![[Scot]](/static/img/flags/sco.png "Scotland")
February’s Son 108: ‘Believe me, one drunken shag counts for sweet FA’.at sweet Fanny Adams, n.
February’s Son 108: ‘Believe me, one drunken shag counts for sweet FA’. February’s Son 55: ‘You polis know bugger all about bugger all’.at bugger all, n.
February’s Son 74: ‘Boots the chemist and Marks. Aspirin [...] and a new shirt’.at M and S, n.
February’s Son 150: ‘You can say no, Wattie,’ said McCoy. ‘No, you bloody can’t,’ said Mary. ‘Not unless you want the Chief Superintendent [...] up your arse, you can’t’.at up someone’s arse/ass under arse, n.
February’s Son 262: ‘Christ, she was a right pain in the hole’.at pain in the arse, n.
February’s Son 212: ‘Those clowns that did this? Scobie’s half-arsed boys?’.at half-assed, adj.
February’s Son 310: Short version of the bollocking was simple. His fate as a polis depended on whether Lomax made a formal complaint.at ballocking, n.2
February’s Son 4: ‘How come we’re freezing our balls off on the top of this building?’.at balls, n.
February’s Son 190: ‘Listen to me. [...] He deserved it [i.e. a punishment beating]. End of story. Don’t you sit there getting all bent out of shape about it’.at bent out of shape (adj.) under bent, adj.
February’s Son 114: ‘Abrahams was a big cheese at Ninewells Hospital in Dundee. Consultant psychiatrist or something’.at big cheese, n.
February’s Son 181: ‘Blood splattering everywhere? You’d be boaking your load and fainting’.at boke, v.
February’s Son 132: ‘Put a protective tail on Jake Scobie? [...] You really think my boss is going to approve that?’.at boss, n.2
February’s Son 2: Full shebang: dickie bow, cummerbund, silk stripe on the trousers.at dickey bow, n.
February’s Son 54: ‘Stevie, I—’ ‘Can it. You’re forgiven’.at can, v.
February’s Son 171: The cat was here a week ago.at cat, n.5
February’s Son 191: He didn’t go to the chippie. Didn’t want anything to eat.at chippie, n.4
February’s Son 183: ‘What can I tell you? Some of us have just got it.’ ‘The clap you mean!’.at clap, n.
February’s Son 130: ‘Fucker clattered me with a chair’.at clatter, v.2
February’s Son 73: ‘Aye, I saw him. That’s why I let him clobber me with a fucking chair’.at clobber, v.2
February’s Son 54: ‘[D]on’t come the cheeky cunt’.at come the..., v.
February’s Son 256: ‘Sir, we couldn’t—’ ‘Couldn’t what? Organise a fucking piss-up in a brewery?’.at couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery under couldn’t..., phr.
February’s Son 201: [S]ome wee boy in a kilt being given [...] a Coca-Cola by his half-cut dad.at half-cut, adj.2
February’s Son 109: ‘Whoever he is, he [...] [s]ounded dog rough’.at dog, adv.
February’s Son 261: She looked around [the pub]. ‘Should have known it would be a dump.’.at dump, n.3
February’s Son 243: ‘Heard this morning. Elaine gave you the big E’.at big E (n.) under elbow, n.1
February’s Son : He took out his badge, told the torn-faced cow behind the desk it was police business and headed for [...] the wards.at torn-faced, adj.
February’s Son 108: ‘[S]he wouldn’t know grief if it crawled under her dress and shouted in her fanny’.at fanny, n.1
February’s Son 87: Who was he kidding? He knew fine well what he was doing.at fine, adv.
February’s Son 14: ‘You know Jackson was a left-footer?’ ‘A Catholic?’ asked Murray.at left-footer, n.
February’s Son 139: ‘Any ideas?’ Thomson shrugged. ‘Fuck knows’.at fuck knows under fuck, n.
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