Tales  001

Ah should've smashed his face in oan the spot.  Geein me ma books this close tae Christmas.  Fuckin marvellous.  Gies me the 'big mates' treatment while he's kicking me in the balls.  Witterin oan aboot the 'standard of my work' and they fuckin wasters oan twice my fuckin money sittin oan their arses aw day.  Fuckin goat it in for me, so he has.  Should've chinned him oan the spot.  Ah should've.  He's always been decent enough as well, never thought any herm ay the boss fella, never bothered me at aw.  Part a this anger is jist that ye think ye knew sumdy and he turns oot tae be a bastart like the rest.

But whit the hell, he's no goat tae face Mair and the weans at hame puttin up the tree, wonderin what Santa's gonny bring them this year.  How kin a tell them that Santa's bringing fuck aw?  Santa's gonny come intae the hoose and take away the telly and the video and anything else on the drip?  How can I tell ma fuckin weans that then?  His fuckin weans'll no be gaun withoot any comforts this year, an he'll still be golfin on the Algarve efter the new year, ye can bet yer erse.

Ma faithur'll help us o'er Christmas an at, but he'll fuckin rub ma nose in it, and ah'll need tae fuckin take it,  Boaby's hivin this fur Christmas, and Boaby's gawin here fur his hoalidays.  Fuckin Boaby and his fuckin good joab and his O levels.  Nae herm tae him, Boaby's a great fella, tries his best no tae swank aboot, it's merr ma faithur.  Since ma maw died he's taken to livin aff him a lot, and Boaby's that soaft he canny see what the auld bastard's up tae.  And jist cos ah canny provide fuckin holidays and shite for him, ah get the black sheep treatment.  But he'll take us in, and I'll eat it up wi a spoon, cos that's whathe hivtae dae when ye'v merr than yersel tae think ay.

Ah should've pounded him when he gave me ma papers.  Tryin his best to make oot it wasnae his fault.  But they always get ye wi the danglin hook, so ye feel helpless.  He says he might be able to take me oan again in the new year, and wi that wee piece a chocolate danglin oan the string, he made sure I couldny tell him tae fuck aff.  Ye always think of smart arse things tae say efter yer away oot.  I could have telt him tae cut his ain fuckin wages, or take wan less o they continental fuckin golfin holidays he's always away oan.  I could have telt him tae stop feedin that fuckin bovine wife a his, get her tae go oan a diet, the money saved could have paid for me and wi a fuckin pay rise.  But ye never think ay they things when yer stonnin there, yer baws in yer hauns, and yer mooth gapin like a fuckin fish.

And fur aw the satisfaction if might av geid me at the time, it widnae make enny fuckin difference tae whit ah hivtae dae noo.  Go back up the hoose, aw warm and sparkly wi the Christmas decorations and tell Mair that there's no gonny be a happy new year efter aw, and tell the weans that Santa'll be coming next year mibbes, and that they'll havtae be movin intae their granda's at the end of the month.  Their wee eyes gaun aw wet, and Mair's.  Whit am ah gonny dae?  Eh?