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ah've goat the money tae git what the fuck ah want. Ye like tae git what you want tae wear, no what some other cunt wants tae gie ye. Ay gied the burd two hundred quid fir clathes, n muh ma the same. Then ah gied Joe a hundred tae git somethin fir the bairns, n fifty bar tae oor Elspeth for whatever she wanted. The only presents ah goat wis fir ma ain bairns. That wis only because ah kent thit if ah gied June the money tae git thum somethin, like a fuckin PlayStation or a bike, they'd end up wi some plastic shite fae Ali's Cave. Aye, the rest wid go oan fuckin snout fir her. So that wis aw. The rest ay thum, it wis jist: here's yir fuckin Christmis present offay me, jist git what the fuck ye want.
    It's the best fuckin wey. Aw that fuss aboot wrappin fuckin presents up? Ah couldnae be daein wi that. Fuck wrappin presents.
    Rap some cunt's fuckin jaw.
    Ah'm lookin ower at that Kate. Two hundred fuckin bar fir clathes ah gied her, n she comes intae muh ma's dressed like a fuckin frump, showin ays up. Oor Elspeth's made an effort, she's goat a nice black perty dress oan, aw fir that smarmy Greg cunt n aw. Even that fuckin cow Sandra hus. Mingin auld fuckin hen done up as spring chicken, mind, but at least shi's fuckin well tried. Kate but; a fuckin jaikey on Christmis Day! In muh ma's hoose n aw!
    Thir aw makin a big fuckin fuss aboot presents. It's 'ooh, this is lovely' n 'oooh, it's jist what ah eywis wanted'. Then thir aw at me tae open mine, so ah jist thinks, might as well, keep the cunts happy. If it fuckin well means that much tae thum. Ah gits a blue pastel-coloured Ben Sherman oaffay Kate, n a yellaw Ben Sherman offay Joe n Sandra. In ma auld girl's parcel thaire's another Ben Sherman, a black, broon n light blue striped yin. Ah think ah must've asked fir Ben Shermans offay every cunt; mind you, ye cannae go wrong wi shirts. Thaire's one left, marked oan the gift tag: To Francis, from Elspeth and Greg. Merry Christmas .
    It feels like another fuckin Ben Sherman, but whin ah rips it open it's a sweater wi the new club crest oan it.
    — That's nice, muh mother sais. Elspeth goes, — Aye, it's the new yin. It's goat the original Harp crest, wi the ship for Leith, n the castle fir Edinburgh. Thir smilin at ays, n it gits right oan ma fuckin tits. Tryin tae take the fuckin pish here. Tae me, whin ye buy some cunt official club merchandise, it's like you sayin tae thum thit ye think thir a fuckin wanker. Ah widnae be seen deid wearin that shite. That's fir fuckin wee bairn n fuckin dippit cunts, that. — Ta, ah goes, but through gritted teeth, ken?
    Ah'm thinkin, that's gaun right in the bucket whin ah git hame, tell ye that fir nowt.
    Ye kin understand it if it wis Elspeth thit made the mistake. Ah mean, that's birds fir ye. But if that Greg cunt wis in oan buyin it, it means thit eh wis tryin tae take the pish. Ah'm fuckin well fumin at that disrespect, so tae stoap masel fae sayin somethin ah shouldnae, ah go ben the scullery tae git another can fae the fridge. Then ah'm thinkin thit that Greg's such a big fuckin lassie ehsel, he probably disnae huv a fuckin clue either.
    Ma heid's still nippin n ah swallay a couple ay extra-strength Anadin wi a moothfae ay beer. Whin ah gits back ah sees this fuckin Greg cunt's playin away wi Joe's bairns, oan the fuckin flair wi aw thair toys. Meant tae be the fuckin bairns' new toys, no fir some big pansy tae ponce aroond wi. Ah pills Joe aside n back intae the kitchen, n goes — Ye want tae watch that cunt aroond the bairns. Touch ay the fuckin Gary Glitters thaire, ah'll tell ye that fir nowt.
    — Ye reckon? Joe sais, pittin ehs heid roond the door tae check it oot.
    — Defo. Ye ken how fuckin plausible they cunts kin be. That's the thing. Ah'd lay ye even money thit that cunt's oan the stoats' register. Ye kin spot the type a mile away.
    Muh ma sees us n comes ben. — What are you two oan aboot, standin here in the kitchen drinkin like fishes?! Git oot thaire n try n be social,