fur occupied. At first glance, in the hauf light, ah thought it might be auld Agnes, the pub cleaner. Occasionally when she’s on duty, she likes tae help herself tae a few glesses a Bristol Cream or a wee Malibu, or maybe something a bit stronger like a boattle a windolene. Then efterwards she hus tae sleep it aff somewhere. But then a takes another wee swatch an’ a realise it isnae Agnes oan the crapper a taw, it’s some bloke, n’ whit’s strange aboot it is, he’s goat his hauns an’ hes feet tied up wi’ rope, an ower his heed there’s a poly bag, an’ am  thinkin’ ‘Jeezus, does this guy think he’s a Tory MP or summat?’ “It’s Crosby!” whimpers, Malky, his voice aw trembly like a big Jessie. N’ so it wiz. It’s the daft wee Oompah Loompah, stone cauld deed he is oan his ain porcelain! Whit a cerry oan! Here a wiz, the first time in a wummin’s toilet, n ave goat an unexpected wee stiff that a just don’t know whit tae day wi’. Dae a phone the Polis, n’ get maself implicated in the murder o’ this wee dwarf, or do I just leg it oot a there an’ hope that naebody finds him fur the rest a the weekend, so a’ve goat time tae come up wi’ a plausable alibi? Decisions, decisions. It’s like wan a the moral dilemma thingies. Like, if ye saw a traffic warden and a lawyer droonin’ in a swimming pool, which wan would ye laugh it first?

Am jist aboot tae suggest tae Malky, that perhaps we should retire for the evening, when a great big paw of a haun clamps doon oan the back a ma neck, n’ squeezed it like it wiz a bit  o’ wean’s play doh. Ah yelped like a wee dug in heat, n’ hauf turned tae see that the haun belonged tae mad ‘Toe’ Elliot. Am no feart tae say ma heart nearly stoapped right there when a saw he wiz wi’ his mate, Jimmy ‘Bananas’. Everybody in Govan knows ye don’t mess aboot wi’ they two bampots. Cos usually when they’re finished batterin’ ye aboot, you either end up deed or huvin tae pick oot a nice wheelchair wi’ the help a yur guide dug. These two heed the baws must huv been the wans tae day wee Crosby in. I’m no’ ashamed tae admit that ma furst response seein’ them wiz tae leg it back oot that windae again. But instinctively Toe second guessed whit a wis think’n and squeezed even mair tightly, damn near seperatin’ ma heed fae ma shooders! “No’, so fast wee man,” he sneers it me, “Don’t be a party pooper. You’ve jist arrived. Stey an’ huv a wee drink wa’ us?” Aye right, a thinks, the only drink we’re gonnae get oota this pair is a lung fu’ a durty watter fae the bottam o’ the Clyde! But before we huv a chance tae even open wur mooths, withoot ceremony, we’re bein’ hauf cerried, hauf dragged, through intae the lounge. Oan the wey in ma poor heed musta hit the flair mair times than Jordan’s knickers. It wiz loupin by the time they flung us doon n we started untangling oorselves fae a heap next tae the bar. Malky in hes ain inimitable style, tries tae plead wi’ oor captors, “Let us go mate, we never saw nuttin?” His voice aw up n’ doon as if someday’s goat a haud a hes RS McColls, n’ they’re giein them a squeeze like a pipin’ bag. “We’ll no’ tell anybody we wur in here, Jimmy!” But Jimmy Bananas jist laughs it the big streak a pish n’ says, ‘A, think it’s a bit too late fur that boays!’ His voice aw cauld, nae emotion. Withoot a wurd ah a lie, a felt a wee dribble a pee running doon ma leg when he said that. Leavin’ ma trousers lookin’ like an ordinance survey map a The Ooter Hebrides.

A might huv been a tad scared, but big Malky wiz brickin’ heself. He wiz aw peely-wally, n’ sweatin’ buckets. A knew fae previous experience that Malky, when scared, spews his ring everywhere. N’ the wey Jimmy Bananas wiz shakin’ im aboot like a weans rattle, am sure there wiz a few pineapple chunks bein’ loosened aroon inside that big Buddha belly o’ his. N’ true tae form, Malky bent ower in gastric distress ready fur eruption. Jimmy Bananas, thinkin’ Malky’s up tae somethin’ got up tae im tae even closer. Big mistake, fur the next hing he knows, Malky’s blowing oot hes technicolour yawn aw ower Jimmy’s Adidas Gazelles. N’ am no’ jist talkin’ aboot normal spew, this wiz full oan exorcist type, projectile vomitin’. 

Good auld Malky, if hes coupon wisnae full o’ last night’s biryana, a would huv kissed him, ‘cos while hes deliverin’ pavement pizza n’ distractin’ oor hosts, a notice wan o’ the doors at the front o’ the pub is opened a wee peep. Wan o’ these two wallopers hus slipped up there, a thought. So while the two a thems preoccupied stamp’n oan ma mate’s heed again n again, a took ma chance and made a brek fur it. By the time the two bampots hud realised they were wan stool pigeon short ah wiz legging it doon the street like Usain Bolt oan acid intae the Elder Park. Aw they could dae wiz shout abuse. How they were gonnae get ma name aff ma mate, then find me. But that didnae worry me in the slightest. cos I reckoned the wey they hud set aboot Malky, pannin the melt oot his napper, he widnae remember his ane name, never mind mine. Am a ashamed aboot running away, leavin’ ma comrade tae his fate and the hands of these nut jobs? Should a huv no been the better man n gone back tae gie ‘im hauners? The answer wid huv tae be naw. Am no Rambo, an’ this isnae Viet-friggin-nam. This is Govan, wur it’s every bam fur himself!

The Goth

The Goth

One day there was a rumpus, outside in our street
Which garnered all the neighbours to congregate and meet
What had happened, what was wrong?
What was causing a curious throng?

Someone said, “It’s a girl”, effecting this commotion
Lying on the ground, showing no signs of any motion
Then I saw her, a pale creature, spread-eagled on her back
Hair mauve, panda faced, completely dressed in black

This pitiful Goth had fainted, the result of malnutrition
But however did she get into this terrible condition?
A friend confessed, “She’s a vegan, doesn’t eat meat!
That’s why she’s lying in the middle of your street”

I ask all concern, “Why is no-one helping, what’s to be done?”
As spectator sports go, Goth watching isn’t a lot of fun
“Where are the first-aiders, the doctor or the ambu…lance?!”
“No need,” scowls the friend, “Here comes the local butcher, Mr Vance”

A hush of excitement permeates through the crowd
As Mr Vance approaches, his meat parcel standing proud
“Let me through!” he pleads, “I’m a butcher… Mr Vance, you see”
Then proceeds to the girl to get down on bended knee

With saveloy in hand he waves it underneath her nose
But with no immediate results, decides to double the dose
Quicker than you can say, ‘Wicca’, the Goth opens an eye
When she finally looks up, she’s in for a big surprise

This meat hating, sullen youth, just saved by a piece of pork
Her first jumbo sausage, since a trip to New York
There and then she vows to end her herbivore ways
Getting stuck into a ‘full Scottish breakfast’, the very next day.


Noel Connolly

The 1970's Called They Want Lady Gaga Back

They say that if you remember the 1960’s you weren’t really there. If only we could say the same thing about the 1970’s, a decade in which I never ever want to be able to remember. The 70’s, too me, wasn’t so much the Dawning of The Age of Aquarius; it was far more like the Morning after the Night Before, which left you with a terribly sore head, a bad taste in your mouth and abject feelings of shame and utter degradation. The 1970’s was quite simply, the decade that taste forgot!
Take fashion for instance. Fashion in the 70’s was notoriously bad. Clothes seemed to have been designed by people who were designed by people who were both colour blind and had very poor size perception. Tank tops, tie-dye t-shirts, cheese cloth shirts and bell bottomed trousers left us looking like a nation of badly dressed clowns. Levi’s were the worst culprits; they made those massively flared bell bottoms called, ‘The Big Bells’. Huge flares that could sweep a whole pavement as you walked down the street. (A design feature that came in handy during the many bin collector strikes of the era, where Britain was buried under tons of rubbish.)
Hair styles too, were also a bit random. No-one seemed to have any particular style apart from big, misshapen and floppy. It was like hairdressers of the 1970’s were permanently stoned, because everyone walked about as if they were sporting an Art Garfunkel wig.
Music was also a sad affair. Okay, there were a lot of tremendous bands and fantastic songs around in this decade, but for every legendary act like Led Zeppelin there were about ten really crap groups like
Showaddywaddy, The Osmonds, The Bay City Rollers and Boney M. No wonder so many rock stars choked to death on their vomit in the 70’s, so sick were they of working their butts off creating these modern masterpieces of intricate depth and tangible emotion, while the buying public pissed on their parade by purchasing mince like ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ and ‘Ra Ra Rasputin, Russia’s Greatest Love Machine’!
Much the same could be said about television. For every great programme like ‘Fawlty Towers’ or ‘The Sweeney’ you had hundreds of hours of dire viewing. During peak time hours, the three television channels that existed at that time, BBC1, 2, and ITV, would air programmes liked ‘Give us a Clue’, (which unbelievably happened to be televised bloody charades!) ‘One Man and his Dog’, (Televised sheep dog trials!) and if that wasn’t riveting enough, BBC1 had a weekly consumer programme every Sunday night called, ‘That’s Life’ which basically, as far as I could tell, consisted of viewers sending in freakish vegetables which looked like men’s private parts. (Which annoyed me personally as I’ve got private parts that look very much like freakish vegetables.

So starved were we of any real entertainment, the British public used to sit glued to the TV watching these ridiculous shows. Viewing figures were always between twenty million and thirty million mugs tuning in. It was kind of like some kind of bizarre religious observance. My theory is that we were so bored, the primitive part of our brains were starting to kick in. (Similar to cavemen in prehistoric times, who used to sit transfixed by the dazzling flames of cave fires and those morons who watch X-factor!) So why did I myself, watch television in the 70’s? Well, on the most part I watched it in hope really. Hope that they would some day broadcast some good ol’ fashioned violence or the merest hint of nudity. (What 1970’s telly really missed in my opinion, was a programme called ‘International Naked Mud Wrestling’.)
But not all popular culture in this wacky era was rubbish. There was one medium that came out on top this decade and that medium was cinema. Not only were films in the 70’s highly original, ground breaking and imaginative, they were also highly entertaining too. You had wonderful horror flicks like, ‘The Exorcist’ and ‘The Omen’. Great comedies such as ‘Young Frankenstein’ and ‘Take the Money and Run’, and fantastic war movies like, ‘The Deerhunter’ and ‘Apocalypse Now’. Drama like One Flew Over  The Cuckoo's Nest, Papillon, The French Connection and China Town. Cinematic film in the 1970’s was a joy to behold. (About the only blot on the landscape for 70’s cinema was that one of the biggest box office stars of the day was wobble voiced, torch song Diva, Barbra Streisand. A female impersonator look-a-like, who did a great impression of a Clydesdale.)
So to sum it all up in a nut shell, the 1970’s was a decade of terrible fashion, god awful music and crap telly. Throw in the energy crisis, the rise of terrorism, general strikes, recession and the election of the first/worst woman as Prime Minister and you realize that it was an era that didn’t have much going for it. Surely in the next decade, the 1980’s things couldn’t get any worse, could they? Of course they bloody could!

The most amazing woman

Her name was Anne, a name that I still find it difficult to say without great sadness. She was the kindest, open, most caring person I've ever known.

She welcomed me into her arms October 18, 1993, and made me feel more wanted than I've ever been before, then and ever since then. She overlooked my faults, gave me strength when I needed it most, nurtured what I'd never had before, self confidence and self worth, made me overcome many fears and worries, encouraged me to do and enjoy so many things I'd always been incapable of doing before I met her; gave life to an empty man who had only ever existed, never really lived.

I wish we had a longer time to be together than we did, to grow old together, do everything we always planned to do together. I also wish I could have gotten the chance to thank her for all that she had done for me; I always told her that she had saved my life, I know I wouldn't be here today if she hadn't welcomed me into her life. Before then I had never envisioned a future for me. I owe her so much and wish that I was the one gone in her place.

Life has never been the party I craved but I am very thankful that I did get to dance for a long time with the most caring, open and beautiful person I ever have found. I miss her so much, everything seems so dark without her. She is my one true love and will always be in my heart.

What Is Aspergers?

What Is Aspergers?

Something I get asked from time to time. It's difficult to answer verbally. I do try my best to give a good reply but often feel I never explain it well enough as there is so much to explain and recollection is a a big weakness of mine, so I thought I'd sit down this evening, take my time and think about how I would go about explaining it as concisely and clearly as I can in an attempt to write this, my very first blog.

So what is Aspergers? Basically it is a type of autism (a neurological condition where signals to the brain are affected by a difference in brain structure. Aspergers differs from low functioning autism in that it doesn't come with the profound learning difficulties, although there can be some learning difficulties (At 5 I had  speech therapy for a few years as my speech was very poor but I could read books before I started school. Also, I got put back a year when I changed school at 8 as they said I was struggling with my schoolwork but the school then put me back up after 3 months because I would bombard my new teacher with facts. (If in doubt just hit people with lots of boring trivia and they will get rid of you post-haste) and people with this type of autism usually have an average to above average IQ, but there are many similarities in both types of autism with sensory overload and also traits and behaviours.

Why is the autistic brain different? As you may be aware, the brain relies on intricate wiring to process and transmit information. (The human brain has thousands of synaptic connections formed from about 100 billion neurons) Through research it was discovered that in the autistic brain this wiring is faulty, which causes a misfiring in the communications between our brain cells. (It's not that we are short of wiring in the brain that affects this misfiring but too much wiring). What effects does this cause that's different from any other brain with the required wiring? People with Aspergers have trouble processing sensory stimuli. What this means is that we find it difficult to shut out all the different sounds, lights, smells, tastes and sensations to our skin like everyone else can as they can concentrate on what they want to hear, see etc. With people with Aspergers everything that goes on around us, our brains try to take in instantly and it can cause an information overload if there is too much sensory stimulation.

When that starts to happen adrenaline courses through the system and we experience that fight or flight scenario that your body produces when you feel threatened. It is anxiety which will lead to a full blown anxiety attack. As a child I would have many meltdowns, lashing out and hitting and kick walls, tables etc in frustration if I couldn't get away from a situation that made me feel uncomfortable. For instance, on my very first day at school I couldn't take in all the new voices and faces and all the hustle and bustle that went with excited children. My poor teacher (also just starting school, her first day in the job) was in tears trying to control me because I wanted out the class and she made the mistake of locking the door bringing on a major meltdown that lasted for hours. Her legs and arms were covered in bruises as she tried to stop me hurting myself as I went all Chuck Norris on that door trying to get out. Thankfully now I recognise when I'm feeling anxious, I know when to just get up and leave a situation. Plus I've taken medication for years to help with this. (I get the good drugs off the Doctor). So don't think of me as being rude if I ever get up in your company and walk out of somewhere where's there too much people and noise, you're not a boring bastard, honestly, I'm just trying to relieve the torture going on in my head. Occasionally when I have days where I am bombarded by stimulation wherever I go, and my day has no reprieve, I get to a point where my brain goes into a kind of fog where everything seems blurred, colourless, my reactions very slow as if time has slowed down for me alone and all the sounds bearing down on me merge together into one single white noise. I don't know if it's my mind protecting itself but it's a really horrible experience and I end up with some blinding headaches. 

What other effects does this spaghetti wiring have on the Asperger's mind? Poor memory skills. I can remember vast amounts of information on things that I really enjoy but forget what I or someone else is talking about in seconds. (Often I can forget what I intend to say when I'm in the middle of a sentence and playing some music on my phone and throwing out some heinous shapes won't even cover the most awkward silences that follow on from doing that. I know, I've tried). When making phone calls I very often write down like a little script what I intend to get across to the person I'm calling so that I don't forget some important details as I frequently do. I forget people's faces and names if I haven't seen them for a lengthy period of time but never the voices. I often forget to go to appointments, fill in forms in time, forget to pay bills on time which has caused me all sorts of financial hardship at times.

Another effect of Aspergers, a very big one that can make the difference between having an okay existence and living a life of terrible loneliness is your ability to communicate well and having any kind of rapport with people. Quite often with the noise etc, poor memory skills, poor concentration and finding it difficult being in new places and with people you're not used to, it is very easy for someone with Aspergers to withdraw themselves mentally from conversation. You go into your shell. It can also be difficult to interpret facial gestures or tone of voice so this can throw you. Then there's also the difficulty of understanding people's emotions when you don't even understand your own. Why is that person angry because I said that? A question I ask myself frequently as my dreams of becoming a diplomat disappear in a puff of smoke. Why is that person crying, laughing, shouting? It can be hard to work out for the Asperger mind.

Another thing that can prevent social interaction is trust. I think this affects many people who feel excluded in some way, not just people on the autistic spectrum. When you've been called a weirdo, or slow, or stupid, or anti-social or physically attacked because you don't fit in growing up, you lose your trust of people, you feel hated by everyone until someone manages to break through to you by showing you respect and kindness, taking their time to listen without judgment to what you have to say. I'm at my most sociable, talkative and open when I meet someone like that because they make me feel comfortable, and I was lucky enough to meet someone who I was with for 19 years who made me feel like that, she turned me from an angry, frustrated mess into a very placid and easy going man and I know if I hadn't met her, I wouldn't be here today. Just because we're not great talkers, seem awkward, maybe seem a bit shifty because we can't keep up with what you're saying or finding it difficult to look at you as you're talking, or we may have expressionless faces, doesn't mean we don't have all the same things going on in our heads that you have going on in yours, we do have emotions, feelings, want to have friends, want to be respected and loved and enjoy our life. All those things are just more difficult for us to obtain as we're hindered in a way.

I think I'll finish there. There are a lot more difficulties associated with Aspergers/Autism like poor balance, co-ordination, concentration, focus; also the obsessive side, need for routine and stims but I can maybe write about them in another blog if anyone is interested, this one is getting a bit long winded but hopefully it explains a bit about how Aspergers affects someone and how it interferes with social interaction. Hopefully. 🙏 (Please forgive me if any of it seems clumsy and difficult to understand).