There’s more than weans in Scotland.

There’s a wee auld man lives a couple a mile up the road fae me. Never been married. Kept himsel tae himsel. A neat and tidy wee soul, the kinda guy you’d no notice in the street; jist a wee Jimmy gaun oot fur his pint a milk and loaf. Mibbes a dod a cheese. Or comin in fae his work efter a hard shift.

Ye don’t notice him. He disnae matter. He never did. A wee guy gaun through life on his tod. Ye know the story. Disnae need overtime cos he’s nae weans he’s ey telt. Folk wi weans need money, no the likes a him, he’s ey telt. He’ll be fine himsel wi nae money and nae life, he’s ey telt. No as if he’s weans in the hoose he’ll be needing a break fae, mibbes the odd night oot tae relax. If ye’ve weans ye need oot ye know! Need a break’n that, a change a scenery, a bit a adult conversation. If ye’ve weans. When it’s redundancy time, he’s nae weans, he’s telt, so, he’ll no miss the wage and the boss disnae feel bad aboot letting him go intae unemployment. It’s fine. Nae weans gaun hungry tae worry aboot. Of course ye a’ know the story. Ye’ve a’ heard it a thousand times. Ye’ve a’ said it a thousand times anaw. Ye’ve a’ mobbed and bullied any wee Jimmy who dared object. Ye a’ know the drill.

Wi nae overtime and nae secure job, that means he’s nae savings and never hid a mortgage. Disnae matter. No as if he’s got weans tae leave a legacy tae or anything.

He got new neighbours in a few year back. Then some mair new neighbours. Of course it’s no gaunne be a problem. He keeps himsel tae himsel. Quiet wee soul. Wisnae long tae the weans fae this wan new family a neighbours were following him whenever he went oot his front door. Offering him ‘personal services’ fur money. He took tae gaun oot fur his milk and bread at 6 in the morning while the weans were no aboot. Avoided them as much as he could. But nae matter how hard ye try, even the wee Jimmy’s hiv tae go oot at least noo and again during the day or at night. And still they followed him. Tormented him. Frightened him witless.

As time went on, he realised the parents wur worse than the parents fae hell. Drug dealin. Bit a pimping the customers to pey the bills owed. The usual sort a thing the folk who don’t matter are supposed tae put up wi on their doorstep wi nothing mair than a smile on their faces. Don’t whinge. Ye don’t know whit it’s like, how could ye? No as if ye’ve any weans. Ye’ll be fine yersel. Slum land. It’s where the wee Jimmy’s find a wee dump tae live. Anything else, well, too expensive fur wee Jimmy’s. As time went on, he got mair feart. And mair feart. Single guy himsel. Nae weans. Getting aulder. Mud sticks. He couldnae sleep fur the worrying about that mud. And the drug dealin. And the ‘customers’ traipsing up and doon the stairs tae the hoose above. A’ it takes is wan a those wee weans naebody wid trust wi a bag a fresh air tae

point the finger. He lived in constant fear. Constant terror. Disnae matter. He’ll be alright himsel.

Then wan night, there wis a fight in the close. That family. But it wisnae a fight, argument. It wis a fight fight. Weapons… murder. A man left died in the close.

That wis it for the wee soul. Constant fear and then the dead body in his close, the impact on his mental and physical health…getting on in years… He got in his wee auld banger and drove away, leaving everything he owned behind. He spent months living in his wee banger, parking it up at night in supermarket carparks so he could sleep somewhere he thought he’d be safe.

Scotland that wonderful country that cares for people, but no fur the likes a him, telt him he’d no get any help wi housing cos he’d voluntarily made himself homeless. He voluntaryily fled the weans who were terorrizing him and their drug-dealin pimping parents. He shouldnae a done that. Stupit. He gave up his rights tae help fae the state the minute he decided he couldnae cope wi the fear a minute longer. Nothing wrang wi the likes a him living in terror according tae Scotland. No unless they come fae a war-torn country. That’s different. There’s a stampede a folk earning a crust tae help ye in that case. But terror here in Scotland? Put up wi it. Ye’ll be alright yersel. It’s no that bad, Jimmy. It isnae, ye need tae understaun, Jimmy.

Well, no as if he’d weans tae protect or anything is it? And wi nae savings cos the likes a him never needed any money or secure employment, well, he wis screwed.

Condemned tae the gutter for no getting wi the plan and getting himsel doon that aisle and straight roon tae the maternity ward wi the labouring wife. Condemned tae never mattering no even when he’s in constant fear fur his life, in forever kind, caring, egalitarian loving Scotland . Disnae matter. He’ll be alright himsel.

He wis rescued by a lawyer. A welfare rights lawyer found him, in his wee rust bucket in a car park. That lawyer knew a private landlord who would make sure he had a roof o’er his heid. He never mattered tae Scotland. But he mattered tae that rando lawyer and the landlord who walk in shoes nae that different fae the likes a Robert Owen and the Red Clydesiders as far as I can tell.

In a nation of millions, only two folk were willing tae look at the wee man and see a human in desperate need of his Human Rights; his Human Rights to Housing. Finally, the wee soul got a roof o’er his heid. In a safe quiet street, in a community where naebody would bother him any mair. Safe. He could go collect his pension, get his milk and breid whenever he wanted withoot fear of the weans and the threat he,

like maist men, dread. He could settle noo. He might no matter, but he could sleep noo.

He started tae feel no well. His new landlord had made sure he wis registered wi the local GP so aff he went tae get some medical care. GP ordered tests. Consultants called him in. He got wan a the letters ye get that said “Bring somebody with you.” But he couldnae. Cos he didnae hiv anybody tae take wi him. So, like everything he’d done in his life, he went himsel. he’ll be alright. No as if he’s any weans. Right?

Cancer. Needed immediate surgery. At least this time, for a change, he wisnae telt he didnae matter and that he’d be alright himsel withoot the surgery because, well, no as if he’s any weans, by public service workers like he usually wis telt. No this time. The hospital Consultant understood he worked for everybody whether they’ve got weans or no. It’s whit public service means. And the Consultant could baith read, and use a dictionary. So that wis a nice change, at least.

He got his surgery, in a hospital. Like ye’d expect. Nae visitors. Nae next a kin, ye see. And discharged as soon as possible. Like ye’d expect. Naebody there tae collect him. Naebody tae cairry his wee hospital bag fur him oot the door. He can manage himsel. No as if he’s any weans, is it? He got hame, somehow.

He let himsel in, put his wee bag doon, and lowered himsel, still sore and feeling awful, intae his wee bed.

Naebody came tae ask if he needed any messages. Naebody came tae see if mibbes he’d want a wee haun wi cooking dinner, full the freezer wi tubs a veggie soup. Naebody came tae check he wis OK. Naebody came tae fit up the flat wi the things he’d mibbes need; grab rails fur gettin in and oot the bath, things like that. Naebody came tae change the bed, gie the place a wee tidying up if it wis needed.

Well, no as if he matters. He’ll be alright himsel lying in bed wi his wound and diagnosis, wondering if he should accept the rest a the treatment, the treatment his consultant says will be extremely gruelling. Shame, if he’d any money saved up he’d be able tae pay the council tae send a home help roon tae him. But, wi no hivin any weans, well, Scotland didnae think the likes a him needed a few bob spare tae put in the piggy bank. He’ll be fine himsel, they telt him as often as they could tae he couldnae stand the sight nor sound a them. He’s nae weans. He’ll be alright himsel, lying in bed, himsel wi nae haun aboot the place, as able tae care fur himsel as a dug that’s been run o’er wi a fuckin truck is able tae care fur itsel.

And how dae I know about this wee man and whit’s happening? Annual gas safety check. Somebody had tae be let intae his hoose tae dae the check. And

somebody suddenly realised wi a fucking hell hole Scotland is underneath the myths and propaganda, jist like the wee Jimmy’s of Scotland have always known.

But never mind. It’s fine. Let’s get back to talking about whit matters in Scotland. The important things. The things that really matter. How dae I put it…. that Beatles song…. are ye ready….

After me, One! Two! Three!

“ALL WE NEED IS CHILDCARE! DUP DI-DI-RE- DRUP… ALL WE NEED IS CHILDCARE!”

Ye wull. I know ye wull and you know ye wull. Ye’ll chap his door at election time, shout through his letter box tellin him all about how in Scotland, all we need is fucking childcare, like ye’ve been daen fur decades already. And if he ‘dares’ drag his seriously ill arse oot that bed a his, comes tae his door and tells any a you lot whit’s whit in this city, a city where hauf the folk walk in the same shoes he does…. the best ye’ll hiv fur him is tae spit in his face that he’s nothin, that he wallows in his poverty ever so bloody piously and he better jist shut his mouth and mind his place silently, in the heap marked “Disnae Matter, No As If He’s Weans”. Or else. Or else, whit? He’ll be made petrified a mud getting flung at him again?

Fuckin bastards the lot a ye. Ye are. Fuckin bastards.