The Olympic are not here yet. However that didn't stop whichever nincompoops that control this city from closing most of the roads already. And what about this for a bit of corporate cretinism - did I just invent another word? They've begun re-phasing the traffic lights. Good idea you might think. Get all the traffic into London in the morning and get them all out again at night. Except that they haven't re-phased all of them and as a consequence the traffic pile- ups are beginning a week before the games even begin.
Three Hoodies two is well under way. It's amazing how much can change in just a short time. Things I thought were okay a few weeks ago seem rubbish now.
‘Choo’ doin’ ere?’
He’d heard the noises but had taken no notice because they were so normal. Well you saw bin men every day didn’t you. It was just that he’d forgotten about...
‘Yer in me way! Where you goin, dripfeed?’
Sad-case’s mutant brother.
‘Mind your own, Slobbo!’
There, he’d said it without thinking. It had just come out on its own. A tad incautiously perhaps, but said now. In fact both seemed as surprised as the other. David for saying it, and El Slobbo for actually hearing it, from someone small enough to be scraped off his shoe. However, the surprise was replaced about half a second later by a furious snarl. This preceded a gnarled hand which despite his huge beer ridden bulk, moved with the speed of a bionic snake, to grab his neck where it proceeded to squeeze with malevolent vigour.
Sight lasted about three seconds before being replaced with squirming black dots. There wasn’t even time for fear, he was past that. Another time, in a slightly less fraught situation he might have smiled at the irony of it. Alien lizoids hadn’t finished him off. It was to be his best friend’s ratbag brother. He settled back in the final seconds of his life to the annoying inevitability of it all. Then, without thought some lurking spark of courage must have forced his body to rebel. The stuff his dad had taught him, coupled to his Kung fu lessons didn’t let him down.
A deeply satisfying sound, David thought before slumping, quite happy to die now he’d got one in. A really good size six, right in El Slobbo’s tackle.
The pressure slackened slightly, enough for him to fall to the ground, which welcomed him as a soft pillow, but not before a cabbage covered boot toyed painfully with his ribcage.
‘I’ll see you later, worm.’ El Slobbo’s face was refreshingly flushed and he seemed to be having trouble standing up straight.
‘Not unless you’ve got warp drive.’ David muttered to the back of the hobbling bully, clambering painfully onto the rubbish strewn machine. His head ached, his ribs hurt, and there might just have been a little moisture on his leg. But he didn’t care. He was going. If he got back, and this was just one reason for doing so, then he and El Slobbo were going to be seeing each other again.
He got up, swaying slightly and hanging on to a nearby lamppost for support.
‘Are you alright, dear?’ He blinked rapidly to clear the black squirmy things that were currently doing the breast stroke across his eyes. What could have been a little old lady was examining him worriedly.
‘It’s just that I was going to call the police when I saw that big bully hitting you.’
‘Don’t worry. That was my brother. We were just having a bit of fun.’
‘Didn’t look like fun to me.’ Her old eyes peered confusedly at him.
‘We’re always doing that, but thanks, anyway.’ He tottered off hoping that she wouldn’t call the police anyway and making even more speed in case she did. As if he’d needed more encouragement to go. Well now he didn’t.