There you are youngster!
My neighbour The Jim boomed cheerily at me from my doorstep.
I was not sure why he seemed surprised given that only moments before he had rung my doorbell.
Alright mate, how are you?
As I liked The Jim I attempted to surreptitiously hang the front door cosh back up on its hook. It was a good cosh, I called it The Leathering. Although it had yet to taste the blood of man it had whispered often of its keenness to do so.
Bide your time
I had whispered back in the dead of the night when it had uttered such things, giving it a quick cuddle of reassurance before sliding it back under the pillow.
Och ye know, I'm alright but the missus... You know, it's her hip...
The Jim looked at me in the long-suffering way that men who have women do. It would be uncouth to roll our eyes, instead, we have a look that implies the volume of suffering we have to go through with our respective Good Ladies.
Aye, the hip. Is it giving her gyp?
Inwardly I high-fived myself at my wordsmithery and wondered if The Jim despite being nearly seventy would respond in kind and we would have a doorstep rap battle.
A mini snort furped out of my lips at the thought. Obviously, I would win and if I didn't, well, I guess The Leathering would finally get its wish and sup on human flesh.
It isn't half. She is in a fair bit of pain today.
Alas, it looked like no rap battle was forthcoming.
The Jim sighed and looked off into the near distance as if imagining leggy lovelies tantalising his old meat with their working hip goodness.
And that's what I came round for...
He looked at me beseechingly and a little apologetically which was worrying.
Did he want me to give his missus a bit of a rub? A Swedish massage? Squirt some lotion on her? Fuck, she was nearly seventy? She looked like one of those old women you see on the TV in Sudan with no teeth lamenting about the well running dry.
Of course the well ran dry, you live in a fucking desert?
I snapped back to the present. and nodded grimly to The Jim.
My problem of course was that I was a selfless soul and if some old woman wanted a rub and some Boom-Lotion then it would be churlish of me to refuse.
It is literally hard being me at times.
You want me to...
I twerked my head back and forth in the way you do when implying to a man that you are going to give his wife a bloody good seeing to.
The Jim gave me a peculiar look as if he didn't want me to generously splash his wife with life milk.
We cannae make it to the Church today, would you mind dropping this off for me?
He handed me a bag full of what looked like old clothes.
I held a hand out for the bag and raised an eyebrow.
Are you sure that's all I can do for you?
I let the tone of my voice reassure him that it was okay to let me take one for the team.
Aye, thank you. You're a good man.
He gave me another look before turning and making his way back to his house.
I grunted. A good man?
Possibly not.
