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systems in the scheme clicked off; synchronised to such a degree it was almost like they were operated by one master switch.

Andrew Galloway
The Man of the House
    It wis when it wis one ay the best times whin ah’m kneelin oan the flair n ah hud the
Beano
oan one ay the big chairs soas that naebody could bother me n ah’ve got a chocolate biscuit n a glass ay milk oan the wee stool n muh Dad’s sittin in the other chair, readin ehs paper n muh Ma’s making the tea n muh Ma, she’s the best cook in the world cos she can make the best chips n muh Dad’s the best dad in the world cos he could batter anybody n he was once gaunny batter Paul McCartney cause muh Ma likes him and he was gaunny marry Ma but Dad mairried her first n if eh hudnae ah’d’ve been in the Beatles.
    Sheena’s in her cot . . . makin a noise, her face aw rid. Cry cry cry . . . that’s her n she’s sometimes always greetin, jist like Christmas, ma Dad sais, no like me cause ah’m big, ah’m at the school now!
    Ah wis in the war.
    Terry gret at the school oan the first day ah nivir gret but Terry did, gre-tin-fae-haced Teh-ray . . . sittin oan the platform whaire Miss Munro hus her desk and eh gret n gret.
    Miss Munro hud him oan her knee and that was lucky for Terry. Ah’m gaunny marry Miss Munro because she smells nice and is kind n ah pit ma airm roond Terry cause eh’s ma pal n ah telt um tae try n be a big boy n Terry wis feart that ehs ma widnae come back but ah kent mines would cause she said we’d go for a cone at Mr Whippy’s.
    Auntie May-ray had a canary . . .
    Paul McCartney’s gittin battered! Eh’s gittin battered right up by me n ma Dad! Bang! Phow!
    Miss Munro said that it’s awright Terry, yuv goat Andrew here. Ah wis bein big.
    Up the leg ay her drawers . . .
    Batter ehs heid in. If ah goat ma temper up ah could batter aw the Beatles.
    Dennis the Menace ma Dad calls me cos ah want a dug like his one bit my Ma sais no till Sheena gits bigger cause some dugs eat babies. That must be why their breath is very bad, because babies smell of pee and sick. Dugs should eat vegetables and chips and good beefburgers, not the cheap ones.
    It widnae come doon till the month ay June . . .
    Ah ate ma biscuit, ate it aw cos it was one of the good ones that taste of wheat with the chocolate nice and thick. The cheap ones never taste so good. Thir wis a knock at the door. Ma Dad went n goat it. Then when eh came back in, two men came with him cos they were policemen n one looked bad, the other one wis nice cos eh smiled at me, patted ma heid. Ma Dad’s sayin that eh had tae go, eh had tae go n help the policemen, but eh’d be back soon.
    Paul McCartney and ma can’t make a baby because there’s Sheena now and she’s in her cot.
    She sat on the gas and burnt her arse . . .
    Muh Ma’s greetin, but Dad says it’s awright. Eh says tae me, — Ah’ve got tae go n help these policemen. You look after yir Ma now n dae as yir telt. Mind, you’re the man ay the hoose.
    and that wis the end ay her drawers . . .
    When eh went away, ma Ma sat ays oan her knee and held me n ah could hear her greetin, but ah didnae greet cos ah wis a big boy and ah nivir gret! Ah wis a bit sad at first cause ah hud ma comic and it was meant tae be the best time, jist after school, before tea bit ah didnae greet cause ah knew that muh Dad would be comin back soon, once he’d helped the policemen put the bad men away n eh’d help them batter the bad men n ah’d help him cos ah’d batter Paul McCartney if he tried to be my Ma’s boyfriend n even if muh Dad wis away a long time, it didnae bother me, because it meant that ah wid be the man ay the hoose.



Windows ’80
    It seemed like the entire tenement building hissed and shook as the whistling drafts of cold air shot through, leaving it crying, creaking and leaking, as if it were a lobster thrust into a boiling pot. Those high-pressure blasts of dirty chilled wind from the gales