Cauld Enough Tae Freeze Yer Baws Aff by Jimmy Wilde
A rant in Scottish dialect about a late-night encounter with a sleepwalker, by Jimmy Wilde.
Jist walking up Acton Lane the other night and ah see this guy and say tae myself, fuck's sake, he's no got any troosers oan. And then ah notice he's got bare feet oan an aw. Fuckin' freezin' it is, foggy and that, know? Ah clock his eyes tae see if he's a sleepwalker and ah think ah'm right, because he's jist staring straight ahead. He goes tae cross the road and thir's motors coming but he doesnae even look. Ah know that sleepwalkers are supposed tae be in control ay their senses but ah didnae want tae chance it, so ah shouts, Haw mate! and the boy turns roon and starts coming towards me. Ah see at this stage that he's no even got any underpants oan, jist a shirt and a pair of fuckin' glasses. So ah shout, Eh, ye've no got any troosers oan pal, a bit cheeky way the drink and that, know? Anyway, the boy says nothing and keeps coming and ah think, Haw haw, this could be a right fuckin' nutter. Naw, yer awright mate, ah thought ye were gonny get ran doon there, ah says, kinda shiting it a wee bit, like. Well, he could've been psycho, know, who fucking knows? Well that was it anyway, he jist stops and says, Thank you, and turns roon and walks away. Fuckin' thank you. The cunts ye meet oan Acton Lane! Ah walked right past the chip shop because ay him.