“Don’t fancy yours much...” Roy says, nudging me hard in the ribs, his playful physicality overdubbed with four too many “Rolling Rock"s. “...nor mine, really.” There are two girls ahead of us. He’s right. We watch a bouncer eject a drugged-up older guy who has been flashing his penis on the dance floor and is now objecting loudly that he did no such thing. It’s clear that he is in the no-mans land, where he thinks bouncers can be reasoned with (not true), but knows that after ten pm he will not be allowed to enter any other drinking establishment (true). This is not his night, and he is tossed almost casually out in to the dreickt (see glossary below) evening street, genitals glistening under street lamp light. I start to wonder why you’d show your cock on the dance floor, of all places? To watch it jig? I quickly end those thoughts. A child of Morrissey, I know my genitals look like some grotesque, shameful, vile joke gone wrong. “Prity thing you is ugly and you is ment to hide.” as Billy Childish wrote.

In mid-80’s Glasgow street crime curfew is all the rage—while the bars can stay open ‘till midnight and the ‘niteclubs’ (ugh) ‘till three am, you can’t enter either after ten pm. Constant police patrols wander the city centre to ensure these rules are kept, while ignoring the clashes between the …

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