Hey Ho, Let's No Go (track)
by The Just Joans

David Pope is sweaty, frustrated and weary. Pope opens the track in a small sheet metal factory - it could be Clydebank but, from the seagull faeces on the roof, it might be Hillington Park. He flouts health and safety legislation by wearing double denim and knock-off Rockport’s (Umbwe Trail Mahogany, size 9 UK). The stench of raw metal stings the eyes as the Axminster 305mm saws back and forth, hither and thither, with late Friday afternoon contempt.

Shades of Rialto, although this time transposed from Monday morning 5:19 to 5:19pm clock-watching monotony.

Home has warmth, even if the heating is broken. Home has sanctuary from Maddog Craigy, a man who spends his Friday’s hassling his harem of blue collar workers into spilling wages, blood and semen in the hen do enclaves of late nineties Glasgow. Pope knows he is going to be dragged out into the night, facing up to the struggle of cynicism in a knuckle draggers domain. Subtle excuses wasted on the brain sapped Stella elite.

Enter Katie Pope. David’s sister. Similar thoughts separated by a bedroom wall, gender and a ripped Dean Cain poster. Katie realises the futile resistance of conscientious objection to the Friday night out. She will be there. Her duty. Get out, get back.

David’s excuses marooned in disbelief. “Me wee cat’s got diarrhoea!”. It doesn’t and Craigy wasn’t listening. David will be on that bus into town. Thrown under the bus by his lack of conviction.

Katie? Same rules apply!