Thur no puttin Rangers oan, basturts!
Rangers, a Scottish football team
At the bar to my left a couple of fellows of what can only be described as being of dubious character glared at the barman who was oblivious of their howling upset.
The larger of the two fellows proclaimed belligerently. His friend nudged him and subtly pointed at my good self.
I, a gentleman of fine breeding was standing a couple of feet away supping some fine Spanish ale. I raised my glass to them.
Salut.
Baffled they looked at me. Lobster red from the Mediterranean sun they appeared to be three sheets to the wind.
New arrivals I thought giving them no more thought.
The small ferret like one again nudged the larger fellow who was aggrieved at my seeming insult.
Leave it Malky, cunt might know what you are sayin.
I raised my eyebrows slightly. Was I the cunt in question? How dreadfully rude of the peon. Still, I let it lie. It had been a grueling day of swimming, eating and sandcastle building under the harsh Spanish sun and I had no quarrel with these chaps.
Much as it pained me to admit, by their accent and bearing they were from the very same city as me back in the hallowed isle of Scotland.
Again and a little mischievously I raised my glass in their direction.
Qué Tal?
I enquired.
The big angry one's eyes almost popped out of his head in rage.
Whits he fuckin sayin Tainshy?
It's awright Malky, ah fink he's German
German?!? Aye well fuck im.
I continued to eye the big fellow whilst making large slurping noises from my pint. He didn't seem to be taking it well. His already sunburnt face was now purple and sweat rolled down his chubby stubbly cheeks in waves.
He's pyoor starin it me man?
Mate gonnae stoap starin it is?
The little ferret like one had obviously missed his calling as a diplomat.
No hay problema.
I smiled reassuringly and inclined my head away from them.
See, fucking telt ye he wis German.
The ferret uttered sagely.
For some reason his large friend was mollified by my apparent Germanity. They took to staring at random ladies in the bar exclaiming loudly what they would do to them given half the chance.
Minutes later I finished my beer with a hearty slurp and gave an appreciative burp. After all, it wouldn't do for me not to show my appreciation of the ale.
The large fellow turned his gimlet eyes on me once more.
Clatty basturt
clatty- Glaswegian talk, particularly describing someone who's manners were lacking.
He spoke, comfortable that I, Johnny foreigner had no idea what he was saying.
I ventured forward a little putting on my best biggest smile.
Mate, gie yersel peace
Glaswegian- calm down old fellow.
Big buster chop-chops staggered back in astonishment, speechless.
Little ferret stared at me as I walked off, his mouth making fish-like 'O' motions.
Haw! Where you fae?
fae, this means 'from'. Not the pointy eared fairy folk from legend
One of them choked out.
I laughed loudly without turning and bellowed.
