I left my hometown in Scotland
with nothing more than a suitcase containing clothes and headed 400 miles south. WARNING: lack of teh funny commences

I had a job and a few weeks booked in a B&B but other than that I was on my own in an unfamiliar city. I had to work it all out, find a place to live, navigate my way around the city on foot and with public transport, make friends, start a new life. All this with one eye on my quickly diminishing bank balance.

I woke on Saturday to see what the first full day living in my new home would be like. It was hot. Too hot, I wasn't used to walking round in such heat and I had no idea where the busses went or where they stopped. Wandering around I realised that no-one smiled or made eye contact. It may have been hot but it was a cold, impersonal place.

A day of modest discovery had just about finished. I was feeling down about how hard it seemed to be to find a place to rent. Apparently as soon as one was on the market someone was in there instantly. Dejected I barely raised my head up to look where I was going.

Until I saw a white transit van start revving thunderously from a stationary position. In spite of the heat there was huge puddle over the pavement and road which this van had been waiting by for an unsuspecting pedestrian. Not thinking clearly I quickened my walking pace instead of running backwards: I was covered from head to foot in muddy water. I turned to see the van and a registration forever burned in my mind.

As I shuffled damply back to my B&B in my no longer clean clothes - a commodity I had a short supply of - I came to an important conclusion: this place, though picturesque, was a hole and everyone within it was a cunt of the first water.

Back in my small room I quickly realised that there were just too many hours in the day left and the earlier versions of the Gameboy Advance had a screen that you just couldn't see in any light. I was going to have to go outside and find something to do to kill some time.

By luck I managed to find a cinema and Michael Moore's Farenheit 911 seemed to suit my mood. I just had another hour to kill before it started and that sounded like enough time to briefly look at the "historic town centre" the signs were directing me to. As I slowly meandered around I was thinking how on earth can I live in this place where people don't have time for each other, aren't friendly, are complete bastards. My train of thought was interrupted by a voice. Someone was speaking to me, the first person who'd spoken to me all day.

"'scuse me pal, ahm no' joking right but I need a couple o' pound for breakfast the morro' so if you could gie me 50p, that wid be be magic."

I was so shocked to speak to someone friendly that I hadn't even noticed that the guy was begging. I reached into my pocket for some change.

"Yeah, no problem mate. Listen where about you from?"

"Scotland."

"I got that, me too, I just moved down here yesterday. Where abouts are you from?"

"The Gorbals."

I started chatting with him for a few minutes so happy to meet a friendly, open person and fellow countryman. During the conversation he told about how he had to make sure he had enough money for breakfast in the morning and that he was living on about £40 a week without a place to stay.

"I used tae work on the shipyards but efter this..."

I look down and see a missing fore-finger on his right hand.

"...I just cannae get a job."

What were my problems again? Oh yeah, some muddy clothes and trying to find a place to rent inbetween working my new fulltime job. It put me in my place and I felt embarrassed about my earlier self pity.

"Well, anyway, nice meeting you but I've got to be getting on. Actually I'm a bit lost. Could you point me in the direction of the cinema?"

"Nae borra, I'll take ye there for a few pound!"

"No, that's alright thanks."

...

I timidly looked at the ground before offering over some more change and walking with this homeless guy down unfamiliar streets. Everytime we passed a group of people he'd tell me to stop while he begged them for money. I stood there growing increasingly more embarrassed.

After what seemed an age he finally pointed me in the direction I needed to go while he went in the other direction to find a busier route where people would hopefully be generous.

I sat down in the cinema and saw a documentary tear Mr Bush to shreds. My thoughts were on my bizarre day though, my first day living in a city. All those people I hated who were closed off and unfriendly, I understood why they behaved like that. The weekend hadn't yet finished and already I'd become one of them.

A week on Saturday will be the fifth anniversary of that weekend. I've lived in this glorious city 5 years, the longest I've ever lived in one house, and I love it dearly. But as I walk about the streets, I look straight ahead with my earphones in block out all the tramps and their requests for... money? a conversation? a speck of recognition?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. They should all be put on an island and blown up. Because, you see, if we did that we'd all be friendly and nice to each other. Wouldn't we?
( djtrialprice, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 19:31, 2 replies)

I have a question...
You have rendered the tramp's dialogue in a Scottish dialect, but you have left your own as normal written English. Is this because you no longer have a Scottish accent, no longer consider yourself to be Scottish, or is it for dramatic home country denying effect?
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 20:56, closed)

althegeordie would probably have something witty to say about me here...
I remember the guy had a really strong accent so I felt the need to put that across (it's by no means the first time I've written in Scots for a QOTW answer).

But as for me though I have a southern English accent due to being an army brat i.e. I spent my formative years growing up in garrisons across Scotland, England and Europe.
( djtrialprice, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 21:10, closed)