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      “This idea of yours is aw very well but you realise it could put us aw in jail?” Eddie’s mean, feral eyes stared at Richard accusingly through heavy black-rimmed glasses, making him look every inch the wee Glasgow hard-man he aspired to be. Richard had been invited round to his flat to go through the sabotage plan for the third time and it was becoming clear Eddie had little faith in either him or the plan. They sat in the cold kitchen to avoid disturbing Eddie’s dad who was watching TV in the living room.

      “It could, but this is what we’re here for isn’t it? Handing out pamphlets to people who chuck them into the first bin they walk past will never get us anywhere. We’re supposed to be a revolutionary party not a pamphlet distributing party.”

      They sat in silence. Richard wondered if he’d pushed Eddie too far. Anyway, he was past caring. He looked round the cold, outmoded kitchen. There wasn’t much there to soothe their nerves; an old-fashioned pantry, solid enough to withstand nuclear attack, had been painted yellow in an attempt at modernity. A worn-out Tricity cooker, covered in grease. Pitted brown linoleum on the floor. A ceiling pulley for hanging washing on.

      The council had vowed to build modern flats ‘fit for heroes’ but, somehow, they had created drab, grey schemes instead. Out in the street there were no facilities; no shops and nothing to do. Inside there was no comfort. Attempts to cheer up the interiors of these houses nearly always ended in tragicomic kitsch – in this case exemplified by the wallpaper with its repeated pattern of crowing cocks. Perhaps the cocks had provided a few moments of jollity once, but they had been crowing at least since the mid-sixties and looked a bit worn-out. To top it all, there was a lot of tyre screeching and occasional gunfire coming from the living room. The TV was blasting out at maximum volume to compensate for Eddie’s dad’s deafness.

      “So what sort ay event do you think’d be sufficient tae trigger revolution in the UK?”

      “It would have to be big, Eddie.”

      “So big it’s impossible?” Eddie asked slyly.

      It was clear Eddie thought he wouldn’t or couldn’t go through with it and was just looking for an excuse to avoid marching and agitating – the sort of party work that Eddie thought was essential. “Eddie,” Richard was trying to contain his anger.

      “Eddie, when Marx was writing he expected a revolution eventually, but he never lived to see it. Well, we’ve had dozens of attempts since then. We’ve got the USSR and China to show for it – OK, Cuba and stuff like that too. None of these were good or real revolutions. We still haven’t seen what Marx was expecting. We need something better, more final. And it has to be in an advanced economy not a backward one. So if this puts me out of action for a while as far the Party’s concerned – even if it takes my whole life – then so be it.”

      “Richard,” Eddie was obviously annoyed too, “yur always making excuses. Nothing is ever good enough fur yuh. You think no socialist country ever succeeded in improving the lot of the people? Well yer wrong. The USSR is an improvement on the Tsarist Empire. Things huvney worked out perfectly but this is the real world.”

      “Yeah, but…”

      “And don’t forget the USSR’s always been at war,” Eddie said, ignoring Richard’s attempt to interrupt. “They hud tae fight the revolution, then the counter revolution, then World War Two. Now we’ve got the Cold War. So they’ve been fighting proxy wars all over the world. But in spite ay aw rat thur still making progress.”

      “Yeah, but the USA’s made greater progress.”

      “The USA did well frae both world wars by sucking the British dry. All I ever hear from you is how great these Capitalist countries are, nothing about the achievements of Russia or China.”

      Richard could tell Eddie needed more evidence of commitment before he could take this risk. He wondered if he should perhaps tell Eddie about his Uncle Bobby who, according to family legend, had gone to the USA and had tried to start up a union to improve working conditions. He was immediately arrested and soon after that died in prison. Reason for death – unknown.

      But he decided not to bother. It was only a story anyway. It had all happened before he was even born. Furthermore, it proved nothing. He wasn’t aware of any sense of following in Uncle Bobby’s footsteps. Moreover, particularly now that he’d come up with this plan, he preferred his motives and beliefs to remain invisible in order to be more effective. So he decided to bite his tongue.

      To prevent himself blurting out any story about his Uncle Bobby, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands and glowered at Eddie.

      “They’re more advanced Eddie, just like Marx expected. That’s all.”

      3. The Black Worms

      (Moscow – 2012)