Thursday, 30 April 2015

Love parasite by Grant Harbison

“I’m not a nympho, honey!” she cried. “I just have a vampire vagina that cannot be denied.”
“Vampire vagina? What you should be saying is Idaho from North Carolina.”
“Honey, you know that’s not fair. I love you very much. I really do care.”
“Not fair? How can you say that when you continue to share?”
“Please don’t dismay, you know that I’m fine during the day. But try as I might, I can’t stop these urges night after night.”
“Are you saying that I shouldn’t get uptight? How can I live with a love parasite?”
“All I can say is that I’m really not sure. I have this condition with no apparent cure.”
“We’ll have to do something, something instead. What if each night I tied you to the bed?”
“No, I wouldn’t bother. If you did that I’d just thrash and holler.”
“Your carnal womanly rights I simply can’t deny, but let me be the only one. Please let me try.”
“That is so sweet my sugar honey pie, but no matter how you try, you will never satisfy.’
“What about something artificial? That should do the trick.’
“No, I tried once with a candle and it got on my wick.’
“So what do you suggest, Emma? There must be a way to sort this dilemma.”
“Go outside and find me some men. Let’s say nine, no make it ten.”
“Find ten men to share our bed? If you think I’d do that you are mad in the head. This is not working and I think we should part, because I cannot live with a nympho tart.”  

Madcap mumbles bt Grant Harbison

Oh master of mysterious mumbles am I
Laws of lucidity do not apply
I’m the supremo of incoherent garbles
An incessant gabbler
But not short of marbles  
I’m a slumber grumbler
My mutters never cease
It’s my singular performance
The pillow party piece
Blethering balderdash like someone possessed
A nocturnal and diurnal nattering pest
Seemingly sleeping but not quite at rest
Or so it has been said
By the one who lies on the other side of the bed
The verity of this I wouldn’t know
As I’m never awake to witness the show

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

The gossip girls by Grant Harbison

Bertha told Gerta and it really upset her

But what she said to Gerta was relayed by Roberta

Gerta had no choice and would have to tell Alberta

In case she heard it from haughty Henrietta

Or even worse, gregarious Greta

But what if Alberta decided to tell Marietta?

It would worsen the situation instead of making it better

Bertha told Gerta that she’d already told Tertia

But Tertia had just grunted with her usual inertia

That worried Gerta and she began to sweat

For Tertia was brash and lacked etiquette

And would take great pleasure in informing Lynette

Lynette, she knew would be highly upset

And would probably go babbling to her sister, Suzette

That would be a calamity as Suzette would tell Sophia

And there would be hell to pay if Sophia told Maria

Bertha and Gerta didn’t know what to do

But Bertha suddenly suggested that they could tell Sue

Sue would tell Roxanne and she would tell Diane

And all three together would surely make a plan

They’d make sure the story didn’t reach the wrong ear

With their usual bully tactics of intimidation and fear

So right there and then it was decided

The names of the girls who would be confided

Monday, 27 April 2015

Glencoe by Grant Harbison

We lived in the valley but now we are ghosts
The price we had to pay for being good hosts
Good hospitality is the Highland way
And on that cold winter night we couldn't turn ye away
We took ye in and provided a bed
Ye were all treated well and decently fed
For days ye were with us and we had no perception
That yer amiability was just a deception
Ye woke us up in the middle of the night
And I heard my whole clan screaming with fright
It was a horrific atrocity conspired by ye baith
And all because we didn't share yer faith
It was a cowardly act of odious slaughter
Sons and daughters
Ye tried to make sure that this story wasn’t told
For those who weren't butchered were left to die in the cold
Ye Campbells destroyed our MacDonald clan
Death even came to those who ran
What evil possessed ye to do this thing?
It was more than allegiance to yer Orange king
Ye came to us as friends and ye left as foe
And we’ll always despise ye for the massacre in Glencoe

Saturday, 25 April 2015

AKA Prince by Grant Harbison

The frog
AKA Prince
Did wince
Well you would have done the same
It’s not Prince we should blame
His heart fluttered
His head was in a whirl
He fell in love with the sleeping girl
He had no qualms
He had no fears
Little did he know she’d been asleep for years
She truly entranced him
She took away his breath
But the maiden he kissed had breath like death
She eyed him with love when she awoke
But Frog was in distress and continued to choke
She said, “Frog, do I disgust you. Do you feel distaste?”
He said, “No, fair maiden. But you really need paste.”
“Oh no,” she cried. “Is this my fate?”
“No my love, you just need Colgate.”
And so they lived happily ever after
Like every fairy tale
And if I’m annoying
You have the right to impale

Friday, 24 April 2015

Dean the mean and diffident marine by Grant Harbison

Dean the marine was prepared to be scared
But he just could not bear to be bared
And viewed the naked body as something not to be shared
A puritan of principles
He was a complete and utter prude
And considered it exceedingly rude to parade around in the nude
He was skilled in military exercises
Combat and to shoot
But the soldier was far too timid to be seen in his birthday suit
Dean was a fighting machine
Tough and dour
But what frightened him the most was the inevitable communal shower
He could kill with his bare hands
Live off the land
Survive in any weather
But he was outrageously coy of being caught in the altogether
So Dean had to wait until the witching hour
To sneak out of bed for his solitary shower
Wait each night till the others were asleep
And to the showers deftly creep
With heart hammering fear of being accosted
Day after day he wakes up exhausted
But the real truth is known only to his mum
And since he was a small boy he hasn't been able to overcome
That his wiener is smaller than the size of his thumb

Perfectly plastered by Grant Harbison

One foot is protruding and the other is intruding on my sight
My left one is compliant
But I can’t say the same for the right
And as I cling to the safety of the bright streetlight
Perfectly plastered and very uptight
My instincts are aware of my puzzling plight
Perhaps it would be easier to crawl
It would remove the risk of having a fall
I know I will probably look deranged
But it would be nice just to see that the scenery has changed
And although my journey may take a while
Down on all fours for a quarter of a mile
I’ll have movement
I’ll have goal
And I won’t have to hug this stupid bloody pole

Thursday, 23 April 2015

Percival the prig by Grant Harbison

Prissy Percival pranced through Paris
Wearing tweeds that came from Harris
But Percival thought this was cool
Wearing a suit made of jagged wool
And the whole of his wardrobe consists
Of cloth that was meant for masochists
But that’s what appealed to his taste
All of his life he’s been strait-laced
It’s a life that’s been dreary and dull
Growing up on the Isle of Mull
Percy has never seen it that way
And always finds things to fill up his day
He’s never known a girl nor ever had a wife
And he’s been on his own most of his life
But that’s been something he never has missed
For the poor little fellow has never been kissed
He’s never ever gambled and he certainly doesn’t smoke
Folks on the island think he’s a joke
Prim and proper he still remains merry
And will never drink more than two glasses of sherry
Then one day he did a little dance
When he realised he’d saved enough money for France
So off to Paris he went
And all of his wanderings he deemed time well spent
He had a spring in his step and a tuneful whistle
This peculiar wee man from the land of the thistle
He whopped with joy at the splendour of the city
But it wasn’t hard to please this sad Walter Mitty
He kept up the pace hour after hour
Until he eventually arrived at the Eiffel Tower
“Anglais?” the people he met did say
“Non, je ne suis pas” he replied. “Je suis Écossais.”  

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Men in skirts by Grant Harbison

She said, “I love a man in a kilt, I do confess.”
Ah said, “Yer mistaken, foreign lassie. It’s just me in a dress.”
“But you look so William Wallace, you look so Braveheart.”
“Ye dinnae ken what’s underneath, it’ll sure gie ye a start.”
“What do you have underneath that I shouldn’t know?”
“It’s a Scottish secret. Ah’m afraid it’s a no show.”
“Do the Scottish girls know what it’s about?”
“They definitely dae and it gie’s me merr clout.”
“Would you mind if I just take a look?”
“Naw, fair lassie, we’ve got tae go by the book.”
“And what book is that?”
“A fair amount o’ money tae look and a fortune tae gie a pat.” 

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

Trying to get ahead by Grant Harbison

She was lovely as a blonde and lovely as a skull
Said the man in the pub on the Isle of Mull
He then stared at me with expectancy
What could I say?
I couldn’t disagree
But his words unnerved me
They were rather sinister
Not what you’d expect from a Methodist minister
Had he been there too long and had too many swills?
Or was he letting me know about one of his kills?
He flashed me a smile and opened his bag
I feared the worst and got ready to gag
But from his bag he pulled out a book
And gave it to me to take a look
He was a part time writer and wanted me to see
The opening line of his murder mystery

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Message to all who view my blog

This is a big thank you to all of you who view my blog. I'm glad to entertain and hope you all enjoy the rhymes and short stories. I do hope that many of you will read my books. The Belonging trilogy is fiction but it does relate to a lot that has happened in my life. If you want to know more about the author, book 1 (Belonging..the feud) is available on Amazon). Part 2 is called  'The Truce' and part 3 is 'Reprisal.' I want people to hear my story. Thank you.

Dormant by Grant Harbison

Rise and shine
Come out of your shell
Don’t be disheartened
It’s just a momentary spell
Get up
It’s a brand new day
I know you’re jaded
But it could go your way
Get out
Don’t be disconcerted
I know it can’t be easy when you’ve become introverted
Stand tall
Regain you former self
Shine like a star and wipe the dust from your shelf
Have faith
I know it’s hard to do
But no one is any better than you
Never ever break
Even if you feel that you’ve had more than you can take
Hold your head up
Be proud
Don’t try to hide or be afraid of the crowd
Don’t feel degraded
For chances are you could be inundated

Saturday, 18 April 2015

Ice on the flowers by Grant Harbison

There is ice on the flowers

The flowers that you laid

Flurries of snow

Sting your tear stained face

Relentless lament                                                                   

As you stand beside my grave

Wondering why

I took my own life

Your questions have no answers

For dread debilitates

It sullied my heart

Designed monsters for my head

Sucking my life

I struggled with breath

Please understand

I meant you no pain

But to live with myself

Would have driven me insane

Thursday, 16 April 2015

Fifteen at the fourteen eighteen

It was 1914
And the start of the greatest war the world has ever seen
I wanted to go
But I was only fifteen
And those who were recruited were at least seventeen
So I lied about my age so that I could enlist
My country was at war
And I didn’t want to miss
We were going to win and shout out loud
We were British and we were proud
The reality hit me when I got to the trench
But I withstood the cold and the terrible stench
I was a working class boy who’d had many spats
So it was no big deal that I had to eat rats
But then one day an order came through
And I saw fear in my comrades and watched some of them spew
The sergeant began to bark, “Hop, hop, hop!”
And then informed us that we were going over the top
My nerves were jangled
My head was in a whirl
I was just a young boy who’d never kissed a girl
Goodbye father
Goodbye mother
Goodbye sister and older brother
The order was clear and there was no point in defying
And as we went over I heard the screams of those dying
But  in my heart I knew that the Gerries were crying
There must have been some sentiment after yesterday’s game of ball
But they were just obeying orders
After all

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

Rhyme is sublime by Grant Harbison

Carrots and parrots
Perfumes and fumes
Comics and tonics
Tombs and legumes
Ice and mice
Pails and snails
Spice and rice
Scales and nails
Everything you want to help you rhyme
Come visit us and have a good time
Rhymes for everyone
We have them all
But you’ll need imagination to see our stall

Tuesday, 14 April 2015

Tomfoolery by Grant Harbison

I’m the cat that caught the piebald rat-a-tat-tat
No, I’m not talking about a rat
I’m talking about one of those fakes
That’s just the ridiculous sound that it makes
It didn’t screech nor did it squeal
And my razor sharp claws it didn’t even feel
My humans controlled it and manoeuvred it around the house
Thinking that I’d probably mistake it for a mouse
Their way of thinking is totally absurd
I know a mouse from a rat-a-tat-tat and I certainly know a bird
They way they treat me sometimes is an utter disgrace
For they know if I see movement I can’t resist the chase
So I caught the rat-a-tat-tat and took it outside
And quickly got rid of it to restore my pride
A cat with my stature cannot be seen
With a plastic rodent that’s purple and green

Monday, 13 April 2015

The time you stole from me by Grant Harbison

The time you stole from me

Was a time that I was needing

I never knew at the time

It was on your malice I was feeding

Your constant abuse

I’d learned to expect

But I’d strived so hard to get you to accept

You just poured your derision

Continued to spurn

And those times that I’d left

I’d always return

It took me a while

But eventually I realised

It wasn’t just me

But yourself you despised

Sunday, 12 April 2015

Same again Ben by Grant Harbison

It was always the same with Ben
“Would ye like another?”
“Aye, same again.”
Stubborn as a mule
Ben would never bend
Each night in the pub he’d try to stay to the end
All that mattered to Ben was drink
One glass after another he’d tenaciously sink
Drink until he was shown the door
Drink until he fell to the floor
No one liked Ben
Ye ken
He was a sour faced loner without a friend
And no one gave a damn on that cold winter night
When he’d crawled out of the pub
What happened after that?
Naebody kens
It was the last time he was seen
Same again Ben

Saturday, 11 April 2015

If my wings unfolded by Grant Harbison

Lost in a labyrinth

Of life’s rocky roads

Where quests for a dream

Always implode 

Wandering aimlessly

Forlorn and jaded

Longing for new horizons

Where hopes are facilitated

Where the sun always shines

And joy is untold

I’d be watching astonished

As my wings unfold

I could rise above

Fly far and wide

From the difficult roads

And the mountains I’ve climbed

I could fly like a bird

And soar through the skies

This I could do

If opportunities arise  

Friday, 10 April 2015

Stud, Duchess, Countess and I by Grant Harbison

Something compelled us on that moonlit night

For we never stopped until dawn’s early light

Under a starry sky



Countess and I

It was an arduous endeavour

One that required vigour and fervour

Profuse energy

And close synergy

The whole affair was riveting and splendid

But we were somewhat relieved when it all ended

Stud was knackered

And Countess was shattered

The Duchess sighed and I was elated

It was far more than we anticipated

All our hankering had finally been sated

Perhaps you feel that I should be somewhat contrite

And I shouldn’t be revelling in sordid delight

But I say to you,” Don’t be silly.”

For Stud was a stallion

And Countess a filly 

Thursday, 9 April 2015

An act of folly towards the poor ice lolly by Grant Harbison

“Are you a Dropsicle?” asked the Popsicle with a smile.

“Yes, patronising Popsicle,” replied the Dropsicle. “Could you please help me up from the tile?”

“I’m afraid not. The tile looks rather icky and you look rather sticky.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I’m asking you please. I’m just a little grubby, you won’t catch a disease."

"I could pass you your stick. If you cling onto that it should do the trick.”

“Okay, Mr. Dapper, pass me the stick and I’ll also need my wrapper.”

“Bad news, young whippersnapper, I don’t say any trace of a wrapper. Perhaps it was thrown in a bin. Somewhat surprising considering the situation you’re in.”

“Look, would you stop taking the mick! Pass me my stick and make it quick!”

“Not sure now if I should. You are very insistent and extremely rude. I’m the Popsicle, you’re the Dropsicle and I didn’t fall off my stick after only one lick."

“I didn’t fall, I was shoved. I thought I was the flavour that everyone loved. Have I become such a bore? Is that why I was thrown to the floor?”

“Perhaps, young fellow. There seems to be a lesser demand for the plain orange or yellow. Now they are free to have their pick. They can have two or more flavours all on one stick. It is a shame what has happened to you; being tossed aside because of your hue. Hang on a bit and I’ll help you off the floor. I won’t ignore your dilemma anymore.”

Devil's match by Grant Harbison

A Lucifer strikes
Rekindling sparks for a former flame
And erstwhile passion burns once again
Rampant fire blazes higher
For flaming fools fervent with desire
Fools who choose to ignore
That there can be no future with a past paramour
The lover’s curse
Second time around
The pain could be worse 

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Norman the Ned by Grant Harbison

Norman was an infamous Ned
And in Glasgow’s inner city
He was born and bred
A wilful wide boy
A stereotype
Famed for his aggression
He relished the hype
A heartless hooligan
Devoid of pity
Norman’s notoriety spread through the city
Infamy that begot many foes
And with cumulative rapidity his problems arose
But Norman was reckless
Norman was smug
Nothing fazed the thoughtless thug
And laxity is what had brought about his plight
Out on his own late at night
He’d been truly confounded and utterly dumbfounded
When he’d found himself completely surrounded
With no chance of escape
He’d stared at his foe
As they’d cracked their knuckles and moved in slow
He’d tried to retaliate
At least give it a go
But they’d soon knocked him down
Blow by blow
Kicks to the body
Kicks to the head
Norman had groaned
Norman had bled
And then the inevitable
In true Glasgow style
The customary slash
The Glasgow smile
But Norman is doing well
Norman is fine
And the stitching looks good
Line by line 

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

My way and that's the highway by Grant Harbison

So I may take without givin’
But I gotta make a livin’
It’s not like I’m dirt
Although I do sometimes like to flirt
Just a weakness for the ladies
Anythin’ in a skirt
It sure has caused a bit o’ strife in me life
Ye should see the bottle scars from a heartless wife
But there I go driftin’ away
Almost forgettin’ what I wanted to say
Aye, ye might think I’m some Dublin jerk
And ye might disapprove o’ this line of work
But I’m a good upstandin’ highwayman
And to keep ye from harm I do all that I can
So don’t get rash
When I hold you up and ask for yer cash
I target the rich
I target the poor
I believe in equity
Of that ye can be sure
I may be an inconvenience to me fellow man
But please understand
That I too have a pension plan 

Monday, 6 April 2015

What I am see in thee by Grant Harbison


Who I am is who I wanted to be

Where I am is where I ought to be

What I get is what has been gifted to me

Who I love is who has been chosen for me

Where I am going is where I am guided to be

What I achieve is my own special ability

Who trusts in me is trustworthy to me

Where I have been is where I needed to be

What I decide is the right decision for me

Who comes into my life remains if it’s meant to be

Where life will take me is still a mystery

What goes amiss is simply a lesson for me

Who I don’t see will always be a friend to me

Where I am from will always belong to me

Who I’ve become is who I’ll always be

What I am see in thee 

Sunday, 5 April 2015

Sky high and sky fall by Grant Harbison

Alice and Lucy loved to get high
And soar through the bright diamond sky
Drift through strawberry fields free and unseen
Sink to new depths in a yellow submarine
Rise and run through Wonderland
Dance and sway to Sergeant Pepper’s band
Dancing with the walrus and the mad hat geek
In the land that had eight days in a week
But when the high got low and they had to get back
Reality would hit them with a vicious attack
Lying on the floor feeling the plight
The vicious comedown from a hard day’s night
They both felt the rumble of stomach punches
The inevitable craving for post high munchies
Alice looked at Lucy with a sparkle in her eye
And said, “How about rabbit stew and March hare pie?”

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Tangerine Dream a short story by Grant Harbison

Dundee, Scotland 1987

21 year old Brian Hegarty ran frantically down the stairs of his house when he heard the relentless banging on his front door. When he opened the door, his friend, Craig Munro, stood outside looking very anxious.

“Whit’s aw the bangin’ aboot?” Brian asked. “The wife’s jist got the bairn tae sleep.”

“Sorry, mate. We’ll need tae get movin’ if we want tae see the game.”

“Whit are ye oan aboot? The pub’s jist doon the road.”

“Aye, but we’re no gaun tae The Crown.”


“Ah thought we’d gang tae The Viceroy.”

“That’s awa oan the other side o’ toon. Whit dae ye want tae gang there for?”

“It’ll be full o’ United supporters, plus there’s a bigger telly.”

“Aye, awricht. Let me jist grab ma jaicket an’ say cheerio tae the wife.”

Twenty minutes later, they both waited patiently at the bus stop.

“Ah’ve got a feelin’ it’s gonnae be a braw game the nicht,” said Craig. “An’ you?”

“Naw, beatin’ Barcelona at Tannadice is wan thing, but oan their groon’? Nae chance.”

“Aw c’moan, United could dae it. Scottish fitba’ is no aw aboot Rangers an’ Celtic.”

“Ah ken that.”

“If Aberdeen can dae it in Europe, so can we.”

“We’ve done well tae get tae this stage. Where’s that bus?”

Craig looked at his watch. “It better hurry up. Dinnae want tae miss the start.”

Just then a bus turned around the corner a little further up the road.

“Here we go,” said Brian

When they entered the pub three quarters of an hour later, they were astonished to find that it was almost empty.

“A bit quiet,” Brian remarked. “Is yer watch richt?”

“Aye, ah checked it before ah left hame.”

“Let’s hae a pint.”

“Whit can ah get ye, lads?” the barman asked.

“Twa pints o’ lager,” said Brian.

“Ah thought the place wid be mobbed by noo,” said Craig to the barman when he returned with the drinks.

“Aye, it wid be if the telly wis workin’,” the barman replied.

“Whit!” exclaimed Craig.

“Aye, been like that for a few days noo. Repair man said he’d be here the morra.”

“Aw that’s jist brilliant!” Brian moaned. “Whit noo?”

“Whit aboot the Tartan Dog?” Craig suggested.

“Dinnae be daft. That place will be full o’ the Dens Park mob. We’d be subjected tae verbal abuse or even worse when they find oot that we’re United supporters.”

“Aye, yer richt. Whit aboot Saracens?”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s aboot a mile doon the road. Hurry up an’ finish yer pint. We’ll probably only miss the kick aff.”

Outside the pub, Craig set the pace and Brian struggled to keep up.

“Slow doon, wid ye!” Brian yelled.

Craig slowed down to let his friend catch up. “If ye move a wee bit faster, we’ll get there oan time.”

“We could go hauf oan a taxi?” Brian proposed.

“Waste o’ money.”

“Are you bein’ tight fisted again?”

“That’s no fair. Ye ken ah only get ma Giro oan Tuesday. Whit aboot you? You’re the wan that’s workin’.”

“Aye, but ah’ve got a wife an’ bairn tae support.”
Suddenly they heard the sound of sirens

“That’s no too faur awa,” said Brian.”Ah wonder whit that’s aboot?”

“Somethin’s oan fire.”


“Look,” said Craig pointing ahead. “Dae ye no see the smoke?’

“Aye ah see it noo. Ah wonder whit’s burnin’?”

Just then three fire brigade trucks whizzed past them.

“Must be serious,” stated Craig

Brian noticed a figure walking towards them. “Maybe we should ask this auld guy.”

Before either of them could ask the question, the man spoke to them first. “Ah widnae gang doon that way, lads. It’s chaos.”

“Whits oan fire?” Brian asked.

“The Saracens pub,” the man replied.

“Aw naw.” Craig groaned. “How?’

“Ah dinnae ken. Aw ah ken is that naebody got hurt.”

“Where tae noo?” Brian asked Craig.

“We better gang hame,” replied Craig. “There’s a bus comin’. C’moan, run!”

Both young men ran across the road, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic

“Hurry, Brian, it’s awready at the bus stoap!”

As soon as they got to the bus, the doors had already closed. They tried desperately to get the driver’s attention, but he didn’t see them and drove off.

“This is turnin’ oot tae be a disaster,” Brian grumbled. “An’ you said that this wis gonnae turn oot tae be a braw nicht.”

“It’s no ma fault.”

“We should’ve went tae The Crown, or better still, got a few cans an’ watched it at hame.”

“If a bus comes in the next few minutes, we’ll see maist o’ the second hauf.”

“Wan o’ the greatest matches in Dundee United’s history, an’ we’re miles fae hame, waiting oan a bus.”

“Aw, cheer up, will ye. Ye can be a richt prophet o’ doom sometimes. Here’s a bus comin’ noo. So stoap moanin’.”

“Dae ye ken the United score, pal?” Craig asked a young man sitting at the front of the bus.

The young man shook his head.

“Does anybody ken the United score?”  he yelled.

Some of the passengers shook their heads, while others ignored him.

“Looks like we’ll huv tae wait,” he said to Brian.

Twenty minutes into the journey, the driver stopped the bus.

“Whit’s happenin’?” Brian asked. “This is no a bus stoap.”

“Whit’s gaun oan?” Craig hollered.

“Ah think the bus has broke doon, son,” an elderly woman at the front of the bus replied.

Brian sighed and shook his head. “This jist gets better an’ better.

Moments later the driver appeared. “Ah’m sorry aboot this,” he told the passengers. “Ye’ll aw have tae wait for another bus. Ah dinnae ken whit the problem is. Jist mak sure ye’ve aw got yer tickets.”

“There’s nae time tae tak another bus,” Craig told Brian. “We’ll huv tae walk.”

“We’re still too faur awa. We’ll never mak it in time.”

“Ah ken a shoart cut, c’moan.”

“Where are we gaun?” asked Brian minutes later.

“If we go ower the railway lines, we’ll get tae the graveyard. We’ll nip through the grave yard an’ we’ll be minutes awa fae The Crown.”

“Ah’m no gaun through there!”

“Och, dinnae be a big fearty.”

“Ah’m no feart.”

“Aye ye are. Dinnae worry. Ah can assure ye there’s nae heidless corpses or zombies walkin’ aboot.”

“Dinnae be daft, Craig. It’s no the deid ah’m worried aboot, it’s the livin’. A lot o’ scallawags hing aboot there.”

“There’ll be naebody there.”

When they reached the graveyard, Brian looked in dismay at the railings.

“Whit’s the matter?” Craig asked.

“There’s spikes oan toap.”


“It’s dark. Wan slip an’ yer impailed.”

“It’s no that high. Ah’ll climb ower first, then ah’ll watch ye fae the other side.”


Craig climbed over the railing with ease. “See it’s easy.”

Brian climbed the railing tentatively. When he reached the top, he wobbled slightly before jumping forward.

“Noo tae get tae the other side. Quiet as a moose, mind.”


Nervous to begin with, Brian felt slightly relieved when they’d reached halfway without incident. But that relief was short lived when three young men suddenly appeared in front of them.

Brian felt his fear rising. “Ah telt ye this wid happen.”

“Let me dae the talkin’,” said Craig.

“Ah dinnae think it’s gonnae dae any good.”

“Awricht, lads,” Craig greeted them.

None of them answered. They just stared at Brian and Craig with malevolent grins on their faces.

“We’re jist tryin’ tae get tae a telly tae see the end o’ the match,” said Craig. “Dae any o’ ye ken the score?”

“Ye better hand ower yer cash,” one of them threatened.

“Och, dinnae be like that. It’s a big match for United the nicht.”

“Ah dinnae care. Ah’m a Dundee supporter. Noo dae as ah say an’ hand ower yer cash. Baith o’ ye.”

“When ah say run, we run,” Craig whispered to Brian.”


“Nae buts. Jist dae whit yer telt.”

“Hey, stoap whisperin’.”

“We’re skint,” said Craig.

“Ah dinnae believe ye. Ye’ve got ten seconds.”

“Run, Brian!”

Craig and Brian ran as quickly as they could towards the railing on the other side.

“Faster, Brian. We still huv tae get ower the railin’. C’moan, they’re gainin’ oan us!”

“Ah’m daein’ ma best!”

As soon as they got to the railing, Craig clambered quickly over. Seconds later, Brian tried to get over, but slipped on his first attempt.

“C’moan, they’re behind ye!”

With adrenalin pumping, Brian scrambled to get over the railing. As he was about to get to the top, he felt a tug on his leg. He lashed out with his boot and connected the face of his assailant. His attacker squealed and he managed to reach the top of the railing; but when his feet hit the ground, he felt an agonising pain in his right ankle and screamed loudly.

“Whit’s wrang!” cried Craig.

“Ma ankle. Ah think ah’ve sprained it!”

To Craig’s surprise, the other two men hadn’t bothered to climb over the railing. They merely attended to their friend without pursuing them any further. Craig helped Brian to his feet and carried him on his back until they reached the road. Brian sat on the side of the road, while Craig tried to flag down passing cars. Eventually a car stopped.

Craig ran to the driver. “Thanks for stoappin’. Ma mate’s sprained his ankle.”

“Ah’m no gaun anywhere near the hoaspital, pal,” said the driver.

“Nae problem, mate. We jist want tae get tae The Crown pub.”

“Ah’m gaun that way. Dae ye need a haun’?”

‘Aye, ah wid appreciate it.”

“Are ye a United supporter?” Craig asked the driver when they’d got Brian into the car.

“Aye, pure Tangerine.”

‘Dae ye ken the score?” asked Craig excitedly.

“Naw, ah’ve jist been drivin’ aw the way fae Manchester. Ma radio packed up the other week. Tae be honest, ah dinnae think we’ll dae it. No many teams gang tae the Nou Camp an’ get a result. It wid be a dream result though.”

“That’s whit ah’ve been tellin’ him aw nicht,” said Brian from the back seat. “The amount o’ bad luck we’ve been huvin’ the nicht, ah reckon it’s a disaster.”

“Oh ye o’ little faith!”

The driver stopped the car outside the pub. “There ye go, lads. Hope it’s a win. Dae ye want a haun wi’ yer pal?”

“Naw, yer awricht. Thanks a lot, mate!”

“Nae bother.”

As soon as they got inside the pub, Craig asked one of the patrons if he would give up his seat for Brian. The man complied and helped get Brian to the seat.

“What’s the score?” Craig asked the man.

“Wan each. We jist scored.”

“That means we’re twa-wan up oan aggregate?”

“Aye, we jist need tae haud oan.”

“Whit can ah get ye, mate?”

‘Pint o’ lager will dae. Thanks, pal.”

“Did ye hear that, Brian? Wan apiece. We jist need tae haud oan.”

Suddenly the commentator began to get excited. “United have it on the left hand side. The ball is whipped in, onto the head of Iain Ferguson, and it’s a goal! Barcelona 1 Dundee United 2. Oh what drama we have here at the Nou Camp! From going one nil down, United have pulled back two goals in the dying minutes!

The whole pub erupted in loud cheers. Craig gave Brian a bear hug and ran to the bar to get the drinks in. Just as he ordered the beers at the bar, the whole pub burst into song, singing, ‘The Terrors of Tannadice.’ Craig felt the hot rush of tears as he brought the beers back.

Brian was also in tears. “We done it, Craig!”

“Ah telt ye!”

“Aye, ye didnae jinx everythin’ the nicht.”

Craig laughed. “Drink up, we need tae get ye tae the hoaspital.”

“That can wait.” 
  • "Aye, a few merr widnae dae any herm.”