Paul Andrew Sneddon

Mac

This is Chapter 8 of my story. This is where the narrator goes for a pint with his brother in law. This book deals with some heavy themes, but is chapter is lighter.

Mac was back from Germany. “You should’ve seen it, pal. Honestly, Stevie. This street in Dusseldorf, the Kon… the King… hold on.” He checked his phone. “The Königsallee. It’s fucking beautiful, man. A canal, shops, restaurants. It puts this wee place to shame, let me tell you.”

I took a sip of my beer. “Well, there’s a bit of difference in circumstances between this wee toon and a city in Germany, mate.”

“Aye, you’re damn right there is.”

There was a moment of silence between us, but it seemed he was warming to his subject.

“I tell you what, mate, the clubs out there… they call the area the Kö. It’s beautiful cobbled streets, and then you’ve got all these folk partying. A German guy I was working with over there took me ’round all the sites. I just called him Hans, eh, after Die Hard.”

“What the fuck? What did he call you?”

He turned a little red. “Well, he called me ‘Highland Charge’ after we got in a little bit of trouble.”

“Oh, Maccy-boy, what happened?” I asked. He looked uncomfortable.

“This is just between me and you, alright?”

“Alright, pal.” He looked around. I raised my eyebrows.

“So, we are in this club, right? Music pumping. The Germans are mad for their techno and that. Anyway, it’s me, Hans, and this fella he knows. He called himself BMW… Big Mother Humper or something. Anyway, we all just called him Beemer. We’re in this club at the bar, and this lassie walks up to us. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen… erm, your sister excluded, of course… you know what I mean.”

I chuckled.

“Anyway, she’s all glammed up—tight dress, hair tumbling down—and she says something. Haud on. I can remember this: ‘Sterbe ich jetzt vor Durst?’ ‘Am I gonna die thirsty, or are yous going to buy me a drink?'”

“So, Big Beemer is straight in there. Hans is running a translation for me.” It was back and forth, quick.

“I’ll buy you a drink, doll.” “You couldn’t afford one.” “They call me BMW.” “I prefer Volkswagen.” “Playing hard to get, eh?” “I’m something you’ll never get.” “Alright, well fuck off then.”

“At this point, this guy, the size of a hoose, appears behind the lassie. Turns out this is the girl’s boyfriend. The guy’s got forearms the size of your heid, pal, and your heid is a jumbo.”

He chuckled. “Alright, fannybaws. Need that for all my brains.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “this guy’s got a couple of pals, too. They all start in on BMW. Hans goes over, and mate, one of them just picks him up and throws him out on the dance floor. Like he’s nothing, you know?”

“Christ, what are you doing?”

“I’m just kind of watching this. The lassie has got a look on her face like pure spite as the three of them are laying into Beemer. I keep expecting security to show up, but nothing happens. It looks like Beemer’s getting it pretty bad.”

“So?” I asked.

“So? Well, you know how it is. I pick up a bottle of beer from the bar, run over, and wrap it off one of these guys’ fat heads, and down he goes. The other two don’t notice. I’m half-expecting one of them to throw a punch or security to grab me. I’m kind of hoping security are going to grab me… but… a moment passes and I stand behind this big guy. He’s baldy, see, just like one big solid piece of rock. And I kick him as hard as fucking possible in the nuts.”

I was laughing.

“Thing is, right, nothing happens. He just keeps going. So I try again. Full force, in the nuts. The guy doesn’t even flinch. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I’m thinking, ‘Oh, fuck.’ I’m bracing for a punch or a kick. It’s Hans. We look at each other, and as we turn to help Beemer, these fucking crazies appear, barking something. It’s all foreign, all German,” he said.

“Well, aye, it would be. You’re in fucking Dusseldorf, pal,” I laughed, and he flinched.

“Anyway, a couple of minutes later, we’re out on the street. Beemer’s a little the worse for wear, but now I’m Highland Charge.”

“Fuck’s sake, mate, I’d keep that quiet fae Jeanie,” I laughed.

He showed me a picture: the three of them together, bruises showing under a streetlight on the streets of Dusseldorf.

You can read the full book here. This is a lighter chapter and the rest of the book deals with heavy themes, please read with care.

The Match

This is Chapter 8 from my story “Burn”, one of my favourites.

I walk back towards the ground. Under the bridge and there is the waste ground where The Craigie used to be. It was up there with Eddie’s as the best bar in town. Now it’s one of those modern flat blocks and some waste ground. There’s basically a big bush growing up against the fence.

I look over and just take the view in. Fuck sake, I remember nights in here. Power shandies, pool and fucking daft laughs. Faces been and gone. Real friends. That’s the way of the world I guess.

I’m looking over and hear a voice. “Ho you, ho Tam.”

I’m looking around. There’s a few groups of fans walking down to the crowd. Families. You get three generations of family coming to the games. It means a lot. I look around but no one is shouting at me.

“Tam. Tam.”

There it is again. I look down at the bush.

“Tam. It’s me. It’s the big man. It’s me.”

“What the fuck.”

“Listen, what the fuck is going on down there? I gave Moses clear and simple instructions.”

“What, what do you mean?” I laugh. I rub my hand across my face. Am I still high?

“Listen Tam, don’t pretend there is nothing going on between those lugs. I know you went to all those school assemblies where they banged on about all this stuff.”

I stifle a laugh. “What? You know when they used to bang on about thou shall not covet thy neighbour’s wife’s ass?”

The voice laughs a little bit. “You don’t sound much like God mate. In the movies, was it not usually James Earl Jones or Charlton Heston? You know, big booming voice.”

“Ach away man, that’s just Hollywood shit. Everyone knows that God is a Scotsman. No doubt.”

“That’s interesting,” I say, “but shouldn’t this be a burning bush? You know, like in the Bible?”

“Oh… er… aye you are right, but health and safety these days. Even the big fella has got to follow the rules.”

I laugh. “That’s fucking well you, Col.”

“No, no, no one here but the Lord your Saviour.”

“It fucking is you, eh mate? Come out.”

There’s a pause, a silence, then the bush starts to shake and a hand appears.

Col stands up, he’s laughing. Got a Kirkentoun FC scarf round his neck.

“You fucking arsehole,” I say.

“Sorry Tam, I seen you coming along the way.”

He climbs over the fence and walks over.

“The Lord says we will pump them today 5-0.”

We both crack up laughing. We get near the ground, there’s crowds of folk, someone has lit up a flare. But there’s a good vibe. We get in through the gates and take a spot up by the halfway line. Across the other side are the Kirkentoun Thistle fans. They are singing:

“This is a shitehole, I want to go home.”

“Aye well, away and fuck yourselves,” I shout across.

Then I spot him.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s Shug. Standing right at the sideline across the pitch from me. Looking straight at me.

For a moment it seems like it’s only me and him there.

He’s looking at me. I’m looking at him.

I raise a fist and then give him a one-fingered salute.

He looks raging and he starts to walk across the pitch before he’s pulled back by a mix of fans and stewards.

I feel an arm go around my shoulder.

It’s Col.

He’s singing.

“Forever in our shadow, forever in our shadow.”

I join in and soon there’s a group of us singing.

The Thistle fans look raging.

There’s lots of pointing and shouting but we just laugh and then start to cheer as the teams come out.

I look over my shoulder and everyone is standing, singing, clapping and making some interesting “gestures” to the Thistle fans.

The first half goes by in a blur of two-footed challenges, yellow cards and…

Then in the 41st minute Big Steggy, or Peter Stegalopolous to his mum, rising above the Thistle defence and powers a header into the bottom corner.

1-0 to Kirkentoun.

Yaaaaas!! I’m hugging Col, hugging strangers, hugging anyone.

Our side of the ground and the stand behind the goal goes mental.

Someone lights up a flare behind the goal.

The Thistle fans are on the pitch.

Oh, here we fucking go.

They are at halfway and running right towards us.

A couple of folk slink back. I look at Col and he looks at me.

Not on our fucking pitch.

We run and a few follow us. The players are diving out of the way. First person I run into I hit with a shoulder barge and they go flying, I’ve still got momentum and I throw a right at the next guy and catch him right on the chin.

I yell out something, I’m not sure what, and then I just catch a glance of something out of the corner of my eye, it’s like a flash, it’s heading towards me and before I have time to think I’m already falling backwards and land hard on the ground. The air escapes my lungs.

I look up.

I just see Shug’s snarling face as he lands on top of me. He sits back and I instinctively throw a punch and he barely moves. His arms come to my throat and I’m trying to pull them away when he disappears. I sit up. Col is on top of him. Throws a quick punch and then he’s up. “Come on, we need to get back, the polis are coming.”

There are people all over the pitch. Half the stand must be out here.

I stand up. Breathe in. Look around at the chaos. Look down at my body. I’m still alive. I’m still here.

I see Col disappearing into the crowd and follow him.

A voice comes over the Tannoy.

“Would supporters please return to their seats.”

We duck down and cut through the chain fence. I rub my neck. Col’s laughing.

“Game’s going to be called off. Fancy a pint?”

“Aye, go on.”

As we walk down the street we see two police cars speeding up the street towards the ground.

“Same every fucking time, eh mate.”

Escape

This is Chapter 12 of my book “Follow the Light”

And we are off, bleary-eyed, into the Ayrshire morning. Emmy looks gorgeous, her short blonde hair and a smile that I would never tire of seeing.

My car sitting on the street coughs up a cloud of exhaust fumes as I turn the key. A few commuters on their way to the station do a double-take, but we breeze past them, leaving them choking in our wake.

We get a good run of lights as we hit the dual carriageway.

I light up a smoke, and she flicks through the radio until she finds something she likes. The radio crackles to life with one of those old songs you know but can’t quite place.

For a moment, it’s like we aren’t ghosts at all.

We sing along to the chorus.

She looks at me, and I look straight back.

The engine opens up on the dual carriageway and we are cutting through the Ayrshire morning.

We’re analogue in a digital age; we’re radio in the streaming age.
We are the words written on the page.

And we don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for you.

She laughs.

Welcome to the moment.

Thanks for reading, you can read the full book on Kindle unlimited here.

Mikey and Pammy Polis

This is chapter 6 of my book “Miserable Bastards”. It was one of the first longer stories I wrote, that I liked.

Mikey's back, somehow looking worse than when he left.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

He's bleeding from his lip and rubbing his eye. He looks like he's been under police questioning for an hour.

"The polis found my hedgehog, called me a clatty bastard. I told her
to get to fuck… so, er, she hit me."

"Oh, for fucks sake," says Frank as Bam comes round the bar and takes him by the hand over to a booth.

We all follow, and as I stand I feel a little unsteady on my feet. I'm getting a decent buzz from this whisky; let's see what the fuck is going on.

I get there and Mikey's cleaning himself up as Bam gives him another cross-examination.

"So, where is the hedgehog now?" she asks.

"Never mind that," snaps Frank. "Where are the polis?"

Mikey is turning pale.

"Mikey?"

"Oh fuck, I just ran." he says, looking over at the door.

"Christ, you, oot the back. Take some smokes, and we'll shout you when it's clear. Right, everyone else, back to where you were."

Fuck's sake.

We're back to our seats, back to our places, trying to look innocent. This is one of those moments where it would be good to be drinking in a bar with windows.

It was an old rule of mine: don't drink in a bar without windows or one with pool cues but no pool table.

"Fucking hell," shouts Bam. "We're sitting in here like a guilty party," she turns up the music and starts moving, boogying, getting down.

And we're all up. Even Pat is doing some kind of robot move.

Suddenly the door bursts open, and in walks a police woman, shorter than Bam. Face red, sweaty. This is Mikey's attacker.

This.

She's shouting.

"Where the fuck is he, where the fuck is he? Nae one, nae one. Nae one does this to Pam Wilson. PC Pam Wilson."

I'm trying not to laugh. I look at Bam; she's trying not to laugh. Frank's going for the Oscar, straight-faced and smooth.

"What appears to be the trouble, officer?" he says in a radio DJ voice.

"Frank McTavish, I should've known that I'd find you in a shite hole like this. Where is he? I'm going to leather that wee arsehole."

"No idea what you mean, Pam. How about a drink for old time's sake?"

"A drink? I wouldn't drink in here. Probably catch something. And it's
PC Wilson to the likes of you, alright."

They are looking at each other, but no one says a word.

Suddenly the door swings open again, and a red-faced, puffed-up policeman bursts in.

"Pammy, Pammy, what the fuck…"

He stops as he sees this little standoff.

Pammy looks embarrassed. "I told you to wait outside, PC Findlay."

"Come on, you. I've got reports of an aggressive mime threatening someone with an end of the world board on Sauchiehall Street."

PC Wilson looks around the bar at everyone.

"I'll be back," she says and turns on her heels and storms outside. PC Findlay looks apologetic and leaves.

The door swings closed, and we all burst out laughing.

A Walk in The Woods

Usually on a day off I’ll sleep late but Friday I was up and out the door sharp. No particular place to go, just me and my two feet.

Sun was shining.

Everyone I met, bar one person, said hello or good morning.

Through the neighbourhood and out to the woods.

I never knew about this till recently, but you go under the flyover and you are in the country. Just like that.

The bridge over the river.

I listened to the birds in the trees.

Took a deep breath.

Breathed out slow.

Walked back into town along the water.