Out The Road

That wis it. The end. Finito. A wisnay goan oan the bevvy again, no
fur a long while onywey. A couldnay fuckin affoard it, man, oot in the
pub, buyin rounds, an then goan fur a kebab or a curry, especially no
since eftir twelve pints ay lager half the kebab or the curry came up
oot ma stomach an oantay the pavement or intay sumdy's front gairden.
Fuckin crazy. So there A wis in the supermarket, stockin up wi
beefburgers an frozen chips an baked beans an boxes ay cheap tea bags.
Whit A wid be dayin aw next week wid be sittin aroond watchin telly,
eatin healthy, an drinkin loats ay milky tea.

A'd bagged up aw ma stuff, an wis wheelin the trolley oot tay the
trolley park so's A cud git ma pund coin back, when A saw her staunin
ootside ay the supermarket exit. She wis young, tall, an slim, really
good-looking, an she wis wearin a striped t-shirt, shorts, hikin boots,
an a baseball cap, an she hud oan a big backpack. She hud this really
deep skin tan, an long blonde hair that wis tied back in a pony tail.
There were these wee plastic an foam-rubber headphones hingin roond her
neck, an she wis fiddlin wi wan ay thay portable CD players, so she
wisnay peyin much attention tay whit wis goan oan aroond her. The exit
doorwey wisnay very wide, an where she wis staunin, she wis bloackin it
a bit. So A says tay her:

-Yir fit.

-What? she says in a posh, bool-in-the-mooth English accent, turnin tay
me an flashin this broad but wee bit puzzled and wee bit nervous
smile.

-Yir fit, A says again.

-Oh, she says, thank you.

Aw...right, A says tay masel, so she thinks that...A get the picture. A
hud this stoatir ay a heidache, ma napper felt like it wis gonnay
burst, but A decided tay run wi this, huv a wee bit fun like.

-Naw, A says, yir fit.

She looked at me suspicious-like, like maybe she wis wonderin if what
she'd understood me tay say wis some Scoattish wey ay askin fur a quick
shag up against the supermarket waw.

-And thank you again, she says.

-Naw, naw, A shouts, yir fit!

Noo she wis lookin like she wis getting ready tay scream fur the polis,
so A pointed doon at her shiny leather boot, an then at the front
wheels ay ma trolley, an the penny finally dropped.

-Oh, she says, sorry, an drew her fit back tay let me past.

Aye, well, A suppose seein some clearly hungover, peely-wally guy like
me glowerin ower fray the back ay a supermarket trolley is enough tay
fluster anybody, anybody no fray these pairts, A mean. But it wis her
ain fawt. Tourists, backpackers, folk like that maistly stick tay the
likes ay Enbruh an Glescay, A mean the better bits ay Enbruh an
Glescay, an Inverness, aye, an the Highlands, land ay the mountain an
the midge, places that are listed in the travel guides. An that's whit
they should day tay, if they're no wantin tay mibbe see or hear or feel
things they're mibbe no gonnay like. So whit she wis dayin in East
Kilbride oan a hot an sunny Seterday eftirnin in July is fuckin beyond
me.