The strange and terrible saga of the Pole in the nighttime.

It was late in the morning when I began making my way home. The night was cool and the air crisp as I popped my earphones in and hit the play button on my iPod. A soft tune began playing in my ears. Up ahead a figure lurched from left to right in the familiar way of one who is the worse for wear with drink or drugs, or both.

As I drew level with the wobbly wanderer I heard him speak. His accent was heavily tinged with the familiar tones of the Polish. Strangely the word he had uttered was “Asda.” When the figure motioned towards me I pulled one of my earphones out and spoke.

“Alright?” I asked.
He spoke in very broken English and I realised he wasn’t one of the more fluent members of the Polish community. “Asda… Dancing… You know?” He said.

I figured that he was attempting to get to the Corn Exchange, a concert venue adjacent to Asda.
“Asda… Dancing… Girls…” He said, his breath smelling of booze. “This way?” He continued pointing towards where he thought Asda was.
“No man…” I replied. “Asda, that way.” I said, pointing towards the dual carriageway which I new to be the safest way there for someone unfamiliar with the wrong end of the Edinburgh housing scheme known as Saughton.

“No… Asda this way.” He said once more in his drunken polish accent.
“No man, this is the local reservation and you better get the fuck out before the Indians get you. Go straight up this road and take a left at the dual carriageway.” I said, pointing the quickest way out of the middle of the housing scheme.
“Asda… Dancing… Girls… Drugs… Women… Vodka!” He said, staggering violently as the effects of the drink screwed with his sense of balance as he made his way along the road he thought led towards Asda.
“Fuck no man. This bad place, you no safe.” I said attempting to make him understand the gravity of the situation he had inadvertently stepped into.
“Asda!… Dancing!… Vodka!… Drugs!…” He yelled, with booze fuelling his spirit.
“Keep it down man, fuck me, are you trying to get us mugged? I may be local but the vultures around here don’t take kindly to people shouting about drink and drugs at two in the morning.” I said, grabbing his jacket in an attempt to shock him into silence.

He shoved me backwards and I was tempted for a second to whip out a fist and knock him on his ass but fought the urge and put my fingers to my lips to show him we needed to be silent. I pointed to my eyes and motioned towards the houses on our sides. He seemed to understand what I was implying and immediately quietened down. “We go… Shh… People watch…” He said, suddenly becoming as alert as a mongoose.
“Righty ho man, we go.” I said pointing in the direction of the local shops.

As we walked I attempted to converse with him but found it hard making myself understood so I gave up and listened to his, now more silent, ranting about drink, drugs, dancing and woman. A car pulled around a corner just ahead of us and I spotted the familiar lights and luminous paint of a cop car.

“Shit… Polizia… Drugs…” He whispered quickly.
I realised that the wandering drunk was not exactly in the best position if the occupants of the police car decided to stop and have a chat with us.
“Shh…” I hissed.
“Drugs… Polizia.” He whispered again.
“OK, OK. Everything cool.” I whispered to him.

The police car slowed as it drew level with us and I sensed that the Polish guy was coiled as tight as a spring and would flee if it stopped. “Everything OK.” I said, trying to prevent him from making an attempt to hightail it into the distance. If he were to take off I guessed he would make it about five yards before the drink in his system made him veer from his chosen course and smashed him face first into a hedge, a parked car or a lamppost.
The cop car slowly drove past and I heard the Polish guy heave a sigh of relief. “Fuck… Shit… Drugs…” He said, quickly checking behind us to see the cop car pulling into a side street.
“Everything cool.” I said, patting him on the back to indicate he had done well keeping his head.
“Drugs.” He said quietly as he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a large bag of pills and paper.
“Holy Fuck man!” I said, shocked at the large bag of obviously illegal narcotics in his hand.

We rounded the corner at the local shops and he spotted a taxi. “Taxi!” He yelled.
“Cool now… Taxi take me Asda… Drink… Dancing…” He said pushing something into my hand.
I looked down into my palm and saw a bundle of notes. There were fives, tens and a couple of twenties in amongst the bundle.

“No man…” I said pushing the notes back into his hand. “You keep.” I continued.
“You come Asda… Drinking… Dancing… Girls…” He said, causing me to figure out that he wished to return the favour of setting him in the right direction.
“No man. You go Asda, I go home.” I said.
“Take please…” He said, once more attempting to force a bundle into my hand.
“No man you keep money.” I said, shoving the money backwards.
“Not money…. Drugs…” He said.

I looked down into my hand and saw that he had pushed a fist full of drugs into my hand. “You keep. I have many…. I go Asda….” He said.
“Well man, I’m not about to let you sell these nasty narcotics to kids so I’ll take them but only as a service to the community.” I said, breaking into a smile.
The Polish guy seemed to know, on some kind of shared psychonaut level, what I had said and smiled back as he clambered into the taxi.

I tapped on the passenger side window of the taxi and told the driver to take the Polish guy to the Corn Exchange. The driver enquired if he was too far gone to speak for himself so I explained that he was polish and his English wasn’t too hot. “Fair enough” Said the driver.

As the taxi pulled away the polish guy leaned far out of the window and yelled what I took to be a thank you…

“ASDA… DANCING… GIRLS… WOMEN!”