For about 10 years I lived up a close in Ibrox, and right across from my flat was a pretty-much all-night "grocers"/papershop run by an old Asian guy who had to have been a saint to work there.

I went in one time and was just about to get served when this jaikey-looking cunt came staggering in, shouting,

"Can I get a bottle of Turps?"


"Sorry I can't serve you that, " I remember the old guy saying, "you'll drink it."


"Naw, man," the junkie looking fuck says, "Naw, I'm painting the hoose, and I need some Turps."


"No way, I've had the cops round here telling me I'm in trouble if I sell Meths, and Turps an' that to all the jaikeys" comes the reasonable reply, "Away you go."


The jaikey was having none of it though.


"I'm telling you," he insisted, "I need some Turps to put my brushes in, cos I'm painting the bloody flat!"
After what felt like an age, the old guy finally relented, and I remember him reaching for a bottle from the dusty shelf behind him.
"Naw, naw," says the jake, "Can I have one from the fridge?"