bruiser!

talk about a face from the fucking past. i run into an old mate today. Stevey MacHinton, aka bruiser. we were like crocket and fucking tubbs in the old days.

it was a bit embarrasing actually. we were both at the traffic lights in leytonstone high road. he was in white transit van with MacHinton and Son builders emblazoned on the side. I was standing on the pavement with a bucket and a shammy leather about to start washing his wind-sheild. We didn't recognise eachother straight away mind.

"Want your windows cleaned mate?" I mouthed at him through the window.
He wound down the window and started shouting at me ... "fuck off you peasant!"
"Only a squid," i said hopefully.
"Bollocks! Fuck off you soapy cunt."

Then he squinted. A look of recognition and then ... "Marshal, is that you?"
"Stevey?"
"Fuck me?"
(to be continued)

Squatting and that!

It's a long time since I've written anything here on account of I've been busy. Sort of finding myself really. Starting afresh after the miserable time I had of it last year. A year of aggro, one sorrowful even after another, being constantly let down by mates and shat on by family members. I've ditched all my old mates which is handy to be fair as none of them want to speak to me anymore. I've moved into a squat with two of my old old old school mates. Lee the busker and Red Rick. A couple of bennys to be fair but beggars can't be choosers. A funny couple. They just sit there all day with their guitars trying to write songs. I think they think they're the next big thing. And they ain't that bad. But what they don't seem to realize is that you actually have to go outside the house to be discovered. I've been squatting with them for 2 months and apart from a few trips down to OJO's mini-mart for a replenishment of beans - I've never seen them out of the living room.

I jacked in the window cleaning round. I couldn't face it after what happened to Stan. It just didn't seem proper carrying on after he fell to his death from a great height so that's me fucking unemployed again.

The squat's a shit-hole of an house in barking. Poxy ain't the word. We're living off beans on toast. Well beans on bread actually. There's nowhere to toast bread. But I'm happy like I said. A new lease of life and that. Some people might say drop-out. I'd say don't knock it until you've tried it.

I see Souness occasionally. Had a beer with him a couple of days ago as it happens. We talked about fraser. The good old days and the band and that.
"Do you miss him," said Souness, slurping a mouthful of hot-chocolate.
"Who?" I said.
"Fraser."
"Fraser? Oh, Fraser. Yeah yeah yeah. All the time ... you?
"No."
"So why'd you bring it up you spud?"
"Don't know really like?"

We talked for a little while and went our separate ways.