The ‘laddish’ behaviour we can all learn from in times of thuggery - Euan McColm

The spectrum of skin tone – from almost translucently pale to deepest ebony – is fully represented. Some have baby bum-smooth faces, while others are already oiling their beards.

And when they speak? Oh, boy, what a cacophony. Some of them squeak, others growl.

Also, by and large, they stink.

They’re the lads, my boy and his mates, a group of 14-year-olds who’ve been spending these summer days in the west end of Glasgow engaged in epic 20-a-side football matches with whichever kids they can round up near any municipal pitch.

The lads are a magnificent, sweaty bunch, yet to be given the key to the magical kingdom of orthodontics, who relentlessly take the piss out of each other.

I stand at the bay window, watching them barrelling up the street to my place, all shoves and bravado and then, the minute I open the front door, every one of them turns into Perry, the archetype of the teenage boy bought to life by the magnificent Kathy Burke in Harry Enfield’s comedy show. It’s all “hello Mr McColm thank you how are you Mr McColm thank you very much yes” and fleeting, horrifying eye-contact.

When the lads aren’t playing football in the real world or online, they may be found, descending like jackals upon platters of wings, at one of several local fried chicken shops. This culinary preference is dictated by the faith of some, who’re Muslim and must eat a Halal diet.

Kids, eh? What are they playing at? They find a major difference between themselves, the sort of thing that makes adults kill each other, and they solve it by going for chicken because they can all eat it and they all like it. Do they really think they can get along by making tiny, irrelevant compromises where they differ and enjoying the many ways in which they are exactly the same? How terribly, terribly childish…

I envy the lads. It usually looks like they’re having the best imaginable time.

And so they should be. They’re young, healthy, with families who love them and mates on whom they can depend. With the stress and strain of exams still a year away, this should be the most carefree of summers.

Instead, with racist rioters causing carnage across England and Northern Ireland, they’re all learning something about hatred.

The boy’s best mate’s Muslim and, as word spread that far-right thugs planned a racist protest in Glasgow’s George Square, his mother grew increasingly worried.

By Wednesday, the day of the rumoured protest, she – and others – had made a decision. Their particular lads would be staying home.

Don’t get me wrong, of course the boy’s non-white mates have dealt with racism before. They’re often upsettingly matter-of-fact about it: “That’s just what some people are like Mr McColm thank you please Mr McColm I’m fine honestly.” But sometimes you will see the fear or anger.

There’s remarkable strength in those among the lads who have to deal with racism every day. They process what they have to and remain funny, warm-hearted boys, trusting of others until given reason not to be. But how for how long might they be expected to brush off hatred? Who would blame any of them who reached the point where he thought, you know what, enough of this crap is very much enough?

Fortunately, the rumoured protest did not take place in Glasgow but tensions remain everywhere in the UK.

The lads don’t, of course, declare their affection for each other (beyond, perhaps, the delivery of the occasional headlock or dead-leg) but they have each other’s backs. In this case, solidarity was swift and uncontroversially agreed. If some of the lads weren’t going to the pitch, none of them were. They’re good lads, the lads.

The boy and I talk about what’s happening. The lads have been keeping each other entertained by sharing videos of racist rioters being arrested. The favourite is one where, shortly before being grabbed by cops, a thug is struck, as the lads have it, “square in the baws” with a brick hurled by one of his own mob.

It’s wonderful to see the lads laugh away this stuff but I’ve no doubt that laughter conceals, in some cases, real worry. Some of them have been taking a lot of abuse from a lot of racists for a long time.

I try to find positives among what’s happening. Good on the members of the crew who aren't white, I say, for not letting what they put up with turn them into racists, too.

The boy tells me that there’s been so much racist abuse from drug users on the street where one of the lads lives that his Mum's now so nervous she prefers not to have any white kids in the house.

Never one to miss a teaching point, I ask if he can see how that’s different from white-on-minority racism in the UK, today?

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. Of course, he can. That lad’s mother doesn’t mean him any harm. She’s scared because of terrible experiences. Do I think he’s stupid.

So, I ask him, you feel okay about being excluded if the others are going over to that guy’s place?

Another look.

“We don’t go. If we can’t all go somewhere, we go somewhere else.”

The tone of his voice says “Why, old man, is this complicated? Why would we not stick together?”

Here’s to the lads – and kids everywhere – finding their way, together, through these bleak days.