I am in Asda, at the ironically  named ‘ The Jewel,’ doing a bit of people-watching, while I wait for my prescription to be filled. I can’t stand near Shoe Zone —  fumes from the  totally man-made materials are burning my nose and making my eyes water– so I start thumbing through magazines. I hear extreme throat clearing to my left; it sounds like a chainsaw warming up. I peek. Chavtastic bonus! A voice right out of Niddrie.  Fake tan and hair extensions.

“Go on n’ stop, son,” she grates. “I cannae deal w’yit. Staiy here the noo. Dunnae move. Yer hertin’ ma heed! Shut yer gob.” Her son has asked to buy Beano. The reading level is clearly too high; she snorts a derisive ‘Nah’. She doesn’t want Declan gettin’ above hisself, after all. Declan gives her the finger, and sidles away. She is soon engrossed in Chat, Scotland’s source for true stories about stars off the telly, and women greetin’ because “Mum stole the father of my 7 wee benefits-receiving wains.”

She sighs, scratches her nose, and puts the magazine back on the rack. She hoicks the waistband of her leggings up, looks around, and barks: “Dammit! Declan! Get yer wee bum back here, so’s I kin skelp ya!” She starts to waddle in his direction.

He is engrossed in Beast Quest. Brendan is about the same age, and loves these predictable, implausible stories. Declan clearly hasn’t heard her, but darts off when he detects vibrations from her impact tremors.  I wonder what sort of a monstrous villainess name she would get, if she were written into one of the books; maybe “Chavarella: Warthog Princess” ? I am almost sorry that I have to leave. I won’t get to see the end of the show, but I am rooting for Declan.