Chavs, right? The term seems to be a fairly recent one, as far as I can deduce, and yet I lived in Glasgow for 3 years surrounded by a very similar species: The Neds.
I remember the day when, to my great amusement, I discovered that the word ‘ned’ was actually an acronym, and stood for Non-Educated Delinquent. It was the wee Turkish man in the shop down the street who informed me of this fact, having just chased 2 junior neds (roughly 9 or 10 years old) off his premises for filling their pockets with bars of Highland Toffee whilst brazenly trying to buy cigarettes, and then watching them go next door to the off-licence to try their luck at getting some WKD.
Neds wear tracksuits (and occasionally – horrifyingly – shellsuits) and chunky jewllery. They congregate outside the offie, peering sullenly from beneath their baseball caps, throwing intimidating stares at passers-by, smoking ‘rollies’ and swearing a lot. Baby neds always have their ears pierced. All neds own at least one Glasgow Rangers or Celtic shirt. They have a limited vocabulary. Their drink of preference is Tennents Extra Strong Brew XXX, but this can usually only be afforded on the day of the dole collection. The rest of the time, Buckfast (buckie) has to suffice. Underage neds will try to cajole you into going in and getting their carry-oot for them (Alright, pal, gonnae gittu’sawee bottie a buckie?), while older neds will try to get you to give them the money for said carry-oot (Hey pal, gonnae spairusa poon fur the bus lik?).
When Red and I lived in the tenement flats of Glesgae, our neighbour across the hall was a middle-aged ned called Wull Yum. (It is possible that this name originated from the popular English name, “William”, but that’s just my theory). Wull Yum was permanently blocked, and always wore manky, torn jeans, a black blazer, a baseball cap and a hip flask. He told me on an almost daily basis that he’d just been to the doctor, where he’d been told he was going to die. I was horrified the first time I had this converastion with him; by the 2nd year of our living there, I’d taken to absently saying “Oh aye?” as I fumbled for my keys.
Wull Yum had a girlfriend of sorts, who was called Wull Yum’s Girlfriend. [NB - This probably was not her real name, but Red and I just sort of thought it worked.] Wull Yum’s Girlfriend was a Nedette, and they were a perfect match in that she, too, was permanently blocked, and also had a vague idea where he lived. Their relationship seemed to consist of a big argument every afternoon (presumably because he’d just been to the doctor, where he’d found out he was going to die, and they were both understandably emotional), followed by her reappearance between the hours of 11pm and 5am, by which stage she’d forgotten which flat he lived in. A typical conversation in this beautiful relationship was conducted entirely in yells, in the middle of the night, sometimes when both parties were not even on the same floor of the building.
—-Typical conversation—-
BANG-BANG-BANG! (door being thumped)
WULL YUM! WULLLLLLLL YUMMMMM!
BANG-BANG-BANG!
Get tae **** ye daft oul ****! (Voice of owner of said door)
—confused silence—
—footsteps—
BANG-BANG-BANG!
WULL YUM! WULLLLLL YUMMMMM!
—–repeat to infinity (or daybreak)—-
I miss Glesgae. It was never, ever dull.
Filed under: conversations, Glasgow, Neds, tenement flats, weird
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