RUNNER-UP OF THE 2024 SLOAN PRIZE

Declan Kelly was born in Edinburgh and has lived there his whole life, especially enjoying the city for its atmosphere and people. He first began writing in high school and continued to do so after winning a school writing prize. He is currently studying law at the University of Edinburgh and has received a special mention for the Sloan Prize in 2020, 2022, 2024, winning in 2023.

‘It is a delight to be chosen as runner-up for the Sloan Prize. To have a recognition of the Scots language in any way is so important, and to be involved in art that supports it is an honour through and through.’

Intoxication and Other Late-Night Curses

Ah love gittin’ steamin’. Alkae ah ken. I was in secondary, and I met this sound boy. Spends maste eh his in Belize these days. But this boy, flaunting a tan us pastey folk couldnae get wae a sunbed, goes tae us:

“So are all the Scots drunk off whisky all the time?”

Ah hudnae even hud a drink it that age yit, embarrassing ah ken. Tae say I wis mildly offended at being labelled the jakey wis an understatement. Especially when three year later ah wis. Lucky guess likes. He canny talk though. I wis the one that hud tae boost oot at daft o’clock in the morning to rescue the boy fae his ain drowning eh liquor. And I’m no saying that as an exaggeration. He wis actually drowning in it. Found um wae a bird oan a park bench, couple eh voddy boatles ‘nd a wee nip eh Jack D’ aw fae his ain comfort. Mind you must’ve been sharing since his bird wis too steaming anaw. Couldnae even tell us whit the boy hud taken when trying to relay it tae the hospital doon the phone. No that the ambulance actually made it tae us. Sat up aw night doon my hoose wae my Ma and his Ma. The birds were chripin’ a racket by the end eh it, the kind that lets ye kin you’ve been up too early or out too late. And the boy’s bird during this debauchery? She tries firing into my brother (who’s keen anaw) since option A has succumbed tae alcohol poisoning. My Ma wis having absolutely none eh it. Long story short, after threatening the fear eh needing his stomach pumped or dying oan my settee non responsive, numpty simply wakes up, fresh as if he wis just snoozing.

Dinny ken how fresh he felt, but if the feeling didnae put um oaf the drinking, the leathering he go’at it hame aff his Ma defo did. The kind eh night tae distil such fear intae ye tae place ye oan the straight and narrow. Boy only drinks rid wine now, real sophisticated likes. I wish ah could be scared straight like that. Waking up still reekin’, vomit blendin’ in subtle speckles oan yer favourite top. Taste eh cigarette smoke and sins against yer better nature and best judgement, done again too many times.

“I’m no drinking again.”

It’s as if that lie ye tell yer sel’ on that dire Sunday morning as it bleeds into afternoon and greasy food makes it aw excusable. But that’s the problem eh. Talkin’ aboot it, plenty eh folk have told me it’s no the problem. Being a steamer is the symptom, no just the disease. It’s like when the hoose is burning, huvin’ a drink is just stepping oot intae the rain. And how crisp the rain is when yer no boilin’ in a burnin’ gaff. And ken whit? I like the rain. But eventually, you huv tae put yer jaykit oan and start fire fighting so yer no left in the rain, nae gaff and nae options. Some donnies are just cursed like that eh, and the best flavoured bev is the next one.

“No even the one?”

“Naw mate.”

There’s a problem.

“No even an after shift wee bevy? Wee nightcap?”

No the problem. But a problem. Yer pals try tae entice ye tae the dark side. You make pals out eh circumstance and shared interest. So when yer pals socialise by going oan the sesh, and ye work the nightshifts doon the boozer, drink becomes yer mate mare than the dafty next tae ye. The worst eh it aw, is when ye try tae stoap. Actually try tae stop, no the attention seekin’ half stopped, ye realise being the one daftie no drinking is shite. Then there’s the boredom, cause yer shafted if ye want to actually dae something cause all yer pals are alkaes like yersel’. Or ye bite the bullet and run the roulette eh meek but persistent peer pressure. Either way the problem still hangs oan ye, drinkin or no. Yet ye need tae make proper eh the situation. Proper eh yersel’. So dae ye cut yer self aw fae yer pals? Cut yerself fae the omnipresent and wriggling mass that is Scotland’s love eh abusive love affair wae alcohol?

Maybe. Drinks been flooding culture since some gadge got his mates together and decided tae call it civilisation. A primal need to be inebriated. Intoxication. The finest font eh fun and self-destruction. Who kens. I’m too auld for it aw. Too young tae ken why. I’m cutting aboot doon cowgate, and I’m sensing the age eh this toon as a stroll through its gutter, sprawling masses eh shamblin’ folk spillin’ fae the pavement and blocking the overpriced taxis. They love tae tell ghost stories aboot these weathered sand stane walls and cobbled streets. It’s no Halloween but am out dress up, haunted still. They say everyone’s going through suttin’. Demons and that. If I can ride this one night out without drinking again, ah ken I can beat mine. Skud it oan its arse. Take it day by day. Just doing things and hoping it doesnae creep up again. It will, sooner or later, but that’s the nature it aw. Day by day, then before ye ken each month will be a win. Last hurdle, final day eh a sober month

We dip and dive oot the cauld and shite intae an Irish pub. The kind eh establishment steamers go tae live and nights out go tae die. I feel the hand oan the clock brandishing a manufacturer fae Dublin’s outskirts swingin’ towards twelve. Almost won the month. We’re aw sat at a naff high table carefully chored fae the crowd eh the joint. One eh the groups gettin’ the round for the table, a duty I’ve somewhit snidely avoided by the inexpensiveness eh orange juice. Then ah see it. My problem, unavoidable as frost oan a December night. Sat oan the bar, alluding and familiar as an old friend. As bitter and volatile as a coiled snake, pure poison waiting fur ye in among nettles and taw gress in the back green. I need tae be as sharp as a lock knife, and as ruthless as the same tool in the hands eh a ned wae nout tae lose. Ma curse is callin’ me tae that bar.

And before ye say nout aw else, ma problem isnae drink. Or even a drink. Aye, it doesnae help. Thits why am stopping. But naw. One night ah wis working oan the weekend. Saturday night, standard mobbed occasion normally, except the pub wis deed. Nae one wis in. Except this auld wifey. I’m buzzin’ for an early closing eh the doors. Then she comes up, real friendly like. Starts making small talk, but somethin’ seemed sketchy. Started chattin’ wavy shit about tarot cairds and auras. I told her she wis being a bit dodgy, somewhat stumbling over aw the words. Too many free shots that I shouldnae huv been pouring mase loan shift but ah sank anyway. She seemed raging about it.

Tell you something clapped about it though. Next day, I see this wee green fella. Some kind eh goblin. He’s here tonight, sitting oan the bar top and strutting about kicking drinks and generally acting like a bam. Naeones reacting tae the wee radge. Feels like I’m going schizo. Wee cretin is causing mayhem and folk are just ignoring it, or at least acting like it’s no a wee green gadge daing it. Every month this wee prick bounces up. Really waited tae the last moment this month. Thought ah wis dodging um this time. Goblin’s out tae ruin me. Ah have tae dae a mad dive to avoid a pint glass the wee one just pelted across the crowd. My pals are vexed big time, looking for the sick freak that just tried to gless me. They winny find the culprit in the crowd though.

Skin like melted green wax over chicken bones, the wee goblin is cutting a nasty oan the bar, his pointed sawblade teeth clattering as he’s buckled at his ain antics. His twisted fingers rattle and abuse the beer taps as he showers his grease baw hair under a steam eh warm beer. His pot belly jiggles as he bounces about greedily, his goblin nose snorting at the air like it was hunting a bag eh party dust. Wailing like a banshee, running about unsettled and in the skud, a misery tae nae one but me.

Been half a year dealing wae this two foot nout green gremlin. I tried doin’ um in. Couple eh times. Drowning. Stabbin’. Defenestration. Set um oan fire once. Made his ‘hings worse. Lost the deposit oan that flat anaw. Keeps coming back like. Ruined three job interviews. Couple dates. One family dinner. Apparently molesting a rotisserie chicken tae git the goblin oot its arsehole isnae an excuse. The fam wisnae best pleased. Wae a wee pal like him, so set oan appearing at the worst eh times in pure determination tae be a nippy wee shit, who needs drink? Too much fear watching yer back when steamin’. Ah ken how they drug dealers feel now when they stay in their gaff’s until new year only tae be caught by an opps bullet in the pub. Dull yin in deed.

But am knackered, and there’s only so many times ye kin tan glesses eh orange juice. I canny be bothered drowning that scrawny wee monster in the urinal tonight, so a ‘hink I’ll deal wae um the morn. Oan the plus, I’ll no be hanging. Ah doubt I kin dodge bev or goblims the rest eh ma life, but I’ve dodged drink tonight. Geez a decent chance it the other problems. I put oan ma jaykit, still looking smart, and ah hit the door intae that cauld night, ready for the morn. Better goin’ hame an trippin’ over ma dug. At least ye kin git up fae that efter he’s licked ye tae death.

Dialect Note

This work is written in lowland Scots vernacular, particularly that arising from Dalkeith and South-East Edinburgh. This is exemplified by words such as ‘ken’. Specifics of pronunciation have been shown through the spellings of words to demonstrate the nuanced accent differences. The dialect used aims to collate these specific areas generally, even though these areas can offer nuances in tone and pronunciation within them. Whilst primarily focused on the vernacular of these areas and their specific working-class aspects, there is undoubtedly influence from that spoken elsewhere in Lowland Scotland. Similarly, internet slang and the general presence of international influences are unavoidable. The interaction of the Scots language with itself and the language used online and across the world has ultimately made a strict definition of the dialect impossible, especially concerning the vernacular in such an international city such as Edinburgh with its large student population. This note hopes to define the vernacular used as loosely based on harder Scots spoken in Edinburgh generally, as defining specifics of ever changing and evolving language is a difficult task.