Oh! I know where to begin. The minute I saw the word rebel I thought ‘not me’ but then, after a while, I thought ‘yes me’.  I’m a wee bit of one of them.

But it goes back to last century, when I was young, say about ten or eleven-ish.

‘In them thar days’ we played ‘roon the doors in wee gangs.’

We didnae hae many toys – if ony – so we made oor ain entertainment.

An’ ken whit? Yin o’ the gemes we played wis ‘Kick Door Run Fast’.

Noo, ye kinda hae tae bide whaur there’s buildins. That’s Boness’s wurd fer tenements, ken – Glasgie’s tae fer that matter.

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A Patch of Red Somewhere

I am sitting in a fortunate position today; I have a really good view out of the window. Spring is on the way at last, and I can see a burgeoning of buds on the trees. The sun, an almost forgotten addition to the sky, is breaking through the clouds. The meeting room is warm, I ease back in my chair, stretching my legs out. I feel a bit sleepy and have to stifle a yawn. My eyes feel heavy, I just fancy drifting off for a while. I snap back to attention as my colleague nudges me surreptitiously, trying to give me a pile of spreadsheets “Take one and pass it on” she hisses.

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‘And you?’ Raisha’s eyes were warm, generous, drunk. I smiled with a closed mouth, sensing the edge of something. ‘Did you rebel?’

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The Brighton Adventure

Warning: this piece contains strong language

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Challenging Authority

I have Miss Muir, my primary teacher, to thank for the person I am today.

We lived in a small village where everyone knew one another. I had a wonderful childhood growing up with two loving parents and an extended family. A mining community, we looked out for each other and were taught to have a healthy respect for authority. If you “got into trouble” at school then you knew you had double the trouble wiating when you arrived home. Such was the support for the local school. Life was extremely good until I started Primary 7.

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COP 88

The first act of rebellion
Against extended Education
To sign up for a uniform.

My family.
Not criminals, not outlaws, just decent distanced folk
Doors slammed on my possibilities.

Police HQ
Ugly concrete squat of blank windows
Ordered in rows
Walking into the lions den
Through long corridors
To its heart
Fear fluttering inside.

Change. Challenge.
Do something that scares you.
Every day
I did.
Cop 88.

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The Outsider

What can I say of the woods and country roads near where I grew up? I lived and still live in a beautiful part of the world called Ayrshire in South-West Scotland. In fact I love the Ayrshire countryside so much that even named my writing group South-West Writers just to remind myself of how lucky I am.

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They Boots

Warning: this piece contains strong language

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glasgow, community

Rebels apo da bus

Da bus is usually quiet.

Some haes peerie plugs in dir lugs we variations on dir choice o tunes. Heads nod - occasionally banging up quickly tae see whaar dey ir fae da zeds o dir unsettled snooze.

A Wednesday is different. Dat’s Coort day. Da rebels drag demsells fae dir pits tae join wis on da ten tae eight tae toon.

Dis twa ir Coort day regulars. Followin da inevitable path laid afore dem be midders at wirna midders.

Dey nod at me whan I sit doon opposit dem.

Dey’re usually quiet but dis day dey’re a bit spicky.        

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community, solidarity

An t-iasg nach b’ urrainn snàmh/The fish that never swam

An t-iasg nach b’ urrainn snàmh
le Daibhidh Eyre

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