Behind me are a couple of folks chatting and then in comes a right pair. Chas and Davy, again in their twenties, trackies and trainers, one with the slash mark from mouth to ear, but very chirpy and having a bit of a set-to about a lie one had told the other.
Paul catches one’s eye and nods, unsmiling. They greet him and begin to pull him into their conversation, chawsing each other until he begins to grin and agrees with one.
Someone mentions something about a scheme and that’s Davy off, ranting about that programme on the BBC called “The Scheme”.
“Where wiz that place?” asks Chas.
“Some teuchter dump,” says Davy, “Bunch a neds. Pure out a order man, gies Glasgow a bad name n that.”
“Wisnae in Glasgow,” says Chas.
“Aye,” agrees Paul, becoming quite animated, “they wur bang out a order, stuff they wur daein’. See the state a that guy. Whit wizis name?”
“Em, em, whit wizit? Eh, Marvin.”
“Aye, Marvin,” they all say and join together in a rendition of “Happy as Larry. Could not be happier.”
“See him, shouldnae huv hud a dug, shouldnae a been allowed a dug.”
“Aye, yer right,” Davy says. “See the programme makers, they went n got the dug a new hame doon in England.”
“Aye, Bullet, that wiz its name.”
“Bunch a neds,” Paul says again before getting called up to the counter.