The Hound of the Baskerville

The evening was enjoyable several beers a Chinky then home to bed, I never seen my parents until the next day, it was as if I had never been away. I was reminded several times about my use of expletives by my dad, and told to turn my music down and stop banging doors by my mum.
My Dad said he understood that it was hard to get out of the habit of barrack room talking.
Weegies say fuck without pausing for breath, they say it in between every second word and it is generally followed by shit or some other expletive. I think people swear to create a masculine identity, I also believe expletives carry connotations of lower classes and lower economic standing. So it was understandable that after nearly four months with the "Tourette Syndrome Clan", that I had found a new way of describing everything. They would probably describe Fifers in exactly the same way!
I had a fortnight, lots of money and I just wanted to party, the only problem I had was that most of my friends were unemployed, fixed up or skint, there was an apathy setting in on them which surprised me. I noticed they bought drinks singularly and they lasted long after the fizz had gone. Even still, conversation was lively and humorous; we talked about most things, we put the world to rights and of course argued about footy.
Most of my leave was spent sitting in front of the telly at home with my Dad working shifts and My Mum at the Pub. Family social interaction was non-existent.
Friday night came round quickly, and it was off to Kinghorn for a few bevies in the Ship tavern and later to the Cuinzie Neuk to listen to a live band. I ended the night getting a lumber, well It was to help my friend Alan Hunter out.
There was two girls, Weegies of course! Alan begged me to go with the ugly one, just so he could get his leg over, of course I obliged, we set off for the caravan sight, via the back door of the COOP bakery I always need to eat after a few drinks and after all it was late and I needed something to occupy myself on the long walk to the caravan sight with the hound of the Baskervills, It was going to be energy sapping.
No need to go into details but I ended up more than energy sapped and Hunter begged me to tell our friends that he was a real stud.
I got home just in time for breakfast, my Mum was very annoyed that I had stayed out all night. She didn’t believe I had been playing football and I suppose the love bites were a bit of a give away.
Nothing else really happened on that leave, other than the Hound of Baskerville came looking for her knickers that I had taken as a trophy, it was an embarrassing scene, I told her it must have been Hunter because he was that way inclined.
I have never seen him again since that night.

THE HOUND