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WORKING MAN (NOT!)
Every fucking morning the noise of the that alarm fills this half lit room; I struggle to release an arm from under the bed covers so as to attend to the fowl-sounding article. Having pulled my arm back in from the cold I role over, she is there asleep, her breath smells of too much larger and fags from the night before. Having undone her jeans I do the business with her. After I�d finished she looks at me and simply says �Finished have you!!� Then I turns back over and doze for a while, only to be awoken by the dulcet sound of the drums of the Orange Men�s march getting louder has it comes down the empty street below us. Every Sunday morning ten forty without fail bang, bang and bang. All in the name of religion! Religion that is a thing that is a thing that I can really do without. Really can�t they get a life! Having said that there is an Afro-Caribbean religion what says that they shouldn�t work until their �saviour� arrives! That sounds good to me!!
It�s nineteen eighty two, Kirkdale, Liverpool, there was a riot in the city last night in Toxteth. I know I was there. It was quite good I managed to get a new television! What happened was: There was a gang of maybe thirty or forty of us whites stood near this parade of shops, we just there for a laugh! Up the street probably two or three hundred Afro-Caribbean�s who where throwing bricks and anything else they could get their hands on at the coppers who were out in force on the other side of us.
Anyway more Afro-Caribbean�s joined those who were already there, then started coming down the street. The Police now made a line across the street. They wore hard hats and banged loudly in rhythm on their shields as the came up the street towards us the Afro-Caribbean�s, we were in the middle! The Police vans followed their thin blue line, with their riot mesh covering the windscreens. Their blue lights and head lights flashing and their sirens blaring. Someone, I don�t know who picked up a brick and threw it at the window of a shop which sold electrical goods, which we were stood next to. The window shattered, another brick was thrown and the window crumbled. All us white kids dashed into the shop taking anything that we could carry. I grabbed this television set, it was heavy but I could carry it. Just!!
As I stumbled back out through the shop window, struggling with the television set, then there was a massive deafening explosion together then a large flash to my left, I looked. Then looked again in disbelief! The Afro-Caribbean�s had thrown several fire bombs at the petrol station. Through flames I could make out the silhouettes of three cars burning. The Police retreated as the Afro-Caribbean�s came closer to us through petrol bombs at the Police as they ran! Which for us was good for it gave us an escape route with our newly gained goods.
I dashed down a side street away from the commotion, where in-front of me where four lads from my tower block were loading their transit van with the goods from some Paki�s corner shop. �Can you make room for me.� I asked. �Stick that in the back and help us load the rest from the shop!� He said pointing at the television set. Momentarily I looked behind me at the plumes of smoke bellowing high in to the night sky above the flames. It was like a scene from a war zone. Well in reality I suppose that it was a war zone in some respect. To say that I was buzzing was an under estimation as we put create after create of beer and box after box of cigarettes into the back of the transit van until no more would fit. Slamming the doors shut we climbed into the front of the van. Just in time, a mob was running down the street towards us! They threw a fire bomb at a car which was parked on the opposite side of the street to where we had loaded the van. It was if the world had turned into slow motion as I watched the car burst into flames! As we drove off I looked back to see several of the mob throwing something at the shop we had got our goods from. As we turned the corner I got a last glimpse of the shop as flames poured through its windows!!
There were five of us who clambered out of the van when we got back to the flats, only one of the other four I knew by name Vince, the other three I knew only by sight. We worked quickly unloading the goods from van into the lift, with incidentally was working, then from the lift into Vince�s flat. Afterwards Vince helped me with the television set from the van Vince. She answered the door, dressed in a pair of jeans and a baggie top. �I thought we where going out?� �Are you ready?� I replied. �Yes�. �I�ve got a telly!� Come on then, get it in then, then we might be able to get out.� �This is Vince�. Ignoring Vince she walked back into the flat. Latter we went out to the pub and stayed there until kicking out time.
In this day and age there is nothing which is as calm as may at first appear to be. The thing of the riots all started out with the new law �suss� which at first hit the Afro-Caribbean brother�s, where they were been stopped and the Police or should I say �Maggie�s Army� could shop them just on the suspicion of going to do something, even if they had no intention to do anything! This is what sparked off last night in Toxteth! Brixton, Chapletown Solihull have all had riots, where next I ask? It�s a sign of the times this is Thatcher�s Britain, unemployment is over three million; I put it down to these Pakis, its difficult to find a corner shop which isn�t owned by one of them and now they are starting on the Private Hire Taxi�s. They seem to keep it in the family so to speak, three even four generations all living above a corner shop. I�m sure they are all claiming the dole as well. Robbing Pakis! They come over here take our jobs and then to top it off they want a council house! Why can�t they go back from where they came!
Everyone ignored Enoch Powell had it all sussed out saying that there would be fighting in the streets and that Britain would be over run by them. But it is not the Afro-Caribbean�s it�s the Pakis which are the threat and I do not understand why more people do not see it! Don�t get me wrong like everyone else I like a curry but that�s different isn�t it!! The one rule that I do have is not use a Paki shop, I�m not giving them my money, no way! I would rather walk miles to find a white persons shop and pay more!! If everyone did this they wouldn�t stay in this country for long, would they.
We were told by Mr Tebbitt that we are supposed to �get on our bikes and find a job�, but what if you can�t afford a bike, what does Mr Tebbitt think we are Dutch! Anyway if you left a bike outside anywhere in Liverpool however much you chained it up some scally would nick it! The most salient parody been they say that it is the time of the yuppie, the go get generation! We don�t have them in Liverpool, their all in London working on the Stock Exchange or what ever they do. Honestly who do they think they are with their mobile phones and flash cars.
Now it is back to reality. It�s Saturday morning I need to sweep aside what happened last night and put down to experience, who knows I maybe be able to learn not to get into such dangerous situations from now on! God my fucking head is killing; my mouth feels as though something has died in it, must go to the toilet. The room is in semi-darkness, getting out of bed is a wobbly experience; managing to put on a dressing gown from the array of clothes spread across the floor, half closed eyes, stepping precariously across the bedroom to the door. Having opened it the brightly lit hall way dazzles me, I feel as though I am flood lit. This dressing gown doesn�t feel right, I look down it is hers! So what!
The eighth floor of a high story block isn�t the most of ideal of places in which to live with bicycles, prams and all the rest of her junk its like an obstacle course is our hall way, you�d think the bitch would bother herself to tidy it. Having turned on the kettle I begin to think about clearing the marathon of disposing of the mountain of larger cans and overflowing ashtrays. The leaning tower of three days washing-up is something yet to be faced. This is woman�s work. Why I am I even thinking about clearing myself! My god I�ve always known women are useless but I never knew they made them as useless as this one that I have got! There should be some kind of warning label!! It�s no good I�ll have to trade her in for another. Maybe one of those super model�s!! Ah! I�ll leave it maybe she will feel guilty or hungry then take on the daunting task. After all it is her job isn�t it!
There were three cans stood upright on the kitchen top, one was empty the other had some left so I drank them in the hope that they would bring me somewhere near the land of the living. But alas to no avail it didn�t reach the spot.
The click indicated that the kettle had boiled, having made a mug coffee I stare out of the window, then taking a half smoked cigarette with lipstick around its filter, from out of the ashtray. Taking a drag from my first cigarette of the day the nicotine took immediate effect.
In the distance Birkenhead was in view through the murky mist which lay over the Mersey. On this side of the river a few large ships are in the docks but all is still. Three generations on my family worked in those docks! Three generations man and boy! If they were still thriving that�s where I and many others like me would be now working, but since everything now is in containers one man does the work of a thousand! Nobody works on them at the weekend and those who work through the week just work normal hours! The docks are as good as dead!!
Shifting my eyes closer to the flats people playing their Saturday morning game of football, I wonder if these peopl will ever get a life, but who am I to speak after last nights efforts, it all seemed so simple. Anyway its Liverpool where football is larger than religion, isn�t that something John Lennon said? Maybe. Perhaps some of the Orange Men may be playing football?
There are footsteps in the hallway, followed by the sound of the slamming of the toilet door bang shut! The ash on my cigarette is now long, with on flick of my finger it is on the floor. Taking another drag and then take a sip of coffee. I hear the toilet giving a failing flush, followed by an angry sounding voice �Shit�! A second flush is successful. Looking out of the window again, a sparrow is on the window ledge, I think, I wonder do our feathered friends have accents, be great, a sparrow with a scouse accent. I wonder where my notebook has got to?
Sensing another presence in the room, I turn to the door. She is stood there, wearing a �Frankie says Relax� tee-shirt and a pair of my boxer shorts, which I am sure if she did ever take them off they would do a runner. Stubbing my cigarette out, I look her straight in the eyes.
�What� she snaps. She sounds and looks as if looking for an argument, one hand placed on the kitchen cabinet, the other upon her hip. I respond, taking the stance that the best form of defence is attack. �Just try to help me understand, why, whenever, where ever we go, you always, always wear trainers, jeans and some baggy top?� Taking her hand from the kitchen top then places it on her other hip. She looks gob smacked at my question. Taking a pace forward, almost shouting but not just quite there she said �What if I get into a scrap, hey, a tiny little strappie dress and stiletto�s are no good. Anyway you try walking, you try walking downtown with a pair of heels! Anyway give us a ciggy.�
Having been taken a back by her verbals, I thought it for the best not to peruse thisline of conversation any further. The silence was short, taking a cigarette from the packet that I had spotted on top of the microwave and passed one to her. Now standing in front of me, put another in my mouth, lit it, and then offered her a light. Taking a long blast on her cigarette, I instinctively knew that I was about to hear the second part of her response. Laughter was strong in her voice, which I suppose I was quite relieved about, then I got my response. �You�ve no room to talk look at the state of you, your hair looks like a skunk that has been run over; wearing my pink dressing gown and would you please fasten it I do not wish to see that thing exposed in the morning especially in my kitchen.�
Hurriedly I fasterened her dressing gown around me taking extra care making certain that it was secure. If you know what I mean! Filled with an overwhelming desire to swiftly change the subject of the conversation I then responded with �Like a coffee� �Yes; time is it?.� �Quarter to twelve�
�So I suppose you be running of to see your mates, same every Saturday, see your mates in town have a few pints, stagger to the match, then back here sleep for a few hours, awaken then expect yours truly to have your tea on the table. Followed by endless chatter on how good the match was that�s if they win, or worse if they get beaten you go for hours about how crap they are! It�s so egotistic, self centred, oh you, you are just a cliche of the times, and I�m off to the Bog.�
Off she went slamming the door behind her, pacing the kitchen thinking to myself is this all life has got to offer! Ace! Then the doorbell rang, followed by loud knocking. My first thought s where shit it�s the coppers, they�ve come about the television set! �Answer that.� �I�m on the bog!� �I can�t go dressed like this!� �Tough!� Reluctantly I went to the door. �Who is it?� I asked inquisitively. �It�s Vince� the reply was in a broader accent than mine. �Vince who and what do you want?� I waited for a reply as I tried to look through the shattered spy hole in the door, making it barely possible to see through.
�Vince, Vince from last night, I�ve brought you a couple of creates for you helping us last night. I did call last night but you must have gone out.�
Struggling to release the dead bolts whilst holding the dressing gown, turned the latch. There in front of me stood Vince dressed in the clothes he had worn last evening. Quickly he dragged two creates of lager in to the hall. Then stood up straight. He looked me up and down twice before saying. �Forgive me, I�m not homophobic or anything but last night I didn�t get the vibes from you that you are this way.� �No, no, no its hers I just put the first thing on that came to hand as I got out of bed, the room was dark, would you like to come in, have a coffee, maybe something to eat yes?� In an attempt to save some pride. Smiling he replied. �Gagging for a beer if you�ve got one.� Closing the door and securing the door with the dead bolts �Come through to the kitchen, I�ve got some in the fridge.� Without further request he followed me to the kitchen. When a voice came from the bathroom. �Who is it?� �Nobody� I replied and hastily went through to the kitchen.
In the kitchen I could feel Vince watching me as I opened the fridge door. Most people use a refrigerator for the preservation of food in cool clean environment. To me its just a place to keep lager cool. What�s more there was something in that container which sits on the floor of the fridge, some form of living organism or creature, I later learned that it was to keep lettuce and such like fresh! Silly me.
�Only got lager, it�s good though it�s foreign!� Looking at him he nodded, I threw him a can. �Thanks that�s great� We drank in silence for what seem ages but was probably only a few minutes, until a voice from the hall said. �I feel pounds lighter for that!� The silence was broken when she entered the room, Vince without hesitation said; �I remember you from last night, tell me to shut up if you want!� She looked at him more friendly than she looks at me! He said; �It was really, really nice to see somebody who doesn�t dress up to go out to the pub, I usually have to wait ages for my other half to get herself ready!�
We finished our drinks he left.
Only too well do I remember it. Maybe it was a throw back to the riots of last night I don�t know! It was one thirty, only half an hour to go to kick off, Liverpool where at home to West Ham. We, we been my mates and I were in the Bricklayers Arms only a five minute walk from Anfeild, all the lads, well most of them who stand in the Kop go through the pub at different times before the match. There was nothing unusual we always got together there when there is a home match at one thirty, have a few pints and a laugh and then walk to the match together. I suppose in reality we all felt safe their as no away supporter in their right mind would even dream of walking in. not even to go to the toilet.
The pub was so packed you could hardly move and the jukebox couldn�t be heard for the sound of peoples voices. We were on pint number three, it was now ten minutes to two. Not as I noticed the time then, but that�s what time the papers said is what .time it happened in their Sunday morning additions!
At first I didn�t know what had happened, people just ran from the middle of the room. As I turned to look another four firebombs came through the window. People were falling over in their attempt to get out and others. There is no other football ground in the world when Liverpool is at home. It is better than sex; it�s that buzz which is hard to explain unless you have experienced it for yourself!
Together the five of use surrounded by thousand more like us! Walking aside the West Stand trying to avoid the discarded cans, burger wrappers and all the other sundry rubbish spread liberally upon the floor.
The noise of people near and far �we are Liverpool, Liverpool FC. We are Liverpool, Liverpool FC.� The pushing as you queue to get to the turnstiles, squeezed together so packed you can hardly move. Everyone as far as you can see all wearing the red scarf�s of Liverpool, all Liverpool supporters together. That includes the Police who are there self�s liverpudians, as they stand in their groups of three or four or more. Only they don�t wear the red scarf�s.
As the turnstiles become nearer the smell of hot dogs and burnt onions fill the air. Then in front of you before you know it you�re at the turnstiles. The clanking of the turnstile as its old lazy mechanism grinds slowly grinds, you search for your ticket. Having handed my ticket to the old codger operating the turnstile, through the small gap in the toughened plastic, not large enough to place a hand. He hands me back the ticket stub, then operates the holding mechanism of the turnstile so I can now push my way through. Then I�m in! the echoing sound of footsteps in what could be compared to an auditorium battles with the shouts of the fans. Waiting for my mates still to get through the thundering sound of the thousands of people in the stand above my head vibrates through my body.
Now, all five gathered together it is ten minutes to kick off. Together in a bunch we ascend the concrete steps of the Kop, the Kop been the stand where the true working people of Liverpool stand to pay homage. The light at the top of the steps is now getting more intense and the volume of the voice of the crowd louder and louder. Then we are there! Amid the mass.
With difficulty we pushed our way amongst the crowd, where we stood and waited among the singing crowd. A resounding raw from all the crowd filled the ground as the two teams ran out of the tunnel wearing tracksuit tops. Other lesser players followed carrying bags of footballs, followed by the referee and the two linesmen. On to the pitch and took their position in each half. Casually they each team separated in to small groups passed the ball to each other, totally oblivious to the crowd. Apart from Kenny and another player who�s name I don�t know kicked the ball high into the air across the goal in front or us for Kenny to put in the back of the net. Each time he scored the crowd gave out a cheer. Seven times out of eight he scored beating our goal keeper, each time he scored a louder raw went up from the crowd.
The referee gathered the two teams captains in the centre circle. I�ve always wondered what they say to each other, but anyway the referee spun the coin in the air when it landed upon the grass it was our team captain who smiled and spoke to the referee and the other teams captain. It was obvious that the decision had gone our way and the captain had chosen that our team start by playing towards the goal at the other end to where my mates and me stood.
Both team captains signalled each team to get into their positions as the referee put the ball on the centre spot. Then they kicked off. The pace was frantic, when you watched the players it was as though they were on a video tape which had been speeded up.
The referee blew his whistle for half time, which had come fast. Me and my mates made our way to the bar below the stand, pushed along with the flow of the crowd. Having managed to buy a plastic glass full of flat beer which we rushed to drink so as to get back in the stand for the start of the second half kicks off.
The pace was just as frantic as the first half that was until about the twentieth minute at the other end of the pitch in front of the West Ham Goal ball went high into air from the left, nearly above the stand at one point. Everything appeared to go into slow motion and then there was silence. Slowly the ball began to descend. Kenny was running in from the right. The opposing players stood and watched as he leapt into the air, as before the match started Kenny�s head met the ball. Narrowly missing the goalkeepers outstretched hand the ball soared into the top corner of the net! Then the slow motion was broken as Kenny ran back other players trying to grab him as the crowds raw was now nearly deafening.
The game ended up one nil. As we made our way out of the ground the rumour was that two people had been killed in the fire bomb on the attack before the match!
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