Laura Hird, Born Free, Children of Albion Roses, Nail & other stories, Canongate, writer, Rebel Inc, Edinburgh, information, contact laura hird, showcase, Tynie Talk <link rel="canonical" href="http://www.laurahird.com/showcase/murray.html"><body><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://uk-sobs.org.uk/" style="padding: 5px 10px;">Casino Sites Not On Gamstop</a><a href="https://energypost.eu/" style="padding: 5px 10px;">Non Gamstop Casino Sites UK</a><a href="https://www.colofonrevistaliteraria.com/" style="padding: 5px 10px;">Casino Online Sin Licencia</a><a href="https://www.itspa.org.uk/" style="padding: 5px 10px;">Best Slot Sites For Winning UK</a><a href="https://www.actualite-de-la-formation.fr/" style="padding: 5px 10px;">Meilleur Casino En Ligne 2025</a></div> <table width="100%" table border="0" cellspacing="3" cellpadding="3"> <tr> <td width="30%" valign="top" bgcolor="FFCC66"> <font size="2" font="Times New Roman"><br> </font><center><script>  </script> <table width="100%" table border="2" cellspacing="3" cellpadding="3"> <tr> <td width="20%" valign="top" bgcolor="FFCC66"> <font size="2" font="Times New Roman"> </font><center> <form action="/" method="post"><select name="choice" size="1" onchange="jump(this.form)"> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/aboutme.html">About Me</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/artists.html">Artists</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/books.html">Books & Stuff</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/competition.html">Competition</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/contactme.html">Contact Me</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/diary.html">Diary</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/events.html">Events</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/FAQs.html">FAQ's</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/filmprofiles.html">Film Profiles</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/filmreviews.html">Film Reviews</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/frankspage.html">Frank's Page</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/heroes.html">Heroes</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/index.html">Index</option> <option value="http://http://www.laurahird.com/links.html">Links</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/litmagcentral">Lit Mag Central</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/newstuff.html">New Stuff</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/projects.html">Projects</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/publications.html">Publications</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/recipes.html">Recipes</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/samples.html">Samples</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/sarahsancestors.html">Sarah’s Ancestors</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/saveourshortstory.html">Save Our Short Story</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/showcase.html">Showcase</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/tynie.html">Tynie Talk</option> <option value="http://www.laurahird.com/tyniesigns.html">Tynie Signs</option> </select></form> <font face="Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, Sans Serif"><b></b></font><center>  <font color="red"> <h1>laurahird.com</h1><p><img src="../Images/IndexImages/laura.jpg" width="106" height="126"></p><p><br><i><h2>SHOWCASE</h2></i></p></font><br><hr> <font face="Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, Sans Serif" size="2"> <font face="Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, Sans Serif" size="4"> <img src="../Images/showcaseimages/murray.bmp" width="100" height="130" border="2"><br> <br> <font face="Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, Sans Serif" size="2"> Not usually a huge fan of faction writing, but really like this description of a journey through to Glasgow for a Vic Goddard concert as it really conjurs up the sights and sounds of both the concert itself and the late night/early morning atmosphere of both Edinburgh and Glasgow.</font></font></font></center> <br><hr> <a href="http://www.punk77.co.uk/groups/subwaysectvicgoddardinterviewsep2001.htm"> <img src="../images/P/B00004UB8W.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="90" height="78" border="2" align="RIGHT"></a><b>VIC GODARD</b> - To read Punk 77 website's 2001 interview with Vic Godard, click image; to read 3AM's Richard Marshall's interview with Godard, click <a href="http://www.3ammagazine.com/musicarchives/2002_nov/interview_vic_godard.html">here</a> or to view 'Sansend,' the latest album, on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00006JS3U/laurahirdso01-21">here</a> <br><hr> <a href="http://www.andyw.com/nectarine9/"> </a><b>NECTARINE NO 9</b> - For more information and lyrics by Davey Henderson's band on the 'How Ya Doing Kid' website, click image; to read about the Nectarine Number 9 on the Beggars Group US website, click <a href="http://www.beggars.com/us/thenectarineno9/">here</a>; to read Kevin Pearce's article on Nectarine, former Win, Former Fire Engines frontman, Davey Henderson, click <a href="http://www.tangents.co.uk/tangents/main/pre-2001/reading.html">here</a> or to listen to sound clips from the band on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000059MEC/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><br><hr> <a href="http://www.bittersprings.com/"> </a><b>THE BITTER SPRINGS</b> - to visit the official website of The Bitter Springs, click image; to download the band's album for free from the Gem Records website, click <a href="http://www.gemrecords.com/artists/11666.html">here</a> or to view the band's back catalogue on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00005QDZH/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><br><hr> <center><font color="red"><h3>MURRAY'S INFLUENCES</h3></font></center> <hr></center> <b>GORDON LEGGE<br><i>("...to me, its like he opened the door for modern Scottish writing and was left holding it while Irvine Welsh rushed in. His short stories are the best. He definitely made me want to write down the stuff that gets into my head." MR)</i> - </b>To read more about Gordon on the Slainte website, click image; to read Gordon's poem, 'The Team - After Carver' on his beloved Falkirk's 'Web Roar' website, click here; or to view Gordon's books on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0224051202/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.aversion.com/bands/clash/"> <img src="../images/P/B00002MVQF.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="80" height="80" border="2" align="right"></a><b>THE CLASH<br><i>("...'Write about what effects you' is what their manager Bernard Rhodes told them. 'Any damn thing is better than nothing' is what Joe Strummer told me." MR)</i> - </b>To read more about the band on the Aversion.com website, click image; to dowload clips of Joe Strummer and the band from the Rolling Stone website, click here; or to listen to sound clips from classic album, 'London Calling' on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00002MVQO/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.3ammagazine.com/litarchives/2003/jun/interview_dan_fante.html"> <img src="../images/P/1903110076.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="64" height="90" border="2" align="left"></a><b>DAN FANTE<br><i>("...Chump Change is perfect, not a word wasted but his poetry really does it as well." MR)</i> - </b>To read Dan Myers interview with Dan Fante on 3AM website, click image; to read 'Man on Fire' - Ben Pleasants' article on Fante on Hollywood Investigator website, click <a href="http://www.hollywoodinvestigator.com/2003/fante1.htm">here</a>; or to read reviews of 'Chump Change' on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0862419581/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.officialramones.com/"> </a><b>THE RAMONES<br><i>("...they couldnt write about cars and girls because they didnt have them, but they wrote about what they knew and kept it simple - 'I dont care about these words, I dont care about that girl' - what they don't say, says more to me than Shakespeare ever could. And faster..." MR)</i> - </b>Click image to enter the official Ramones website; for the Ramones.com website, click <a href="http://www.ramones.com/">here</a>; for Ian Harper's series of photographs and editorial comments on the band, click <a href="http://www.rockometer.com/ramones/">here</a>; or to listen to classic sound clips of the band on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00005JGAB/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <center><font color="red"><h3>MURRAY'S TOP 5 WEBSITES</h3></font> <hr> <br> website.lineone.net/~joestrummer<br>mp3's of joe pissing fire in Edinburgh in 1988<p> http://bargainbikes.net<br>62 quid for a brand new mountain bike - my best buy this month!</p><p> <a href="http://www.punkmagazine.com/">www.punkmagazine.com</a><br>The best press doesn't just report, it inspires</p><p> www.marah-usa.com<br>The best 'new' band I've seen in a long time</p><p> <a href="http://www.richardhell.com/">www.richardhell.com</a><br>The writer/poet/actor/re-inventor/icon</p><p> </p><hr> <center><font color="red"><h3>RELEVANT LINKS</h3></font></center> <hr></center> <b>THE RAINCOATS<br> - </b>To read more about The Raincoats on Rockin Rena's Women of 70's Punk website, click image, or to listen to sound clips from the band on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000001Q48/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Mezzanine/9176/"> <img src="../images/P/B000001E9K.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="93" height="87" border="2" align="right"></a><b>JOHN CALE<br> - </b>To visit the John Cale Homepage for articles lyrics and links, click image, or to listen to sound clips from the 'Artificial Intelligence' album on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000026OSN/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.aurealm.com/slits.htm"> </a><b>THE SLITS<br> - </b>To read more about the legendary all-girl punk band on Aurealm website, click image, or to view the band's available back catalogue on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00004ZE8C/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.geocities.com/mnennoburke/index3.html"> <img src="../images/P/B000005IU1.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" width="89" height="89" border="2" align="right"></a><b>THE STOOGES<br> - </b>To read more about The Stooges on the IggyPop.com website, click image, or to listen to sound clips from the band on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000005IU2/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <a href="http://www.thunders.ca/"> </a><b>JOHNNY THUNDERS<br> - </b>Click image to enter the man, myth and legend Johnny Thunders Cyber Lounge website, or to listen to sound clips from the 'Born to Lose' album on Amazon, click <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000025AGS/laurahirdso01-21">here</a><hr> <br><center><a href="http://htmlgear.lycos.com/specs/guest.html"></a><br> <a target="_NEW" href="http://htmlgear.lycos.com/guest/control.guest?u=laurahird&i=1&a=view"><font face="arial,helv,helvetica,sans serif" size="-2">View My Guestbook</font></a><br> <a target="_NEW" href="http://htmlgear.lycos.com/guest/control.guest?u=laurahird&i=1&a=sign"><font face="arial,helv,helvetica,sans serif" size="-2">Sign My Guestbook</font></a><p></p><hr><a href="http://www.dream-tool.com/tools/messages.mv?index+laurasmessageboard"><h3><b><font color="blue">MESSAGE<br>BOARD</font></b></h3></a><br><hr><br>  <script type="text/javascript" language="JavaScript">var site="s15angeltrev"</script> <script type="text/javascript" language="JavaScript1.2" src="../js/counter_site-s15angeltrev.js"> </script> <noscript> <img src="../meter.asp-site-s15angeltrev.jpg" alt="Site Meter" border="0"> </noscript>  </center><p> </p></td><td width="70%" valign="top" bgcolor="FFCC66"> <font size="3" font="Times New Roman"><br><br> <br> </font><center><font color="red"><h3> <b> 'GLESGA'<br>by Murray Robertson</b></h3></font><br></center><br><p><br></p><blockquote> 'You've got to see the flat before we go, It's amazing'.<p> Special K and his Australian burd were moving from Glesga down to Birmingham. I'd met him at a bus stop when he first moved to Edinburgh years ago and introduced him to too many ne'r do well's. To make up for it, I was also instrumental with introducing him to Australian burd, whom he got it together with after 10 pints of lager. Laura had asked me to drive her and her pal Linda around shortbread tin highland Scotland for a weekend. For some unknown reason, I thought this would be okay and readily agreed. When I was reminded of it a week or so later, I suddenly realised how horrendous it would be - the hassle of hiring a car and driving two chattering lunatics, neither of whom could read a map, or knew left from right, on a tragical history tour, in a part of the country I knew fuck all about. So I let Special K know about it, knowing full well that he had the use of a company car at the weekend, and the thought of a taking bit of available totty away for the weekend was more than he could resist. He bought it and volunteered straight away. Next thing you know, Linda's told us she's bringing Australian burd along. Now, I knew everyone else, and K's pretty easy to get on with, so I thought there would be no problem, but what if Aussie burd turns into a pain in the arse Miss Madam ?. But, it all worked out and, the rest, as they say, is history. Or, at the very least, it's not this story.</p><p> Linda moved down to London in search of Antipodean cock to take her back to the Australia of her youth just after the highland trip, but 6 months later she was back for a weekend crashing out on my living room floor. It just so happened that Vic Godard was playing thru in Glesga that weekend. Perfecto. We swung it so the ladies had a ladies night thru in Edinburgh at my flat, and the laddies would head through to Glesga for a farewell to Special K. He'd been working for a firm that had been making clothes for Marks and Spencers but had lost the contract due to their policy of buying cheap overseas crap, ands thanks to the Labour policy of not joining the Euro, the foreign crap was even cheaper than usual and the Scottish quality goods were too expensive to make up the losses in the European Community. So they 'downsized' and K and Aussie burd had to head south for work. They were both pretty pissed off because they'd just rented this great flat, and now they had to move.</p><p> I'd given Chris a loan of the double CD of the best of Vic Godard and shamed him into coming through to the gig to give K a send off. I met him and Gav, K's old flatmate from his Edinburgh days at the bus station and we got the quarter to six bus through. It was a Saturday night, and we'd all made sure we'd had a quiet Friday, partly so as not to sicken ourselves for the binge and partly cause we were all skint and I'd had to loan Chris £50 to make it through to pay day. The journey was £5 return coming back any time, special offer. This was a bonus for Chris. Usually it was £5 day return, £7.50 for a standard return and he was already talking about coming back straight after the gig. If he'd bought an expensive return and gone back the same night, he'd have moaned about it every time the night was mentioned. I told him the story about the last time I was through and there had actually been a toilet on the bus on the way back. This seemed great, until I found out that the lights didn't work, and I had to hold the toilet door open with my left foot to allow some light into the gloom to see where I was pishing. Gav related a tale of how much pain he'd been on in a similar situation but without a toilet. Glesgas too far away to travel on a full bladder, we were gonna have to suffer a hangover journey home from hell instead.</p><p> Chris had actually given the Vic Godard c.d. a spin that afternoon and was quite looking forward to the gig, Gav had never even heard of him, but when I tried to describe him as like anything from original punk to something like Frank Sinatra, he just sort of looked curious and asked if the club afterwards was any good. The gig was to run from 8 till 11, with three bands, followed by a northern soul club till 3 A.M.. Apparently K had been there the night before and said he felt like a cop, cause everyone else had tattoos and several piercings. Of course, I had no real answers, I'd never been there, but I was just trying to gee everyone up a bit, cause I was looking forward to seeing the bands, having a good sesh, and saying cheerio to K.</p><p> The road swung along with the usual dirty talk and good natured slagging. An old guy gets on the bus at Harthill, the halfway mark on the journey, usually a scene of guys jumping out and pishing but only Gav had a half before getting on the bus. The old guy was pished. He had a bottle and a bag in one hand and was pulling his cash out of his suit pocket with the other. He got his ticket and waved to the folk who'd dropped him off and his changed spilled onto the floor. The driver waited as he made a vain attempt to pick it up, and eventually gave up and slumped into a seat at the front, leaving his bag and bottle spread over the aisle.</p><p> We hit the outskirts of Glesga, the familiar gas towers and graveyards now joined by an American style burgermoviebowlingconcreteandglass complex. Glesga and Edinburgh have a big rivalry in the press, which is crazy as a bus between the two only takes an hour. It used to take that long to get from Corstorphine to Portobello a few years ago, before they made Edinburgh more bus friendly. That's why it's so quick, Glesga has motorway right to the bus station and Edinburgh has busses only routes out to the motorway.</p><p> I got off the bus and went to a payphone to give K a phone, as we were meant to be meeting at 7:30 and it was only 6:50. Quick call, he was on his way. I put my hand in to pick up the returned 20p. Bonus !. There was an extra 10p there !. Too close to me, someone was standing. I looked over. 'Ye goat oany sperr change mate, ahm needin 90p fur ma bus fare'. I gave him the extra 10p I'd won and pocketed my 20. Fuckin Glesga, its as bad as fuckin Calcutta. I moved over to the boys, obviously pissed off - they laughed and told me they'd already been hit on by him. Welcome to Glesga, its miles away. Dodgey punters in shell suits taking it in turns to walk up and down and beg. 'Wouldn't like to spend to long in this shithole' says Chris, 'they can smell you're from out of town'. 'Yeh', I said, 'I had a bath two days ago, no wonder I smell fresh to them'.</p><p> Special K turns up wi his wee brother in tow. His wee brothers a good guy, stays round the corner from me, works in the local B&Q;, but managed to direct me to a shop that actually sold the light bulbs I needed the time I met him there. Only trouble is, thanks to his folks, he's got a hippy name like Errin or Oran or something but I can never figure it out when I'm told it, so I just call him K's wee brother. We walk down towards the water, everyone catching up on each others news. We look at a few pubs with no windows and decide just to go straight to the gig. We find the place, in an unassuming old building with music blaring, things are looking up.</p><p> The door is locked. The music is blaring from a tranny, sitting next to a white carrier bag, sitting next to a jakey woman on the next set of steps, singing and dancing to herself. We move on and I start doubting myself whether this is the gig, but K says he double checked in the free papers, and there is a transit van sitting outside, so it should be on.</p><p> We walk round the corner and see a decent looking boozer. We could be walking miles before finding another one so we head inside. Inside it's warm and welcoming. And dead. K gets the first round and we hit a table in the corner. Elvis is blasting out of the jukebox. We drink quickly and begin to feel at home. I go downstairs and take a shit, the doors with no locks betraying the behaviour of the usual clientele. I was glad I got a clean bog though, I didn't fancy unloading in some scabby club bogs. I head back upstairs and get the next round in. The barman swaps the Elvis tape for something more modern. 'You Only Get What You Give' blasts out the speakers and seems to perk everyone up. We talk about each other, we all know each other well enough to pick up any conversation at the table. It's a good night. Everything flows. Maybe nothing of consequence, but by the time we've had another pint and head off to the gig, we feel like a gang, unstoppable, out to get what's ours.</p><p> It's only an hour later, but the ground floor of the club/bar is not only open, it's heaving. The bouncer tells us to get our tickets for the downstairs gig at the bar. K takes the £5 off each of us and heads to the bar. I see a guy that looks familiar. He looks like James King. Older, fatter, not as balding as I would have thought, but like James King none the less. James King is a hero of mine, a Glesga boy who almost made it with a band called the Lone Wolves, the first time I saw him was on the Whistle Test in the early eighties, and I was hooked. I bought as many singles as I could find and the story goes they recorded an album produced by John Cale, but it was never to be released, and everything fell apart. The last time I saw him play, he was fronting a band whose youngest member was more than half his age, but he still had the great songs. When I first started learning to play the guitar, I used to spend ages trying to work out one of his songs 'The Angels Know', it sounded the most intricate, intriguing, complex, symphonic thing I'd ever heard, a Phil Spectoresque wall of sound. It was only when I swapped a half bottle of southern comfort with a sympathetic video engineer at borders TV and I got a video of them performing it live, that I realised this masterpiece was in fact only two chords !. Not only that, it was the simplest two chords you could play on the guitar - E and A. That sealed it for me, the man was a genius, the way he could arrange two chords, play them in so many ways and have achingly beautiful lyrics too. We went downstairs got a pint in the fairly empty venue and got a seat. After a while I noticed that the guy who looked like James King was sitting two people away from me. I heard the girl he was with call him 'James'. It had to be him.</p><p> There was no toilets downstairs so I went upstairs, got my pass to re-enter and headed to the bogs at the back. I sensed someone following me and started to worry in case I was going to get my pass taken off me. The guy followed me to the toilet when I looked around. It was big C. 'Awright, we're sitting over in the corner'. I had my pish and walked back through the bar, checking every corner. The Beast, Keelie and Suzie were sitting there. Suzie told me that they'd been driving up and down the street, looking for the club when they saw me going through the unmarked door, so they figured that must be it. I told The Beast about seeing James King and we spent a minute trying to remember the name of the Byrds song that he stole. I was in the process of saying 'I really want to speak to him, find out what he's up to, but ye cannae speak in a club, I'll wait until he gets up the next time and follow him into the toilets' when the music stopped. Suzie says 'Eh, I only heard the end of that conversation, but I don't really want to hear any more'. I made a half hearted protest, but ... what can you do ?</p><p> Back downstairs it was now really busy, and I went and got a round in. Some guy next to me speeding away was trying to make conversation with me, talking disjointed blah blah blah shit. I did my best to ignore him, but the barmaid wasn't so lucky when he spotted that she had a 'Raincoats' T shirt on. 'Aye, ah used tae ken them, mind, ah used tae be a drummer fir the slits ah did, ken ?'. Glaswegians don't say ken for know, so I guess he had east coast roots, but I definitely wasn't looking for a 'where do you stay' type conversation. It took an age to get served, but the velvet tasted pretty good, for a dodgey venue bar. I got the first 3 back to the table and was pleased when the last two pints were still at the bar on my return. I put K's wee brothers one down and made my way back to the seat. It wasn't actually seats, but some sort of steps at the side of the venue we were sitting on. I felt my way with my feet along the step in the dark and took a large step into my seat. But it was just a step into the void, the steps didn't run all the way along, I landed heavily stamping my foot, my pint tumbled forward and showered K's wee brother and Chris. 'Sorry ?'. It wasn't enough but luckily they were both wearing dark clothes and the first 6 pints were kicking in. 'Nae bother, dinnae worry about it'.</p><p> Chris was already chatting up two girls on the steps behind him. I recognised the scenario. He'd see a girl he was interested in, she'd make polite conversation for a few minutes, and then he'd try and pummel her into submission by going on and on about anything that he could think off, and end up insulting her.</p><p> 'Are you in a band ?, you look like you should be in a band'. Ah, here it comes. The Tape. We'd taken about a year recording The Tape, all our own stuff, 16 songs, pretty professional sounding for a 4 track, some great tunes. We were proud off it, and it looked like Chris was going to try to use it as a device to worm his way into these girls affection.</p><p> The reggae stopped and The Nectarine No 9 came on, Davey Hendersons latest band. The Dirty Reds, The Fire Engines, Win - Daveys been peddling twisted lyrics and tunes for about as long as Vic Godard has, with a similar degree of success, i.e. often musically completely successful on a pure genius level, but never financially successful. They are magnificent. You never seem to get bands these days with three guitarists and a bass player all playing different tunes and god knows who's singing and who's doing backing vocals and the drummers hardly playing any of the drums, just the floor toms and it sounds tribal and high tech and punk rock and pure pop all at once but it isn't a hybrid, it's a distillation, it's a pure sound. It's setting the hairs on the back of my neck on end. Davey sings like anyone brought up on The Banana Splits and Whirly Birds and Champion The Wonder Horse, a mock amok Californian surfer drawl, and he drops down to the floor when its time to play and not sing. They play a lot of tunes, but as usual manage to avoid playing their greatest poppiest moments. I don't know why. Maybe he just likes making 'the noise' these days, maybe he's scared of going the 'pop star' route again. No matter, this is more than good enough.</p><p> I take a pish again, and The Beast and Co are still upstairs. I tell them they've missed a great gig, but they don't seem to realise it, they're all pretty downbeat in comparison with the downstairs team, this has mibbe got something to do with the fact that big C isn't drinking, due to 'a medical problem'. I chide them a bit more on the way back and head down. The place is totally jumping by now, and the steps are getting full. We get the great idea of hitting the shorts in an attempt to speed up the onset of oblivion. Special K, who was about to go in for an operation on his gastric valve before he knew he was heading down south, asks for a pint of water instead. Big C and the rest come down from upstairs and I usher them into the last available spaces on the steps, pushing back a curtain for more room.</p><p> Vic takes the stage. He apologises for the delay and dedicates the first song to Virgin Rail. The Bitter Springs were supposed to play a set on their own first, but now they're just there as Vic's backing band. 'This ones for my old supervisor, not the new one, he's lovely. Its called Nasty Man'. The chorus goes 'He's a lazy little fucker ...'. If all this sounds punk rock, it is. But in the same way that Elvis and Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis are punk rock, in the same way that Frank Sinatra and the Stooges and Hank Williams are punk rock. He plays 'The Place We Used To Live' and it reminds you just how punk rock Phil Spector was. The sound for both bands has been surprisingly great, a big booming sound with every instrument coming through, but coming through together, not sharp separate sounds, but coming across as a whole. Its not what most sound men are aiming for, they like a squeaky clean sound with all instruments level in the mix and all with their own sonic area, but you've got to hear the sound as a whole, bands try and play together it seems a shame to disjoint them once it gets out into the free air. He plays 'Johnny Thunders', the song I first heard on 'Rock On Scotland' which changed Vic Godard from a name I'd seen in the history books to someone whose every recording I had to hunt down. It got late and the music came on, but they got called back to do one more song, this time one from 'The Bitter Springs' to make up for them losing their set. And then it was all over.</p><p> We hit the bar and the toilets and are more than up for the following club. It's starting to blur. Chris has given the tape to one of the girls. And they'd both gone. Me and the Beast lament that he never played 'Make me sad', one of the best tunes ever. We're standing next to the dressing room and the speedy guy from the bar comes out and says to no one and everyone 'I'm away tae get a pint for Vic, ken?'. Keelie and the rest of them head back to Edinburgh. We hang about tanking into short after short and milling about the dance floor with intent and without purpose. Special K makes his excuses and leaves, wisely telling me his address. I forget it immediately and we head upstairs and get another round in. Chris spots the girls from before. They spot him and head downstairs. Nothing is happening up here so we move back down, and dance. Special K's wee brother is snogging away, making a pig of himself as the lights go up. 'I didn't want to shag her anyway, she was too old, she said she was 26 and I had to pretend I was 23, and she believed me, but I'm only 19'. We all laugh, and feel very, very old.</p><p> We head out onto the street to get a taxi, but there's nothing to be seen. We walk along to a casino with a line of cabs waiting outside, but the drivers tell us not to even bother waiting unless we've got 40 quid. We discuss which way to start walking, but as K's wee brother is the only one who's been there and he cant remember, I hit a call box to phone K, and it rings until 'You're through to a BT answering service, please leave your ......'. Fuck. I go to take a pish in the streets and everyone else joins me, in one of these 'Starsky and Hutch' type back alleys that remind me how much Glesga and New York have in common, I guess they both must have had their big growth periods at the same time.</p><p> We find ourselves utterly and completely unable to pass a Kebab shop and the words 'Large Donner Kebab' come tumbling out of our mouths in rapid succession. £3.20, and its fucking HUGE. Cheaper and, in the circumstances, a lot tastier than the Edinburgh version. We're milling about outside trying to finish them when a lassie comes up totally reeking. I'm shutting up my wrapper ready to launch it into the night when she comes over. 'Are ye finished wi that ?', 'Aye, jist take it'. She's already opening it and stuffing it down her throat in a oner, like when you see seagulls lifting up the remains of chicken legs out of burst binbags on a Sunday morning. 'Here, have mine as well', Gav offers up his debris and she gulps it down like a pint of Guinness. 'I love men, so ah do, ah cannae get enough o them, ah jist want mair'. We all look at each other, and I'm beginning to think we could ALL mibbe get a bed for the night, if we played our cards right. But she's gone, crashing into the kebab shop, haranguing others even more blootered than us. We move onwards into the night..</p><p> Its now about 4 O'clock. Special K's wee brother thinks it was maybe north of where we are. We keep heading in whatever direction it is we're stumbling along.</p><p> 'What's that ?' . Gavs picked up something from the ground. Its beeping. It's a mobile phone. We give K another ring to tell him we're on our way. Answering machine again. We ring him up several times in a row to see if we can wake him, but to no avail. Just for fun, we look through the phone numbers stored on the handset and give them a ring.</p><p> 'Hello?', it's a guy, woken from his slumbers.</p><p> 'Hello?'</p><p> 'who is this?'</p><p> 'Well, you've got a fuckin cheek, you phone me up at this time of night and ask me who I am, what the fuck is your problem pal?'</p><p> '....but, you phoned me?</p><p>' 'You sick disgusting fuck, is that how you get your kicks, phoning people up in the middle of the night and asking who they are, well I'll fucking tell you who I am, I am your worst fucking nightmare ye fucking prick. Take a look at the black car out your fucking window, ahm in there just now and when I get you out here and in the fuckin back, you're gonna pray to your fuckin god that your arse is big enough to take this fuckin weapon, cause if you rip and you get yer fuckin blood on my motor, you're a FUCKIN DEAD MAN'</p><p> 'wha, wha, what ?'</p><p> I pass the phone back to Gav to switch it off, as I'm having a coughing fit, Chris has almost got tears in his eyes and K's wee brother's looking at me like I've just escaped from somewhere.</p><p> We try Special K again, with the usual results.</p><p> We start heading towards the bus station, as its now about half four and it cant be long to the first bus.</p><p> Its another two hours. For most of us, its better going home half cut and sleeping in our own beds than traipsing through Glesga, taking a chance on wakening K and crashing on a floor for a few hours and then having the nightmare journey home, but K's wee brother has stuff at the flat, so he heads back to try and find a cab, probably no bother by this time and he knows which way to go from the bus station.</p><p> By now the phone's been disconnected so we amuse ourselves by dismantling it and binning it. Then take it out the bin and kick fuck out of it. Gav goes walkabout and I take a pish in his direction when he comes back. We spend a good ten minutes asking him if he's cold and repeatedly explaining the reason why jackets with zips on them are so much warmer than cool looking leather ones with buttons like he's wearing. People are coming and going, there's 4 folk down at the Edinburgh stand, but we're not in the mood to make conversation, and the way that the two guys are totally comatose, we begin to suspect its not just bevvy. They're probably thinking the same of us, I mean what normal people would be walking about at this time of the morning. Some other folk come and crash behind us for half an hour, and then leave. The papers arrive. Someone opens up the coffee machine and a few taxi drivers come by for a cuppa. One of the girls from the Edinburgh stop is prowling around. I ask her where she's been. She doesn't have a clue. She appears to confirm our suspicions. Mind you, we probably look like we confirm hers, but we're at that stage where we genuinely don't give a fuck about anything anymore. We go back to our respective benches and amuse ourselves by waiting for Gav to fall asleep and then wakening him up. Over and over again.</p><p> And then the bus arrives. All of a sudden, its busy, people spring out of nowhere and we're heading back east again. The sun's coming up and the coach is warming. There's no traffic on the roads and we're flying along. A couple of folk get off at Harthill and I begin to wonder if I'm ever going to get to sleep. The next thing I know we're at the Highland Showground, just outside of Edinburgh. I spend the next 5 miles trying to regain consciousness so as not to miss our stop at Haymarket. By Roseburn I'm okay and so is Chris. I wake Gav to let him know we're getting off here, and we say our quick goodbyes, and I give him a copy of The Tape.</p><p> There's ice on the streets at Haymarket, thank god it was surprisingly mild through in Glesga. 'I don't know if I can even be bothered walking' says Chris as he heads his way, but at this time we've got no option. There's a few people on the streets, walking dogs and going home from party's but the journey is only broken by a pish on the way, so as not to wake those crashing out on my floor. I get in the door and go through and Laura wakes.</p><p> 'What time is I, what are you doing here?'</p><p> 'I thought I couldn't trust you to behave, so I came back to check.'</p><p> 'What?'</p><p> 'Nah, we lost Kristian and ended up getting the first bus back.'</p><p> My last thought before passing out was, I'll never be able to sleep without relaxing first, a glass of milk, a whisky, a wank or whatever.'</p><p> I never did get to see the flat.</p><p> <br> <br> <br></p><center> <font color="red"> <b>© Murray Robertson</b> <br> Reproduced with permission</font></center> <br> <br> <hr><center><form method="post" action="http://us.1.p.webhosting.yahoo.com/forms?login=tynietalk"> <table width="400" border="0" cellspacing="10" cellpadding="0"> <tr><td valign="top" align="right"> <font face="arial" size="-1"> <b>Your first name:</b></font><br> <input type="text" name="Name" size="25"> </td> <td valign="top" align="left"> <font face="arial" size="-1"> <b>Your URL:</b></font><br> <input type="text" name="URL" size="25"> </td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" valign="top" align="center"> <font face="arial" size="-1"> <b>Use the box below to leave messages for Murray. Begin Message: For Murray Robertson </b></font><br> <textarea cols="40" rows="10" name="Comments"></textarea> <p> <input type="submit" value="Send"> <input type="reset" value="Clear the form"> </p></td> </tr> </table>  <input type="hidden" name="subject" value="Survey Results">  <input type="hidden" name="required_fields" value="Name,URL">  </form> <br> </center></blockquote></td> </tr> </table> </center></td> </tr> </table> <script language="JavaScript" src="../d/lib/smb/js/hosting/cp/js_source/whv2_001.js"></script><script language="javascript">geovisit();</script><noscript><img src="../visit_us1359746398.gif" alt="setstats" border="0" width="1" height="1"></noscript> <div style="text-align:center"><h2>Useful resources</h2><ul style="list-style:none;padding-left:0"><li><a href="https://thegoodhub.com/">Meilleur Casino En Ligne Francais</a></li></ul></div></body>