a chat

We have some great conversations us fellows. I just saw fraser in the chip-shop ...

me: alright?
fraser: yeah, you?
me: yeah, not bad.
fraser: good weekend?
me: yeah it was alright. you?
fraser: Yeah it was alright, yeah.
me: short week this week.
fraser: yeah. i keep forgetting it's tuesday today
me: yeah, soon be friday.
fraser: yeah.
me: See ya.
fraser: yeah, see ya.

… and that was one of our more interesting get-togethers.

and ...

there was tons of carl's family at the party, people you only see at weddings and funerals, and only then if there's a free drink in it for 'em. All of 'em standing around telling each other lies about how good they think each other looks. And they don't. none of 'em. There wasn't one single person who looked 'good for their age'. Nobody ever tells the fucking truth. Why don't they just come out and say it. "you look like you're dying uncle bill." It's all bullshit! Carl's granddad was there and at one point Carl's nan actually leant over the table to feel his pulse to see if he was still with us. What a way to live. Shove him in a home for god's sake. do yourself a favour. he won't mind. he probably won't know anything about it. you have to be cruel to be kind in my book. Then there's the obligatory taking down of phone numbers and saying, "I'll call you next week, let's not leave it another 5 years." and you actually put the fucking number in your phone, both of you, standing there, squinting through the disco lights, trying to put each others numbers in, making sure you get the last digit wrong by accident. It's a con. You know it. feel the guilt as you read this. that's because you know i'm telling the truth. we're cowards that's why. We like the idea that we're good relatives when if truth be told we couldn't give a fuck. Maybe I'm wrong but I know I'm not.

fancy dress 6

i went as clint eastwood. everyone kept coming up to me and doing john wayne impressions all fuckin' night long so i weren't happy. i felt a bit of a spud anyway as a lot of people had forked out top dollar for their costumes. i'd made me own as you know.I'd meant to spend a bit of time on it but i couldn't on account of i was out on the piss on saturday night. spent most of sunday in bed. woke up about 6:30 pm. the party started at 7:00pm so i only had about 25 minutes to put it together. On top of that; no one told me it was a fairy's and wizards theme. so i stood out a bit in my poncho and stetson.

fancy dress 5

it's a shame i'm not still friends with souness. i could borrow some of his clothes and go as a twat!

fancy dress 4

I'm making me own costume no two ways about it. no way I'm forking out twenny sovs for a costume for that twonks party. It's typical of carl and his family to make things difficult for ya. Nothing is ever straightforward with that lot. Why does it have t' be a fancy dress do anyway that's what I want to know? they have to make a big fuss of everything the self important cunts. Grow up! It's not even like it's an important birthday. Not like a 21st or 30th know what I mean. It's a 34th. What's the point of celebrating that? Still … better do something. Jesus.

I've been down the old charity shops. Got some old clothes and that. Must be able to come up with summit. At the end of the day it's me who's going out me way. I'm having to make my own costume. Forking out money for one's easy when you think about it. I'm being creative when all said and done.

fancy dress 3 (and other stuff)

i've decided to go to this fancy dress do. i need a night out. and the bar's free which is a turn up where carl's lot are concerned. i've never known a man as tight as carl's dad. he only breathes in.

souness hasn't been seen since you know what? which is lucky for him because he's due a kick-in as far as i'm concerned. i'm still coming to terms with that one.

what's it all about? life i mean. you do your best and you get walked all over. all i ever wanted was a few quid in my bin, nice family life, couple of kids an' that. it's not too much to ask for is it? i mean what have i got? who am i come to that? little more than a fuckin' drop out that's what. haven't even got a place to kip permanently since the misses chucked us out. that was a big mistake, putting her name only on the rent book to dodge the social. i don't know how long i can hold out here at my sisters. graham's on the moan again. i wish he'd just die to be fair. i've thought of it you know. doing him over and that. it wouldn't be that hard in all honestly. i've worked out a few methods. i'll play it by ear. i'm getting desperate i'm telling you.

the only good thing to come out of my life is my boy, john, and he hates me. well, maybe not, but he's always fuckin' busy when i bell him up and that. probably ashamed of me.

and that's the fucking good news.

fancy dress 2

fancy dress shop in wapping want £22 fucking quid to hire a suit. it's a fucking take-on. someone's earning out of it. think i'll go as the invisible man and not turn up. see how they like that.

sometimes i wonder why i have friends. I mean, they're just fucking aggro. i don't even like any of 'em much to be fair.

fancy dress

carl's having a fancy dress do this week for his 34th. it's his mum & dad's idea. i fucking hate fancy dress. i'd rather just not go but you can't can ya, you'd never live it down with these cunts. jesus. who'd have my life. i hate it. it's constant fucking aggro!

scouser Q&A

Q: Why does the River Mersey run through Liverpool?
A: Because if it walked it would be mugged.

Q: What do you say to a scouser on a bike?
A: Stop Thief!

Q: What do you call a scouser in a White Shellsuit ?
A: The Bride

Q: What's the difference between a Scouser and a coconut?
A: One's thick and hairy, and the other's a coconut.

Q. If you see a Scouser on a bicycle, why should you never swerve to hit him?
A: It might be your bicycle

MARSHAL’S SCOUSE DICTIONARY

scally (aka scouser or person from Liverpool)

a low life loser who lacks the basic education to string together sentences of more than five words. This prevents them from taking up the only job they are qualified for as they cannot say "Do you want fries with that ?"

a person who seems to be going jogging, until you see that they are weighed down by half thier parent's wages in gold.

and wears mobile phone round his neck

on ya bike!

Souness came to see me last night on his push-bike. (well, when I say "his bike" I’m speaking figuratively of course - souness is a scouser so it could be anyone’s bike).
I open the door and the scally is in a right old state of it. it's bollocking it down with rain so his perm's springing about all over the gaff, his shell-suit is absolutely drenched and plastered to his skin and he's got the sort of look on his face that mark gets when he's having them suicidal thoughts of his.
"alright marsh?’" he shouts through the downpour.
"what's up?" I shout back wanting to keep things brief. me sister and graham were out and I was just about to put on a bluey and make a night of it.
"I was wondering if I could have a word?" he says.
"Was you?" I say, irritated. Though I have to say I'm a little bit intrigued. the scally has obviously got something on his mind. and that don't happen often. My intrigue is getting the better of me and I know I’m going to have to invite him in here which is a little bit of a shame because I'm quite enjoying the soaking he's getting.
"Can I come in?" he says.
We go into the kitchen. I’m not letting him in the front-room. It’s my experience that when a sofa and a scouser’s arse come together it’s very difficult to pry them apart. I make him a cup of tea (must be going soft) and try to summon up the sort of look I imagine someone who gives a fuck would adopt.
“What’s up mate?” I say.
“I don’t know how to put this Marsh like’,” he says, all cagey though that’s nothing new as far this slippery scrounger is concerned.
“Go on.”
“I’ve started … shit … this is tough”
“For fucks sake what is it?”
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
“What … a women you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, nice one mate, i knew you had it in ya, give her one for me mate, now I don’t mean to hurry you and that but …”
“It’s your ex wife.“

commence shutdown! re-fucking boot!

whoosh! breathe! in-out-in-out-in-out!
Error! Error! Scouser alert! Scouser alert! Commence!

What did he just say? I was cold, ice fucking cold. cold to the root of my soul. This couldn’t be happening.

... AND DON'T COME BACK YOU 'ORRIBLE SCOUSE CUNT! I'm screaming, 30 seconds later, as I chase the ugly scouse bastard out and into the road. “FUCKING JUDAS!” I scream after him.
”IT JUST HAPPENED!” he’s shouting, barely dodging the milk-bottle I chuck at him.

I lose the scabby bastard in the estate and head back to my sisters.
Fuck!
This needed serious thinking about. If the lads got wind of this I was fucking done for. A scouser shagging ya wife? And not any old scouser at that. This was the fucking ‘Eddie the Eagle of scousers. And he calls himself a mate.
Bastard!
I turn off the telly (once i've knocked one out to ‘Dirty Angus Spritz’, [goes without saying]), and head of to bed to think things through. You can’t trust anybody these days.

Dog

(A short story "Dog"... click here)

ugly dog

Dazza came in the Grapes last night trying to flog us all this ugly little dog. i mean this thing had to be seen to be believed (that's why i nipped across to the shop a bit lively and got one of them cheapo cameras to take its picture). it was just the ugliest looking mutt i've ever seen in my life - a fucking freak of nature as far as i could tell: a cross between a poodle, that belonged to the daz-mans aunt dorice, and some ugly bulldog it met when they took it to Great Yarmouth for its hols.

Dazza looked embarrassed to be fair - the daft looking thing was just sitting there staring up at him the whole time. i just sat there, rubbing salt in the poor sods wounds.

Dazza's always getting himself into this sort of a mess. It's standard procedure for the boy and if there was ever a case for someone not learning by their mistakes it's the daz-meister. he's been in more adventures than indiana jones.

(more on this later)

the dagenham gig

the dagenham gig was bad. I'm struggling with writing this as I don't even want to think about it to be fair. I've quit the band, that goes without saying, I can't live with the embarrassment of it all. the 'shed's' are no more.

Fraser didn't even argue with me. he knows disaster when it kicks him in the bollocks. he reckons he's going solo. i told him good luck buti his chances are slim to poor if you want my opinion. he's a good guitar player and that but he's lacking something. i think it's charisma though i could be wrong.

lamps starts crying after the gig. the four of us were stood at the bar waiting to get served. this was taking a while on account of the old duffer serving us had alzhiemers and kept forgetting that it wasn't 1950 and he wasn't boxing tea-bags for tetleys. 

"it the end of an era," says lamps, shaking his head slowly.
"what are you on about you benny?" i says, "you've only played one fucking gig with us"
"i thought we had something together," he says, big scary freaky eyes woggling about all over the place. What a twat! what a complete and utter fucking twonk!

i call a cab. take me away from this place for fucks sake! 

The cab arrives and me and souness get in. (don't ask ... the cunt followed me out).

The journey home was just more bollocks - souness trying to sell me a pair of nikey trainers he bought down the lane.
i smell a rat.
then i realise it's just souness the soapy cunt.
"why the fuck did you buy them for if you didn't want them?" i says.
"no i like em like," he says, "it's just they're too big for me feet". 
"what size are they?"
"Size 12 like."
"what size feet are you then?"
"8."
"so you're a size 8 and you bought a size fucking 12? how did that happen you spanner?"
"i know," says souness nodding his stupid permed head in acknowledgement of something that he was thinking. "they took old souness by surprise mate. caught me off guard like know what i mean like?"
" right so you didn't try them on. Well i'll ... "
"... yeah I tried them on but i was in a hurry know what I mean?"
I'm not speechless. I wish I was. I wish I could have been surprised by the stupidity of this moron but I wasn't because you see: that's the sort of twats i hang about with. what that says about me I don't know and to be honest ... i don't even really care that much. 

I don't even bother to say goodbye to souness. the cab pulls up outside my sisters and I get out and, just about remembering to forget to pay my share of the fair, make my way inside.
"see you marsh'" whines a toxic scouse voice from behind me.
i feel like crying. i open the front door and head off up to bed and sleep and non existence.