Friday, 22 May 2009

This will be the last blog - tomorrow I'm off to London to break a few heads and show the SPG (or whatever the Met call their thugs now) that we're harder than them.

Today is exactly 6 months since Laura died - I've done my best to stay peaceful, but the politicians have kept me permanently angry, so whoever tries to stop me storming Parliament tomorrow will be sorry.

Fuck them all, and I'm off to nick for kicking the shite out of a few uniformed thugs.


Tuesday, 5 May 2009

Thieves, scrotes and Italian referees

I had a somewhat disturbing experience on Monday - popping into the local Co-Op for a packet of fags, I encountered a little scrote trying to steal a sandwich, with only one of the till girls trying to stop him.

Me being me, I interposed myself between said scum and the young lady, and made it plain that it would be best for him if he returned the sandwich.

Imagine my surprise (not!) when he threatened me, in best Gangsta, with personal violence!

Now I, as a man that went to school in Moss Side, am not a man to be impressed by arseholes talking big - after relieving the little git of the sandwich I asked him to repeat his threats in English, at which point he headed back towards me, his right hand reaching for his pocket. It seemed obvious to me that the silly little pillock thought I'd be scared by a knife, but what I felt was more disrespectful was that he was still jabbering at me in Gangsta, and that he thought that I, an honest and honourable man, would let a shitty little shoplifter who can't even be bothered to speak English threaten me.

Unfortunately (for me), his friends called him back, and the little twat went outside.

Having been in a situation where it was likely that a blade would be pulled on me, I was in full attack mode, with enough adrenaline for a whole football crowd flowing through my veins - I had to punch the wall when I got home to get the steam out of my system. I'd have much preferred it if he'd pulled the blade - I could have sated my bloodlust and got a thieving little bastard off the streets at one go.

And referees?

I've just watched the Man U vs Arsenal game, and had a couple of quid on a 3-0 victory to Man U. To see the ridiculous penalty decision that gave Arsenal a totally undeserved goal, and incidentally cost me 68 quid, made me think that there isn't much difference between Italian refs and shoplifters - they all steal from us eventually. What a bastard that ref is.

Still, Aldershot's a small town, and I'll eventually see the shoplifter again - he'd better be a fast runner. Italian refs, on the other hand, can steal my putative gambling winnings with impunity, since I'll never be able to recognise them.