I

I ?

I, I've got a sty in my eye and it's making me cry, that sty in my eye.
Me dad used to sing that when I was a kid. I'm grown up now and I sing
it to my kids. I wheel and deal, bit of a shady character you might
say. I deal in drugs, stolen cars, porn, TVs, videos, that kind of shit
you know. Went out last Saturday night with my missus, some dirty
'orrible bastard spat in her hair, just 'cause she wouldn't give him a
cigarette. Well, you should have seen the state of him, after I'd
finished with him, I might be getting on a bit but I'm still sharp. He
won't be smoking for a while let's put it that way, they'll have to
feed the fucker nicotine down a drip. I hate those ponsie yuppie
bastards that are about these days, what with their mobile phones,
Filofaxes and slick-back hairdos. They always seem to have nice women
on their arms though. I have a partner, Nigel is his name, right crazy
fucker. I think he has bitten at least seven people's noses off. I, am
not really a violent man, to be honest with you I hate it, always have,
I let Nigel take care of that side of the business. Not that we get any
bother, people know of his reputation you see. I remember once there
was this big Hell's Angel in The Crown, and I swear to God he had put
everybody who wanted to have a go on their arse. Then Nigel walked in,
he'd been on a bit of business down in the Midlands and he saw the
Hell's Angel head-butting John The-Fool - we call him that 'cause he
lives on a hill. Nigel rushed over and grabbed the biker by his
testicles with his right hand and with his teeth he got the fat
bugger's nose. Women screamed as they saw the fat biker drop to the
floor with his nose missing. I have had bother in the past, and in my
early twenties I suppose people would say that I could handle myself. I
think though the older you get the wiser you become, I have kids now,
they certainly make your views on a few things change. I wank in the
bath, me missus doesn't know, so don't tell her. A couple of years ago
she found my rag-mag collection underneath the bed, I know, I
know...silly place to hide the things. I suppose I just didn't think.
When she caught me I felt like a teenager being caught by his mother.
You know yourself after fifteen years of marriage things tend to get a
bit stale, I mean I love my wife I really do, but sex...birthdays and
anniversaries, that's all these days. Well at least I don't go and use
a prostitute, not like Nigel. We went to Amsterdam for his stag party,
seven of us stayed there for the weekend, and I swear to God that he
must have went through sixteen prostitutes, the bad thing was that his
future father-in-law was there, old Tommy-Boy, he didn't care a shit as
it goes, if I remember correctly, they went two's up on one of the
slappers. And that bloody place Amsterdam, definitely not my cup of
tea, too many stoned, paranoid freaks for my liking, mind you they do
have BBC one, even if it is one hour late. I like to drink rum, Woods
is the best, I like being a foreigner, I just love to travel, last year
I took the family to America, now there's a country. The Americans are
so nice and they just love the British...Why I don't know, I mean we're
nothing special are we? All we do is moan about the weather or not
winning the lottery, drink bloody tea all day. And talk about lazy ?we
must be the second most laziest nation in the world, I think the
Spaniards are first? What do you think? I like kippers for my Sunday
breakfast, my wife hates them, she's on this big health food buzz at
the moment, I mean yesterday, was it yesterday? or the day before?
anyway, fucking muesli for breakfast, wait for it...not with milk but
with natural yoghurt. 'Muesli' I said, as I peered over the News of the
World. 'And with fucking yoghurt...what's a matter have we ran out of
milk?' 'Its good for ya' she hissed back from behind the Sunday
supplement. She then went into the living room and put on a Jane Fonda
video, which is OK, I mean I'm cool, if she wants to try and keep
herself in shape that's fine with me, but the kids were watching their
Barney video. I emptied my shit breakfast into the bin and went and got
a fry-up. After my fry-up, which was nice by the way,
bit-greasy-but-nice, I felt like a pint so I went down the Crown, it
was just about opening time and as I was just walking in I bumped into
Nigel. He got the beers in and I put a pound in the jukebox. We sat
down and he told me a tale about his previous night. His night had
began with a fight with a man who had a wooden leg, something to do
with a game of pool or something. Freddie Mercury's voice rebounded off
the Crown's nicotined-stained walls, as Nigel, told me in detail how he
had kicked the living shit out of this peg-legged-mouthy Scotsman. Five
beers later he was arm-wrestling people in the pub for money. Nigel
never loses, he has this look in his eye that makes your arm turn into
a canaries when you're arm wrestling him, when in walked a little
Australian lad, he must have been twenty-three, twenty-four, not much
to him really. He had strange eyes and teeth and funny sideburns.
'G'day, mate...I'll wrestle your arm a pound' he had said, I almost
pissed my pants when the little skinny-fart offered to take him on.
'Make it a fiver' Nigel's mouth rubberly said back. The little Aussie
guy sat down and the two of them linked hands, Nigel's looked like papa
bear's, the squirt's baby bear's. Wham, made the sound of the
Australians' small hand whacking the wooden table. He then got out a
five pound note and gave it to Nigel, Nigel smiled a cheesy smile, the
big-headed bastard. 'Right I'll take you again...but this time for
twenty.' Nigel laughed his cheesy laugh and said 'your'on.' Nigel stuck
out his right arm and the Aussie stuck out his left. They battled for
what seemed like twenty-five minutes, obviously the Australian was a
Arm-wrestle hustler. He had certainly kept that left arm of his
concealed when he entered the pub. Wham, made the sound of the wooden
table as Nigel's left hand crashed against it. There was a loud
breathing-in noise in The Crown, nobody spoke, somebody even dropped
the butterfly-clip out of their earring, you could hear it twanging on
the floor near the bar. Then Nigel motioned forward with his teeth
aiming for his eighth. The small guy, with the big left arm pulled out
an electric stun-gun from under the table, he was obviously expecting
trouble, he then stunned Nigel on the end of his rubbery nose. Well
that was it, the music started again and everybody started talking, one
girl who had been drinking on her own all afternoon started dancing on
one of the tables by the dart board. Nigel was out, out like a light,
slobbering down his rubbery chin. The Australian took twenty pounds
from Nigel's pile of fivers and drank Nigel's pint of Stella. He then
lifted up his left arm, and walked out with his head held high, his
sideburns blazing in the afternoons sun, that came in through The
Crown's windows. I tried to wake him but I couldn't. I finished my pint
and left, the missus would be going crazy. When I got back my Sunday
dinner was burnt to bits, and the kids had been parmed off at the
mother-in-law's, 'cause apparently she was feeling horny and it wasn't
even my birthday. Anyway I, have got to go, Crimewatch is on the
tele.