Kevin Bridges: The Story So Far - Live in Glasgow Page #2

D'you know what I mean by that?

You get, "Oh, look at that wee dog",

"Watch that f***in' dug."

You know, one of them big council-house

terriers with a name like Sasha.

Somebody brings it on a bus and

it jumps on top of you on the bus

and you shite yourself.

And the owner's going, "Don't

worry, she's only playing with you.

"Don't worry, she's

just a big softy."

And the dog's going,

"You know that's a lie.

"This isn't over."

I like animals. Just

feel uneasy amongst dogs.

I was watching a documentary about

animal testing, about toiletries

and cosmetic products

that get tested on animals.

And it was showing you

these horror stories

about animals that get

badly burned and disfigured.

Lt was pretty

distressing sh*t, right.

But I'm quite a positive guy.

I'm watching this, thinking, "What about

the happy stories about cosmetic tests?

"What about the tests

that were successful?"

"What about the toiletries and beauty

products that made it to the market?"

I want to turn on the TV

and see the two chimpanzees

in a laboratory cage somewhere saying,

"You're smelling good, chico. "

"Is that Lynx Africa?"

Bomp-chica-wha-wha!

I'm 23, still live at home.

Don't know if any of the

young guys at the front,

- any of you still

live at home? Yeah!

Young guys at the front, a

guy up in block D said yes.

Twenty-three, you live at home, you don't

need to pay rent and stuff like that,

but you pay mental

rent, don't you?

I've always had a good

relationship with my parents.

Especially my dad.

You know, when you're

seven, eight, nine years old,

as a young guy, traditionally,

your dad is your hero, isn't he?

Your role model.

He knows everything.

You want to follow in the guy's

footsteps. You want to emulate the guy.

Then you get to about 12 years old,

you realise your dad's an arsehole.

It's a perfectly natural stage in adolescence,

discovering that your dad's a bit of a knob.

It's just what happens.

Normally happens

on Christmas Day.

And involves building something.

I'd be sitting there working patiently

away, using the instruction manual.

My dad would come in. See,

my dad is of the old school

where the use of an instruction manual is

viewed as an admission of homosexuality.

"That can get to f***."

"Where's the claw hammer?"

And once you've realised

your dad's an arsehole,

you can kind of use

it to your advantage.

I realised my dad was

an arsehole in 1998.

Right. In 1998 you

never had Sky Plus.

Or Sky HD. It was just Sky.

And you had, I'd

say three options.

You could get it via a

satellite dish, via a cable,

or you knew a guy that

could get you a box.

You know, one of them guys that can

get you a hold of anything for 40 quid?

He can get you a

Nissan Micra, 40 quid.

He can get you a set

of golf clubs, 40 quid.

An iPod nano, 40 quid.

Fifty quid in cash, 40 quid.

Everybody's met a dodgy

bastard, right? 40 quid.

The satellite dish, that was

like in a working-class option.

Satellite dish. You

want a satellite dish.

You want your neighbours

to know you've got Sky TV.

If you're paying L25 a month,

you want your neighbours knowing

that you're better than them.

Now, we had Sky through

a satellite dish, 1998.

You could be watching Sky TV...

I don't know if anybody

remembers old-school Sky.

You could be watching Sky TV

in the living-room television,

but you could also go

upstairs to the bedroom TVs

and watch Sky, but only what

the person in the living room...

only what they were watching.

I don't know the intrinsic technical

explanation as to why that happened,

but it just did.

Saturday nights, me and my dad

watching Match of the Day.

And it gets to the

kind of shite games.

And I say, "Right, I think

I'm going to go to bed, Dad.

"Good night."

And he continues the charade,

and he says, "Oh, you're going to

bed, Son? Oh, that's fine. Good night."

And as that mutual father-and-son,

we both know what the plan is here.

Casually exit the living

room, nice and slow.

Don't even stop off in the

kitchen for a look in the fridge.

Eyes on the prize,

right up the stairs.

Bedroom TV switched on,

go to channel number 6.

That's when you see what

he's watching, number 6.

TVs are synchronised,

but he's in control.

A few minutes go by and he's still

watching Match of the Day.

I'm thinking, "That's fine, he must

be giving it a couple of minutes.

"You don't want to

make it too obvious.

"Nice and smooth. He's done

this before. Nice and smooth."

Another few minutes go by, I'm thinking,

"Come on, stick to the plan, Andy.

"You're better

than this, come on."

Looking at the bottom right of the TV,

waiting for the numbers to get typed in.

The numbers that could make or

break the evening's entertainment.

Waiting for the numbers. "Go on, play

your numbers, give me your numbers."

Nine. That's good.

That's good.

He's played a nine. Could not have

hoped for a better start than a nine.

Zero-five, the 10-minute

freeview. Jackpot!

"You're a dirty bastard,

Dad, but I love you."

Yeah, that was back in the

day, back in the old days

when the late-night TV was good.

Remember Channel 5

would stick a porno on.

You'd have programmes like

Eurotrash on Channel 4.

And that's what kept young

people off the streets.

That should put an end to

teenage antisocial behaviour...

put soft-core porn back on

terrestrial TV at the weekend.

Thank you, sir.

Remember you'd be there

watching Channel 5,

The Red Shoe Diaries,

or Indecent Proposals,

it gets to the good bit.

You're ripping the

head off it, right?

You get to the point of no

return and they go to adverts.

Quick, change that

to Eurotrash.

A midget poking a zebra's

arse with a shopping trolley.

Oh, it's by no means ideal,

but it's better than nothing.

Remember finding a

porn mag in a hedge?

That's a dying game, innit?

Finding a porno in a bush.

Remember you'd be playing football,

the ball'd get kicked in the bushes.

Somebody would go in to retrieve the

ball, they would come out with no ball.

Proudly parading in a wank book.

Match abandoned.

Finding a porno in a hedge.

It's those kind of coming-of-age

moments that shape you as a person.

I don't know if I can reminisce

about much at 23 years old,

but I like to reminisce about

the '90s, the good old days.

Back when it was just a

PlayStation 2 and stuff like that.

Remember your first taste of independence,

when word had spread in your school

that somebody's mom and dad

were going away for the weekend?

And that the guy or the

girl were having a party.

They never knew they

were having a party.

Perhaps "having" is the wrong choice

of word. They were "getting" a party.

And I don't mean the kind

of high-school parties

that you see in American movies.

"Hey, hey, do you

guys know Chad Hogan?"

"Yeah, of course, man.

Everybody knows Chad Hogan, man."

"Chad Hogan's mom and dad are going

away to Long Island for the weekend, man.

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