22nd May 2023

Gordon Alexander Farquharson had spent his entire adolescence and early adulthood physically defending the honor of a name he felt little or no connection too.  He had rapidly become a most accomplished fighter, quite without the usual degree of squeamishness often present with the more intellectually gifted of lads. He could most easily administer the most cruel    and unnecessary retribution for the smallest slight upon his ancestry, and was quite renowned near and far just possessing just such a streak of unfettered vengeance.

 His path crossed with Fergus Lothly on one dark rain spattered   night in a shambolic public house inside    the catholic portion of the Glasgow underworld. The argument started quite innocently enough, as such affairs are inclined to do, with a very casual remark about a forthcoming football fixture that was coming the next weekend in the nearby ‘Paradise’. The supposed throwaway line   descended from casual religious insult to blade and bottle flashing life threatening melee in a mere moment.

To paraphrase the immortal Bill Shankly some things are more serious than life and death, religion and football are the two most significant.

There are certain national rivalries that supersede all sensibility for geographic, historical, and social reasonings, the Celtic Rangers divide is the most so the most inflammatory conflict in Scottish mythological   and most vitally actual reality. Gordon and Ferus stood upon the Roman Catholic bank for the river Clyde, their freshly spilled blood sealing an unbreakable brotherhood.

Fergis Lothly was a somewhat unimportant lieutenant at the time of the altercation, but still with sufficient power over the Glasow constabulary and legal system to ensure that Gorden, whom had bravery intercepted a broken bottle aimed at Ferus’s thus far attractive face, was kept out of a cell and any of the possible follow up criminal prosecutions caused by the pairs wanton and most enjoyed displays of extreme physical application.  They were united in their outlandish joy at thuggery and tribal loyalty.

Joanna Geraldine Spivey and Dalene Gillespie were very pleasant and welcome ornaments in the rear of Gorgons plush vehicle. He has quite naturally adjusted his rear-view mirror downwards to an appropriate angle to give a clear view of the two young ladies skirted legs which would hopefully at some stage of this short journey part just enough to give him a clear and thrilling peep at their exposed upper hosiery and under garments.  His predilection by taking such a measure could possibly be seen as perverted, but Gordon preferred to think of this as simply a positive perk of an otherwise tedious occupation. He was also thoroughly certain that Darlene had purposefully flashed him on several previous occasions in this exact scenario.

“Always so happy to see eagle eyed Gordon at the at the wheel in front of me.”

To empathize the offhand remark Miss Gillespie’s knees parted momently, quite wide enough to make Gordons control over the vehicle wobble just momentarily.

“Steady there, cowboy.”

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