ISSUE 41
JULY 2008
Many things are invisible to the naked eye but are no less vital than the big, obvious things� snowdrops melting on the whiskers of a sleepy kitten, the melancholy emptiness of a woodland grove, the burning tyre wrapped around your boss�s neck. HY! is the zine that CELEBRATES life�s tiny miracles. You may find that you like it, even though you KNOW it's WRONG! This issue by Mark Ritchie, Gary Simmons and Simon Morris.
HERE COME THE SCUM
They�re easy to spot
in their vulgar uniforms -
baseball caps,
tracksuit trousers tucked into white socks,
hands forever reaching for the bottle or the blade.
They hunt in packs and show no mercy,
not even to their own kind.
They are untamed, unashamed,
proud of their brilliant ignorance,
wearing ASBOs like medals.
Prison doesn�t frighten them
for they feel they are above the law,
above man,
even above God.
They carve their initials into each other�s backs,
and stub out cigarettes on pale, white flesh
while displaying rows of graveyard teeth
to a cowering world.
Can�t you see them?
Here they come.
RADIO TIMES
Radio Luxembourg, John Peel, Janice Long,
hearing some song come out of nowhere,
thrilling and unexpected,
something you might never get to hear again,
straining through the hiss and crackle,
arching your ears towards wonder.
This is how I spent my childhood,
before iPods and online streaming,
before finding music became as easy as flushing a toilet.
There was something special about those days,
about the excitement of a new Smiths single
or seeing the Mary Chain on �Top of the Pops�.
Maybe I haven�t moved as smoothly
as the times
or maybe I�m just a boring old fart.
Yeah, I expect that�s probably it.
FIGURES IN A LANDSCAPE
Together, we avoided school sports
and giggled at teachers behind their backs.
Now, we drink wine and discuss jobs
and nursing homes,
aeroplanes and ghosts.
Like it or not, we became part of the world,
assimilated into its madness.
Like it or not, we became figures in a landscape,
staring wide-eyed at the savage land,
at the brutal beauty of another cruel blue dawn.
How sad it is, life.
Sad but lovely too.
Escaping for a while into drink and talk,
easing ourselves into the shadows,
we drift, we drift,
we beautifully drift,
together and alone
in this wonderful fear.
GALA DAY
Lining the streets,
they point cameras and wave
at the passing children
dressed as Power Rangers
and Wizard of Oz characters.
Soon, they will go to the park
to watch the Gala Queen being crowned,
eat candy-floss and toffee apples,
strap themselves into fairground rides,
drink too much alcohol and fight.
Fluttering flags and pipe bands
mark this single day of excitement
in a small and dreary town
where everyone wears their Sunday best a day early
and hopes it doesn�t rain.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
At Whipps. Dad�s having a camera up his DICK (and HE thought it was just gonna be a chat!) to check for Drills of Blood activity. He�s a BAD patient, I LOVE a flexible cystoscopy � oooh. Ouch!
*
�Godspunk� Vol. 5 plays. I never really played it pru-perly, always went straight to the Las Vegas Mermaids track �Bus Driver�. I�m TRYING to �get through� all the stuff that�s piled up over the last few months while I�ve been doing all MANOR of other things, what with M�s visit, new TV and (the obligatory now) SHIT! This spunk-of-God Vol. 5 CD is fuckin� GOOD, actually. I am fullery eee�WRECKED! Oh, now it�s the �Mermaids�. I LOVE THIS. Faye�s voice is OOOOOH!! Now there�s a noise track. Just what I need� MORE noise. God. Is he screaming �How�s your wound? I like your wound� and �Flash if you do, flash if you don�t�? I�ll flash if I DO!! Oh, now my amp�s overloaded and cut out. Fuckin� B+O SHIT! I want a TV like M+D�s. AND a new amp. NOW!! I phoned my sis for her to DRIVE MILES to do my hair (half red, like last time) but she�s got a busy week. FUCK-ING HELL! I WANT MY HAIR DONE!!! Selfish BITCH!!
*
Had my cider nicked by the fuzz in Leicester Square. Went to a few pubs then to the Slimelight till 7.30am with �10 GIVEN to me by some bloke! Shat at the side of the Tate Modern; my art statement. Kipped by a church.
*
I think if I ever had to go through a Pelcombe-like SENTENCE again I�d �just� get pissed and make a cunt of myself (er, like �normal�!) The worse you are, the better you get treated. Maybe I�ll HAMMER-FUCK some cute teen chicks at bus stops. I�d get a nice mattress, sheets and pillow (all clean), warmth and shelter, food, TV, papers, medical treatment at the first sign of trouble and the victims� family and friends can pick up the bill in their taxes. Or maybe I�ll KILL some fuckin� drug-addicted WHORES! Whitehouse: �What are they good for? The CHEAP FUCK! Whore cull!! Clear the streets of the tits and the clits� blood fucking!! I�ll fuck the wounds! That body�s YOURS! BEAT it! FUCK it! It�s your right to KILL!! They can never catch you. NEVER!!!! They�ll NEVER catch ME.� Nah. I�m too nice. Those chicks could�ve been my friends. Those CUNTS took them from me, the fucking BASTARDS!! The sick FUCKS!! AAAARRRGGHHH!!!!
*
Roi and Nina went homo but I took the tube to West End and hung about the Crowbar and Soho. A Polish gal got me a can. The New London Mayor is banning booze on tubes and buses, the CUNT! I wish I�d voted (for Ken!)\
GEROSLAGHEAP�S �YOU�RE DESPERATE FOR A SPERM DONOR� BUT YOU�RE TOO DIRTY TO BE A MUM!� PLAYLIST
V/A � V.A.O.T. Cassette (Shunya Suzuki�s imitation-is-the-sincerest-form-of-flattery attempt at a Japanese version of Broken Flag�s ultra-classic Neuemgamme compilation. I never thought much of his Etah Evol Graves cassette either. IR. 199?)
V/A � UNTITLED. Cassette (Jase Willy-bum-taped comp. I just can�t stop playing that Pistols/Madonna mixed/grafted/spliced jobbo. 200?)
V/A � UNTITLED. Cassette (Juntaro Yamanouchi-taped comp featuring the delights of The Users, Iggy, Meatshits, Tatsuya Yoshida, Mauthausen Orchestra�s �Male Resistance� (�Again� the complete unreleased track in 1985, Gary only!!�) and Saki Kubota (�MY GOD!!�) Lucky fuckin� Gary, eh? 200?)
V/A � WHITE POWER. Cassette (Juntaro-sent Jap bootleg of theee infamous 1982 Iphar CLASSIC! Ramleh�s �Fist Fuck�, Consumer Electronic�s �Penisator� (HARGH!), Maurizio Bianchi�s �Menstruum�, Sutcliffe J�gend�s �Pommerencke� (you can get them in Sainsbury�s), Club Moral�s OUTSTANDING �Eating Limbs� and Krang Music�s �Uro�! What self-respectin� thrown-out-of-the-Camden-�Punk�-scene-for-being-too-Punk CAD would continue to fantasise o�er little �C� day-un the road (12 years old, looking like 10�) when you have Philip Best�s stout nipple to champ? One mad Jap chick can�t be wrong, nooo nooo nooooo)
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND AND NICO. (Home taping Maggie Ponce�s CDs is killing music. And it�s illegal. Just what kind of a playlist is this ANYWAY?! It�s a MUSIC LOVER�S playlist, THAT�S what!)
TOM WAITS � BONE MACHINE. (Home-taping one of Mark Ritchie�s Tom Waits cassettes and his rare copy of GG Allin�s Troubled (troubled, HA! The in-word now, in�it?) Troubadour EP, plus a pile of other GG/Bukowski SHIT is killing music. And it�s just as fuckin� illegal as the LAST time I mentioned it� like boozin� on London Transport. Boris: You CUNT)
WASTED YOUTH � CLARENDON, LONDON 22.7.82. Bootleg cassette (Blues Dave told me �they� have rebuilt the Bridgehouse in Canning Town and that his band, Mouthful of Grass, are playing there on 16th August)
V/A � 150 MURDEROUS PASSIONS. Cassette (The Come Organisation/United Dairies/William Bennett/Steve Stapleton special joint project on VERY RARE ORIGINAL CASSETTE! I...AM...LUH...KEEEY!! It inspired me to read De Sade�s masterpiece �The 120 Days of Sodom� and to jerk-off �n� multi-task to Pasolini�s last-film-before-being-brutally-murdered-by-a-homosexual-prostitute-in-some-sperm-drenched-wop-�cottage�� er, where was I? Oh, yeah� the best bit of Salo to discharge to is either the oh-so compliant blue-ribboned chicks sitting in those big wooden tubs of SHIT or, and this is entirely a matter of taste, the ultra-horny blonde BITCH getting her nipple singed whilst a�tied to the ground with ropes and stakes. Go on, let yer �air day-un for once. Come Organisation. 1982)
WHITEHOUSE � LIVE ACTION 1. Cassette (My Bennett-of-ages-sent B.E.A.YOU-TEA-FULL original copy, oooh!! It has a blue insert card (blue ribbon?) to boot, boys and girls, with REAL typewriter-type wording. Quite possibly THE most amazing live debut of ANY fucking-fucking band fucking EVER! Hoity-toity decency (well, column space actually) prevents el Osito from going on and on and on. And on. But theee ice-cold-steel-into-warm-fleshy facts are: 8th February 1982/Whisky Agogo, London, UK/William Bennett, Steve Stapleton, Andrew MacKenzie. �ILSE KOCH! WHERE ARE YOU?!?! I WANNA GO BACK TO AUSCHWITZ!!!!� Come Organisation. 1982)
WHITEHOUSE � LIVE ACTION 2. Cassette (Recorded on 8th March 1982, at the �Whisky� again. This is quite poo-sib-blee THE most amazing SECOND live performance of any fucking-fucking cunt-sickening-kicking fucking band EVER! A �non-linear improvisational performance� from Bean-hight, Staple-gun and, another God-sent genius, Glenn Michael Wallis. The third testament starts here. Susan Lawly. Nineteen-ninety-when-Susan-Lawly-still-sent-newsletters-and-you-got-essence-of-Bennett-from-thee-envelope)
Fuck off, Paggie.
MUSIC
BOB DYLAN � STOLEN MEMORIES: NYC TOWN HALL, 12TH APRIL 1963
NEIL YOUNG � EDINBURGH PLAYHOUSE, 3RD MARCH 2008
Bootlegs, don�t ya just LOVE �em? Well, as long as you�re not one of those greedy cunts who get banged-up for selling them for extortionate sums, that is. These tasty (and FREE!) boots are especially special for a couple of reasons� a) I wasn�t even BORN when Dylan was still doing solo acoustic shows like this, where talking blues numbers sat alongside bleak/brilliant songs such as �Walls of Red Wing�, �Boots of Spanish Leather� and the devastating anti-war �John Brown�� b) I stupidly passed-up the chance to see this recent Neil Young gig, during which he performed stunning can�t-believe-your-ears versions of �Sad Movies�, �Heart of Gold�, �Old Man�, �Cinnamon Girl�� the list of classics stretches out over two (mini) discs and makes me wish I�d ditched my evening of alcoholic stupidity with pub/flat mates and made the EFFORT to witness one of the greatest gigs Scotland�s capital city has surely ever SEEN. But, er, I DIDN�T, of course.
MORRISSEY � ALL YOU NEED IS ME (DECCA)
Here is Moz�s exuberant riposte to all those sad-lads (they�re almost ALWAYS male) who slag him off yet STILL spend half their lives logging onto fan-sites like morrissey-solo.com to debate his every faded fart. He hints at their repressed homosexuality with the lyric �There�s a naked man standing laughing in your dreams/You know who it is, but you don�t like what it means� before concluding �You�re gonna miss me when I�m gone�. Damn RIGHT! The CD �B-side� �Children in Pieces� initially sounds like a worthy, if slightly graceless, attack on �nuns called Mothers and the Christian Brothers� who �kick the shit out of very frightened children� until the pay-off, where Moz tells one of the moaning brats �Get your hands off me, kid, you must be bad luck/My sentimental heart hardens�. Arf.
WHITEHOUSE � LIVE ACTION 56 � MILWAUKEE, USA � 7/93 (+ INTERVIEW)
VARIOUS � ANTHOLOGY 1: COME ORGANISATION ARCHIVES 1979-1981 (SUSAN LAWLY)
In July 1993, while I was busy drinking Mad Dog 20/20 and lazing around watching crap BBC soap �Eldorado�, Whitehouse were assaulting the ears of American audiences and having slightly awkward chats with college radio DJs like THIS one, where William Bennett reveals his love of electronic music and Whitney Houston (so THAT�S who he models his vocal gymnastics on!) The gig itself (sorry, �live action�) resembles an angry bee swarm of chaos, confusion, fear and sharp-tipped joy� just don�t get too close �cos you�ll probably get stung. Inter-song chat includes crowd pleasers like �We�re all gonna die� and the contrast between quiet/loud � especially during the astonishing �Birthdeath Experience� - is WAY more extreme than bands like Pixies ever managed and strays into the realm of performance art, even. Whitehouse lay down the dentist�s drill noise with the precision of a surgeon. It�s all ebb and flow, rise and fall, rhubarb and custard. It�s ridiculous, life-affirming, silly and spectacular, a seemingly impossible-to-achieve balance, but those who DO achieve it deserve to be referred to by that overused word... (whisper it) GENIUS. Which leads us onto �Anthology 1�, a two-CD exploratory mission into the early days of all things Bennett. The seven tracks by his pre-WH band Come paddle in the waters of the more �out there� PIL material while �ersatz Whitehouse� project the Sodality�s �Coprophilia� is a muted marvel �inspired by the sound heard sitting at the back of a passenger aircraft�. Nurse With Wound�s untitled piece is like a more extreme/annoying version of the Beatles� �Revolution 9� while Bennett�s collaboration with NWW�s Steve Stapleton - on two tracks credited to the 150 Murderous Passions � manages to be both eardrum-shreddingly powerful (�Part One�) and calming (�Part Two�). The second disc is mostly taken up by the Bradford Red Light District LP which, on paper, sounds like it�s gonna be SHIT, but is actually strangely soothing, eerie and intense.
FES PARKER � SIDE ROOM (PRESSUPABLE)
Lusty thrustings from one of Blackpool�s best kept secrets, according to Ceramic Hobster Simon, who had a hand in this CD and describes Fes Parker as �breathtakingly good� and �the real deal�. You can HEAR the influence that Fes has had on the Hobs, in fact, as these 16 songs take you on a journey through landscapes of noisy, practice-room distortion, loose-tongued punky/drunky vocalisations (that sometimes bring to mind the great Frankie NW Stubbs, especially on �Take Away�) and songs slagging off television and praising �Slim Girls in 501s�. A superior version of the track �M61� can be found on the �Totally Oral� cassette compilation released by Kaw Tapes.
AMY WINEHOUSE � FRANK (SPECIAL EDITION) (ISLAND)
Before she was �strung-out and skeletal� (according to a mag I saw in the dentist�s waiting room) and in the paper more often than the Queen, Amy W was a healthy-looking Jewish princess in a slinky cocktail dress with a penchant for belting out mild jazz diversions on chat-shows like �Parkinson� to audiences of dazed pensioners. To be honest, I prefer her NOW, as this 2003 release (�special� or otherwise) veers far too close to mainstream shite for my taste. If ever there was an advert for getting INTO the taking of hard drugs, this album is IT.
THE GREY WOLVES � BLOOD AND SAND (COLD SPRING)
Two (long) tracks here. �Desert Storm� is a surprisingly lovely piece of gentle hum while �Gulf Breeze� is all pulsating, hypnotic schwoosh and thud which mutates, at around the eight minute mark, into a buzzy migraine drone which, in turn, gives way to submerged voices and drum-machine beats rising out of the murk. All KINDS of stuff going on to keep my cider-addled brain amused.
EELS � DAISIES OF THE GALAXY (DREAMWORKS)
Another month, another Eels CD, plucked freshly from Fopp�s irresistible �5 racks. I�ve noticed that a lot of Eels songs sound very similar to one another but that never stopped Neil Young being fucking GREAT so who CARES? This album contains lovely odes to nature (�I Like Birds�), tragic actresses (�Grace Kelly Blues�) and a beautifully sad piano number with the unlikely title of, no, NOT �Lick My Love Pump�, but �It�s a Motherfucker�. Also, hidden track �Mr. E�s Beautiful Blues� is yet another reason to believe that the �Wild Thing� chords are perhaps the most durable in the history of rock �n� roll.
ROBIN O�BRIEN � EYE AND STORM (LUXOTONE)
Staying in sunny California, here�s a lushly packaged new release from the ultra oomphy singer/songwriter Robin O�Brien, who delivers the impassioned voice and acoustic strum that will have you reaching for the �repeat� button. There are moments of Joni-ness and Vega-ocity (especially on opener �Looking for Daniel (One)�, which brings to mind �Hissing of Summer Lawns� era Joni) but Robin remains her own woman throughout, entrancing, enchanting and enthralling with songs of such gorgeousness that you wonder why SHE isn�t adored like much lesser �talents� (KT Bun-stall, Sandi Thom, etc, I�m talking about YOU!) Like the very BEST things in life, though, it�s nice to have her music as a special little secret, something to cherish silently, forever, as bruised and beautiful as a Santa Rosa dawn.
NEIL DIAMOND � 12 SONGS (COLUMBIA)
From special little secrets, to great big dirty stadium fillers. This was an impulse buy, from Fopp (proving that marketing really DOES work). �3, right next to the till, and his ITV �Audience With�� was GREAT, and he IS one of the world�s greatest songwriters, so� here Neil delivers the passionate goods with songs like �Oh Mary�, �Captain of a Shipwreck� and �Delirious Love�, breaking your sorry heart with his eloquent croon. Neil will NEVER go out of fashion if you�re into tunes and drama and love and dreams and JOY. Producer Rick Rubin gives him a similar makeover to the one he gave Johnny Cash, stripping the songs down to their bare bones, making them all the more effective for that. WONDERFUL.
ELLA FITZGERALD WITH JOE PASS � TAKE LOVE EASY (PABLO)
Unlike the aforementioned Amy W LP, THIS is the kind of jazz that REALLY hits the melancholy spot � no distracting beats or attempts at modernity, just lovely, lovely songs like the SUBLIME title track and �Lush Life� and Ella�s warm-as-whiskey voice, soothing away all the troubles of another sterile day on planet earth. Step out of the noise/punk/art rock ghetto and let these ANGELS show you how to REALLY live.
DAY OUT
BLACK LAW WINDFARM OPEN DAY, LANARKSHIRE, 15TH JUNE 2008
Well, I COULD�VE gone to see Teenage Fanclub play at Oran Mor for FREE (a mate had a spare guest-list spot) but, after a day of work, I just wanted to come HOME and I was glad I DID �cos, the next day, I went to the local windfarm (Britain�s biggest, apparently) with my auntie, my cousin and her two dogs. Despite arriving at around noon, we�d missed the pipe band but caught a glimpse of the UK cycling champion (whoever HE is). Couldn�t BELIEVE how many people were there, in the middle of NOWHERE (I heard some guy refer to it as �Area 51�). There was a DJ playing hits by REM, James and Vic Reeves (!), local craft stalls and fast food kiosks. Luckily, none of us had taken any money with us so, instead, we loaded up on free pens, badges, frisbees and shit from the information centre tent. There was a clown making balloon animals and kids with painted faces. Maureen and I took one of the free �eco-buses� which departed every 15 or 20 minutes to get a closer look at one of the turbines (number 57, as it turned out), though it was really hard to hear what the two �experts� were saying. I just took some photos, marveled at the hugeness of the machines and thought, this would be a GREAT place to come and drink!
DVD
APESHIT � APESHIT PLAY @ MAD PRIDE, BULL AND GATE, LONDON, 19-xi-2002
You don�t NEED bands playing two-hour long sets when you�ve got one like THIS, playing for 15 essential minutes with a singer who looks like Peter Sutcliffe channeling Johnny Rotten and Bez, spewing out seemingly improvised lyrics over a Fall-y backing in front of swanky back projections. Hilarious, confrontational, shambolic, paper aeroplane throwing, this is LOADS more exciting than all the �hip� bands you�ll see on E4 or MTV� the REAL rock�n�roll underground. I�d LOVE to have been at this gig. But, when singer Jim MacDougall leaves the stage for the final song, seemingly bored, it�s a bit like Antony without Cleopatra, Morecambe without Wise. The DVD ends with home video footage of a gentle snowfall and various other bizarre randomness.
NO SAGE WORDS OR TEA FOR ALICE �
Ceramic Hobs tour diary, March 2008 (by Ceramic Simon� continued from last issue)
Preston Mad Ferret
A daft kid we know called Kris who�s 20 has been invited to be our male stripper tonight, introduced as a 15 year-old runaway (he looks very baby faced). Venue is a decent studenty pub. Local paper preview this gig with a double page spread of the Hobs in full colour! By the time we come on I am too drunk to perform properly, the sound is hideous with all the levels wrong, the stage effects malfunction. A total shambles. Our worst gig in three years.
Lancaster Yorkshire House
Not well promoted and Lancaster only has a tiny scene� we�ve played at this great pub (with amazing real ale selection and mega-friendly staff) twice before to very small crowds, tonight is no difference. A decent MBV type local band called Gonzoid are on the bill. On this leg of the tour (six dates, Preston to Manchester), Bidoche Musique and Heffalump Trap form part of the package. BM is a Swiss bassist (Joe Fleury) who plays in an entrancing rhythmic style over beats and samples � very political and thought-provoking stuff. HT share some personnel with the Hobs (not me!) but playing in a different style � sorta percussive heavy instrumental noise-rock. Really enjoyed doing gigs with both these outfits and the on-the-road camaraderie was great. Predictably, the Hobs played a near-perfect set in front of fifteen people or so in Lancaster. Always the way!
Blackpool Raikes
Stuck for a venue and had to hire this too-big, atmosphere-free room more often used by jazzers and bluesmen. Tonight we are on with great local sleaze-garage band the Dropout Wives. They reckon it�s like �The Shining� with the eerie, empty corridor with strange paintings leading to the room. This very old pub is giving us all the horrors, not helped by shadowy lighting and me playing the Langley Schools Music Project from a ghettoblaster as between-band entertainment. pStan and myself almost have a scrap over what song to play last in front of this thronging audience of ghosts (plus twelve or so real people). True Spinal Tap!
(to be continued next issue)
THE PHOTOGRAPH
Sorley sat amidst the wreckage of empty beer bottles and whiskey glasses as he related another story to his fascinated group of friends.
�Yes, it was back in �68, I believe. I was just back from �Frisco, where I�d been attending a �happening� organised by the Grateful Dead. EVERYONE was there, simply EVERYONE. Ginsberg, who was a BORE, by the way, Burroughs� I saw Janis Joplin passed out beneath an afghan rug at one point. CRAZY night. I was there HAULING my novel around the publishers. It was too ahead of its time, though. That�s why none of them would TOUCH it. They were SCARED, you see. Anyway, as I was saying, I�d only just got back. Landed at Heathrow and my girlfriend at the time, Anna� have I ever told you about Anna? AMAZING tits. Anyway, Anna was there to pick me up at the airport��
He paused briefly to take a slug of Whyte and Mackay before resuming the tale.
Behind the bar, Geoff and Tony were getting ready to finish their shift.
�Do you want to go over or will I?� Geoff asked.
�I suppose I�d better do it,� his work-mate replied, shuffling off into the corner with an empty tray and a damp cloth.
�Look, mate, it was last orders twenty minutes ago. Time to go.�
Sorley looked up at the young barman, all unkempt hair and loose fitting clothes.
�Excuse ME, but I�m TALKING to my FRIENDS!�
�Yeah, COURSE you are, mate, but you�ll need to go and do it somewhere else, �cos we�re CLOSED!�
With that, Tony grabbed the half-empty tumbler from Sorley�s hand, stacked all the dead bottles and glasses onto his tray and hurried back behind the bar.
�Can you BELIEVE that?� Sorley roared. �The NERVE! The fucking NERVE!�
While he was loading up the dishwasher, Tony was delivered a playful kick in the leg by his co-worker.
�Hey,� Geoff said, �I�ve just had an idea.�
�What�s that?� Tony yawned.
�How do you fancy making a few extra quid?�
�Doing what exactly?�
�Robbing that stupid old cunt over there.�
He nodded in the general direction of Sorley, who was still sitting in the corner of the pub, babbling away to himself.
�He must have quite a few bob tucked away, sitting in here all day, drinking whiskey, and I�ve heard him tell those invisible mates of his that he�s got his own flat.�
�Shit,� Tony said. �I don�t know if I�m into that. He�s a harmless enough old guy. I feel kind of sorry for him, to tell you the truth.�
�Come on. I�m not saying we should beat him up or anything, just dip his pockets when we�re chucking him out. He probably won�t even notice.�
Tony looked over at the drunk old man, who still wasn�t making any attempt to leave.
�Aw, fuck it. But no rough stuff, okay?�
�Scout�s honour, mate,� Geoff replied. �Come on.�
Sorley was talking about a nightclub he used to frequent back in the 1960s when, all of a sudden, he felt himself being lifted off his feet by several powerful arms.
�What the fuck? What�s going on?� he yelled, but the two barmen took no notice. As they were bundling him out of the door, Geoff slipped his hand into the back pocket of the old man�s jeans, removing his wallet with a single, graceful movement. As he was locking the door, Tony could still hear Sorley muttering to himself before splashing off into the rain.
Behind the bar, Geoff was rifling through the wallet with glee, pulling out bank and credit cards. Then he started laughing and threw something across the counter to Tony, who was looking around to see where he had left his jacket.
�What�s this?�
�Take a look.�
It was a photograph, old and creased, of a smiling man and woman on a beach somewhere.
�That must be the old cunt back in the �glory days� he�s always going on about,� Geoff said. �Who do you think the chick is?�
�Dunno but it must be somebody important if he�s kept the picture all this time. There anymore in there?�
�Nah, just some old receipts and shit. Oh, and THIS!�
Geoff held up a wad of money.
�There must be 200 quid here, EASY!�
�Great. Can we split it now, so I can go home?�
�Wait a minute, who said anything about splitting it? I was the one who dipped the guy�s pocket, not you.�
�Fuck, Geoff. You know what? I don�t even CARE. Keep the money if it means that much to you. I just want to get home before Sarah goes to bed. I�m fucking SICK of doing these late shifts.�
�Suit yourself, mate. I WAS gonna throw a few quid your way, but if you feel like THAT��
�Okay. Sorry. I�m just tired, that�s all.�
Smiling, Geoff peeled off a few �10 notes and stuffed them into his work-mate�s jacket pocket.
�Remember, don�t tell a soul about this.�
�I won�t,� Tony replied, letting the photograph fall to the floor.