back in britain (II)

‘Ooo’s that? Who? Who? Sue? Sue? Fuckin’ slag. Cunt. Fucking cunt. Slept with seedboy you did. What? What? You there? Who’s there? Who’s that? What? Wha’? Wha’?’

‘Givvit ‘ere, cunt. Look ‘ere. Look here. I said look here. Don’t cunting ring this fucking phone if you don’t say anything. Sue. Fucking slept with seedboy.’

‘Gave me clamidia. The cunt gave me clamidia. I’d ‘ad checks just three weeks. Three weeks. Seed’s clean. My seed’s clean. Oy! Said my seed’s clean. Cunt’s got clamidia. Fucked seedboy. Passed it on to tonnes, she has. Got a test I said, three weeks. I’m all straight. I ain’t got clamidia. Wouldn’t fucking fuck that cunt.’

I’m on a train. Reading to Bodmin, arriving at 9.32pm. It’s Saturday night. The train is packed. Packed with old couples, and groups of lads and groups of girls going out on the town. And us. I’ve been on British soil four and a half hours, and these lads get on and sit in front of me on the train. They’re there for a good hour talking to each other and to various people who call them on their mobile phones. Behind me sit an old couple, nibbling on sandwiches. Behind them, a Scouse and three girls. Behind them, more travellers but I forget the details.

‘Don’t fuckin do it, you cunt. Fucking cunt.’

‘Oi! Have some respect. Respect. Put a sock in that language. There are old people on this train.’

‘Fuckin’ cunt. What the fuck does the cunt know about language!’

‘I said put a sock in it. Respect, right.’

‘Shut the fuck up cunt. Stop fuckin’ shouting your cunting mouth off.’

‘Sorry. Wha’? Wha’? Wha’ I done? Fuck off. I didn’t fuckin’ say nuffing cunt.’

‘If you lads don’t keep your fucking mouths shut and stop this language I’ll tell you right now you’ll be in trouble. I’ve done things you wouldn’t imagine. So fucking shut up. I don’t want no more from you lot.’

‘Sorry. It was me. Weren’t him. Me. It was me. I did it. It was me.’

‘I said shut it. Shut it.’

‘Do what the man says. Fucking shut ya cunt.’

‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m just sayin’ sorry. Don’t want anyone getting it cos of me. Sorry.’

‘Fucking sit down.’

‘D’you wanna a fucking Bull? Here, drink this.’

‘Wha’?’

‘Take it. Drink it ya cunt.’

‘OI! I told you boys to shut it. Don’t shut it I’ll beat the shit out of you.’

‘Shuttit seedy. Fucking do what the man says. We don’t want trouble. Fucking been out of that fucking place only for fucking days. Shuttit.’

‘Sorry. I said sorry. Sorry. It was me. I’m just fucking saying it was me. Fucking sorry.’

‘Like the fucking Bridgewater Boys he is. Bridgewater. Got no fucking respect.’

‘Fuck off. Ain’t no Bridgewater Boys on this fucking thing.’

‘What we doing? What we doing? Going round your sister’s?’

‘Got fucking kids. Can’t fucking go there. We’ll go round that cunt’s, Sue.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck that cunt. Smash her fucking face in.’

‘Smash that fucking Scouse in. Fucking Scouse. What the fuck he knows? What the fuck he’s telling me what to fucking do, to fucking shut my fucking gob. Break his fucking nose. Smashing break up his fucking face.’

Advertisements

One thought on “back in britain (II)

Comments are closed.