Does sibling bickering ever end? The boydults can’t seem to stop needling each other. No grudge left un-nudged, no slight offered the other cheek. They love having a brother to argue with, someone who will engage over the slightest slight – a dirty teaspoon here, a sock there – who’s willing to keep it going down the years.
Youngest knows how to deal with it: “Shut up! You’re ruining my peaceful time, ridonculous!” she says and leaves.
I’d do the same but I’m stuck in the car with them, driving us back from their gig in Dunfermline – Eldest and his girlfriend, Middle and Drummer Man (a guy so even-tempered he’s only ever had one fight in his life – at school, with Middle of course, who admits he started it by being an idiot).
Anyway, Drummer Man, being very tall, and my car being very small, had suggested he ride shotgun for the legroom. But Middle, also very tall, was already in situ, in charge of choons, so the others are crammed, knees up to ears, in the back. As soon as we left, it started. Bicker, niggle, grumble. We’re trapped in a tiny tin can car with the Gallagher brothers.
I don’t even know what they’re arguing about – pizza, music, who should check something on their mobile, who’s always been like this, like what, like you... I blank it out, focus on driving, but on it rumbles.
“Can YOU not do it? Typical!”
“I’ve got a £$%£$$ XL pizza in my lap. Which you’re eating. I can’t move my hands! Why can’t YOU do it?”
“How are you eating pizza then, eh ... eh?”
I can feel my ears starting to bleed, we’re not even at the bridge yet.
“Oh my God... this is surreal…” I say. Oh wait, that wasn’t me, it was Drummer Man, who is laughing.
“Yeah, bet you’re glad you’ve had a drink,” I say.
“I haven’t. But I tell you what, when we go on tour, we’re having separate buses. One each.”
Yeah, and I know whose bus I’ll be driving.