(6) Coulrophobia - strobe light and flying cats (or aichmophobia)

You know what’s really getting me down about all of this? It’s knowing that a used to wade through much thicker sh*te and a did it all without a second thought. Now, am no saying that my teenage years were the roughest or the toughest going. I didn’t live in no ‘hood or nothing like that, but it had it’s moments, ken?

 

A mind one night I was out at ma mates flat. His Mum and Dad were away and he was having the obligatory house party that came with an empty parental home. It was a cracking night, all strobe lights, flying cats, heavy metal and a beer or two too many. We all bonded that night the way only teenagers can, the alcohol blowing away aw the cool poses and the nervy stutters. Every bugger was aw hugs and ‘a love you’s’. A will happily say that a got my fair share of ‘you know Gav, yer no such a geek after all’. Fair chuffed, so a was.

 

I got a bit giddy on all the newfound popularity and lost track of maself, time and if I’m honest, reality in general. It must have been about 5am when it was decided that the party required new fuel. By this stage I should say that the party consisted of me, my three best mates (Antny, Kenny Mooney and Platt) and a load of sleeping lads and lassies. Now, if I drank as much as I did then and stayed up that late now, Jesus, I dinnae ken what would happen but it would assuredly not have a happy ending.

 

Regardless, my younger self was a hardier, more energetic beast, which is a big part of my ongoing travails if you follow ma drift. So, me and ma pals unperturbed by the lateness of the hour stepped out of the flat in search of adventure and munchies.

 

Now, bear in mind that at this time, the bonny town of Paisley was the murder capital of Britain. If you were stupit enough to share that it was your hometown with anyone you either got a sh*te joke from them or they wid genuinely back away. What’s more, the area we wur in was one of the hotspots of this rather grizzly activity.

 

Y’see, there had been some slayings an’ that in the drug world and it had aw got a bit nasty. Now, I have no problem with scum shooting scum if that be the life they choose, but this was bad man, real bad. Dads shot down in front of their wee yins, teenagers caught up wi the wrong role models finding themselves stuck in the jail for deeds they never did and far, far too many eejits were bouncing about the streets high on whatever chemical was in vogue that week.

 

To be honest, the whole place stank. The atmosphere was tense and edgy as f*ck. What was worse was that all the kickings and the stabbings that were going around spilled into the lives of folks like me and ma pals. We were just stupid wee laddies kicking footballs around and pretending to chase girls. There was f*ck aw in our lives that had prepared us for Chelsea smiles, running street battles and territorial gang b*llocks, but that’s the nonsense that surrounded us and you quickly learnt the language.

 

Anyway, the four daft amigos stepped out of the relative sanity of the flat and onto the streets. Magic so it was, the world was still asleep and here were we as young as they f*cking come and free as we bloody well liked. That feeling never lasted long though.

 

We headed for the Garage up the road and that’s when things starting going a bit baws up. We came across three wee guys in the garage forecourt, fourteen years old at the most a reckon. A think they spotted us before we saw them because they were already armed. Empty glass bottles in hand, arms cocked back. A seriously had no clue whit was going on until Platt pushed me out of the way of a flying bottle. It smashed behind me on a wall and, to be blunt, a was too surprised to know whit the f*ck was going on. Antny and Platt were a bit more savvy than me and by the time a had some sort of orientation, they were chasing the wee lads down the street and round the corner.

 

A set off in hot and drunk pursuit, turning the corner just in time to see Platt, a big fella even then, slamming one of the wee lads into a neat garden hedge and pounding his ribs wi big f*ck off punches. F*ck me, a tell you, that was quite a sight. Ten seconds before I would have given the wee b*gger a kicking myself but with each punch he just seemed to get younger, you know. Platt was oblivious and just kept smacking away, teeth aw gritted, fist sinking in deeper and deeper. In the end we had tae pull him aff, f*ck knows when he would have stopped if we hadn’t. He was going to be hit by some stellar crap in his later life but back then, Platt was a smart, laid back lad, on the outside at the least. I guess like anyone at that age, the surface covers up a very muddled mind.

 

So, we let the wee guy go and he shot off into the warren of streets to find his mates. You’d think we might take stock and head home wouldn’t ye? But naw, we decided to try the other garage about a mile away. F*ck knows who had that idea but it was up there with their worst.

 

We were walking up one of the main roads towards the garage when part 2 of the f*cking nightmare came skiting down upon us. A motor flew past us, very much on the wrang side of the road. He clipped the kerb about 100metres from us, spun onto his roof, slid doon the road for about another 50m before hitting the other side of the road, doing an awfy neat flip and landing back on all four wheels. I reckon there was a wee minute of silence from the four of us before we ran down to check if any bugger had survived.

 

As we got to the car, the driver sprang out jolly as you like.

 

‘aw right lads’ he shouted ‘do youse wanna see ma swords’

 

There is no other answer to that question than a polite yes and sure enough, he sprung open his scraped boot and presented to our now very open eyes two pristine samurai swords strapped to his car. Now, there is a lot goin’ on in this story and a would love to explain a little more about what he looked like, what we said and how we were feeling but that would be a distraction cos things were about to turn a whole shade more shit*y.

 

As our durable companion was talking we heard the roar of a car, a very fast car. He bolted down the street leaving car, swords and the four of us wondering just what we had stepped into. The fast car was now visible and heading straight for us, and when I say straight for us a mean it literally. When it was about 15m from us the driver thumped up onto the pavement and drove his car at us. Two of us dived into bushes, two onto the rather more unforgiving road surface as the mentalist who was driving came all too few metres away from ending our thus far unfulfilled lives. He then clipped the side of the sword mans motor and span off.

 

Now, the glass bottles was a bit off putting, Platt and his crashing fists a wee bit disturbing, the car crash, well to be honest that was pretty cool but the sword display took us back down in the scary department. But f*ck me, this nutter in his stupid wee Nova just about ran us over, deliberately. He tried to f*cking kill us. Sh*t man a tell you, if we weren’t bonded afore then, we were stuck tight after that. Near death experiences with souped up family cars has that effect on you.

 

For once in our young lives we were savvy enough to know that heading home was the smart option, and head home we did. Sadly, we did not take into full cognisance the local road layout and as we reached the street where the safety of the party was, who should spin round the corner but Nova man and, as we were soon to find out, his screwdriver wielding mates. Given the lack of success with the mowing us down technique, the bastards went for the good old fashioned chase wi’ knives.

 

A was fast as f*ck then and was well ahead of the rest but Kenny, ah man, he was no athlete and they got to him. A saw the biggest of them all giving his legs a good kick, sending him face first onto the concrete with a yelp and a thud that proved to be his saving. The group seemed so surprised at the level of Kenny’s terror that they stopped, allowing him to get back to his feet and head off once again.

 

A still have no idea if they were just playing with us, but we were nae stopping to find out. We louped fences, ran through gardens and finally found home. The sleepers were still sleeping, the cat was still angry but we were stone cold sober.

 

The thing is, looking back, a wis bothered, but nae that bothered. A had kind of assumed I would get away, A had definitely assumed that this was whit happened on a night out, A assumed that it was alright to think of all of that as a bloody good story to tell. F*cking respect wee Gav. Those were the start of my party days and a had fights, a hud knifes put to my stomach, chest and face, a put in a marathons worth of running and fleeing from the neds and for a while, and of this I say with no pride, a carried ma own knife. Just for protection like.

 

Still, through aw of that and aw the sh*te that went down, what a really remember is the blazing hot summers on the pitches and the crammed dark nights down in the pub. A remember Oasis at loch Lomond and ma first T in the Park. A remember first kisses and aw the rest. A remember failing exams, scraping into university and dropping straight back out again, but most of all, I remember just being solid you know? Jist solid, as if none of the sh*te that was hurtling ma way could ever stop me for long.

 

Nowadays? Well, look at me man, whit a joke. All it takes is one outstretched leg and am down on that floor for f*cking weeks. Is it jist me, or does that go for everyone? Is there ever gonna be a time when a can stride through aw the muck and mess of this sh*tey wee life and not gie a f*ck? I guess that’s why am boring you with aw these tales and stories, you know? Just trying to find out when it changed, map out aw the mess in me head and see whit it was a left behind that made me change this way.

 

So, if ye have any thoughts, feel free to share them.

 

Done