Bloodbus

I was eating a Pot-Noodle in the Partick bothy, a grubby wee hidey hole with a few tables and chairs and a portable TV where drivers take their break. It is a miserable, bleak, windowless den, completely devoid of any comfort or cheer and is situated very appropriately next to an undertaker. Even the skankiest hooker would probably prefer you did her up a close or behind a garage than in this grim little hovel.

"I asked her for a soft roll, but the bitch gave us a fucking crispy roll," moaned Ubu. He eyed the offending roll with grave suspicion, as though it were about to leap out of the bag and snap at his nose.

Ending up with a crispy roll instead of a soft roll might not herald the end of the world to you or I, but to someone like Driver Ubu who wears dentures, it was a full-on crisis. All eyes were upon him as he started tentatively nibbling at the well-baked bread. He chewed slowly and finally swallowed. He nodded to everyone in the bothy to signify that he was okay.

Then, another nibble, another chew and another swallow, and again everthing seemed fine. But on his third chew, his face suddenly became anguished and hidiously contorted. Throwing down the roll, he hastily yanked the top row of false teeth out of his head and furiously lapped off all the bits of crust that had got behind his dentures.

My Pot-Noodle and I just looked at each other.

"Shee what dat bitch hash done tae me!" bellowed a toothless and rueful Ubu. "Dat'sh why I ashk her for a fuckin' shoft roll!"

Having slurped up the last irritating crumbs with his tongue, he shoved his teeth back into his head with a delightful clop that sounded like a golf ball rattling into the hole. But before he could take another reluctant bite, the door to the bothy was flung asunder.

There, sillouheted against the light, was the unmistakable figure of Driver Gollum. A tall, gangly, googly driver is he, whose capacity for foul language and ridicule is matched only by his appetitie for tobacco leaf and beer.

But even then, I hoped he might behave himself because there was a funeral party assembling outside the undertaker's, next door. Surely he would show some respect for a funeral. Unfortunately, Gollum was off duty and had spent most of the day drinking in the Hayburn Vaults pub. Now all liqoured up and glazed he decided to storm the bothy at FULL volume to tell us how great it was that we had to work and he didn't.

"HA! HA! HA! Fuckin look at you all! You're all workin' and I'm noe! Ya bunch o' dour faced cunts!" he hollered. "Look at him! His heid's doon! [point] His heid's doon! [point] and his heid's doon! [point] You're all a bunch o' glum bastards!"

Yes, but probably not as glum as the party of mourners who were standing within earshot of this human wrecking ball.

"Quavers! Right noo!" yelled Gollum. With an attack of the munchies, he turned his attention to the vending machine. After plopping in some change, he typed in the code for a packet of Quavers. However, sometimes the machine does not dislodge the snack properly and it gets stuck on the shelf instead of dropping down to the collection tray below.

"AW! NOE! Get tae fuck ya wee knob!" blasted Gollum as his packet of crisps refused to fall. He took to thumping the machine with his fists and rocking it back and forth. "Gimme ma fuckin' crisps!" he yelled and tilted the machine backwards until it smacked the wall, nearly putting a hole in the plasterboard between the bothy and the undertaker's. A definite distraction if you were paying your last respects to the departed next door.

Precious Quavers: It's ours it is! And we wants it!

"Gimme ma fuckin' Quavers ya' money grabbing cunt!" thrashed Gollum with greater vigour. With a schlump, the crisps eventually fell down into the collection tray. "YES!" belted Gollum, "Right, I'm away to put a line oan. Yous can all get tae fuck!" And with that, he stumbled out of the bothy.

A strange calm decended over the remaining drivers after Gollum left. That sort of 'restoration of reality' calm that made us look at each other as if to say Did that really just happen? Or did we just imagine it? Maybe the wind just whipped up the rubbish that was blowing around the street into human form, blew it inside the bothy and made moaning noises that sounded like words. Maybe if we looked outside, there would be a mound of filth and garbage on the ground, like a snowman just leaves a carrot and a puddle.

"Worsht thing aboot it," started Driver Ubu, who was once again lapping at his dentures, "he beginsh hish shift th' morra mornin' at five o'clock. Fuck being a punter on hish bush!" [clop]

Shortly after this, a sign was pinned to the bothy door saying: 'Please show respect when a funeral is in progress.'