Fear and Lothian

We were somewhere ouside Glasgow...when the drugs began to take hold...

No, that's just too lazy. And totally untrue. Let's do this chronologically; boring, but better.

The Glasgow public transport system is just the place to meet stereotypes. And the two lovely ladies who got on a few stops after us were neds - as the local vernacular has it - of the highest order.
Fourteen, maybe 15 years old. The eye-catching one at first was the taller of the two, for she had squeezed herself into a top about three sizes too small. She probably imagined, if she enough mental capacity for imagination - that she was displaying a fine bosom. The effect was more akin to someone shoving two small carrier bags full of half-congealed animal fat into a small bra - complete with ripple effects when she walked.
It was she who answered the phone. The conversation was unremarkable - at least, I paid it no attention - until the immortal line, "suck yer own fuckin' dick."
The small one took the phone. With an accent so thick it was difficult to follow, I caught the following: "I'll fuckin' kill the wee sprog you put in me;" "I'll slice yae from arse to elbow; and, "I'll give yae a tan line like Tony if yae don't delete my number from yer phone."

Unfortunately, the rest of the evening was not so entertaining. We went to see Mother and the Addicts, a beat combo from Scotland inspired by, get this, Gang of Four. I say inspired, but I really mean ripping it off. They didn't even add anything new, different or original. I was, however, introduced to the culinary delight of pakora. Like all Glaswegian food, it is deep-fried, but it wasn't instantly heart-attack inducing. Which must be a positive thing.

Is Edinburgh the least rock n' roll city in the UK? It certainly pushes Cambridge close. This was meant to be the evening of debauchery. Of messy, dreadful behaviour. It started promisingly: a bottle of liquid LSD; just a dab, a third of a dose each. To liven things up a little. And what did it do?
It woke me up, certainly. But it didn't turn weird. No. I got the fear; the paranoia; the queasy feeling in my stomach, prior to coming up. And then...
Nothing. Still, I wasn't really up for this. I'd geared myself up for dancing, and disco biscuits were, according to my host, to be order du jour. Mais, nothing. In fact, the nightclub had more bar staff than punters. And I'm only just joking. It was embarrasing. I retired to bed early, at 4am. Still, it was fun; just a little disappointing...