So it's lunch and the lassies are there too, on the other side of the dinin hall. We're all watchin, just to see if they do anythin.
Which one would you pump? I say.
Oh, just all of them probably, says Jeffers. What about you?
Same as you, all of them. But no any ugly ones, you can have them!
And we're all laughin at Jeffers cause he's forgot there might be ugly ones. It's hard to tell when they're all together, with their hair and that. They look good when there's a big group of them.
Here comes Mr. Forster, the Music teacher. Crap subject but he's a good laugh, anyway.
Afternoon, you savages, he says to us. Eyeing up your meat, eh?
And we're all laughin cause he talks a bit fancy and sometimes you don't know exactly what he's on about but sometimes you do, like he's no talkin about our school dinners when he says meat. Makes you feel quite clever.
Are you comin to social dancin, Mr Forster?
Though it pains me, boys, I shall be there, yes. I still maintain that I'm far too distinguished and handsome for this dancing business. Are you looking forward to it, then?
We all say yes we are, sir.
Good, good. Remember, you animals, don't be putting your hands anywhere the lady does not want your hands, all right? I'll be watching.
Then wee Dougie shouts out, What if she's got nice big tits, sir?
Young Douglas, never fear, you are still the biggest tit in this school.
Then he walks away and what a belter that is. Dougie is gettin dogs abuse. Wayyy, that's you telt Dougie.
. . .
We're buzzin outside the gym.
Be quiet as you go in, boys, Miss McKinnon says, and no funny business or I'll have your parents in.
The equipment's been cleared to the side to give us space for the dancin. We go in and there's all the lassies, sittin on benches with their legs together. Their teachers make them stand up and they're lookin at us and whisperin to each other. They'll be more nervous than us cause it's the girls pickin the boys this time. I hate choosin cause when you go up to one she looks at you like you're mad for her and you're no, you just need to pick somebody. They start walkin over to us and here comes one up to me.
Would you like to dance? she says. But she's posh English so she says dance like dawnce. But too right I'll dance, she's a beauty. So I take her hand and we walk into the middle. Posh girl's just lookin at her feet but I'm starin at her eyes and hair and nose and mouth. Awfie braw, that's what my grandpa would say, awfie, awfie braw. And she chose me. Wait till I tell Grandpa he'll be wantin me to ask her round for supper, oh shut up Grandpa I've only just met her. Mum and Dad need to meet her first, anyway. I try and be posh so she'll understand me.
I'm Peter Donaldson, what's your name?
Nice to meet you, Lauren, I say. You know someone's posh when their name isn't really like a name at all, it's just a load of random words. Everythin she's wearin is all tucked into each other, classy as anythin.
Let's get this first one out the way, says Miss McKinnon. First dance is the Gay Gordons, so get in a circle.
We're all laughin and pointin at who we think'll be best at the Gay Gordons.
Dougie, says Jeffers, this dance is named after your dad.
My dad's no even called Gordon.
Yeah he is, your dad's such a Gordon.
Your dad does the Gay Gordon every night with other Gordons!
No he's no! Shut up, just shut up.
So we start chantin. Caaaaaannae take it, cannae take it, cannae take it. Dougie's almost greetin.
Oh cheer up, Dougie, we're just jokin. Don't grass.
But I don't think Dougie would grass. He wants to be our pal, so he won't grass.
. . .
The dancin starts. It's quite fun cause nobody really knows what their doin. But some boys do, they go to ceilidhs with their parents so they know the fancy moves and show off in front of the girls. I wish I went to ceilidhs. Posh Lauren is good and I think she's gettin annoyed that I'm no as good.
Do you like football, Lauren?
Oh, right. What team do you support?
I don't support any team.
Oh, right. But if you had to choose a team?
I really don't care.
Who does your dad support?
My dad doesn't like football either.
And I don't say anythin else. A dad no likin football? She must think I'm stupid. I'm no takin her to meet Mum and Dad and Grandpa, no way. Just wait till I fling her about in Strip the Willow. She'll remember who her dad supports then.