Toby Freeman by O. Nowak

 

 

Saturday 1st January

 

Saw it in big style. Tunes were pumping. My braincells were fused. This sweet young thang came up to me and we got it on. Brilliant. Cutesey. One of the DJ’s collapsed after his second mix. Too many E’s. Wanker. But I suppose I’d snorted enough Charlie to screw up too. My new years resolution is no more Class A’s. Saw this chick having convulsions in the loos. Drugs are shit.

 

Sunday 2nd January

 

Gran violently woke me out of a drunken stupor this morning at some ungodly hour and wanted me to go to Church with her. Being the saintly Grandson I am, I went. Haven’t been for donkeys years. Actually quite enjoyed it. Funny thing church. A hundred years ago it was the main gig. I mean everyone loved God, and everyone dug this Holy Communion thing. Now, more people go and see the footy. It’s all pretty tribal anyway. I mean the red Indians sit around smoking their peace pipe - and that’s their religion. Sounds alright to me. I stopped smoking for a record 4 and half hours yesterday. Addictions!

 

Monday 3rd January

 

Wonder what the hell I’ll be up to next year? Who’s going to work? Who’s going to play? That’s what it boils down to. Show me the money Punk! Wonder if it would be commercially viable to stage a Las Vegas fight between a punk a la Sid Vicious and a hippy a la John Lennon. Modern day naturally. It’d be interesting to see if the hipster could be persuaded with the big dough.

 

I was in Covent Garden the other day and this Pierced up Punk said to me: “Oi Dandy, give us a fiver”. I turned and gave him the ‘V’ sign, but reckon he was lucky. What’s that rhyme? Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes... who did he think he was calling dandy. Anyway, Why was he asking me for money?

 

Tuesday 4th January

 

Shopping. Must have spent a grand on clothes today. And all I bought was two pairs of shoes, a jacket and a cap. Silly. Mum told me to take them back. It’s not the cash, it’s the style. A suit would be fine ofcourse. When am I going to wear a suit? Honestly. Like I’m still at school.

 

Talking of school I bumped into an old classmate this morning whilst sauntering round High Street Ken. Basically a tosser. Says he’s either joining the army or Christian Union. Make your mind up sunshine. I felt a bit sorry for him really. His parents were killed in a plane crash when he was a kid, and he had to live with his witch auntie. We had a coffee in Cafe Rouge. The waitress was a goddess. I swear she bent over like that on purpose. Sauciness.

 

 

Wednesday 5th January

 

Today is officially hassle day. I get a call from the bank manager saying perhaps I should spend my money more carefully. What fucking business is it of his. Sorry but this upsets me. If this moron had his way, I’d leave it lying there so he can get fat whilst I calculate the interest per year, week, day, second... I wonder if Mum had anything to do with it. I didn’t even tell her the price. Mothers have ways. Knowing her she phoned up the shops and told them she’d be faxing over a copy of the barcode and could they please inform her of the retail price.

 

You have to be clever to be rich. No wonder Dad’s so poor. I love him and he’s a diamond geezer, I mean he really is a geezer. That’s why the bastard left half way through the festival. But they’ve both got different stories. Who do you believe Mars or Venus?

 

The fact is Mum was probably so high she didn’t notice Dad took a hike. And Dad always knew Mum would be fine because of her money. Swings and Roundabouts really. It’d be good to see Dad soon. He sent me a letter from the Rockies in the Summer saying he was performing on small stages in little tucked away resorts strumming his guitar a la Denver. Poor old Jon.

 

 

Thursday 6th January

 

I was stood on Notting Hill Underground platform trying to buy myself a Crunchie from the vendor, the metal ring moved forward, but the chocolate didn't drop. I hate it when that happens. I’m normally a Lion or Yorkie man but the Vendor production team never seem to come up trumps. I mean when was the last time you saw Monster Munch in a vendor? It just doesn’t happen. I put my fingers into the flap to receive my coins. Some cunt had gobbed in there. Filth. Fucking scum.  

 

Friday 7th January

 

Went to a Casino in Clapham last night. Buzzing. Maybe I should just become a professional gambler. It’s what the city boys do, except they’re affecting someone else’s livelihood every time they buy up or sell out. With Casinos its just a one man game. Like Golf. Golf by day, Casinos by night?

 

Anyway, I won three grand. Billy was so pissed off. He thinks he’s some young city hot shot. He lost five hundred. It was his idea in the first place. He phones me up from work, says “Lets go to a Casino tonight”. So we did. I reckon he only phoned so the apparently fit bird he sits next to would overhear and be impressed. Classic Billy.

 

He didn’t speak to me once when I drove him home. Actually felt quite guilty about the whole thing. Still, he’s earning now. Probably take him at least a couple of months to make what I came out with last night though! Sucker.

 

I stuck to odds and evens on the roulette wheel till I’d got something to play with then splashed those chips around. I was shit scared walking back to the car, thinking some dodgy gorilla would jump me for the cash. I’ve still got it sitting in my desk drawer.

 

Saturday 8th January

 

Billy phoned this afternoon to ask if I wanted to head back to the Casino. I swear that boys got a death wish. I told him to phone me back with a wise investment for my £3K, of which he could have half the profits if he carried it out. I trust the guy, even if he’s shit with chips.

 

So, ten minutes later, having just flicked through the half time scores, Billy phones to say, “I got it! Ticket touts.” The plan is we’ll buy up a shed load of tickets to Concerts and flog the whole lot nearer the gig date. The only gamble is choosing the right concert.

 

Sunday 9th January

 

What a fantastic night. They don’t come any better. I just popped out to buy some magazines. And, whilst I’m browsing through this riveting article on Women who have allergic reactions to condoms, I feel a tap on the shoulder. It was Lucy. Lovely Lucy. I’m not normally particularly good with ex’s. But, I knew immediately from her face that this had all the makings of a grief free session.

 

The long and the short of it is, we went for a great meal at Kensington Place, and then had a coffee back at mine. She left five minutes ago.

 

Tuesday 11th January

 

Feeling shit. Popped a Prozac. I’ve had a packet lying around for a while. Haven’t a clue where they’re from. Some depressed schmuck who obviously kipped out on my floor sometime. Decided to tidy my room to try and put some order into my life. Deadre will be amazed. She doesn’t really feel comfortable hoovering my room, so I’m going to make a point of putting all the dirty clothes in the washing machine, stacking all the mags, sorting out my CD’s and Video’s and chucking all the empty fag packets that have strewn the floor for the past God knows how long. Always ahead of the game - Spring cleaning in mid Jan! 

 

Wednesday 12th January

 

My room is completely rearranged. New positions for everything, except the phone which has a lead of about 3 inches. I even sorted my book shelves out and took some crappy old Penguins down to The Notting Hill Trust shop. The old dear thought it was Christmas all over again.

 

The problem is even with this dynamite room, fit for Bond himself, I’m not very happy. Mums downstairs planning some trip to the Far East, taking up the whole of the kitchen table with paperwork, Deadre’s working her way up too my room - maybe I should get the camera out to see her face when she sheepishly peers round the door.

 

Basically, I’m bored. My mates say I need a job. You know just something constructive to do during the day. Engage the brain, activate the mind. I don’t know what the root of the problem is, maybe it is the whole money thing. I’ve got it.

 

Thursday 13th January

 

Have decided a break from the big smoke is what I need. I’m going to go round Britain. Well, sort of. Told Billy about it on the phone last night, he was green with envy. Serves him right for not going to Uni. Perhaps this round trip will entice me to apply to University. The plan is to drive the Beemer up to St.Andrews, to party and pick up Brian. Literally chill out for a few days, then head down towards Edinburgh, where Brian and I hook up with Chris, and then the three of us head South to Oxford where Rupert will be talking Politics with some ponsy dons. Then Exeter, where Frank will be shagging his way round half the green welly brigade of the South. Finally, I drive back up to London with everyone.

 

Friday 14th January

 

Billy and I met up in his lunch hour in Leicester Square. I felt like a target. Three thousand pounds in cash in my bag had my heart racing. If ever I want sex and can’t get it, I’m going to walk around with three grandsworth of cash on me. Not for a hooker you understand. But because, I swear the heart kicks into action and you want more of it. Adrenaline, the fuel of life.   

 

So we go into this agency and buy up our tickets. You think £3k is a lot of dosh but when it’s suddenly converted into 60 measly sized tickets it soon has you thinking. Tight bastards didn't even give us a 'buy in bulk' discount. There’s a concert at Wembley Arena on the 27th Feb. The tickets say it's a star studded performance, including Rapper G, Papa D and Hoochia Moochia. Never heard of them but the ticket office said they were the business. At £50 a go they better be. Personally I think it’s a long shot, but Billy says Papa D is big in the States. Must a be a niche market. Anyway, now we’ve got to get rid of these things.

 

Saturday 15th January

 

Have had a day of DVD’s. One after the after, a slobs marathon. Watched Private Parts, Snatch, Easy Rider, Dirty Harry, Get Carter, and just finished Scent of a Woman. What a Ferrari! If the insurance wasn’t crippling I’d get myself something slick. The Beemer is way past it, but I still dig the leather seats. Feel like a pimp every time I get behind the wheel.

 

Sunday 16th January

 

Mum says she’s almost sorted out her mystical trip to the East. Apparently she’s going with her friend Sarah - another divorced millionairess. Except Sarah got her lump sum from her hubby and the divorce settlement, whereas Mum always had hers. I should ask Dad if he ever thought about financial settlement with Mum. But then again he was the wild one, running off all the time. Must phone him sometime this week.

 

Monday 17th January

   

Would you Adam and Eve it? There I was reading through the Sun at breakfast when I came across this article about Hoochia Moochia. I thought to myself, that name rings a bell. Then it clicked - tickets. So I read on. As luck would have it, Hoochia Moochia is a female DJ who attracted a lot of press in the States over a weekend Festival concert when she started to strip as she scratched her way through her slot. And who should be the MC geezer egging her on? None other than Rapper G himself.

 

Nicknamed Rapper ‘Get that G-Sring off’ by the press he’s now hot property. I phoned up Billy to let him know that we were hanging on to gold dust. Billy being Billy had insisted that we both take 30 tickets each, and he’d give me back £1500 of the money he took in. He was the one who turned it into a competition! At the time, him being a salesman and generally better than me at conning people I thought I’d have to rearrange the profit share and get him to palm off my 30 too. But it only took me a few minutes to realise that he’d unknowingly sold 20 of his 30 to work colleagues at what he thought was a great mark up. A mark up of 10%. He’s now got ten left, and when I broke the news to him, the bomb dropped. His office mates are probably selling them off at a hundred quid a go. Twat!

 

Tuesday 18th January

 

I felt sorry for poor old Billy Goat and told him that we’d split the profits half half. Besides it was his idea. I met him for lunch again, and gave him 25 of my 30 to sell on. I kept five for interests sake.

 

After lunch, I passed by the ticket office where we bought the goodies from in the first place. The concert is a sell out. I went in, and the bloke recognised me immediately. “How much you gettin’ for ‘em?” he asked. I wanted to know how much he was getting. I played naive, “Oh, those tickets, they were bought for a friend with friends money” I replied. I soon found out that if ‘my friend’ was a wise man he’d still have the lot and keep the lot until at least the weekend, when they’d fetch as much as £250, if  lucky.

 

So I phone Billy back in the office. I swear he’s the most eager beaver in the world. The word ‘pace’ means nothing to him. He went straight back after lunch and started selling them to randoms for anything between £70 and £80, which he thought was terrific. Fuckwit.

 

Wednesday 19th January

 

The ticket saga continues. Billy paid an unexpected visit last night to give me fifteen hundred quid and half of the profits. Thankfully it was a cheque. He’s sold the whole lot. Either there are a lot of Sun readers in his office or he can sell. Billy once told me I couldn’t sell a Jag for a tenner. This’ll show him. The most he got for a ticket was £95. He makes me clench my fist and grit my teeth but I still love the guy.  

 

 

Friday 21^st January

 

The morning was spent on the phone to Dad. He made me phone him back. I'm sure it's the other way round with most people. But Dad's certainly not most people. He wants me to go and trek some mountains with him. Couldn't believe my ears. Where did this sudden interest come from? Then I realised whilst it was my 10am, it was his 1am. Pissed!

 

Saturday 22^nd January

 

Went to do some research into plane flights over to Canada. The girl helping me presented me with roughly 157 options on how to fly into Calgary. The long and the short of it is I've booked a ticket. YES! Need to do some travelling. I could still squeeze the University tour into the next month, but I think I'll have to postpone it until the Summer. No point rushing. I'm down to leave on February 28^th, the day after the concert. That'll be a mad night. Billy, the total fucking jerk phoned me up to ask if he could buy one from me for himself. I wonder if that boy actually makes his company any money.

 

Sunday 23^rd January

 

Over dinner, the bomb dropped. Mum tells me she's indefinitely off to the Himalayas with Sarah tomorrow. Fine. Infact I admire her. But, I'm not impressed by the fact that she still thinks I'm two. She's employed a cook for me. Can't believe it. I honestly can't fucking believe it. 

 

Monday 24^th January

 

OK. Massive embarrassment. Monumental infact. I drove Mum and her mate Sarah down to Heathrow at the crack of dawn. Their flight to Nepal wasn't until midday, but I think they just wanted to get going. It wasn't until returning home the problem arose. Having acknowledged Deadre, and had a brief chat with Geena the Gardner, Interior Gardening if you ask me, I went down to the kitchen.

 

I'm rattling around in the cupboards trying to find myself the chocolate powder for a milkshake a la crumpled hash (found some in a matchbox knocking about my bedroom), when I hear, "Oh, you must be Toby". Shocked, I knock over half the bloody shelf. Bottles of lemon juice, and all different kinds of herbs smash to pieces.

 

"FUCK", I shout. All my plans dissolving to pieces. Not what I needed. Not what needed at all. Then I looked up and my heart races out of fourth straight into fifth. Stood barefooted on the terracotta tiles are two awesome legs. I take them in my stride, as my eyes move up. What breasts! And the china doll face of an angel.

 

I don't know what's going on, but suddenly I simply don't give a shit about the stupid breakages. This girl is wearing hot pants in the middle of January. I don't know who she is, where she's come from, or the first scrap of information about her. But, this is my house and Miss World has just decided to cruise into the kitchen barefoot.

 

"My names Maria", she says. "I'm Sarah's niece, Mrs. Freeman asked me if I could cook for you". What the fuck! Now this is just too much. It's all very well having nannies when you're a whipper snapper but this is just chronic piss taking on Mums behalf. Before I have the chance to stumble into what was bound to be a pathetic sentence she pipes up, "It's partly a favour on your Mums behalf, as I'm off to Val d'Isere in a few weeks, to cater in a chalet for the rest of the ski season. You don't mind being my guinea pig I hope. Besides there is so much stuff for me to be sorting out in London before I go".

 

Thursday 27^th January

 

Her parents live in the Lake District, and I love her. This is just bliss. I've spent the last three days in her awesome company. After the first night I convinced her to stay here. I mean, it wasn't too difficult. It was either here or somewhere out in the burbs in Auntie Sarahs flat, where she's been living for the past few months.

 

This is the best thing Mum has EVER done. By day, we cook, read, play board games, chat, drink coffee, smoke, drive to parks. At night we just go out, and then have vast amounts of fun back here in my bed. Life is good, oh yes, life is very good.

 

Friday 28th January

 

Mum phoned. "Is everything OK dear".

Yes Mother, better than it has ever been, I'm rooting the fantastically beautiful bird.

"Oh yeah, OK thanks".

"Good, well Nepal is simply stunning. Are you being fed by Sarahs niece?".

She's feeding me, I'm feeding her, we're licking, touching, poking……

"Yeah, thanks".

"Don't be nasty to her, she's only just learning how to cook".

"Yes Mum".

"Take her out to dinner, I'm sure she'd like to see some places in London".

"Yes Mum".

"Well OK dear, I'll tell Sarah she's fine. Is the house ship shape".

"Yeah".

 

The rest of the conversation faded away. I still have two magical weeks of Maria. YES. YES. YES.

 

 

 

  

Tuesday 1^st February

 

Have been having a ball. Totally fallen for this girl. At the weekend we went off to Brighton. Stayed in a B&B by the sea. The weather was perfect, we strolled around the town, in and out of the lanes, and along the pebbled beach.

 

We drove back on Monday morning. She wants me to come out to Val d'Isere in a few weeks. I said that I would. She doesn't know about my trip out to Canada. Can't tell them everything. I mean there has to be some things held back. I'm sure she doesn't tell me half of what's going on in her mind. Can't get the John Lennon song 'Mind Games' out of my head.

 

She opened up a little when we were having a spliff on the beach. By all accounts she's had a pretty shitty last year. Her ex-boyfriend turned out to be a coke dealer, who has been put down for seven years. She went to visit him in Brixton prison a few months ago. Not really what you need when you're trying to concentrate on A level retakes.

 

She says she knew nothing of his dealing when they were together. Don't know whether to believe her or not. Didn't really feel it was my place to start interrogating her there and then. She referred to the film 'Midnight Express', and the scene where the girl goes out to see the guy who gets dumped in a Turkish prison. That brought it home. That's got to be the most gruesome scene in the movies. Can't really place Maria at all.   

 

Wednesday 2^nd February

 

Maria went off to Kent to see some school friend. Dawned on me that I know nothing about her. She's been injected into my life through no doing off my own, and I'm addicted. Whirlwind. Total bloody Before Sunrise whirlwind. She's coming back tomorrow, but it might aswell be in three months. Time acts in weird ways when you're luvdup.

 

Spent the day drifting up and down Tottenham Court Road. Eventually bought myself a pair of decks. Have been meaning to for about a year now. I've even got a few dozen records at home, and half of them were given to me as promos. I decided it was time to make a purchase.

 

So I've got some Technics. The Business. Ofcourse the geezer salesman was gagging to tell me that they really are the most WICKED turntables, and the mixer is even more CRUCIAL. They are being delivered tomorrow morning. 

 

Thursday 3^rd February

 

Maria returned at the same time as the decks arrived. Gave M slightly less attention.

 

Friday 4^th February

 

Spent £650 on vinyl this morning. Silly, but I'm hooked. Now I see what all the fuss is about. You just keep going. It's superb. Maria got stressed because I wasn't interested in her lunch. I think she's gone off in a huff. Need another mix.

 

Saturday 5^th February

 

I've been doing some telephone research, and I've found this small little club/bar in Camberwell which can be hired for the night for a mere £100. They also take half of the takings on the door, but I reckon it can be packed out with 50 people. If they each pay 4 quid, I break even. That's all I'm really interested in. The main reason for checking all this out is to get DJing.

 

Maria called me a self centred egotist yesterday when I mentioned doing a night spot. I mean when I think of the crap I've had to put up with at nightclubs over the past few years; I know I can do better spinning some discs. Fuck her anyway, greed is good.

 

Sunday 6^th February

 

Yesterday I paid a trip down to the club. Honestly, they could charge five times as much, it's a brilliant place. We had a little bit of a bicker about the music. They said that they already had some resident DJ, who would want to be paid. Eventually I got my way, but only after I'd mentioned the decks.

 

This is a great little project. The thing I really like about it is I've only got a week to sort it out. Time pressure. Love it.

 

 

 

Monday 7th February

 

Maria - the bitch, said my mixing was shit, and that I'd only embarrass myself. What does she know. Go back down your well sweetheart. Have decided £4 is a silly price - am making it a round fiver. That way I get paid for entertaining. Now I've just got to get some popular people to tell others.

 

Tuesday 8^th February

 

Hype about the Hoochia Moochia + Rapper G concert continues. It's even reached the broadsheets. The boring grey Conservative bores don't mention anything about the stripping; the journo just zooms straight into the economics. I've still got my five left. One for me, one for Billy goat, which if I'm feeling kind I'll sell for face value, and then the remaining three for some serious loot. The Telegraph mentioned that their new tune 'Do It For Your Pleasure' is set to storm the UK charts, having already done so in the US. Could be looking at a nice little earner my friendly droogs.

 

Wednesday 9^th February

 

Maybe Maria's right. Who the fuck am I to think that after a day of mixing tunes, I could DJ. Starting to get nervous. Phoned the biggest social butterflies I could remember this afternoon. I should have given them more notice. Still, a few of the girls I met in Ibiza last year said they'd definitely be there.

 

It was weird talking to Rachel again. I had this blinding holiday romance with her on the dream island. Basically, haven't spoken to her since we set foot on the tarmac at Gatwick sometime last September. I doubt she'll pitch up.

 

Thursday 10^th February

 

Starting to get very nervous about this Camberwell gig. I mean I now have less than 24 hours to work out order of tunes. Maria asked me to record her a tape before she goes. Ha! She likes what I play really. Knew it! I'll be knocked for six when she leaves on Saturday afternoon. Her flight's at 3pm. I saw the tickets on the chest of drawers in the hallway. Suddenly really hit home. A huge piece of my life will be empty. I cherished her today. We went to Richmond park and had a Champagne picnic. Managed to find a secluded little spot in a patch of woods to have some fun.

 

Sunday 13^th February

 

What a weekend! Maria, myself and a mate called Pierro who's studying set design at Wimbledon College of Art went down to the club and re-arranged chairs, tables and plugged my decks in. Pierro hung up some of his girlfriends art. Overpriced if you ask me, but two of the five prints went. She made £80. Thought about taking commission.

 

I bought some bean bags, and scattered them in one corner. Nice touch I thought. I got incredibly nervous as the day wore on. Would enough people come? Could I actually pass as a DJ? I'd already lied to the boys behind the bar and told them I did about three gigs a week; thankfully they didn't question further. I've put in about ten hours a day since I bought them so I figure I’m good enough. Besides, talent has its own timeframe.

 

Anyway at about 7pm I made a few calls and got in the Beemer with Pierro and Maria  to find a guy in Stockwell who would sort me out with a few grams of Charleston. We arrived at his flat to find half a dozen sketchy looking bastards wondering what the fuck we were doing in their presence.

 

Turned out not to be a problem. Biz, why do dealers always have stupid names? gave us what we wanted and we buggered off.

 

Back at the club/bar, having hoovered up a few lines, we were ready for it. I placed myself behind the decks and kicked off with a fly funk tune. Slowly but surely friends, and distant friends, and total randoms came in. Even Rachel pitched up for about half an hour. Not half as sexy as I remember - sometimes you build a woman up so much, they'll never be able to live up to the dream. It was good to see her though. I saw her having a chat with Maria at one point - my mixing went totally fucking skiwiff. I gather she went off to some trendy East City club.

 

Everything went swimmingly until we left. I finished the mix with a twisted bit of trance. Packed up, shook hands with bouncers and the proprietor. He had a wide smile. Made a few bob. We exchanged some notes and jumped in the Beemer. A fun night was had by all.

 

Then the shit hit the fan. As we were driving down a little side street, I honestly have no idea where, a car pulled out infront of me and then stopped. Cars were parked on either side, and there was no way of getting through. What was he doing? Pierro muttered something about women drivers, and that was the last I remember of my cheekbones being exercised for quite some time.

 

So blocked in, with nowhere to reverse as there was a car right up our arse. Some guys then jump out of the car behind. I'd noticed it had been following me from a few streets back. I locked the doors and felt fear run through my body. That sinking feeling. Down, down, down, down. Pierro was as cool as a cucumber in the passenger seat and Maria, fortunately was asleep in the back seat.

 

I was up shit creek big time. A pistol was pointed at my window. My brain told me to just obey, obey, obey. Just obey. Don't be clever. This was not the time to be a cowboy.

 

The electric window went down. Immediately I took a blow to the right eye. I am then heaved out of the car window by this guy who could have matched Tyson.

 

"We're not gonna fuck you up kid. Don't scream."

 

OK. Things were getting better. There was a ray of light. What the fuck was Pierro doing?

 

"No". A crusty looking white dred with a pierced eyebrow, obviously unhappy with his natural unhominess, joins the conversation.

 

"But those lovely lookin' turntables we noticed you loadin' up would be a nice little treat - would you mind?"

 

Cunts…

 

"Now get the fuck on widdit", Tyson shouts.

 

Total humiliation as I open the boot to hand over my new P & J. Call me a coward but fisty cuffs against bullets just don't fucking go. John Cleese, Kevin Kline, Box for Oxford? Shoot for the CIA? Give me the latter. So what choice do I have? I try and register their numberplate but just cop a bloody lip. 

 

I hear glass shatter but am way too tied up to concern myself. I notice the layabout criminal crusty helping himself to my vinyl. When they'd got what they wanted, I was given a farewell punch in the stomach, a kick in the shins, and just to add insult to injury they smashed the Beemers back lights. At this point I was ready to be sick and frankly just wanted to lie down somewhere and forget about everything.

 

The van reversed away and sped off down a side street, whilst the car infront zoomed off into the distance. I remember looking at my watch - 3am. No one around, no witnesses, nothing.

 

I sat back down in the drivers seat. To be honest, I wanted to dump the car and get a taxi home. I knew I just had to get us too a hospital when I saw the state of Pierro. He had blood all over his face. The breaking glass had been his window. It turns out, whilst I was otherwise engaged, he was dialing the police on his mobile. He didn't get too far.

 

The bastard in the car infront, put his hand through the window, and snatched the phone. He smashed it under his foot and said something like, "It's not worth fuckin' with us". I can believe it.

 

Thankfully we didn't have to spend too long in Casualty. Although Pierro looked like something from a Tarantino movie, it was cleared up relatively quickly. Casualty on w/e nights is the most Goddam depressing place on earth. The nurse asked if I was alright. I told her I was just in a state of shock. She made me and Maria a tea whilst we waited for Pierro.

 

I'd been so engrossed in all the screwed up events, that I hadn't really checked on Maria. She'd been left unscathed physically, and hadn't come into contact with any of the thugs, so I presumed, wrongly, she was just about OK. I then noticed a teardrop fall in her tea. She had a shawl around her and her eyes were red and streaming. I put my arm around her but she just cried harder. She didn't want to talk.

 

FINALLY at about half six in the morning, the Beemer safe in its garage, and the three of us relatively relaxed back in my sitting room, we could logically discuss quite what the fuck had just happened. As far as the smashed lights and stolen decks go, I was pissed off, but they are replaceable. I am utterly gutted about the records but naturally nothing is as important as what I heard next.

 

Maria, still gently sobbing and sniffing, then says totally out of the blue,

"I  know who he was".

 

I had been thinking about sleep, but this bombshell of a comment put me right back on edge. Time wares on and we talk way into the morning. She was one very upset girl. Now I'm normally a Take-It-As-It-Comes type of guy but this was all just way too much for a Saturday morning come down.

 

The black guy who originally pointed the gun at me was Maria's ex boyfriends old partner in crime. He is a big South London Crack dealer. He is one dodgy piece of work. He stitched up her old boyfriend good and proper. She recently learnt that Jason (her ex, the dealer) was framed by this guy. His street name is Friar.

 

Friar, obviously the senior partner in this crime ridden duo, sends Jason on a drugs run. Nothing too difficult, just drive a van full of Heroin and Cocaine down to Swindon from London. Easy work, easy money, just don't get caught.

 

So Jason, who has never experienced this kind of money before and is quite new to the drugs game does as he's told. Now, what I don't understand is that if this drugs geezer Friar is such a traffic guru, what the fuck is he doing robbing small fry like me on a Friday night?

 

And that's exactly the question I put to Maria at 7am yesterday morning.

 

Maria proceeded to explain all, and continued from precisely where I'd interrupted her. She wanted to get this off her chest. Jason, her ex, and Friar had hit it off immediately. They met at a club and soon started working together. Jason was Friars right hand man. No job too big. He worked his butt off and got paid well. He had been employed by Friar for three months, and was trusted.

 

According to Maria, she never knew about his job, until he was nicked. Somehow, someone, somewhere, ie. One of Friars boys put the money up for bail. He had a short time out of prison but the second the court case came up he was hammered down for seven years. He might be out in five. During bail, he told Maria all this.

 

He also told her why he thinks he was caught. Friars oldest mate, is a white guy called Mess. They grew up mean together on a council estate in Peckham. Same school, same lessons to skive, same network of people to buy and sell drugs to. It started with cigarettes at the age of eight, grass at the age of ten, pills by twelve, and cocaine and heroin before they were legally allowed to smoke. The Police know about these guys, but they know the only way they'll get them is if one of their workers admits to working for them. And is that going to happen? Never. They are tight.

 

Whilst Mess had been taking a couple of months off in Thailand, Friar had been guarding the fort. Just keeping the business ticking. Now, Mess is protective. He loves Friar like a brother, and is paranoid to the extent of being mentally retarded about letting foreign blood into their business.

 

Mess doesn't like the look of Jason. Mess sees to it that he's caught in the bus going down to Swindon. Friars none the wiser. For him it’s just a pain. It's not going to break the business, it’s a heavy blow, but it just means costs go up for a period.

 

People are nicked every once in a while, it comes with the territory. Ofcourse Mess has never been nicked. Mess apparently spent a night in jail for pissing down the alleyway on a night bus once, but nothing serious.

 

So why did these astronomically wealthy criminals rob us?

Why do these astronomically wealthy criminals travel on night buses?

 

For kicks. They are criminals. All the real dirty work these days is done by runners, and they just like a bit of hands on experience once in a while. They believe an honest hours work is done by getting your hands dirty, getting the blood pumping, and ripping off some poor unsuspecting cunt like me.

 

How does Jason know it was Mess who set him up? He just does.

 

How does Maria know that the guys who nicked my decks were Mess and Friar? She just does.

 

So there it is. Or there it was. Facts presented to me by my sweet live in girlfriend, three hours before she was due to leave me for the Alps to act as a pure virginal chalet maid.

 

11 am Sat. morning - I borrow Mums car, dropped off Pierro in Putney and drive Maria to Gatwick.

 

1pm - Have a much needed coffee at the airport. Tell her I'll miss her.

 

2pm - She tells me she still loves Jason.

 

3pm - She's in the sky and I'm driving back to London. That was too fucked up.

 

5pm - File police report - they'll know who they are but will just log it on the computer and wait for the big haul, when they can bring up our little incident as a helpful nail to their coffin. I needed to report it for insurance purposes. Now it's my turn to be the criminal.

 

Tuesday 15th February

 

Apart from getting up to write my diary and drop the Beemer off at the garage, I've spent the last 48 hours asleep. Valentines day was better spent unconscious.

 

Wednesday 16^th February

 

Need to get Maria off my mind. I'm heading off on my tour of Universities. Need to catch up with some of the boys. Everyone's doing their own thing and going their own way. A get together will be just what the doctor ordered.

 

Thursday 17^th February

 

I phoned up Brian and told him I'd be coming up this w/e. The only time I've been to St. Andrews before was for a golfing holiday with some other rich kids when I was about 12. It was dull and grey and rained non stop. My memories aren't fond ones. I recall getting slapped in the face by a silly girl who thought I'd said something I hadn't. I've worked out that if I drive up tomorrow, a whistle stop tour of St.Andrews, Edinburugh, Oxford and Exeter will be just about do-able in a week.

 

Friday 18^th February

 

Well I've broken the back of this drive from hell. I'm sat in a service station about 40 miles from St.Andrews. I picked the car up from the garage at the crack of dawn. I was surprised that they opened that early. Blurry eyed I signed a cheque for £300. All I wanted to do was get out of London and hit the M1, but the garage attendant had to slow the whole process down by giving me a lesson in maintaining the mechanics under the bonnet. I guess he was just being friendly and felt the price didn't justify the work, so thought he'd throw in an Engineering tutorial. The only added bonus I appreciated was the strong black coffee.

 

It's taken me the whole day to drive up here. I phoned Brian just now and he's already pissed up. I've got instructions to meet him at his Student Union. Am beginning to think this whole road trip is just one stupid extravagant idea.

 

Sunday 20^th February

 

Putting a few minutes aside to write about the sheer debauched drunkenness that I've experienced up here. When I eventually met up with Brian, it wasn't in his S.U. or his house, but in a little club where every rugger bugger known to man was involved in a drinking contest that simply worried me.

 

These people are surely not human. They are animals. I feel like Darwin. I've discovered a new breed of species.

 

The evenings record for pint downing was 3.75 seconds. There was even a wall chart with the last 10 years records. Someone called Angus McHopt won it three years on the trot. He also holds the all time best of 2.43 seconds. So, that was Friday night taken care of.

 

Woke up on Saturday morning in a double bed - fully clothed - Thank God - with 3 drinkers from the previous night. I made a hasty exit from the utter shit pit I had somehow ended up in, and asked for directions to Brian's house.

 

Brian couldn't even remember that I'd made it up last night. He greeted me on his doorstep, starkers except for his white Y fronts. Over a fry up he explained that he had a retake to sit on Monday morning. He'd only found out about it yesterday morning. Fuck knows what he's doing at University. The prick has had two months to look at the noticeboard and see that he'd failed his Advent exams and would have to retake on a particular date.  

 

He has every faith that he'll pass his resit so we went to the Golf Course for a quick round. It's never quick with Brian, but we ended up playing 36 holes and getting totally drunk in the club house on Whiskeys.

 

It's now 5pm Sunday and he's got 17 hours to try and understand why the Philosophical aspects in Freuds works can be related to the Bible. I honestly don't think he knows where to start. He just phoned up his girlfriend who told him he was a loser and perhaps he should write about Psychology instead of Philosophy. The Pratt doesn't even know what he's meant to be studying.

 

Monday 21^st February

 

Brian is a pure diamond. Pure deBeers hard rock. He went into his retake exam this morning and wrote about Mary Magdelenes Penis Envy. Two hours of pure Brian Worth bollox. If anyone deserves a first it's him. More bullshit than Dr. Suess. That boy could sell tea to China.  

 

We left St.Andrews, such a beautiful town, after lunch. We're currently taking a break halfway up King Arthurs Mount. Chris is not at home. We've decided to go on a walk. It's pretty cold and blustery but the view is spectacular.

 

Tuesday 22^nd February

 

I can see this all getting way out of hand. The last time Chris, Brian and myself were together was on an after A level drinking binge in Corsica. It lasted roughly 10 days before Brian had to be dragged into a hospital and have his stomach pumped. The doctors were not impressed. Brian was the lucky one, Chris and I had to try and string sentences together and explain what had happened. I didn't drink for four days after that.

 

It's not that we don't all love each other, it's just, I've learnt to expect the unexpected every time I'm with these two. They are total nutters. I remember one time meeting up in Hyde Park early evening. We were pretentious 16 year olds, dressed in black tie with tickets to go to a ball somewhere. Chris had necked half a bottle of Gin from his Dads spirit cabinet, and Brian was carrying salt, Tequila and Lemon. 

 

We never made it to the ball, and were picked up by the Police. Miraculously, we'd swum across the Serpentine without drowning. The Cops were waiting for us on the other side. Missed out on the ball, but saved on the taxi ride home.

 

Back to the present. Last night was just mental. Chris took us to a strip joint which had some of the most beautiful girls prancing about. I don't really understand those places. I don't agree with paying for sex, even though I understand why it happens, but I DEFINITELY don’t understand paying money just to oggle and get more frustrated.

 

Chris could see me and Brian starting to look fed up, so we left. Ten minutes later we're in a trippy club dancing away clutching our fags and Vodka Red Bulls. Chris NEVER fails to deliver. Before leaving 'Slinky Pinky', he'd told one of the girls where we were off to. Like Brian, he's got the gift of the gab. A few Tequila shots later and who should turn up but the 3 ladies who'd been entertaining us earlier. Three satisfied lads.

 

Wednesday 23^rd February

 

Oxford! We shared the drive. Leaving late last night we drove through the night and reached Oxford at dawn this morning. We got pulled over just outside of Newcastle. The whole process of breathalysers and answering questions took about an hour. We also stopped for a munchies break at about 5am, somewhere near Milton Keynes. It's great to be spending quality time with Chris and Brian again.

 

Chris is doing some film course and can't stop rabbiting on about these obscure black and whites. I'm frightened to bring up the subject of films in his presence as he's bound to go on about wardrobe, lighting, the directors past, the actors future. At least he knows his subject, unlike Brian. The problem is he seems to live his life through the movies.

 

He took the wheel just after Leeds, and put one track on permanent repeat. He started going on about how Primal Scream had used the dialogue from an early Seventies movie about driving from East to West US called Vanishing Point. We listened to it, fell asleep to it, and even woke up to it just North of Milton Keynes, at which point, Brian felt a compulsion to chuck the fucking thing out the window. In the service station he was made to promise that he would buy the upset Chris another copy.      

 

Thursday 24^th February

 

Rupert is a total nob jockey. He's got one of the slickest, quickest brains in the country and all he does is watch horse racing all day long. He's bound to become a Politician. At present he's studying P.P.E. Whilst Brian and Chris can twist an argument, Rupert can twist it and then flip it back again so the opposition is so stunned it can't even remember what its bloody motion was in the first place.

 

Naturally he has his eyes on Captaincy of the Oxford Debating team. Last week he managed to convince the Union that 'Studying the Form' should become part of the GCSE curriculum. I don't know what it is, people just can't help warming to him. He will become a great Lawyer.

 

No one knows where his love of the GG's comes from. He's only an occasional gambler himself. He's not especially rich, but we all know he will be. He could quote you any horses odds on any race anywhere in the country. I once leant him £50 one year when we went to Epsom for the day. I thought he'd done a runner. I didn't see him for the whole day. But there he was, stood by my car after the last race was over, waving my fifty, and another to match it. "Thanks for trusting me", he said on the way back. He had given me the hundred quid and told me that he'd bought a season pass with the rest of his winnings. I've no idea how much he won, but he's proved himself in my books. The next day I went and bought him a years subscription of Racing Post.       

 

Friday 25^th February

 

Rupert, bless him, took us on a tour of Oxford, and neglected everything but the  bookies. "This one has the best coverage from Aintree", he'd say, I could feel Chris and Brian in tow eyeing up the birds.

 

We went for a stroll over Port Meadow. It started snowing. It felt good to be back with the boys again. Wherever we go, whatever path we choose, it's moments like Brian hurling Chris' CD out the window, and running around in the snow that stick with you. 

 

We arrived at The Trout, ready to collapse. Rupert went to the bar, whilst the rest of us put our feet up by the log fire. We broke on into the Winters evening with more Guinesses. Rupert and Brian played chess whilst Chris and I drunkenly tried to work out the ratio of land owned by the aristocracy compared to that owned by the nouveau riche.

 

The walk back to Ruperts was a nightmare. It was freezing. Weird that I've been right up North but haven't noticed the cold until now.

 

Saturday 26^th February

 

Arrived in Exeter late last night. Pitched up on Franks doorstep, and were received by some moody bitch. "He's not here, his rooms upstairs at the front". I can see her point. Four riotous blokes rock up. Why on earth would she want to be welcoming?

 

We were shattered and all crashed out in his double bed. At about 1am, he opens the door, laughing, drunken with the prospect of a great night of sex. He has a stunning blonde on his arm. This is her wake up call. Four lads asleep on his bed. To his huge annoyance, she made her excuses and made a hasty exit. Now we all saw the funny side of this. How were we to know he was in the process of making up to this girl who accused him of spending too much time with his mates and not enough time with her. Anyway, I think we've safely blown his chances.

 

We had a celebratory bottle of Champagne that Frank had been saving for the right moment. I'm sure we weren't the intended company, but he was very polite about the affair. After that we all fell asleep in a bundle.

 

I'm not sure what we're up to tonight, but I do know things are getting tight. I need to be back in London tomorrow to meet up with Billy Goat and sell my remaining tickets for the concert. It starts at about 9pm so there's no serious rush, but I have to give him a call. Every trashy mag I’ve read in the last week has been following Rapper G shop around London. Hot tickets freebie has back in town. 

 

Sunday 27^th February

 

Received a phone call from Dad. Amazing. I told him I'd booked tickets for tomorrow and was looking forward to seeing him out there. I was going to try and get in touch sometime before going off to the concert tonight, but wasn't holding my breath. Not an easy person to get hold of. I can see why Mum feels she's better off without him. He's such a dopey moron. I mean he's wired as fuck in his own way, but just gives off this impression that all he ever needs is a good nights sleep. Maybe it's just a breakdown in communication between him and me. How can he possibly confuse me going to visit him with him coming to visit me? Who knows. Anyway, I've spent the last hour on the mobile to Air Canada explaining that I won't be flying afterall. 

 

The good news is, he's coming over to England next week. I don't know if he knows that many people over here anymore. He used to be well in with the groovers and shakers, dippy hippies and Marianne Faithfuls of his day, but he's so entirely shit at keeping in contact with anyone, most of them have all grown up, built a 2.4 family and wear suits. I admire him for doing his thing, it's just I'm not sure what he wants to do when he comes over. 

 

Back to the now. Just about to leave Exeter. Would like to have spent longer here. We burnt down to the beach last night. Frank managed to get some girls to come, and we had a chilled bonfire, if that makes sense. We did well to get the flames roaring. To accompany the constant drizzle there was a biting sea breeze. At one point I just had to sit in the car with the heating on. A sweet girl named Layla sat with me and we talked about smoking. She's the kind of girl that if I married I would definitely give up smoking for. I wonder if I ever will marry.

 

It wasn't really the weather for a fire on the beach, but we managed to enjoy ourselves and with the odd bit of footy when the tide was out we had a laugh. Downing pints up in St.Andrews with Brian at the beginning of the trip, last weekend, seems an age away now.

 

Monday 28^th February

 

Billy and I have just had coffee. He's got a nice new pad of his own. Brilliant bargain on the rent, but that's what happens when you start sub-letting from the Council. I didn't think Billy was especially dodgy. Perhaps his job is showing him the ways. He took today off work. Played PlayStation until 4am last night. There should be a Government health warning against the addictive powers of those machines.

 

The concert was utter madness. I sped back from Devon with the boys, who were all quite happy to blag a free lift up to London. Frank and Rupert jumped out near Battersea, they've both got exams at the end of the week but don't seem too concerned about them.

 

They said that there was a new pub somewhere near the park, it has recently opened and is named Horse Better. It was featured in the latest edition of Loaded. Sounds like Frank persuaded Rupert to go and finish off the weekend in style with him. Chris and Brian decided to invite two girls they hadn't seen for years to the Ritz for tea. Flash gits. I was made to chauffeur them to Green Park. It was sad to see them all bail out. Don't know when we'll be together again.

 

Then I was woken up by the fact that I hadn't got in contact with Billy. Fortunately reached him on his mobile. He had been fretting about my absence in the last week. Apparently he's lost my mobile number. I told him we'd catch up and meet at Wembley Station at 7pm.

 

I rushed home and had no time to do anything except, sprint upstairs, grab the tickets and rocket out the house to the train station. There would have been no point driving. Reaffirmed how much I detest public transport. Some despicable woman started asking me whether I knew if Anne Widecombe could swim. For a few minutes I humoured her and said that I expected she was very good at the crawl. But when she turned out to be a total freak and asked whether Michael Portillo would like her breasts I decided it was time to change carriages. Fucking weirdo.    

 

Anyway, met up with Billy and had a quick ale. Whatever happened now regarding the tickets was a bonus. He said he'd read in the press that as it was a sell out, they were probably going to do a few more dates, so we might not get as much as before.

 

However, it didn't take long before we found a buyer. This feisty girl said that she'd take the three off us for a grand. It did dawn on me that I should check the money there and then, but how fucking wide would that have looked. I'm sure she sold them on for £500 a go, but I was pretty happy with an increase of just above 600% in the sell on price. Result.

 

As for the concert itself, there's entertainment, and then there's entertainment.

 

Rapper G and Hoochia Moochia played their new tune, to be released in the UK next month, we were informed. It was blinding. "Do It For Your Pleasure", will be big. By the end of the show, she was down to a sexy bikini, whilst he was still in his baggy pants, flower pot hat, desert boots, and tight T shirt. To finish with, he puts his Microphone down, moves over to the decks and they gyrate together, one hand on each others butt, whilst the spare hand scratches on the separate turntables. It was one of the most awesome displays of pure rhythm, hipness and bubbling technology I've ever experienced.

 

There was a massive screen behind them. Throughout the whole show it had footage of the two stars, at various ages. It was also indulgent in how wonderful America is. The stars and stripes managed to weave their way into most fades. When they played/scratched/MC'ed "America the Beautiful", the screen was awash with Hollywood heroes. It was a bit glitzy, and over the top at times, but easy to see why they've got the following they have.

 

 

 

Tuesday 1^st March

 

Back at home relaxing, drinking a beer. What a week that was! There was a message on the answerphone from Mum saying that she and Sarah had met Harrison Ford and were spending a few days in a Buddhist retreat. There was also a message from Dad, "Hiya Kid. I'll be touching down at 7.30pm on Friday night". Didn't say where, just said he'd be touching down.

 

Wednesday 2^nd March

 

Received a letter from Maria. I had managed to iron her out totally, but was put straight back into a dizzy spin when I read what she wrote.  She's pregnant.

 

Friday 4^th March

 

There is not really much I can do. The decision of whether I become a father is entirely in Maria's hands. When all is said and done, if she wants the baby she'll keep it. In the last two days my thoughts have been taking me all over the place. It's been like walking through a minefield. What if, what if, what if.

 

I haven't told anyone. I don't want to tell anyone until I've spoken to Maria face to face. It's fucking ridiculous that she told me in a letter. I mean, why the hell didn't she phone straight away?

 

She didn't give me a contact number in her letter, so I had to sit tight until last night, when I eventually heard her voice at the end of the line. My heart started beating double time when her sweet "Toby? Is that you?" come through. We chatted for ages before confronting the very real issue of her pregnancy. She is unsure. It was good to talk to her, I love her to bits. I'm finding this really difficult.

 

I've got to drive to Heathrow to pick up Dad. I don't know if I'm going to tell him. 

   

Saturday 5^th March

 

In a Bed & Breakfast in Cornwall. Naturally Dad was checked at customs, and naturally he had to explain away his enormous quantities of cigarettes. He told me the customs guy winked him through, when he handed him a carton of Luckies, but that just sounds like total bullshit. I wouldn't be surprised if his holiday money has all gone already. Fined at the first hurdle.

 

It's good to be with him. We sat down in the Beemer at about midnight. What with all the delays and the hefty meal to 'catch up' on the last 2 years, it had got very late.

 

I had no idea what to expect. Did he want to come to Mums? That would have been awkward as hell. Or meet up with some pals, or for all I knew, hook up with some business associates? Couldn't imagine what the hell his business associates would look like. I remember once meeting a man called Gavin who was working on a sculpting project with Dad. He described himself to me as a business associate. For years I thought business associates were people with long hair and beards.    

 

Well, Dad plonked his arse down in the passenger seat and just said, "Well kid, what's the plan?" His breath stunk of alcohol from all the whiskey he'd drunk on the plane. I half sighed, and half laughed. What was I expecting afterall?

 

I just put my foot down, and drove, and drove. I drove until dawn was breaking. All the time, he'd been sleeping. I had a lot on my mind. The last thing I really needed was having to entertain an estranged father. So I was thankful that he fell into a slumber.

 

At about five this morning I stopped by a hedge for a pee. I heard him waking up, moaning like some Faulstaff character. I saw him light a cigarette out of the corner of my eye. On the horizon, I could see the sea. I decided we'd head for a beach. Any beach.

 

After watching the sun rise over the Channel, we found this B&B. They don't normally take guests before midday, but I reckon they felt sorry for us, and after a fry up, showed us to our room.

 

Monday 7^th March

 

The weekend slipped by. We've had a lot to catch up on. To my surprise Dad has come up with a plan of action. He said it's all sorted out, and has been for some time! All I have to do is follow his navigational instructions tomorrow. Exciting! I guess he just wanted me to feel like the host for the first few days. I forget he has his own network over here.

 

The B&B we have been staying in is top dollar. A lucky find. The proprietor is a no nonsense Cornishman. His wife is a bit of a soft touch, and even brought us breakfast in bed yesterday. Alan, the Cornishman used to be a fisherman. Dad and I stayed up chatting with him on Saturday night. He drinks like a fish, and has a library of tales stored away for 'drinking evenings'.

 

I thought I was talking to Hemmingway reincarnated for a while. The best story, and even though I'm sure the booze exaggerated it a little was just riveting. An act of piracy near the Cornish coastline, which resulted in Alan making the nine o' clock news, or so he said. It was probably local radio. It doesn't matter.

 

The pirate story! There are a group of fishermen playing cards one late summers evening out at sea. Alan could make a war zone sound like a Devonshire Cream Tea. I don't doubt he is the local story teller down the pub.

 

They've caught their lot for the day and are enjoying a drink before sunset. Sounds like drinking on the job to me but there you go. All of a sudden a wind gets up and they decide to shut up shop and get back to port. They know they won't get back until dark when they find themselves heading into the wind.

 

All the while Alan was telling this story, he was drinking three whiskeys to my one. Monster. Meanwhile Dad was idly rolling himself cigarettes. Poseur.

 

The fishermen find the wind picking up and the light rapidly diminishing. Slowly but surely getting chillier. They plod on with engine chugging. It soon dawns on them that it could be a while before they get back. Their moods of peaceful setting sun tranquility flushed down the pan. Waves start rocking the boat. All the clichés.

 

It comes to ten in the evening and the fishermen are pissed off. They can only now faintly see the light of the shore. It's going to be a long slog. Not a chance of a vaguely enjoyable following morning or day. They put their heavy duty anoraks on and get on with the bollox. It was at this point that I nicked Dads tobacco and decided to be a poseur too.

 

Alan and his motley crew finally get to familiar waters. The seas have calmed a bit and all they can think of is bed. The story suddenly gets exciting for these old rockers.  It's around midnight and there is another boat out on the sea. Nothing very unusual, but they seem to be pissing about with what looks like a lobster pot line. One of Alans mates has a pair of binoculars. The light on the small boat might aswell be CCTV. These pirates have been caught red handed. Dumb morons. 

 

So, despite their tiredness Alan steers the boat towards the pirates. That was the term he used. Pirates! I mean, I just thought, few pissed up lads, out for a laugh, and maybe a meal. But no, no. This was a mans business. Taking the food out of a mans mouth. Not good. Alan said these words and you could see the tears welling in his eyes. Passionate about morality. Good for him.

 

The pirates see that a boat is approaching them. They soon scarper. A chase follows. I was picturing the cat and mouse situation, and imagining it on the silverscreen. The Good Cornishmen chasing the Bad Cornishmen. Beautiful.

 

The Goodies eventually got the Badies. Their boat wasn't as new and fast, but the old guard had the knowledge of the waters. Alan pounced onto their boat and decked one of the three pirates. They had apparently helped themselves to a few dozen lobsters from the various pots around the coastline.

 

By the time Alan had got this far into the tale there was no stopping him. I could see Dads eyes closing on him. I wasn't too awake myself. Evidently they radioed shore and were met by a heroes welcoming. I thought he'd blown it all a bit out of proportion, but apparently not so. The lobster snatchers were each stung for a couple of grand and slammed in the nick for the night.

 

Tuesday 8^th March.

 

Dad and I said our fond farewells to Alan and Barbara. I think they thought Dad and I a bit weird, but nevermind. Currently sitting in a roadside café. Dad's at the counter buying us both some black coffee. I still don't know where he wants me to drive him. At the moment we are heading towards Bristol. Can't stop thinking about Maria.

 

Wednesday 9^th March.    

 

Ireland! I drove all the way up to Holyhead, and we caught a ferry over here. I've done a lot of zooming about Britain in the last little while. It's starting to take its toll. I'm tired. I know Dad is over the moon about seeing some of his old pals dotted about, but I can't imagine I'll have anything in common with them. 

 

Dad is presently taking a morning shower. This motel really sucks. Alan and Barbara seem like an age ago, yet it was yesterday morning. No wonder I'm bloody tired! I suppose this moving about business is keeping me entertained.

 

I am now very concerned about the whole pregnancy thing. It doesn't help that I managed to leave my mobile in my jacket pocket at home. Maria has no way of getting in touch with me. Keeping it to myself makes it all the harder. Should I tell Dad? How on earth is this going to work? I've been neglecting exactly what fatherhood really means. Fucking hell. Fatherhood.

 

Sunday 13th March

 

It's turned out that Dads mates live in a commune. Fair play to them. We've been staying in this beautiful big house in Southern Ireland. Everyone is totally happy-go-lucky. Billy would just hate this gaff. I reckon it's pretty cool. A few soap dodgers, but mostly a bunch of groovers. 

 

We pitched up late on Wednesday night, after taking a leisurely walk in the Wicklow Hills. I was impressed by the architecture and grandness immediately. However, baffled by the kids buzzing about the massive dining room on tricycles. "Gypsies in a palace", said Dad. But he was happy enough to sit down in a circle do some yoga poses, smoke herb, and become veggie.

 

Cynically, everyone seems to be in love with each other. Nothing wrong with that. It's just the economic principle of saturating a market. So much of it, it means bugger all. Still it makes a change from some of the fuckwit mates I've met over the last few years who only seem to equate love with ecstasy. They could do with some of this. This is what regenerating is all about. Dad has pulled his trump card.

 

I've met a girl called Anoushka. She’s got the tang of Tango. My thoughts are way too tied up with Maria to do anything with her, but I like being around her. I think she likes me, she says it gets claustrophobic in the commune. I bet it does. In her little sleeping area she has a walkman. This is her sole possession. She has three tapes : Aerosmith, Beastie Boys, and N.W.A. I had to smile when she started banging her head to 'Fuck the Police'. I wonder when she last had a run in with the cops.

 

I guess she just sees the music as part of another life that she can be part of through imagination. She is probably sick of folky ballads. She is so eager to introduce me to her routine in the commune. She is a blindingly beautiful Beatnik, but doesn't seem to realise her world and mine are too separated to ever intertwine. I like the fact that I can sit watching cable TV, ordering Pizza over the phone, E mailing mates in Miami and mixing images with the digital camera. We won't bring up my decks! Frankly neon is me! I have always lived for gadgets and can't get erotic about fucking flower arranging. I mean, Anoushka gets crazy with some cranky walkman that just about manages not to chew up her tape every time play is pressed.

 

Monday 14^th March.

 

I can't fucking hang around here, getting attached to Anoushka. Dad seems to think it’s the best thing in the world that I spend hours with her planting seeds, playing chess and walking around the surrounding hills. Little does he know.

    

Dad is in his element. Last night, he played a mini concert for everyone on the dinning room stage. It was superb. Great to see him at work on the guitar. He knows his stuff. I was so proud. He may never be there to give me advice, and a drunken phone call from the other side of the pond once a month barely counts as keeping in touch, but when I see him perform I realise I'm witnessing a master of his art. My Gran always says, '..a man is only as good as the work he does'. It's a pity she has never seen him work his magic on his six string.

 

The session turned into a duet, then some bongo drums were brought out, and before I knew it Anoushka gave me some Maracas. Yes. I was the moron with the maracas. I tried to imagine Anoushka at the party in Camberwell. When the monumental jam had finished I shared a bottle of champagne with Dad, and a few others. 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday 15^th March

 

The Ides! This is a dreamland I can't hang around in. I asked Dad what his plans were. He hadn't told me that his ticket was open ended. Him and Mum really are just too open ended. I'm surprised they managed to get it together to have me. They are actually so similar it scares me. It's just useless trying to extract any kind of plan of action from Dad. For all I know he'll stay at this commune the whole Summer. I need to get out of here desperately.

 

Wednesday 16^th March

 

I'm leaving Dad here.

 

Friday 18th March

 

Glad to be at home again. I have fond memories of that little utopia. When I drove off in the Beemer, the whole bunch waved me off. Dad gave me a photo. It had a picture of three guys. He was the one in the middle. The other two were Neil and Colin. It was a black and white from the sixties. Neil and Colin were the two guys who set the commune up. They are still there. I talked to them a little, but they seemed reserved.

 

Dad has never had money and never given a shit about it. I envy him. He knows how removed we are. I guess he was more or less my age when this photo was taken. He looks like the kind of guy I'd have a pub brawl with. But he's always had a killer smile. I hope I see him soon. At least I know where he is. I could always fly over to Ireland. Dad was very cool about me leaving.

 

When I got into the drivers seat, Anoushka gave me the sweetest tasting kiss. I wish I could have confided in her my problems. 

 

Monday 21st March 

 

I can't really focus or think about anything. My life is in tatters. Maria, my Maria, my sweet lovely Maria. She was carrying my child. Maria is dead.

 

I was called early on Sunday morning by her parents up in the Lake District. They told me they had some shocking news. It was never meant to be this way. I can't hold back the tears. It's so unfair and cruel. I keep seeing her face, her sweet smile. I want to smash up everything. There is so much rage inside of me. Why? Why? WHY?

 

She had everything going for her. I can remember the time we were in the sitting room dancing to some 1930's clarinet jazz. I can't bear the thought that I will never see her again. I'm frightened. I just want to hold her in my arms, and see her lips turn into a smile. I want to see her eyes, her wide playful eyes.

 

All I know is she was involved in an accident on the slopes. Her Parents flew out to France over the weekend to identify the body. They are now phoning relatives and friends. I was asked if I knew when Sarah, her aunt, was coming back to England. I could barely talk. I am so stunned. I will never see Maria again. 

 

Tuesday 22^nd March

  

All I seem to be doing is staring at walls. I've thought about going out to where the accident happened. I keep picking up the phone to call her parents. Her parents who I've never met, but still feel tied to. I am desperate to somehow feel closer to her. I want to share this grief. I wish Mum wasn't away. She'd be a help. I wonder if Maria's old boyfriend in Brixton knows. Perhaps I should tell him.

 

Wednesday 23^rd March

 

I met up with Maria's mother in town today. I think she felt closer to Maria by seeing me. I certainly felt closer to Maria by seeing her. But to what good is it all? Her father didn't come down, so it was just the two of us. We had a pot of tea at a café and tried to comfort each other. I realise now just how little I actually know about her.

 

Her mother told me a few stories that brought a smile to my face. I could just imagine Maria skiving off school to sail boats on the lakes. She was dynamite. I'm still very much in shock. There will be a funeral service next Monday.

 

Up until the last few minutes of the meeting with her mother, I just couldn't bring myself to probe about the death itself. It's so fragile a subject. I eventually just said, "How did it happen?"

 

After a lengthy pause I found out. It was a straight forward accidental death. After skiing for a couple of hours one afternoon, she was on her last run down. She had said to a fellow chalet girl that she fancied a challenge and was taking the icy black run. So the pair parted and expected to hook up at the bottom nearer the village.

 

There was evidently one eyewitness. One of the chair lift attendants had taken the lift up to ski back down, and do his clearing at the end of the day. Maria's Dad had talked to him in person. Apparently, he told her Dad that she had simply gone out of control and the hundred foot fall would have only caused a few breakages if she hadn't smacked her head on a jagged rock during the fall.      

 

Maria's funeral is next Monday up in the lake District.

 

Thursday 24^th March

 

Billy came round last night. I cooked him a meat pasta dish, and he brought some red. Before inviting him over I told him I needed to talk about some serious stuff. He's a very good listener. I haven't told anyone about Maria being pregnant. The fact is she barely told me herself. I kick myself for not dropping everything and flying out to see her immediately I heard the news. But what's done is done. That was Billy's line last night.

 

It's a tricky situation. I could tell anyone about the pregnancy but would there be any point? I can't let myself get swallowed up in my own thoughts.

 

Billy suggested I contact one of his workmates to see if there are some odd jobs I could get involved in. I think this is what I need. I need to be able to break away from the rut. But I feel impelled to go and see where Maria died. It would just settle my nerves.  

 

Friday 25^th March

 

I'm excited with the prospect of working in Billys office. I gave his boss a call this morning. She had a very sexy voice. She told me it wouldn't be highly stimulating work but it would none the less be work. I haven't been in employment for ages. Looking forward to getting my teeth into something. When I got back from Ibiza last Summer I took a job for a few months in a bar in Chelsea. The pay was so shit, but I had a laugh with the staff.

 

So I'm starting at Frank & Spink on Tuesday. It'll be a suit job; so an excuse to go suit shopping tomorrow. I phoned Lucy to see if she'd come and help me choose a suit. I got an earful about never contacting her and showing off my money. Bitch! Where did that outburst come from?

 

She then phoned me back two minutes later to apologise and explain that it had been a hard week. Tell me about it sister! We arranged to meet in Harvey Nichols restaurant for lunch at one. Wonder if she's seeing anyone. 

 

Sunday 27^th March    

 

Lucy ended up staying over last night. I miss her. Perhaps I just wanted someone to hold and be comforted by. It wasn't a very clever move as I now feel even more lonely. She kept asking, "Whats wrong?" I couldn't tell her. Something in me was burning to let it all out but I just totally avoided the issue every time she mentioned me being glum.

 

Lucy is a workaholic. She spends all day in the office. She is the same age as me but on the fast track to a beautiful career. Her boss wants to sleep with her, but by teasing him she seems to just get more work and constant pay rises. I can never quite understand what it is that she does. I think she is a middle woman. She hooks up IT people. When I first met her she was so arty. Now it's all figures, facts and bullshit. 

 

I've been delaying phoning Maria's mother. It's now got to the point where I can put it off no longer. Monday will be a long day. I'm just feeling too exhausted to do anymore driving at the minute. The return train journey which I must book now will take about four hours up, four hours down. Tomorrow is going to be traumatic. 

 

Tuesday 29^th March

 

Just had to phone Billys Boss, Sandra. She was very unimpressed, and told me all I had to do was call and arrange to start on Wednesday instead. Haven't even stepped inside their office and I'm off on the wrong foot. This is shit I can really do without! Still, we ended the conversation amicably. "Tomorrow at nine?" "Tomorrow at nine."

 

I'm starving. Deadre took pity on me this morning and brought me some piping coffee. We had a great chat over the kitchen table. She seems to think the world of Mum. I've no idea why. I wonder when she's coming back. Surely she's bored of Eastern mysticism by now!

 

It would be nice if she was here actually. I need someone to talk to about Maria. I mean, it was because of her that she came into my life. The funeral was quite a large affair. Her school mates and family friends numbered about seventy. I knew nobody. It felt very weird. I chatted with some of her old classmates. The local village school is as far removed from life in London as can be imagined. But it's close knit, and they all had their tales. All a little more cheery than mine.      

 

It must have been such a hit for her to move to London last year, where your own neighbour barely knows your face. I felt as if I was tracing someones history for a biography. As her coffin was lowered into the ground I cried and cried. It was a peaceful service. May she rest in peace.

 

Wednesday 30^th March

 

Lying in bed, smoking my last fag. There was a message on the answerphone when I got back from work. "Darling. Sarah and I have had an incredible time. You really must try a monastery for a few weeks. Flying back on Saturday." She's faxed me through the details of her flight. There is a 'THANKS' written at the bottom of the page. Presumably this means she wants me to pick her up. I don’t see why she can't get a cab. Still I haven't seen her for ages. Much to talk about. I only hope Sarah already knows about Marias death.   

 

I hate running out of ciggies. What the hell am I going to do tomorrow morning?

 

Well, I can safely say Frank and Spink suck the big one. I walked in, decked out like a serious trader about to work some serious margins, when I get frisked! Routine check apparently. I told reception I'd come to see Sandra.

 

Sandra Who?

 

Before I could stop myself, I said, "Sandra, Billys boss", as if the whole world should twig immediately.

 

Eventually I had to phone her up on my mobile and tell her I was in the reception. Billy came down to meet me. Billy was pissed off because Sandra had already decided I was a waste of space and she was taking it out on him.

 

Spent the whole frigging day photocopying.

 

Thursday 31^st March

 

Well I guess we've all got to start somewhere. I can't believe how much Billy Goat bullshitted me about his job! He told me he was trading stocks and was building up a portfolio of exclusive clients. Well maybe he is, inbetween inputting data. He spends all day punching in numbers! Is this really what happens in offices? Keeeeeerist! Going to the Casino is easier than hacking this.

 

I spent another 10 hours of my life learning how the photocopier works. By the end of the day myself and Kevin, Kevin from the photocopier services company, were mates. He even asked me if I fancied a beer after work. A bit bloody forward over the phone I thought! Perhaps he's gay.

 

Still it feels good to be getting on with something. Sandra informed me that I wouldn’t  be stuck doing the dogs work if I stayed around a while. "Look at Billy", she said to me. Yes, she actually said that. I hope Billy hasn't told her too much about me.   

 

Saturday 2nd April.

 

Mums plane is delayed so I'm having to sacrifice watching the footy down the pub to pick her up. Really don’t know why she just doesn't get a cab.

 

Yesterday was hysterical. Played one of the best gags. I got into the Funk and Spunk early. The lady on the reception smiled. Wonder how old she is. I got in early so I could stitch up Billy with this immature piece of software I acquired from Brian.

 

There was nobody else about so I couldn't look suspicious. The principle is simple. As soon as he logs into Access, which is all he ever uses, a siren goes off, and hardcore porn comes up on the screen. The siren gets louder and louder. The hardcore porn gets harder. Simple. Easy. Nice.

 

Unfortunately for Billy, he was late into the office. By the time he arrived I was into my fourth coffee and sixty fifth problem with the fucking copier.

 

Sandra snapped at him, "Where the hell have you been?"

 

Billy shrugged her off. Bad move

 

Billy proceeds to log onto his computer, and open Access.

 

To my horror he then thumps his fist on the desk and walks off in the direction of the kitchen. I heard him murmur, "So fucking slow".

 

Sure enough the siren comes through. At first it's very quiet. Angela, the bird who sits next to him starts frowning. I could see her face trying to place the sound. 'What office noise is that?' Faces slowly turn towards Billys little area. I just bit my bottom lip and tried not to laugh. I could see Billy pouring himself a coffee.

 

The siren is getting louder and louder. Angela stands up and looks at Billys PC. Now she's game for a laugh but this kind of shit just doesn't happen at work, this is a no-no, Frank and Spink would turn in their graves.

 

The best thing for me and worst thing for her is, she suddenly realises she looks responsible for this act. By now there is not a soul in the operations section of the office that hasn't turned their head toward this Friday morning distraction.

 

Billy on the other hand is in a world of his own, just adding a bit more froth to his Cappuccino. When Sandra comes out of her office and sees Billys screen she goes purple. Everyone knows she's got PMT and is desperately trying to close an important ongoing deal with a major client.

 

I don't know whether the office are in awe of the fact that someone dares has this up on their screen or if the sexual acts being performed are the source of amazement. Whatever. Billy is in deep shit.

 

I can read Sandras mind. Does she do the responsible thing and turn the PC off, or wait until Billy has seen that she has noticed his screen. She opts for the latter. Billy is strolling back from the kitchen. I watch him wonder why his desk has suddenly become the office magnet.    

 

Funk and Spunk really are so grey. I don't think anyone there realises what happens on April 1. Billy is now branded the office pervert thanks to me. Sandra took him into her office. He came out with a warning. The beauty of it is, he said to me in all sincerity at lunch, "How could that happen?"

         

Sunday 3^rd April

 

It is very slowly getting warmer. Can't wait until Summer. I've had enough of cold climates. Mum showed me some photographs from the warmer climes of India. Her trip looks fascinating. Thankfully I didn't have to break the news about Maria to Sarah. She was told over the phone a few days ago. Her face is very pale, and she hardly said a word.

 

Monday 4^th April   

 

I think its triggered with Billy Goat that I loaded the programme onto his computer. When he logged on this morning I saw his petrified eyes look across to me. I couldn't help it. I had to laugh. He hasn't said anything, but he's giving me the guilt. The worst thing is, I think Sandra realised it was me and she's been giving me hassle all day. She's very sexy when she gets angry.

 

Tuesday 5^th April 

 

I'm bored mindless with my job. All I do is photocopy, file, and run the odd errand. The depressing thing is, what have I got to aspire to? Would Billys job appeal to me? Billy seems to love it, but it really isn't anything special. I suppose he gets to keep a closer track on share prices than me but he's not exactly at the cutting edge.

 

Wednesday 6^th April  

 

I've arranged to have a chat with Sandra on Friday morning about opportunities at Frank & Spink. I can't let my mind slow down anymore. It wouldn't be healthy. I suppose I could apply to University, but I don't think I'm interested in further study. I'd prefer to go into business. Although F&S are dry as a desert. 

 

Thursday 7^th April     

 

Sarah came over for dinner. It was pretty gruelling. I couldn't help but notice the odd Maria characteristic in her. Sarah doesn't have any kids from her marriage. I suppose she treated Maria as her own when she was in London. You can see she's been suffering.

 

I didn't go into detail about my brief but beautiful relationship with her, and certainly didn't want to bring up the pregnancy. However, I mentioned that we'd grown close over the few weeks she'd been here. I told Sarah that I was planning on visiting her out in France. It was a weird meal. Half of it was solemn whilst we discussed Maria and her tragic death, the other half jovial, whilst Mum and Sarah bickered about people they'd met and places they'd been in the Himalayas.

 

The most amusing escapade seemed to involve a bunch of musicians. Mum and Sarah said that they travelled around with them for a couple of weeks. Mum used the term, ".. teamed up with". What she really meant was she became a middle aged groupie. Still, what you can't see doesn't hurt.

 

Friday 8^th April

 

Ahhhh. The end of the week. Don’t want to go out or do anything. Feeling so low about Maria. I’m slowly being turned onto the idea of looking up her old boyfriend. I mean the guy should really know.

 

Saturday 9^th April

 

Woke up with the most monster hangover from hell. Having decided last night that I would just sit down infront of the box right the way through from early Friday evening pap to the latest soft porn on Channel 5; Billy came knocking. We ended up going for a meal in Notting Hill. The Lemon Sole cheered me up.

 

Afterwards Billy came back to mine. We played Playstation until our eyes were itchy as crabs. He disappeared a couple of hours ago; he’s a great lad. We’re very similar in many ways. Neither of us would be happy going to University. I don’t know what it was about my little jaunt around the country to see Brian, Chris, Rupert and Frank but I knew I couldn’t be part of their scenes, much to mothers disappointment.

 

Sunday 10^th April

 

Not especially looking forward to the prospect of 10 hours of paperwork tomorrow. I do however now have a computer so like every other dosser in the country, I can spend half the day sending crappy jokes over email. Read recently that 800,000 personal E mails are sent per second costing companies £1,000,000 per year.

 

I recall having a pissed conversation with Billy on Friday night about some Fund Managers files. I’ll quiz him further on it tomorrow. It sounded very devious for Billy Goat.

 

Monday 11^th April

 

There’s a dude at work, late twenties, called Jonny. Or rather, that’s his nickname. As in Jonny Cash. He is extremely successful. There are about four parking spaces outside the office block and Jonny has one of them. He’s always the first in and usually the last out. He drives a beast of a Range Rover. Says he needs it for his golf clubs, skis, fly fishing rods and as a portable office. The usual rubbish. If I was him I’d have snapped up an Aston Vanquish long ago.

 

Anyway, Billy has been promoted to Jonnys area. Billys little scheme is that we shadow his deals. When Jonny buys 1000 shares in company x, we buy as many as is affordable. When Jonny sells, we do too. So, all we need to do is keep a close eye on his movements.

 

The plan is this : the second Billy gets the info to process from Jonnys assistant, he bleeps me via text. Two minutes later we meet in the loos. He hands me a chit. I race back to my computer and do the trade online. Billy would do it but he now actually has to pull his weight and work throughout the day, whilst I’m just a general dogs body who ends up doing the lunch rounds.

 

Tues 12^th April

 

So fucking hot in the office today. The Air con wasn’t working and it was a scorcher. Summer is coming. Went for a beer with Rupert after work. The guy seems to be permanently on holiday.

 

Rupert is heavily into his course. Good for him. He keeps rabitting on about William Morris. I switched off after fifteen minutes. Mind elsewhere. How will Billy and I carry out this task tomorrow? We’ve opened up an account and are all set. I don’t know why I’m getting nervous. The girl next to me spends all day e mailing her mates. Who gives a shit if I’m investing some money?

 

Wednesday 13^th April

 

Sandra. That’s who! I was beeped at 10am, and by 10.15 had purchased 100 shares in a blue chip company in the chemical sector. At 4.03pm, Billy beeps me again with the message sell. So out we go. Minus commission and stamp duty we made £89.50. Easy money.

 

But Sandra Smyth was not impressed, Oh no. Not impressed at all. As I clicked on sell, stretched back, put my hands behind my head and smiled, I heard a raucous, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” All went a bit tits up.

 

The long and the short of it is, if she catches me messing around on the internet again, I’m out. No ifs, no buts. Those were her words. I mean, how unoriginal. A stern telling off. To make matters worse, Kelly, the bird who sits on my left was busy chuckling away to herself over yet another E mail. An e mail which she would then forward to the half a million useless e mail forwarders around the world.

 

Thurs 14^th April

 

Rupert, who is now singing the praises of Walthamstow for its William Morris museum has invited Billy and I to Kempton on Saturday. Looking forward to a day at the races.

 

Saturday 17^th April

 

Lost. Hate bloody loosing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for Rupert, who took home £150 and Billy, who came out £2.67 up, but when not a single one of your fucking horses even manages to complete the course, you’ve got to feel the man upstairs is pissed at you.

 

Anyway, the day was not a total disaster. Infact, once we left the racecourse, the sun came out, and everything went right. Went to the Sloany Pony in Chelsea , which was packed with Surrey girls. Met this ripper of an Australian girl called – wait for it – Charlene. Told me she was off to Marjorca for two weeks, but would love to meet up when she gets back. She jumped into a taxi with two other girls five minutes later. They dumped their rucksacks in the boot and and had big smiles on their faces as they left, and heartily waved to us.

 

Rupert, Billy and myself turned to one another, sighed and headed straight for the bar. Had a laugh at our attempts to make a million from shadowing Jonny Cash. Found out his real name is Wilbert Jones. What kind of name is that? A hybrid between William and Robert. No wonder he’s happy with Jonny.

 

Rupert listened to our schemes with intent. This is all obviously very far removed from William bloody Morris and delightful Walthamstow. To Ruperts credit, he came up with a blinding idea of hooking up mobile and laptop whilst on the toilet, hence avoiding the wrath of Sandra. It’s a good idea but how subtle can you be with taking a laptop into the bogs?

 

Tuesday 19^th April

 

Oh you can be subtle. Yes, you can be very subtle. I happened across a little locker department in toilet no. 5. After work I kicked about until the cleaning crew came in. There are two dudes from Spain who have the unenviable job of wiping loo seats, replacing bog roll and washing sinks and floors.

 

Ola. Que Tal?

 

Ola Sir. Very good day.

 

I knew it wouldn’t be an especially easy conversation, but we got there in the end. The locker compartment is massive and I have a key. Oscar and Rafael couldn’t give a shit if I put chopped up fingers in there as long as theres enough room for the loo roll and they keep getting an extra £20 a week. So the shadowers are back in business.

 

Wednesday 20^th April

 

No shadowing. Jonny Cash has gone on a two week golf holiday to Southern Spain.

 

Thursday 21^st April

 

Billy and I contemplated plugging another source, but received rumours from the powers that be that trader no. 2 has had a dodgy few quarters. I’d like to know where Billy gets his info from. Best be waiting for Wilbert.

 

Friday 22^nd April

 

End of week. Thank the Lord. Sick to death of hearing Sandra Smyth ordering me around. “Yes Sandra”, “No Sandra”, “Do you take it up the arse Sandra?”

 

I’m going to bite the bullet and visit Marias old boyfriend in jail. It’s something I should’ve done weeks ago. I have no idea of how to contact him, which is partly why I’ve left it so long. It’s going to really hurt when I see him. I can already taste the discomfort. Perhaps it’s just not worth it. The tragedy will never be forgotten and I might aswell get on as best I can with my own life.

 

Occasionally I pray that Maria’s last moments were happy but the thought of a fatal thud of head against rock is just too much to dwell on. I shiver when I think of us sitting together arm in arm smiling looking out past the pebbled Brighton beach to the horizon. It’s an unfair world.

 

Had a phonecall from my last surviving Grandparent this evening. Most unusual. She’s so caught up in her own little village life out in the cotswolds that there is no time for anyone else. Granny Miriam is one helluva lady. Buzzing until the finish. All the dough that I see on my bank statement at the beginning of the month is from her golden pot.

 

Miriams husband, James, was a ruthless businessman who imported tea from India by the fleet. I never knew him. Evidently, he was an incredible man. Wrote a few books on ships, built a small boat, which Miriam now has sitting in the middle of her lawn in the Cotswolds; and made a few bob in the meantime.

 

The other grandparents, ie. The Freemans, I never knew. Mums maiden name of English says it all really. Dad tells me his folks died when he was young. His old man was a carpenter. So if you mix it all together, you get me. A chain smoking dosser.

 

Saturday 23^rd April

 

I phoned up Brixton prison and spoke to the authorities who told me the hours of visiting, and that even if I was a friend or a relative, I would need to send a letter to a certain address, whereupon I would then have to phone through a week later to establish a convenient time, provided the inmate was willing to see me. So the letter is now off and I’ll set a date to meet up with the criminal. I don’t understand why it has to be so administrative, but it just does.

 

Sunday 24^th April

 

Have that sinking feeling. Sunday evenings – so depressing.  A week of slogging away with paperwork ahead. Not good. Perhaps I should be trying to make some headway in something a little more creative like the music business. On second thoughts, maybe it’s time to buy some more decks. A little bit put off by the last incident, which reminds me – Jason. Christ! Is it a good idea to be going to him? I mean the guy could have connections outside. The last place I want my face to be is between a vice. It would get messy. If Jason decides I stole his woman whilst he could do nothing about it, I’m in for a fun ride.

 

Monday 25^th April

 

Work really is dull. Nothing to look forward to at Funk & Spunk until Wilberforce gets back from nonsing around the golf course in Spain. Billy on the other hand is loving the company. All of a sudden he’s stationed in a team with the most dynamite woman in the city. Beautiful bob haircut, cute smile, killer attitude, decisive, pert breasts, diamond thighs and you can see her panty line.

 

He rushes around running errands all over the shop for her. “Yes Mandy”, “Ofcourse Mandy”. Sadly I’m stuck with cow Sandra. She must wear the trousers at home.

 

Speaking of home, I’m ready to move on. It’s not that I don’t love it here. I get far more freedom than most of my pals, and am spoilt by Mum but I just don’t find the pad as fun as it once was.

 

I remember the days when the lads would come over and we’d get high on all kinds of things, and paint the town red. Time for a change of scene. I am as Dylan sung, “Waiting for my boot heels to be wandering”.

 

I want to live bang on the river. I am a water baby. I love the Thames. The problem is property on the river is a fucking fortune. Even Wilbert Jones would have to dig deep to sort out an apartment with a view.

 

Tuesday 26^th April

 

Gossip! Billy is taking Mandy Jenkins out on Friday. What a great guy. There I was doing some dull data entry for Sandra sad case when I received this text message saying “Amanda is coming clubbing with me on Friday”.

 

Thursday 28^th April

          

Had a totally fucking mental night yesterday. It all spiralled into mayhem at 5.30pm. I went for a drink with some work colleagues. It all started off really rather mildly. A few pints and a little chit chat about light politics and if I remember correctly, whether or not Brosnan was slowly but surely encroaching on Connery territory. Bill and I hung out for a while whilst the lightweights buggered off home. One pint led to another and before we knew it, it was closing time.

 

During the course of the evening, this nutter from Peckham had joined us and made himself very comfortable. He was decked out in dapper kit; pink shirt, pin stripe, he looked sharp. Suited and booted. He brought himself and his arrogance over to our table and proceeded to tell us his whole frigging lifestory.

 

The only important bits were that he was an Essex boy who’d moved to Peckham, and couldn’t stand the middle-upper class attitudes of the city. Fuck knows what he was doing talking to us. Anyway, he seemed to enjoy our company and insisted that we go and have a ‘larf’ on his home turf south of the river.

 

Billy and I were pretty pissed up. It just seemed the right thing to do at the time. We fell into the back of the cab and watched the glitzy buildings turn into Council Estates, the Wine Bars into Kebab Shops and the Mercs into Robin Reliants. It was all a bit surreal.

 

As we were driving down the Old Kent Road this geezer – Tommy – that’s what he said his name was, slips in a cassette. The Clash. Manic. He then opens up a wrap of speed, hands back a couple of lines, and up they go.

 

Eyes popping out our heads we get out the taxi. Fuck knows what the cabbie thought. Perhaps it was a ‘personal cab’. Evidently we were somewhere near Peckham Rye as I found out at 5am this morning.

 

Tommy leads us into his flat. Total shit hole. I mean it could have looked awesome. Spacious, decent enough ground floor garden, which was totally overgrown, with crap everywhere. Not even a sniff of a woman in his life.

 

He had obviously been a wide boy, a punk and a sportsman (well, there was a broken tennis racket in the hallway) in his time. And now he is the straight laced city worker. Or not so straight as it turned out. He was doubtless bored mindless with his present lifestyle and preyed upon us youngsters as potential fellow partners in crime.

 

Amidst clothes strewn about the floor, beer cans, half empty bottles of scotch, Iron fucking Maiden posters, a massive CD collection full of punk (I recognised about 4 of his 4000 CD’s), Tommy lined up some white lady, and  poured us Jack Daniels on the rocks.

 

I think he appreciated the fact that we’d know none of his music, so he obliged us and continued with the Clash. Really felt the music, or perhaps it was the drugs. Next thing I know we’re out on the street playing Punk Golf.

 

Friday 29^th April

 

Still suffering from Wednesday nights shenanigans. Bill has his date with Mandy. Rather him than me. I was none too productive on Thursday, and didn’t actually notice that I’d had a wink of sleep when I was forced up by my alarm clock this morning.

 

Presently tucked up in bed with hot chocolate. Have stacked up on vids for the weekend. Monster hangover, as soon as I close this down, I’m asleep.

 

Saturday 30^th April

 

Letter from Brixton prison. Suddenly very nervous. I was given a number to call and got in touch pronto. The guy on the line told me he’d have a word with Jason Graham and I should recall in a few hours. This I did. It seems Jason is happy for me to have a chat with him next Saturday during visiting hours. 

 

Tuesday 2^nd May

 

Work is great at the moment. Jumped out of bed and couldn’t wait to get to the office. Perhaps it’s the impending return of Wilbert Jones that has me excited so.

 

Wednesday 3^rd May

 

Bugger it. He’s not back until Monday.

 

Thursday 4^th May

 

Fed up with living at home. It’s cushty and I know all the benefits but I just want my own space. I’ve been looking at the house market and am frankly appalled. Even with the old allowance I couldn’t afford much, perhaps a one bedroom flat in Zone 6. Christ knows how anyone manages to buy anything. 

 

I suppose I could just about convince the bank to give me a mortgage but it’s not likely. Job description : Office proletariat. Well, it might be worth a shot. I mean renting sucks, that’s for sure. If Bill and I clubbed together we could possibly persuade a few fat bankers to sort out a loan.

 

Five best things about living at home :

 

1.     No Bills

2.     Gorgeous food.

3.     Cleaner.

4.     Prime Location.

5.     Liberal mum.

 

Five worst things about living at home :

 

1.     Girls would respect me more if I had my own place.

2.     Noone to play computer games with.

3.     Neighbours are all tight arsed snobs.

4.     Nothing new or exciting here.

5.     Full of old memories.

 

Friday 5^th May

 

The April showers seem to be continuing into May. Could do with a trip to the Med. London seeming to be a drag. What is it all about? Where’s the buzz, the money, the love?

 

Logging myself about tomorrow. Decided to take an early night and relax. Whenever I do this I always feel as if I’m missing out. What else is going on out there? Doubtless,a night out would lead to me wrecking brain cells and nothing to show for it, or at least that could be remebered the following day. But there’s always that feeling that someone else, somewhere else is doing what you’d love to be up to.

 

So, Toby, what do you want to be doing tonight? Well, this is the problem. Sitting in, re-reading, The Cathcher in the Rye, is more than likely my best option. I’m being serious. It’s a fucked up book that makes me feel better about everything.

 

At school, I found a copy of it in a cricket hut. I’d been caught smoking and was forced to stay in school grounds and score for the cricket team for a whole month. Worst month of my life, except I found this book. The hut was full of shit. Old gloves that would’ve been all the rage in the late 50’s but now just looked as if they’d be at home in a museum. There were also mouldy scorebooks, a few dirty mags, which needless to say I sold on, and ofcourse, The Catcher in The Rye.

 

I read it in a day. I loved it. Phoney-this. Phoney-that. I thought it was brilliant. What did Bill Shakespeare have on this? I could relate to it. I thought the protagonist was a bit of a poof but there we go. Either shag a woman or forget her. Ummed and arred like a typical teenager. Hey, I am one. I really got stuck into it. I was reading it whilst mundanely noting down the cricket scores . Probably the fourteenth maiden on the trot. That’s how dull it was.

 

I remember just finishing the last lines when I received a massive clout on the head. Some dickhead called Appleby. He shoved my face into the scorebook.

 

Appleby : You don’t read whilst you’re in here Freeman.

 

Me : No

 

Appleby : You little shit. Didn’t your mother tell you smoking was bad for you.

 

He proceeded to light up a fag.

 

Me : Sorry Appleby. 

 

Appleby : The bible. Genesis chapter 5 verse 1 to 32. Copy it. Word for word. On my desk first thing tomorrow morning.

 

But boy was revenge sweet.

 

I did all the punishments that Appleby dished out to me that Summer. It took my patience to the edge. All I could do was imagine how he’d have to start it all again when he was out in the real world. Aside from being a bully and a public school wanker of the prehistoric times, he was a total sheep. The only reason he started picking on me was because the most talented cricketer, and respected fucking hero in the school gave me some lines when he noticed I’d got his batting score wrong. Appleby was a useless cunt.

 

At the end of the Summer term, an hour before packing the trunk into a cab, I dropped a note into his room. It read :

 

‘Thankyou for bringing me discipline in the term’.

 

Sarcastic as you like. But he was so thick he’d probably take it as a confirmation of his authority, which he could duly treble in the next academic year. I also tossed the copy of Catcher onto the floor and wrote Higgins F. on the inside cover. Freddy Higgins being the leader, the fucking hero, the deputy head. Appleby being the pathetic sheep. He’d be sure to read it.

 

Appleby dropped out of school. Something had obviously triggered a nerve. Salinger rescued me from a year of archaic fagging.

 

This is why old J.D.Salinger gets my vote tonight.

 

Saturday 6^th May

 

Compared to the news I have been presented with today, cricket huts and Appleby rank as student loans to mortgages. Smallfry. Today I found out that Maria was carrying Friars baby.

 

Sunday 7^th May

 

I’ve arranged to meet Jason again next Saturday. I need to liase with him. Jason had been holding back information due to concern over Friar having contacts on the inside. Contacts that’ll see to it that he won’t wake up ever again.

 

At the moment Friars little posse will be secretly watching out for Jason, but should a little information leak and put Friar under pressure, situations could change. As far as I’m concerned I want that son of a bitch on death row. The kind of mess I seem to have involved myself with is too scary to start worrying about. Meanwhile, my feelings for Maria are shattered and scathed.

 

She was seeing Friar, and owed him money for her drug debts. I checked my diary. She went off to Kent – Wed. 2^nd Feb. Fact is, she was nowhere near Kent. She visited Jason in jail that day and asked for some money to sort out a debt.

 

Monday 8^th May

 

The last thing on my mind was Wilber bloody Jones, but at least it passed the day. When I told Billy about Friar, Jason and Maria he just put an arm round me. That’s what mates are for.

 

Tuesday 9th May

 

It never rains, it only ever pours. Had to accompany Mum to see Granny. It wasn't anything serious but with everything else that's going on, ie. Maria, our money scam at work and having a cold myself, Gran being ill is just the nail in the coffin.

 

Wednesday 10th May

 

Back in London. Gran not looking well at all. She started telling me stories about how she used to dress up smartly as a youngster and go to balls. I suppose you get to a certain age and start to look back instead of forward. Must come to us all.

 

Took today off work. Couldn't be dealing with it. Sandra was surprisingly calm about it all. I phoned her up first thing and explained that I wouldn't be a help at all today. She told me to take it easy and put my feet up. Not such a bitch in the end. Billy ofcourse starts screaming down the phone at midday, "You prick, do you have any idea how many deals Jonny has been putting through this morning?" I hung up.

 

Thursday 11th May

 

Fagin said, "In this life one thing counts, in the Bank large amounts". Billy and myself would have done the geezer proud. There was some serious ramping going on this morning with technology shares. These brokers just play with peoples livestock. Total abuse. Not that I'm complaining. By doing some online dealing in the loos, Billy and I made ourselves a very quick £3500.

 

By God it felt good. Sandra has obviously been getting it recently, as she was jolly all day and didn't bat an eyelid when I left my desk for twenty minutes to pop off to the lav. She even came out for a beer tonight with Billy, myself and a couple of others.

 

The others being Tom and Peter. The dullest individuals I've had the misfortune to come across. These guys are both a few years older than me. They both studied accounting at different universities and are now heavily involved in their databases. I've taken to calling them Access 1 and Access 2 which still doesn't manage to spark up some chat.

 

They came for one beer. When they left, Tom to the Central Line, Peter to the Northern, Sandra said, "Everything you could ever want in a worker." Billy, who is now free of the Sandra whip, laughed so hard Stella came streaming out his nose. 

 

Friday 12th May

 

Jonny took it easy today as he had a game of golf to get to out in Hampshire. Therefore we made no money. I wonder if he totally switches off when he's out the office or whether its just business as usual. I can quite see him hammering it down the M3 in his Range Rover, overtaking whilst calmly issuing instructions to his sales team. 

 

Saturday 13th May

 

Spent 4 hours with Jason this morning. He told me in the strictest of confidence that Friar and Mess were still waiting on a Cocaine haulage from Columbia. It was due last month but has been delayed, and rumour has it, made into a far larger operation. The only reason he knows is because Mess let something slip to Maria when they were both high.

 

The smuggle is set to go ahead in the next few weeks off the southern Irish coast. Basically, it's the only ace up his sleeve. If it's played right, it'll mean time off for him and crushing evidence against Mess and Friar. I don't really give too much of a shit about Jason. I just want those two bastards put away for good.

 

Sunday 14^th May

 

Billy and I decided to get out the smoke for the day. Beautiful countyside. His uncle has a pad in Avebury. Picked up a little bit of weed and shot down the M4. Fantastic. Summer is kicking in big time. Might be time to start thinking about a couple of weeks in Ibiza.

 

Very amusing situation this afternoon. Walked out into the Wiltshire countryside. We ended up sitting down under a little tree by a style. Shade from the piercing sun.

 

Five spliffs later, we were down to our boxers. It was so hot. It seemed the right thing to do. Our brains under the influence of some heavy Morrocan hashish, and casting clothes aside cooled us down. Totally boxed. No water. Really very immature behaviour.

 

Bored with talking about spaceships, we start blowing up condoms. It just seemed like the sensible thing to be doing. It’s incredible how big they can go before exploding. At least that’s what all my girlfriends have told me.

 

Billy then drapes the burst rubbers over the low hanging branches. We lay there for ages making out shapes. Your average fuckwits.

 

To our surprise we hear someone clambering over the style. Probably a local farmer. He didn’t quite have the rabbit slung over his shoulder but he was definitely rural.

 

He takes one look at us, the jonnies, the clothes and grunts as he walks by. We couldn’t stop laughing.

 

Monday 15^th May

 

Head aching all day from smoking pot. Gran phoned. She is not well. Will go down and see her soon. Perhaps at the weekend. Need to sort out another meeting with Jason. My mind was so fucked with by Maria, I just don’t really know where I stand.

 

Back on a more normal level. I’m resenting being in the office at the moment. It’s sunny and pleasant outside. The shitty salary I’m on is a joke. The city is a funny old place. The people in the high positions are generally never in the office and spend all day on golf courses. We workers should revolt.

 

Tuesday 16^th May

 

Billy, who has been moping around like a sad looser for the past week has suddenly a spring in his step. Mandy, whom he had been working under, quite literally for a couple of nights, has jetted off to New York, to set some project up out there.

 

Rumour has it she’s away for at least six months. Well, Billy being Billy, has maintained a strong e mail relationship with this woman. Definitely worth the effort, I mean she is a blonde bombshell.

 

Whilst having a beer after work, thankfully without Access1 and Access2, Billy explains his latest prank. It seems to have worked beautifully. He noticed that her e mails were becoming a little less frequent and lengthy, so sent her a detailed account of what he’d been up to, and just slipped into the text, a single line, “I’ve just inherited £14 million (minus tax) from an uncle. I don’t really know how to spend it”. Mandy, e mailed back within the minute.  

 

Wednesday 17^th May

 

Another very successful day shadowing the Cash man. He had some fun with penny shares today. He knew the Nomad (Nominated adviser – don’t you know?) on one of the Aim listed comapanies. A little bit of info on a new bit of software sent their shares up from 78p to £1.03. Tidy.

 

Thursday 18^th May

 

Billy has been putting his balls on the line. Aside from receiving endless e mails from Mandy, he’s been busy monitoring prices. We sold up our £3000 worth of shares today, and very nearly doubled our money. Fucking astonishing.

 

What Billy didn’t tell me yesterday was that Jonny Cash has been selling up recently without taking maximum profits. So, unbeknown to me, we’ve been riding the stocks a little longer than the big Daddy and it’s been paying off.  Billy is smart. It’s easy to forget.

 

Friday 19^th May

 

Arranged a meeting to see someone about a mortgage. Sandra will be impressed. The plan is for Billy and I to go in together. He wants to move on. His pad is cool but he’s getting fed up with being dodgy. Unusual. Last week, the council went round and he had redesigned the flat to the style of the guy he is sub letting off.

 

I need to get out of home, and frankly as cool as Mums pad is, I’d like my own place. Mum asks me in the region of about 70 questions a day. Love her to bits but need to move on. 

 

Saturday 20^th May

 

Received a call totally out of the blue yesterday evening from Charlene. Met her a month or so ago in Chelsea. I was just clocking off from work at F&S when I get a call on the mobile.

 

“Hi is that Toby?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you’ll remember me but we met just before I went on holiday. You’d just had a day at the races.”

 

She works round the corner from me, so we met up there and then. Very good company. She is across from Australia for a few months. I’ll being seeing more of her.

 

Monday 22^nd May

 

Christ this job is becoming a grind. I think I’ll be leaving this place soon. Mergers, acquisitions, bonds, equities, Forex, they’re really not all that jazzy. I know Billy is starting to feel the same way. We had a chat about it on the phone last night. The plan is to go full out on the copy cat trading for the next month or two and earn as much as possible. I’ll push all my allowance into it, and if we can manage to use some mortgage money, then that’ll help too. Have a meeting with a Banker tomorrow at lunch. If we can stretch him to five times our combined salaries, we’re in business.

 

Tuesday 23^rd May

 

Banker was a true Wanker. He didn’t think we’d been working in the company long enough to justify a loan of the size we were after. However, Billy managed to talk some serious figures, once he explained his role at F&S. Sounded like prime bullshit to me.

 

Mr. Deal the lender was interested to hear we currently reside in Holland Park. He soon realised that though we were up against the wall, the wall was lined with a few inches of bread.

 

The deal we were after was pretty much agreed over a Guinness and Steak and Kidney Pie. So we’re taking Thursday and Friday off to go house hunting. I’m set on a houseboat. I’m not really that keen on moving out of the Freeman pad to some shite two bedroom flat above a Kebab shop in Zone 6. The thing is even if Billy Goat wanted nothing more than to invest in a houseboat, he’d have to go against it, because I mentioned it first.   

 

Wednesday 24^th May

 

Who should walk back into F&S today? Mandy! Billys mouth dropped. They went to lunch. She explained that she had decided to leave the company. In New York she was a nobody, and she missed the attention she commanded in London. However, she said to him that she felt she’d run her course with the job and just wanted something completely new.

 

Mandy has been in the business since the day she was out of Durham. She has made lots of cashish, has a place in Fulham, and often lunches with the great Wilbert Jones.

 

Apparently, Bill was biting his nails all the way through the lunch. The thing about Billy is as smart as he can be, he doesn’t always have the balls. If I was him I’d’ve let the gag run and run. He didn’t have the nerve. Bless. Would love to have been a fly on the wall that lunchtime.

 

Whatever his reasons were for the big bullshit, or hers for coming back from NY, they look good together. Despite the age gap, I like seeing my pal with her. 

 

Thurday 25th & Friday 26^th May

 

Have spent the last two days house hunting. You either get a shoe box in an area you don't quite want to be in, or a matchbox in an area you do. We’d be better off as estate agents I’m sure.

 

Went through the lot, Foxtons, Douglas & Adams, Haart, Barnard Marcus, KFH, and just for a giggle we rocked up at Brompton Estates and Cluttons. They wouldn’t give us the season of the year let alone the time of day.

 

“No. Nothing in that region for that amount of space”.

 

Surprised the cheese dick didn’t finish the sentence by shouting, “Next?”.

 

Interestingly there was a house on the market just down from Mums going for a breezy £10 million.

 

It got to about 4 o’ clock yesterday afternoon and I decided enough was enough. So we got the hell out of London and had a very pleasurable dinner in Westerham, Surrey. Christ knows how we ended up there.

 

We just found ourselves snarled up in South London traffic. It seemed to go on and on. The Beemer needs to be traded in before it looses any more value.      

 

Today was far more productive as we managed to explore some far more interesting avenues. I think I’ve sold Billy on the houseboat idea. We were lucky enough to phone up at the right time. There’s a boat on the market which we could just afford.

 

The woman who owns it is moving to Spain, so is up for a quick sale. If the price stays where it is, we’re up for the quick buy. Inside there is a lot more space than expected. Two very decent sized bedrooms, a small kitchen space, a little bathroom and a vast lounge area, which is very bright due to all the windows.

 

I told Mum about my plans. “Oh darling that’s lovely. How sweet. A little boat on the river. Oh you must let me buy you some curtains. I know of this sexy new design my friend Abbi….”

 

Sometimes I feel like Jennifer Saunders daughter in the ghastly Ab Fab. She is already threatening to buy one too. Won’t last long, I can tell she’s getting bored. She even mentioned visiting Dad in Ireland. That’s presuming he’s still there, which is a fucking huge presumption.  

 

Saturday 27^th May

 

Awoke very excited. I phoned Billy first thing, which is a long shot from the old days where I’d surface at about 4pm and just about make it to the telly with a bowl of cornflakes for the Grandstand credits.

 

Got outside, ready to jump in the Beemer when I witnessed a remarkable episode. Mrs Lavender from around the corner, also around the bend but that’s another story, was parking her Range Rover nearby. After 7 failed attempts she patiently lines herself up for 8^th time lucky.

 

Meanwhile, Gary the geezer, some fucking skinhead in an escort, swerves straight in to her spot.

 

“That’s what you do when you’re a man”, he cheekily says.

 

Mrs Lavender, normally the most placid individual I’ve had the fortune to come across, suddenly flips. She reverses ten metres or so and just accelerates into his car. Couldn’t believe my eyes!

 

“That’s what you do when you’re rich”, she replies.

 

Bill and I planned to go and look at the houseboat again, but we phoned up the Spanish woman and she’d gone to the country for the weekend. Watched Mums cine from India instead.

 

 

Sunday 28^th May

 

Got a phone call from the old man today. Sounding in high spirits. Says he’s spent the last couple of weeks fishing. Makes me wonder what the fuck I am doing with my life.

 

I love London for it’s techno feel. The bright lights, the fast cars, the women who look like barbie dolls and the coffee shops that’ll give 100 options on your order, but when he simply said, “Yeah learning the ropes. Caught a couple of trout yesterday, and am hoping to double that this afternoon”, I looked out the window at the driving rain and the man squabbling over his parking metre fine, and just thought, “Why do I get the feeling you’re fight Dad?”

 

We chatted for a good 10-15 minutes, and discussed the commune. He told me about the order in which duties were expected to be carried out. I get the feeling he entertains everyone with his plucking and strumming and gets away scot free with the cooking, cleaning, and agriculture.

 

He made me promise I’d go over before the summer is out, but quite frankly we both know there are other priorities.

 

Speaking of which, Billy Goat and I have decided to really go hell for leather in the next few weeks with the trading. I read the Sunday Times today, the Business section was tipping a small cap company in the communications sector. Caution young Freebie! Where there’s a tip there’s a tap!

 

Monday 29^th May

 

Got a random call from Charlene. She invited me to go and see a play with her.

 

Charlene works in a funky little fringe theatre. I’m not quite sure what it is she does but it sounds a dam sight more intrinsic and soulful than good old F&S.

 

The production they are showing at the moment is a modern day version of Death of a Salesman.  Having not read it, or seen it, I had no idea it was by Arthur Miller. The only thing I know about the old boy is that he got to sleep with Marilyn. Must have something upstairs!

 

 

Tuesday 30^th May

 

Work was hardcore today. Bill was on the case straight away. Crazy MoFo. The same company that the Sunday Times was pumping was the latest recommendation.

 

I was actually in the middle of photocopying half a dozen annual reports for Sandra when I got the text. I explained to her that I desperately needed to buy some Immodium, and shot out.

 

Sprinting to the Gents, tripping over the shoe polishing kit as I went, I found the lavatory with our kit in it engaged.

 

I had to wait 15 fucking minutes whilst this fat cunt from the trading floor read the Sun. Could’ve bought 3% lower if he didn’t spend so long masturbating. Bought as many as I could. Hit Buy and held my breath.

 

In the evening I went to the houseboat. The Spanish lady is offering it at a bargain. She seems to have taken a shining to Bill and myself. Perhaps she thinks we’re fags.

 

I want to be living there now. As we walked around, we made little comments like, “Mini bar”, “Widescreen TV”, “Coffee table”. She is a cool old girl. Her name is Jumilla. Her story is cool. In the sixties she married an English Businessman. He subsequently divorced her and fucked off with “some other bird in his Ferrari”; they were her words!

 

She was a young girl in England, with nothing but the houseboat which “the bastard” left her. Since then she has taken somewhere in the region of 300,000 photographs in London.

 

We didn’t stay for too long but got the gist that she was up for a quick sale as she’d fallen head over with some Spaniard and was going back there. 

 

As Billy and I left the houseboat glowing from a glass of red that Jumilla had practically poured down our throats, who should be walking along the riverside but Mandy. Billy swears it was a coincidence but I’m not so sure.

 

Wednesday 31^st May

 

Maria’s parents called wondering if I would like a copy of the funeral service sheet. It got me thinking about her, Jason, Friar and Mess. Perhaps there really is something more to it than meets the eye.

 

I spent the evening in Camden with Charlene. The thing I love about Aussie birds is how up front they are. She met me outside Camden station and suggested we go for a beer.

 

When we got to the pub she ordered the drinks, paid, and then whispered in my ear, “Christ I feel horny”. I took this as an invitation and stole a kiss. We chatted about nothing for an hour or so, before she explained to me that the play was set in the genre of young dot com millionaires and their fall.

  

It was superb. Apparently the script was chopped, changed, cut and pasted and given a fucking good working over so it resembled little of the original Miller text, but it didn’t matter to me. I thought it was the best play I’ve ever seen, especially as she let me slip my hand up her skirt.

  

Thursday 1^st June

 

Keen on meeting up with Charlene again. I sent her a text message by accident today. I put one through to Billy Goat at about 9.30am ‘Cmon U slo USELESS b’tard’. Unfortunately it went to Charlene. Got a call, she gave me some stick and then said, “I didn’t think we should rush things”.

 

So I sent another one to Bill. ‘Text me Cunt’. When that one managed to go through to Charlene too, I thought I’d get off my arse and go find the lad.

 

Long drawn out apology to Charlene has got me another date.  

 

Friday 2^nd June

 

At long last the weather is fine. Got a real kick out of the beautiful sunny morning. Summer is here and it’s time for Bar-B-Q’s. Planning on having a late June bash here at Mums, before Bill and I move into the houseboat. Can’t quite believe how quickly it’s all happening. We could be signing papers next week if all goes well.

 

Charlene’s scooted off to Edinburgh for the weekend so I won’t be getting any play there. She’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic but perhaps they all are down under.

 

Frantic day of trading. Everything was going fine until my mobile ran out of juice and I didn’t get Billys message ‘Sell Now’. I knew exactly which stocks he was referring to. A bit of a disaster. Lost a few hundred quid between the hour 3.30 and 4.30. C’est la vie.

 

Oscar and Rafael, the cleaners are asking for more than £20 a week cover money. Told them to stick it.

 

Gran is apparently suffering from heat exhaustion. Sounds as if I’m expected to pay her a visit over the weekend. Doesn’t bother me too much. I’ll just mellow out and look through the English archives. Mum is bound to find some lame excuse for not going.

 

Saturday 3^rd June

 

In the deepest, darkest Cotswolds. Had a quiet pint of Guinness with the local publican this afternoon. He’s an old boy with more stories than Agatha Christie. I felt close to Gran for the first time in years. She’s a sweetie really. Stuck in her ways, but as pure as the driven snow.

 

But she is hard work. Going off on mad tangents all the time. I had to have a smoke to get through the day. Wonder if I’ll always smoke dope?

 

I doubt it. I remember having a chat with a couple out in Ibiza last year. They were there simply for the cheap holiday away from Blighty. A two week blitz of sun, sand, sea and sex. Beautiful girl, and handsome Italian looking guy. They told me of their 48 hour benders that they’d simply grown out of. It wasn’t as if one day they woke up and said, “Right. That’s it. No more.” It was more along the lines of, “What happened to the days when…..”. On that note I think I’ll role another sneaky joint.

 

Ahhhhh. Much better. Grans watching the Lottery results downstairs. Plays it every week without fail. Hasn’t even ever won a tenner. Crazy.

I know the Lottery has the potential for big bucks, but I just can’t get excited by it. It seems such a boring form of gambling. I suppose it’s not really that dissimilar to roulette. You pick your numbers and you hope they are lucky. Bingo too for that matter. Spread betting, now that’s what I’m into at the moment.   

 

Yeah. Spread betting and the city. Seems a million miles away. Here I am, in cosy Cotswolds, reefer burning besides me as I write and surrounded by nothing but antique furniture. Gran has a few people to help her run the place. They live in the village, but tend to keep away when Mum or myself are about.

 

Fine by me. I quite enjoy cleaning out the fireplaces. Last year I planted a row of trees. Had a look at them this afternoon. Sweet. Of the six I planted, one is a bit poorly but the others are flourishing in the great British Summer.

 

Promised Gran I’d take her down the pub for a drink and some grub, so now that we’ve both satisfied our indulgences, it’s probably about time.

 

Sunday 4^th June

 

Woke up and felt better than I have done on a Sunday morning for years. Rejuvenated, and with a sparkle in my eyes. Life was made just a little sweeter by a call from Charlene.

 

Her pay as you go mobile was fast running out of juice when we were connected at 9am. She’d obviously been on an Australian-style-large-one, in the nicest possible sense. “Oi reeeally miss ya sweeetie. You rock.  I mean it love. I’m reeeeally lookin’ forward ta….”.

 

I had a brief stroll around the dewy grounds and thought back over the past half year. As big man Vinny Jones said, “It’s been emotional!” I looked out over the apple tree field to the lake. It dawned on me that in all the heavenly beauty that surrounded me, trouble does just seem to find me.

 

I slipped off back to the house to find Gran still in bed. She is looking old. As I was brewing her up a cuppa, a key turned in the low Oak front door. Mum.

 

Now Mum is kind of doing my nut in at the moment, so I just handed her the tray with some tea and Marmalade on toast on and said, “I’ve just got to make some calls, would you mind doing the honours?” Mum whisked it away. For some reason she seems to be pissed at me too.

 

I stoked up a decent fire and got a joint of Lamb out of the freezer, only to find there was no microwave. Optimistic on my part. I had a relaxed morning reading the Sunday Telegraph, occasionally proding the fire.

 

Mum had undoubtedly been struggling with Gran. I went outside and burnt off some energy by chopping up logs, and then said my farewells. I’m now round at Billys. Looking forward to the houseboat. Done with the nest.

 

Monday 5^th June   

 

The most fucking hectic day in the office imaginable. Every man and his dog decided that they wanted me to give them a hand today. It doesn’t bother me being busy, but when the sole purpose for me working at Funk and Spunk is to do some insider dealing and fuck off asap with the money to do something more fun, it doesn’t add up.

 

Anyway. Maybe I’ll get a pay rise out of it.

 

Tuesday 6^th June

 

This everso sweet young girl started at work yesterday. I’m not quite sure why she was given the job, apart from her looking cute as a loved teddy. Obviously no computer skills at all. She came up to me at lunch time and timidly said, “Excuse me Toby, I was wondering if you could get rid of the apple core from my screen”.

 

I had a quick butchers at her screen. The apple core was the egg timer. Apparently it had been up there all morning.

 

Have been having some weird dreams recently. Last night I dreamt about Grandma. I dreamt we were walking together on water in a beautiful sunny Greek bay. She then let go of my hand and passed me towards this quaint Chinese lady. Meanwhile, I found myself away from the water and treading over ant nests.

 

Was just about to crash out this evening when I got a call from Rupert. Great to hear from him. He tells me he’s got some advance from a publisher to do a Trainspotting sequel. His idea, which I have to keep under wraps, is to pick up the tale when wanker Begby gets out of the nic after doing some 10 - 15 years. It’s all about his search for Renton, and seeking revenge. Sweet of him to phone me at ten to midnight with such a calming thought.

 

Wednesday 7^th June

 

Freebie, ever the opportunist took a couple of minutes out to help Samantha with her rogue apple core. It turns out she’s a temp. Her sole job is to sort out Sandras personal e mails. What a fucking joke. Perhaps she’s got her in training to become her social PA.

 

However, at lunch time, Sandra came up to me and said, “Would you mind escorting Samantha to the High Street Bank?” I just do what I’m told. A good job too.

 

It turned out to be a very worthwhile move. Sam was given a leather bag with nothing in it. But evidently there was an order given to someone at Lloyds to hand over £5000 in cash. I don’t know why Sandra couldn’t get a security guard to do it. Perhaps she’s tight, perhaps she doesn’t want anyone to know what she’s up to, perhaps she was testing us, or more to the point, me.

 

Well, we grabbed a McDonalds and then collected the loot from the bank. Felt like a cowboy. £5000 is a lot of money to be carrying around in a bag, rich or poor.

 

I couldn’t help it. The cash was there. I had to seize the moment. I grabbed Samantha’s hand and explained to her that I wanted to make an investment with the money. She frowned and explained that it was for Sandra to distribute to the various section office managers for petty cash. I looked at her and could see the twinkle in her eye.

 

I later found out that her father is a successful compulsive gambler at weekends, whilst during the week he works in Hong Kong as a money broker. Sometimes, I really do think someone is looking down on me.

 

I phoned Rupert and gave him a bit of banter. Sounds like a good plan pal, make sure Renton has turned into a middle class Scot, oh and have Spud as a Greengrocer, bla bla bla, whats happening in the races?

 

Got the info. Black Jack to win in the 3.30 at Newmarket, 6-1.

 

The only problem was Sandra. I gave her a buzz and fortunately got her answerphone, I explained that we’d hit a huge queue so would be twenty minutes late back.

 

My heart started to pound. Seriously smacking, and I felt the sweat. But I couldn’t stop. And for whatever reason, Samantha just took the whole thing in her cool, cool stride. She knew it was 50/50 if it came off, well not quite, but that was my chat. She knew it was me who’d have to come up with something if it fell through.

 

I’ve never felt so bold in my life. I wanted to prove something to myself this afternoon. Besides this whole insider dealing is going so dam slowly at present.

 

I paid the tax, prior to the race. William Hill were pretty cool about the whole affair. I was expecting a serious roasting, Headmaster eyes, and a pointed finger; but for the pro behind the glass, it was just another dum schmuck infront of him.

 

So, I’m smoking my way through Samantha’s pack of twenty. The second before the horses hit the course, she puts her hand in my sweaty palm. Black Jack looked good. Sixteen hands, jet black, the jockey had a complimentary black outfit with a single white spade on his back. He gave off the look of success.

 

I tightened Samathas grip as he slipped back into fifth at the start of the second straight. A twit next to me was watching the same race and shaking his head. Couldn’t give a fuck about him, but as the horses increased there pace, I noticed his excitement rise as Black Jack started to lengthen his stride.

 

Out came the whip. This was business. The animals had half a circuit to go. I bit my lip. What was I playing at? Five thousand quid, five thousand quid, five thousand quid, five thousand fucking quid!

 

Black Jack was gaining. He was still at least three lengths behind the leader. I was sick of his name, he’d dominated the race from the word go. It was time for Bank Holiday Monday to tire. And tire he did.

 

Slowly but everso surely, Black Jack took Ridden Pale, and was side by side with number two, a very cool customer, Bray. They entered the final bend and just had a straight to go.

 

Black Jack, streaks ahead. It was as if a little kiddie was running a school 100m race and out of nowhere had Linford Christies athleticism teleported into him. Fucking phenomenal. 

 

Short dude next to me, grabs my hand. Total odd bod, but happy for him. I saw him take away a few sheets. Meanwhile, Samantha and I had the problem, or rather, challenge of working out where the hell £30,000 in cash was going to go.  

 

The thing is, I could have done this with my money. But boy is it fun doing it with someone else’s.

 

Thursday 8^th June

 

We’re moving into the house boat in a fortnight. Really fucking excited. I wonder what it would be like to live on a barge. About to find. It would be sweet to chug around though. How cool would it be to pitch up at the Funk near the Embankment in a motorised house boat? It would be wonderful, just splendid to clog up the old father Thames with a brick shaped block. While the stiffers whizzed off to Docklands in their corporate speed boat, Billy and I could just sit on the roof, smoking a zoot, waving to the wankers. In a bit of a dreamworld, but hey, I’m horny for this property.   

 

Samantha and I celebrated with some Champagne at lunchtime. Sandra knew we’d been drinking. Quite tempted to tell her what I think of her. Guess it’s more than my job is worth.

 

The current account is looking healthy with an extra £12,500 in it. What a great afternoons work that was.   

 

Friday 9^th June

 

Weather is cooking up. Walking into the office this morning I was sweating like a bitch on heat. But the day ended up a cracker. Hardworking, company Ferrari driving Jonny Cash, was in the mood today. He was terrorising his traders into getting clients to invest in equities. True wanker. Basically a Ben Affleck out of Boiler Room, except fatter and balder.

 

I was delivering him a fax in the morning. It was obviously good news. I can’t read the stories behind the numbers, but here’s a man who can. He just smiled at me and said, “I owe you one”. No Jonny, I owe you one.

 

Just before the markets closed, Billy sends me a message, Dump Pharmaceuticals, Buy Media and Photography. It wasn’t exactly the text I was waiting for. High on luck and spontaneity after yesterdays triumphs, I jump on the laptop in the bogs and bring up the portfolio. I realise what shares he’s banging on about.

 

I bit the bullet and sold up our remaining drug stocks and ploughed the dough into our current fave ad agency. TMT sector has been good recently. But what the fuck do I know?

 

I caught the seven o clock channel 4 news. Fucking magic. Drugs company are being sued for manufacturing some pill which is meant to increase sex drive but actually has resulted in a few dozen cases of heart attacks. In the meantime, the ad agency which boasts Viagra as one of its’s clients, is seeing some handy strengthening in share price.

 

Saturday 10^th June

 

Went to see Jason Graham. He tells me the shipment is coming in the next week. I need to act. It’s all coming at the same time. The houseboat, the shipment, not to mention the increase in F&S work.    

 

As far as I can tell, the old bill won’t necessarily be able to get Jason any time deductions, but the powers that be may make his little stay in the nic less severe. There is a whole different infrastructure on the inside.

 

I can only really equate it to the clubbing world. The bouncers are the prisons security guards. If you’re on the right side of these guys, and partake in a bit of the old bribery, ie. Cigarettes, liquor, hard cash, whatever flicks their switch, a blind eye will be turned.

 

Sunday 11^th June

 

As I have no idea how to go about reporting a drugs run, I sloped off to the local police station first thing. Shut. How can they just shut up shop? A public service for chrissakes! Sir Robert Peel would’ve turned in his grave.

 

Spent most of the day lounging in my room. It’ll be pretty weird to move out. There are a lot of memories on the walls, on the shelves, and in the drawers. I was rooting through the desk drawers earlier. Found all kinds of shite. There are some awesome black and white photos.

 

Found a great pic of me and Rupert as little nippers. We’re both staring up in wonder at a beast of a black horse. There’s just too much memorabilia lying around. I’ve even got a few hundred receipts from a summer holiday job I did a few years back. 

 

I was employed as a runner on a small time film production. The set was exciting enough, out in the woods of Surrey. I must never have claimed back my expenses. Most of the chits were for grub, why do I keep al this crap?

 

I need to have a good clearout. Have worked out Mums talent is that she can downsize, streamline, bin, whatever you want to call it, at the drop of a hat. Everything is so fucking neat. She has a wonderfully ordered life despite appearing a scatter brain halfwit.

 

Phoned Jumilla earlier in the evening. She said that she was starting to feel sentimental. Apparently she was drinking a glass of red watching the sun set over Chelsea wharf. Can’t wait to exchange. 

 

Well, Sunday evening, another week of office life ahead. Really feel like a few weeks in the Med.

 

Monday 12^th June.

 

Got a call from Charlene. She wants me to go and spend the summer solstice down in at Stone Henge. Fuck that.

 

The life of day trading on the back of businessmen who really know what they are doing is honestly turning me on. Injecting capital has become an addiction. We opened up a few little cash ISA’s today, just to start playing the game a little more seriously.

 

I’m not a brainy guy like Rupert, and even Chris and Frank have the edge on me when it comes to intellectual chat and arguing a case, but I think as Ewan says playing Leeson in Rogue Trader, ‘…balls of steel’ are the necessary ingredients to succeed.

 

Today at the office, Billy puts through a simple text. “Short Yen, Long Euro”. Whilst he’s nobbing about with the more senior figures of F&S, giving and taking the banter on the Brussels BEL20 ~ Sao Paulo Bovespa ~ Vienna ATX ~ Hang Seng ~ FTSE 100 ~ Nikeii ~ Dow, I’m just a cleaner. I make sure the executed deals are settled. I had no idea how to short or long, so I sent him a text back saying “Tall Capaccino”.

 

Tuesday 12^th June.

 

OK. So the good news is F&S has made Billy and myself £2500 since Monday morning. As yet unrealised, but watch this space.

 

And now for the bad news. Jumilla, the Spanish harlot has decided she can’t go through with the sale of the houseboat. Gutted. Totally pissed off. I was just driving across Battersea bridge the other day thinking to myself how fun it will be this summer to have the boat.

 

Mr. Deal, was most irate. Wish this was Italy, they have the right attitude out there, the greasy haired hot blooded Wops don’t stand for this kind of shit. Indecision is not in their vocab. We’d be getting twice our deposit back from the batty wench.

 

Anyway, life goes on. As I tap away here on the Psion, I wonder if I’ll ever move out of home.

 

Wednesday 13^th June

 

Awesome day at the office. Such anarchy is a rare sight indeed. Pitched up at work late. Needed an espresso more than I needed to catch the tube this morning. Thought very seriously about ordering a cab, but quickly came to my senses.

 

The anti-capitalists riots have very much been pigeon holed to a May Day occurrence. Well, this was round two. Out of nowhere, all sorts of pikeys emmerged, out for blood. McDonalds was trashed, Burger King overturned, Starbucks set on fire, and even plain old WHSmiths suffered a few bricks through the windows. It took the piss, but not as much as the office.

 

I was happily delivering a confirmation slip to a cheeky blonde in our confirmations department when, BANG! Jonny Cash shouts across the office, “Freeman, here now!”

 

I put the slip in my pocket. It could wait. He me gave a £50 note and said in curt urgency, “Photocopy this 600 times”.

 

He knew the rioters were on there way, and the animal in him came out. A true, true wanker. I was then made to guilotine them into shape and distribute them amongst the traders. They threw them out the window over the anti-capitalists. I work with tossers.

 

Thursday 14^th June

 

We, that is Billy and I, decided to join one of the corporate, suave, exceptionally wanky gyms around the corner from work. Ended up getting shit faced and didn’t play a stroke of squash.

 

Had a chat with one of the old buffers who was propping up the bar. Surely a flaming homosexual. He talked of his days at Harrow as the best of his life. He was quite a cerebral old fellow, who enjoyed his whiskey, fags and reminiscence. “I mean to have you boy!”

 

It’s not your archetypal gym in the sense that there are machines for everything, whether it be running, jumping or pumping, it concentrates on squash and has just enough room for real tennis. Impressive, within the City. You get the picture.

 

It’s very Port Out Starboard Home, which is just fine. The Old Boy gave us a few little tips to make it in the world of finance. Namely, be prepared to look good and take a risk. Well, can safely say, we’re adhering to those.

 

Kind of feel a tension developing between myself and Samantha in the office. Since our ridiculous gamble at the bookies on Black Jack we’ve barely exchanged many words. I sometimes catch her eye as she looks up from her computer or sits down after visiting the toilet, but I can tell she is gagging to let something out.

 

Saturday 15^th June.

 

Last night was verging on the ridiculous. After a vaguely quiet day on the old insider trading, Bill and I headed down to the squash club for a swift double Jack Daniels and Coke. The old buffer was still sat at the bar. He welcomed us as if we’d been away in the East for decades. “Ah my boys, what will it be?”

 

So we humoured the Lizard. In return for a little chat on fagging and cold showers, he let us in on some very interesting property news. It seems as if he’s a bit tight at the moment and is looking to sell his mews house off Portobello Road.

 

We weren’t in the mood to start pressing him, but when he raised the subject, I noted the gleam in Billy Goats eye. He’ll be there on Monday, fuelling his alcohol addiction, and so shall we with our proposition. The sly duo will soon be players in the property market yet.

 

On entering the outside world, we bumped into Tommy. Our Charlie man from Peckham. He was with a couple of Essex lads, who were blatantly up for it. Tommy wasn’t going to let this opportunity to be the centre of attention slip. He didn’t. After a few brisk handshakes, he shuffles us into his favourite strip joint, buys a magnum and toasts everyones health.

 

Three hours later, the motherfucker is still buying magnums. By this stage, Bill is drooling into some girls ear, the Essex lads have their hands up a couple of birds skirts, and I’m being preached to by Tommy.

 

In the end I got so bored of his chat that I accepted his business card and made some tracks towards the dance floor.       

 

The music was so cheesy, DairyLee would’ve sponsored it. I was totally wasted, what’s the line they use in Go , “ A weekend wasted is never a wasted weekend”. Last night I was wrecked.

 

The crux of it is this girl starts dancing with me, and coming on stronger than Christmas eau de Cologne. She was a hooker. She was grabbing me in all kinds of places, the kind of Dirty bitch that I dream about.

 

I asked her if she’d like a drink. She accepted. Naturally. I don’t really care that I’ve slept with a prostitute. I’m sure far more than half the men on the planet have. It’s an odd thing. You never think you’ll sleep with someone for money, and then you do.

 

Last night I had sex with a prostitute and it was incredible. We kissed to Saturday Night Fevers Staying Alive, and she muttered the words, “For a price, you can come to my place”. It didn’t even bring out the businessman in me, I just wanted to fuck her. Fuck the money, fuck her.

 

Waking up with her this morning was peculiar, but at the same time special.

 

Sunday 16^th June

 

Had a very chilled day. Frank is back in town, having successfully shagged about a dozen Exeter University girls this year. A real player. We relaxed in Holland Park and played a bit of backgammon. He won, the sly dog. I was up all the way to the last game, when I took a heavy gammoning. The result was I wrote out a cheque there and then for £3.12. Silly, but I know he’ll be down the bank first thing tomorrow to get his receipt. Tight as a tick is our Frank.

 

We then headed back up to the house for some spag bol. He’s just left but not before I managed to open that can of whopass in Brian Laras Cricket. Took him to the cleaners.

 

Franks a great lad. Very competitive. A couple of years back, we were practising our golf swings in the park. Essentially illegal, but technically not the naughtiest pastime on the planet. Horror of horrors as his 9 iron chip lands bang on a little kiddies head. The child had already been moaning, and the mother, having not witnessed this teeth grinding occurrence, turns around and smacks little kiddy over the back of the head for wailing. I often wonder how that boy turned out.

 

Monday 17^th June

 

The tube is just so ridiculously overcrowded and hot. There is no way I’m commuting by underground tomorrow. It sucks. Was shattered when I got home. Bill and I didn’t even have the energy to go and see the old boy down the club to quiz him about his mews house.

 

All in all, it was a good day. We realised a huge profit on a tech stock, and transferred most of the funds into some outsourcing operation that’s been tipped by Bloomberg, Working Lunch, and more importantly Jonny. It’s last quarter results were 9% up on the previous quarter and projections, forecasts and economists are expecting this trend to continue. We shall see.

 

Oscar and Rafael apparently want their space back to store more loo roll. I gave them the key to my pedestal and told them they could put as much bog roll in there as they liked, whilst handing over another £20. I can’t help thinking there must be an easier way to get ahead in this insider dealing business.

 

Sandra has been getting a little sus lately regarding me popping off to the toilet every time she hears my phone beep. Had to silence it and rely on the vibrations to kick me into action.

 

Got a late call in the office from Chris. He’s back in town and up for a few beers. Thankfully the Edinburgh film course has obviously become less ponsy and rather more mainstream. It took me less than a third of a second to recognise the legendary mock Guiness voice, “Your Destiny lies along a hidden path from mine”. He’s trying to sell me a lads weekend blitz in Ayia Napa. Mmm.

 

Tuesday 18^th June

 

Ok, so I got the tube into work again. Really should cycle, but couldn’t be dealing with zipping in and out of traffic on a suit. I get sweaty enough every time I have to put a shady deal through.

 

Speaking of which, I was sitting pretty tight today when one of our little share puppies announced its CEO was stepping down. Is that a polite way of saying he’s been sacked?

 

One of the traders got the boot this morning. Harsh treatment. He turned up to find all his office possessions packed  up into a little box. Ruthless behaviour. I asked Sandra what he had done wrong.

 

“Didn’t make the grade.”

 

What a load of old crap. Didn’t quite cut the mustard. Couldn’t seal the deal. He was one of the few guys at Funk & Spunk that had any charisma. I suppose, to get ahead in the corporate world, one needs to be cut from the same block as everyone else.

 

Apparently I’m getting an appraisal next week, where I have to sit before three senior company members. Promises to be hilarious.

 

Got a call on the mobile from Peckham Tommy. Odd as I wasn’t aware that I gave him my number. He expressed an interest in meeting up at sometime, and having a little bit more of the same. He seems to sleep with hookers on a fairly regular basis.

 

I was trying to concentrate on The Times whilst sipping some Southern Australian Red, whilst he jabbered on about fucking table dancers with dildos strapped to their heads. A relentless Essex lad. Have to admit he has a certain charm. The kind of charm Jim Davidson has.  

 

Wednesday 19^th June.

 

Popped down to the Squash club for a game tonight. Absolutely shattered. Smoking has made me into an unfit bastard. Was totally out of breath after the first three points. Billy whipped me. Utterly thrashed.

 

The old man was at the bar. We talked a little more about the mews. And we’ve arranged a viewing for this Saturday.

 

Got a call from Dad. He’s been working on an allotment, which apparently has carrots, marrows, potatoes, and some fruit. How different his day must’ve been to Mums.

 

She’s decided to get a professional photographer to take pictures of her walking down Kings Road. She’s on some ego trip, and wants a massive black and white of her with shopping bags blown up for the hallway. I just don’t understand her. I’ve seen the prints and admittedly she does look very good, but honestly….

 

Took Charlene out for dinner. Fucked her up the arse. It was really tight, and felt wonderful. I sucked her tits and licked her fanny for hours. The sweetest tasting pussy juice in London.  

 

Thursday 20^th June

 

Spent most of the day spread betting on the cricket. Took of a few hits but came out a few quid up. I can see why people get hooked on it. Totally addictive. Considered having a punt on the IG Index which allows you to spread bet on stocks and shares, but decided what we are doing is a gamble enough. Although, we wouldn’t get stung on the tax with spread betting! Worth looking into. 

 

Sandra is on holiday, so there’s no mess and no stress at the moment. Starting to realise how different my life is to my old schoolmates who’ve gone to University. They are back in town doing shitty temping jobs for a fiver an hour, and swopping stories on lectures, sports teams and Jolly Hockey Stick girlfriends. I made the right decision. 

 

Got a text message from Charlene asking me if I fancied a mini break sometime soon. You betcha.

 

Friday 21^st June

 

Have just returned from one of the most scaring encounters of my life. I took the option of going for a drink with Tommy from Peckham. Billy Goat has a hot date with Mandy. The two are in love.

 

We stop in on swanky wine bar and chat up a couple of girls, who very quickly give us the cold shoulder.

 

Feeling laddish and obviously in no mood to fuck around, he comes over all authoritarian and gets me in a cab.

 

“Stockwell Drives”.

 

I found myself thirty minutes later sat at a dimly lit table in a nouveau get up owned by Friar and Mess. I even noticed my fucking decks next to a tropical fish tank lining a wall. There they sat gleaming underneath a huge Bruce Lee Enter the Dragon original poster.

 

I gulped.

 

The pad stank of dirty money. There were four people sat on executive sized beanbags around a coffee table which housed four mobile phones, four pipes, and four pistols.

 

They were so fucked they didn’t recognise me as the guy they’d mugged a few months back. Maybe it’s something they do on a regular basis and I was just a random unlucky fucker.

 

Whatever, I’m still feeling fucking high from smoking crack cocaine. I had no option. When in Rome. I’m petrified that Tommy has been told to get hold of me by Friar and Mess. If he hasn’t this is too big a coincidence to treat with nonchalance.

 

It’s one thing watching a little drug deal regarding a couple of ounces of weed, or a few grams of cocaine, but these arseholes are another ballgame altogether. I feel a bit sorry for Tommy. I’ve a gut feeling he honestly thought I’d be interested in getting involved in the drugs business. He obviously can’t fit into society, tries to impress people, and do new things all the time. He’s dicing with death, and could quite easily be the next Jason.

 

Friar wanted to know what quite what the fuck it was I was doing in their company, so Tommy, in his Essex banter, explained he wasn’t doing any work without a partner in crime. Friar and Mess understood such an explanation.

 

So over a pipe and a glass of Orange Juice, brought to us by a foxy, scantilly clad Puerto Rican, Tommy talked shop.

 

I was glad to get the hell out of there. As the cab took us Eastwards to Peckham, I told Tommy I had no interest in what was being offered, and while I’d happily join him for a beer in the city after work, I drew the line at drug trafficking.

 

He sadly sauntered away up his garden path to his womanless house. There’s no way I’m letting him know I live in a milllion pound house in Holland Park. Fuck that.

 

Saturday 22^nd June.     

 

Hooked up with the Lizard, AKA Henry Viking. It seems as if he is more than willing to let go of a dynamite property for a decent price. The mews needs a little work, but we’d be up for a bit of the old DIY.

 

So, Henry  buys us a midday beer and we discuss our lives, leaving out the drugs, insider dealing, and whoring. It doesn’t leave much.

 

The property is more expensive than Jumillas houseboat but Mr. Deal has been relatively cool recently.

 

Sunday 23^rd June

 

I’m getting a bit disturbed by the fucking manic situations I seem to find myself in. For a fairly standard guy about to kiss his teenage years goodbye, I land myself in horrible trouble, all the time. 

 

Friar mentioned a 20,000% profit margin on importing Cocaine. I’m tempted. I’ve been mulling the idea over in my head. It’s got me thinking about Maria and Jason and the ugly affair.

 

It’s tough shit, it really is. Once you’re involved with characters such as these mega wide boys, you’re always tied up. 

 

Monday 24^th June.

 

Billy is walking about the offices with the broadest grin. Smitten. I was so sickened by his monster sex happy smile that I phoned Charlene straight away. She was busy sorting out some caterers for a premier of some art house film being shown at The Electric in Notting Hill. Meeting up with her tomorrow night.

 

Had a very peculiar thing happen to me this morning. In my attempts to arrive at work without carrying the appearance of someone who has just had a four hour sauna, ie. Commuting on the tube, I decided to take the bus.

 

Whilst waiting at the bus stop, scanning the Companies and Markets section of the FT, this old blind black dude grabs my arm.

 

“Young man, help me on the next bus will you.”

 

He was taking the same bus.

 

I guided him into a seat and sat beside him.

 

“Are you looking smart for business young man.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Give me your hand.”

 

I did as I was told, and the blind man proceeded to tell my fortune. I was fairly transfixed as by the time he finished talking I was within walking distance of the office.

 

There was a lot of Russell Grant style wishy washy twaddle but a couple of predictions were too close for comfort. He mentioned that if I didn’t want to blow my cover in the workplace it was important to keep the right people sweet. I gave Oscar and Rafael an extra £50 bonus for keeping their mouths shut.

 

Tuesday 25^th June

 

Office is the pits. Had a terrible day at work, I’m looking forward to finding myself a new job. In robotic fashion walked to the tube station, instead of the bus station. So hot. Unreal. Aircon on the tube would really rock.

 

Brian e mailed my hotmail account the most filthy porn this afternoon. It was of a young exec sucking off his male boss on his mahogany desk. The cheeky fucker had written, “The only way you’ll get ahead Freeman.”

 

Fairly typical juvenile behaviour. The problem arose when I accidently forwarded it to Jonny Cash. Earlier in the day I had forwarded some Reuters figures on the Euro, and I just clicked straight through onto the intranet. One click too many. I panicked. It was likely to be the end of my brief stint in the money markets. I wondered how I might be fired.

 

I started walking slowly down to his office to await my dismissal from Funk and Spunk. He wasn’t in, neither was his secretary around. Cautiously I looked about. Everyone was busy on the phones and their PC’s. I had my chance and I took it. Thankfully he had logged on and all I had to do was delete ‘Sucker’. A close call.    

 

Charlene blew me out tonight so I rented out a couple of porno’s. Very good indeed. Billy came round and got all high and mighty about degrading women. The poor deluded sole.

 

Wednesday 26^th June

 

Have seriously been getting into backgammon on the palm. Makes the tube journey go so much quicker. Just managed to beat level 5, 51 games to 50, which kind of proves that things even out eventually.

 

I was sat at my desk flicking through the latest Investors Chronicle, when I received a tap on the shoulder.

 

“Looking for a few tips are we Freeman?”

 

It was Cash. I realised the implications of his statement. Why was he wasting his valuable time talking to me? Turns out I was over paranoid. Every now and again he likes to check the back office are still behind him and putting the hours in. A bit like a captain walking round his ship, chatting to each and every sailor, making sure the ropes are tight.

 

He brings up a chair. Oh no. “You’re in good company digesting those facts there.” I sycophantically nod and try to look sincere. “The average disposable income for the stock market of an IC reader is £200,000 a year.” And with that he upped and left.   

 

Thursday 27^th June.

 

Sandra back in the office. There were the usual complaints and pathetic little irrelevant chores for me to do. So, I made up for it by spending all of lunch in the toilets day trading. Sold a Pharmaceutical stock before it issued its third set of profit warnings, and watched a small cap. rise from 5p to 45p, after it was donated £10 million for scientific research by some minted benefactor in the States.

 

Billly told me JC was investing heavily in it. So I put £7,000 from other stocks into the puppy and whaddayaknow? Made a fucking killing today. Sold up at the close of play, having made our funky portfolio £57,000 richer.

 

My appraisal has been postponed which is annoying as I was looking forward to asking for a pay rise.

 

Saturday 29^th June.

 

Just read a lengthy article in the business pages about ProRob, which is the name of the listed Pharmaceutical company that’s made Bill and I big hitters. You inject this little robot into your veins, it speeds around your body sending out radio signals, that detect precisely the amount of Red Cells, White cells, Haemoglobin, Glucose, and other microbiological details. We struck very lucky indeed. Still holding much of the stock.  

 

Sunday 30^th June.

 

Spent a blissful few hours with Charlene. Drunk Red Wine, smoked spliffs and had a picnic in Hyde Park. Talked about her family, Australia, snakes, crocodiles, Paul Hogan, Kylie, Jason Donovan, Sydney, Alice Springs, Darwin, Great Whites. Must go there. She surprised me with her cricket knowledge. Not bad for a Sheila. Not bad. Not bad.

 

Jumped in a mini cab on the way back. Would’ve been perfectly happy to pay for a standard black cab back to hers, but around Queensway this groover rocks up and says he’ll take us to Camden for a fiver. Deal.

 

He then asks us if we want any trips. Charlene was well up for it, but when you have to deal with a bunch of bankers on Monday morning, 9pm Sunday is not the best time to drop. I passed on the offer.

 

“No, no go on,” he says, all excited, “They’re great, they work a treat, I took a tab half an hour ago, they’re great”.

 

Somehow we made it to Camden.

 

Monday 1^st July

 

Birthday in a couple of days. I’ll just have an intimate do in the West End. Mums eager for me to have a great big do out at Grans in the Cotswolds, but not sure if I can be arsed to organise something like that. My 18^th was out there, and we had a blast. Dad played with his band on an impressive stage down by the lake, whilst there was a couple of marquees, one with techno, lasers, and manumission styled dancers, the other with a small casino. So perhaps we’ll sort something out.

 

Tuesday 2nd July

 

Looking into selling the Beemer, and buying a motorbike. It’s got to be the best way to get about town. We’re taking bets in the office as to when the first death due to heat exhaustion will happen on the tube. Samantha reckons it’ll be sometime in the next fortnight, Sandra seems to think it’s fine, there’ll be no deaths, and has no complaints about it.  

 

Rung around and arranged to have a small get together tomorrow at Julies restaurant in Holland Park. Was flabbergasted to find all the boys have got girlfriends; impressed and very pleased. So the intimate do consists of Bill and Mandy, Chris, his bird Naomi, Brian, his chick Fran, Rupert and his new lady Charlotte, and Frank and Sophie. Happily they can all make it. This is without doubt the most middle aged thing I’ve ever done in my life.

 

Thursday 4th July  

 

Yesterday was one of the most highly charged, rushing days of my life. Being no longer a teenager, I feel ever so much more mature. Lots of deals going through. Broke into the Dow with some very swift trading in ExxonMobil, HP, IBM, Johnson & Johnson, Microsoft and Amazon.com. Sandra was off on some conference in Paris, so Freebie had the opportunity to take liberties.

 

At around midday Samantha came over to my desk and asked if I’d put some figures through. I looked at her and just found myself stunned by her Asian looks. She was wearing black stilettos, a black skirt which hugged her hips, a fine blouse, through which I could see her frilly white brassiere, and was smiling as if we were about to jump on a lilo together and drift out to sea.

 

I lightly held her hand and told her she looked ravishing. We felt the electric energy. Time to act. Sneaking off to her lunchtime gymnasium, we went for a power dip. It just made me more horny seeing her in a swimsuit. Having already signed in as her guest, I took a guests privilege and kissed her after a few lengths. It felt magical.

 

Her hand reached for my groin. “Follow me”, she said. I did exactly that, and ended up in a Turkish steam room. Empty at that. She slipped her costume off, and lay back on the dripping plastic seating. She held her knees up, and with a mixture of fear and excitement, I entered her. She sucked her thumb as I pushed into her. I wanted it to last, and as she took her thumb out her mouth, and massaged my sphincter, I fell onto her, grasping her pony tail in one hand and right buttock cheek in the other. Magic. Totally soaked in sweat and juices.  

 

Back in the office I spent the afternoon realising a few profits and loses on stocks, putting the odd call over to Samantha, and reliving the dreamy circumstances that had just occurred. Left at five on the dot.

 

Charlene was waiting for me at Mums. Mum had let her in and buggered off to Sarahs to discuss a tour of Australia. Charlene was in my bed in black suspenders and nothing else. That was all it took. She offered me a monster line, neatly chopped onto my Elvis mirror and then sucked me off. Before dabbing a little more coke on my nob and pulling me inside her.

 

Down at the restaurant, everyone was tucking into some Veuve. Sounds surprising but the ladies weren’t all university lasses. Chris and Brian are both hooked up with London girls. Chris’ chick, Naomi is fit as. I mean seriously good looking. She’s spent most of the last couple of years touring with a modelling agency walking the catwalks of the world. Gucci Envy have just offered her a two year contract to be the next face of the perfume.

 

It was a civilised do. When it came to the bill, all the boys put their cards into the silver saucer. Charlene was nominated as the croupier. She gave the half dozen cards a quick shuffle and as if by magic she pulled out my card. I footed the £495.50 celebration.

 

I looked across at Billy who winked as if to say, “There’s a lot more where that came from old son”. 

 

Friday 5^th July

 

We’ve got these two fucking soppy college guys in for what they call work experience. They pitched up at quarter to midday and explained that they would be temping with F&S for the next fortnight. Apparently one of them is Sandra’s nephew, so I can’t bark at him.

 

For two hours they just sat behind me text messaging their mates. I gave one of them the joyous task of rooting through my drawers and categorising the paperwork into alphabetical, chronological order.

 

When he’d finished that I got him started on the most mind numbing data entry that I was asked to do for some shitty mail out to clients. I sent temp number two over to Access 1 and 2.  

 

Saturday 6^th July

 

Arranged a visit to see Jason in prison this week, so popped to see him and let him know that I’d run into Friar and Mess.

 

A total mistake going there at all. He’s turning insane. I had to make light chit chat, so mentioned that Maria would have loved the hot summer we’ve been having. He suddenly glared at me and accused me of being a traitor, a schizophrenic, a liar, a cheat. The information he has on the drop off on the coast of Ireland is sketchy to say the least. He’s hanging on to a very short life line if he thinks that kind of wishy-washy knowledge will get any years knocked off.   

 

Sunday 7^th July.

 

Sat in Grans garden overlooking the Lake. The Psion is charged up and so am I. Mum and I drove down to see how the old goose is getting on. Just fine. Summer seems to have got her out of bed, in amongst the shrubbery and making pastries for the local church.

 

Spent a wonderful afternoon with Mum drinking Campari and Grapefruit. She taught me Cribbage. Great card game. Will have to introduce it to the lads. Mum seems to think she’s sober enough to drive the Beemer back to London, so on her head be it.  

 

Monday 8^th July

 

Woke up this morning ready for action. I jumped out the sack, so scary was my dream. I had this nightmare that I was sat in the school gymnasium hunched over one of those tiny little exam desks. I hear ‘Five minutes left. That’s five minutes.’ I look at my blank piece of graph paper and there’s nothing I can do.

 

Thankful that all I was off to do was go and break the law with some insider stock trading, I made my way to my good friend, the tube. I hated my A levels. What a fucking joke. My Spanish teacher told me the only way I’d get through the exam was if I could take a 100% aural test. My grammar and spelling was atrocious. I used to use this application on all my homework assignments called t- mail, translation mail.

 

It was this time last year that I was celebrating at the leavers ball. That all seems like a world away now. Occasionally, as was the case the other evening, on my birthday, it’s easy to revert to the old ways when around old faces, but generally, I can’t begin to imagine how I put up with the punishments day in day out, year after year.

 

Same old, same old at work today. Billys doing some investigative work on Hedge Funds. Unregulated, which means, more of a gamble. Let’s do it.

 

Told temp boy, who must be the same age as me to surf the net all day and wait for his auntie who’ll be back tomorrow.

 

Tuesday 9^th July

 

Charlene’s been calling me all day which is definitely not cool. Think she wants a stable, stable relationship. She buzzed me just before lunch and said that I should have called her. Aarrrggh.

 

The Hedge Funds Bill’s been looking at are in Apec. The Asia Pacific Economic Corporation is very attractive right now. These economies are about to explode, or so says the hype.

 

Wednesday 10^th July

 

Okie Dokie Chereeokie, we’re getting some good vibes from Mr. Deal. He wants his deal alright. Set to exchange and complete on the Notting Hill pad pretty soon. Wicked. About fucking time I got out of home. It’s a shame the houseboat fell through, but really couldn’t be arsed to wait around for another one to come up.

 

The most boring day at work known to man. Sat at my desk and spent the whole day tracking these shares on the NYSE. Sandra has asked myself and Samantha to write a report on a chosen market. Such a joke. She seems to want to treat us as if we are at school. If only the woman knew. Oh how she’d weep.

 

Rafael came up to me today at lunch and said that he thought I was too dedicated to my work. He thinks I should relax when I go to the toilet and not be so uptight, and devoted to my work. I thanked him and told him if I wanted a therapist I’d go to one, whilst slipping him another £20.

 

Thursday 11^th July

 

If I ever lost this Psion, it would be Goodnight Vienna. Its got all my life on it. Aside from the diary, I keep a track of finances, addresses, downloaded info on new gadgets, but most importantly it contains all the porn I’ve ever seen. It’s all stored on this little puppy. Could never face being without those women again.

 

 

Friday 12^th July

 

Took today off. Was so sick of the sight of Sandra, Access 1 & 2, and Temp gimps yesterday that I just had zero interest in getting out of bed this morning. Lazy but true. I phoned Sandra from the mobile under the blankets. Took a hit from a bong that’s been lying under my bed to make my voice sound strained.

 

That sorted me right out. Had a glip. Had a relaxing shower. Made myself a coffee, fried eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages, baked beans, had a another glip and received a text from goat.

 

‘Nasdaq. Buy Palm, Staples, Starbucks’.

 

Honestly felt like phoning him in the office and playing Rapper G full blast on the Hi Fi. But felt that wouldn’t go down to well, so opted for a reply text,

 

‘OK Cocksucker.’

 

So used the home PC to settle the trasnsactions. Mum came in to the study whilst I was executing.

 

“Hello Darling!”

 

“Hi Mum”

 

“Whats that on the screen?”

 

“Oh just work stuff. I’m working from home today as I’ve got to go and see a solicitor about the house in Notting Hill.”

 

Then the bomb dropped. I hadn’t realised she’d get quite so emotional

about me moving out. Silly, naïve me. “What about the little houseboat idea?”, “Why don’t you let me know what’s going on in your life?”, “I don’t know anything about F & S”, “Sarah told me you were very attached to Maria, why don’t you share your feelings with me”, “Darling I know it’s been tough not having the fatherly figure through your teenage years, but you must know your father loves you very much”, “Why don’t we go on holiday togther?”, “Shall we go out to the High Street, buy some lunch and get you some new suits for work?”. I humoured her. 

 

Saturday 13^th July

 

Mums eccentricities lasted for two hours yesterday before she threw up her hands and let the shop attendants selling the Boss suits know she was twenty minutes late for her facial.

 

Was rooting through some draws in the study desk to try and find my Passport, when I came across this awesome photograph of Mum and Dad when they’d obviously only just met. It was the sweetest thing. I put it in my wallet. Mum is lying on her back, head in Dads lap smiling beautifully at the camera. She has her hand on her stomach, as if she knew. I was there winning the race.

 

Dad is looking fairly swift. Stars and Stripes bandana around his forehead, shades, smoking, indifferent, hands on Mum. In the foreground there are a couple of bottles of wine, a cheeseboard, a guitar, and a book which looks like an original of One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest, which is still knocking about on the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway.

 

In the background there is a small stage and a few hundred people gathered around it. Glastonbury. Must have been late, late Summer that year. Unless Dads not really Dad. I have his nose.

 

Sunday 14^th July.

 

Having a bit of ‘me’ time. Just got out the bath; bubblebath up to the ceiling. Sat infront of the warming fire, dressing gown on, watching Bonnie and Clyde out of the corner of my eye whilst typing this up. Charlene just called and said she thinks it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while.

 

No idea why. Now she’s given me the flick I want her more than ever. Sassy girl in many ways but cute too. She had Marvin Gaye on in the background when she called. I’d just stepped out of the bath, and was feeling alright with the world, when bam!

 

Monday 15^th July

 

Sandra couldn’t make a meeting today with one of her clients, so I was asked to attend in her place. Very exciting for Freebie. First time I’ve been given this kind of responsibility.

 

She gave me a briefcase which was perhaps a bit over the top, but I guess she wanted me to look the part. So with the new Boss suit and the Delsey case, containing my palm top and three sheets of paper, which outlined her investment strategies for their companies pension funds, I strode for the West End.

 

It turned out the man I was supposed to meet was away. His secretary explained that she knew that I would be coming and could I please take her through the proposals. Fucking blag! Have I ever! The company is a design firm and just reeks of style; oozes the stuff like LA does out of work actors.

 

Miss Secretary was as fashion conscious as me. I noted the Nicole Farhi coat on a stand I could smell the Calvin Klein on her. Smoking has obviously not fucked me up that much. She led me into a sleek meeting room. Hit a button on the way in and the walls frosted over. How cool!    

 

Anyways, I went through the names : Dresdner RCM Smaller co’s investment, Fleming Income and Growth, Gartmore Fledging Index, and some monumental, almost incomprehensible figures and percentages. I was being serious, deadly serious, I mean this is money.

 

I looked up. I’d given off a nervous disposition. I’d been rabbiting my way through jargon that I basically knew nothing about. Miss Secretary wasn’t just Miss Secretary.

 

“You don’t recognise me do you.”

 

I’d fucked her in Ibiza last year. It was one of Rachel’s best friends. I sat back and smirked. She looked at me and laughed. That friendly laugh that you just think to yourself, well, no harm done. Magic. Christ, did I leave that office feeling horny.

 

Tuesday 16^th July

 

Sandra needs to know when I’ll be wanting to take time off for holidays, specifically asking me to be around in August as Access 1 and 2 are both off on a Rambling Society jaunt across Wales.

 

She values me enough to have given me a pay rise. It’s adorable. My annual income has increased by the amount Bill and I make in a couple of hours.

 

Got an e mail from Charlene. She wants to go for a drink to talk things through. Such a typical bird! I know, let me dump you, and then hound you to see if you’re OK. I replied telling her if she wore her crotchless knickers I’d meet up with her.

 

Her response was “My place 8pm 2moro”. 

 

Wednesday 17^th July

 

Arranged with F & S to take off the first two weeks in September. Thank fuck these two gormless temping lads are off at the end of the week. They keep asking me questions, all day long. “What are equities?” “What are dividends?” “What does this column mean?” Like I have time. I led them to a meeting room and turned on Bloomberg. “Watch this, and come and tell me what you’ve learnt at the end of the day”.

 

“Why is my nephew watching television Freeman?” says schoolteacher Sandra. I told her the Gods honest truth. “He’s MTV generation, just like me. Let them learn from the experts”, I said as I proof read a confirmation. She didn’t know what to say.

 

I got an urgent vibrating buzz from Bill, “Sell Nike.” Got to the bogs and found Oscar and Rafael cleaning. I was pretty short with them. Fortunately they got out the way and I had time to plug the mobile into the laptop and dump £67,000 of shares before we lost 2.6% of the value.

 

Oscar was fuming. In his broken English, “You want keep this secret hey? You want look at filthy pictures at work hey? You sick? Give us £100”. What could I do? Our little arrangement is worth thousands upon thousands.  

 

Thursday 17^th July         

 

Last night at Charlenes was amazing. I pitched up and took her for a beer. She seems to think that she might want to go back to Oz pretty soon so she thought she’d drop me in it straight up. Her visa runs out in a few months, so it’s inevitable anyway.

 

I explained that I was taking off a fortnight at the start of September, so perhaps she could come on holiday with me then. Her light blue eyes just sparkled. I put my hand between her thighs. She was wearing them, good girl.

 

All being well, Bill and I should own a Notting Hill house next week. Rock on. 

 

Saturday 18^th July

 

Had a good old chinwag with Brian last night. He’s quitting Uni. Decided he’s doing his liver too much damage and is wasting his time. Couldn’t agree more. For someone like Chris, who is hell-bent on being a film critic, and is making tracks whilst studying, it’s a good choice. Brian is just a fucking lad. He’s a boys boy. He couldn’t give a flying monkeys about his course and he’s right to get out.

 

He told me that he actually studied very hard for his end of year exams, but when he walked out his final one, he walked straight to the Dean and explained there would be a situation vacant come next term. So the lad is back down south.

 

Apparently he took out his student loan out just in time to benefit. He’s a rich kid so he took the rest of his 7 a side rugby team to the Orkney Isles on a bender on the money. They caused mayhem. Flirted with the locals, and just managed to avoid all out war. But the tough guys were put through it on the flight back to the mainland. They were the only passengers. The pilot left the cabin door open on a piece of string as he walked right down the aisle to visit the toilet. He was quiet as a mouse and only when he had returned to the cockpit did he say anything. In a deep Scottish accent he murmured over the tannoy, “Remember lads, Gavin Hastings will always be the best”.    

 

When Brian returned to St.Andrews he returned his rented TV. He had to explain it was broken. “Did you piss on it?” was the response. He then went to the bar to have a final pint amongst all the revellers having just finished their finals. He bumped into Appleby from school. The cunt had ended up spending years up there. Appleby took him to one side, and said “This is how you clear a bar”. Took a swig of his beer, crunched some peanuts in his mouth and spat the lot across the bar. Brian turned around, walked to his car and left St. Andrews.  

 

Monday 20^th July

 

Houston we have a problem. It turns out the real reason Maria was killed was not because she was in debt, not because she said she’d blabber about this Ireland drop, not even because she was seeing Jason, who was hated by Mess. She was killed because she stole Friars favourite Voodoo doll.

 

Tommy wanted to meet up. So we did. He wanted to know if I wanted to pay a trip down to Camberwell to run through a few things with the “guys” as he calls the group. I went.

 

They have no idea I was the kid in the Beemer who had the decks. To them that was just some initiation test for a small timer who had a few debts to sort out. I was jumped because some loser saw me leaving that club, and realised he could make it back up to the “guys” quick and easy.

 

I am in deeper than I ever knew. Tommy wanted to run a few ideas across Friar and Mess and wanted me there.

 

There I was, sat next to Tommy, taking a hit from a crack pipe when Mess just erupts in laughter. Tommy soon follows, in stitches, total hysterics. I catch Friars eye, and he chuckles. “It’s the purist mix you’ll get young man”.

 

I was flying. The pictures on the wall blurred, and it’s possible I passed out for some minutes. When I came round, they vaguely acknowledged my consciousness. They were talking amongst themselves.

 

Friar, leans across to Tommy and says, in his raw low West Indian drawl, “Let me explain his white ass. A lot of people pass through this room. Some on jobs, some on hits, some come in for a chat, some want work, some want to pick up a little H, K, Vidacol, Coke, whatever”.

 

He leans back with his OJ in a cut Edinburgh crystal glass. “I had this very spiritual, magical doll. It was given to me by a witch on my home island of Jamaica. My Mum and Pup decided to move back there when I was 16. They took me with them and gave me the option of staying. I took a long walk up in the hills before I flew back here. I ran into this woman who offered me cocoa and we talked. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about her. She looked me in the eyes and told me to move on, never look back, and if I ever needed to believe in anything or ask questions look to this doll.”

 

At which point he stands up and pulls out a beautifully crafted puppet like object from the coffee table drawer. “All the fuckin’ Mercs, all the tropical fish tanks, all the big houses; nothin’ comes close to this”.

 

The social mood was already evolving into a Pulp Fiction great great Grandfathers watch situation. Friar kisses his doll. He was obviously high as a sky rocket, and I was having trouble keeping paranoia at bay, let alone focussing, but this doll means something to him.

 

There was however, something very familiar about that doll. “This is more than a luck charm. More than a mascot. This is my…”, at which point he takes another draw on the pipe he holds in his right hand, “This is my God. May it always be close to me.”

 

It clicked. I’d taken a polaroid of Maria on the afternoon before she left to go to France. She was sat on a bed with her suitcase half packed holding that very doll. The picture was in my wallet. Paranoia.

 

Tuesday 21^st July

 

Found it very difficult concentrating at work. Couldn’t seem to get anything right. Sandra sent me an email asking me to track some investment trusts, and follow forecasts on the S & P 500 from Morgan Stanley Dean Witter and Lehman Brothers. I just totally forgot. At the end of the day, she called through, “Have you got those figures for me Toby?” My memory was like a sieve today.

 

Wednesday 22^nd July

 

Received an exciting package in the post today. When I got back from the office, I found it on the dining room table. It was a letter and a cine film from Dad. Mum was with me as I read it. She has a cine projection screen, which we rummaged around for in the loft. The letter shocked me.

 

He doesn’t want to go back to Canada, but is intent on living in Ireland. The commune looks utterly fantastic. To his credit, he has tendered an allotment, started making a few guitars and teaches some of the younger kids basic maths.

 

The cine was a work of art. It showed everyone as if they were a happy family. The sun was shining, the lake and sea glistened, the green, green gardens looked stunning. I could visibly see how moved Mum was. God only knows what was going through her mind, but I felt so proud of Dad for those 3 minutes worth of cine film. Perhaps I’ll copy it onto my DV Cam and download it onto Ruperts Apple Mac and tech it up, give it a soundtrack and a few credits.

 

It was a fun little thing to receive in the post. At the very end, laughing, smiling, in a rosy red dress, giving a bunch of flowers to one of the kids who was making sand castles on the beach, there is a shot of Anoushka. Then the reel ran out.   

 

Thursday 23^rd July

 

Met with the Lizards solicitors at the Squash club. Signed papers over the pad. Slimey fucker. As our offer was accepted and we have now legally bound, exchanged contracts, slapped down the 10% deposit and the funds have entered Henry Vikings bank account, we’ve completed. Wahey!

 

Friday 24^th July

 

Have started smoking heavily. Got through 400 duty free cigarettes this week. I also seem to have drunk my way through two litre bottles of vodka Smirnoff, and seven bottles of Red in the past week. 

 

Locked away the polaroid of Maria holding the voodoo doll. Don’t need that to be discovered by the wrong person. Friar, such a viscous man. Life is cheap. What’s the saying? “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer”.

 

Saturday 25^th July

 

Went on a bender with Brian and Billy. Bills been getting pretty stressed recently about some of the hours he’s been having to put in. He’s having to take exams too, and he mentioned that maybe it would be a good idea to let the day trading alone for a while, particularly as Jonny Cash has been giving him grief recently.

 

As good a pal as Brian is, we talked this through when he was away from the bar, in the loos. It’s important that it goes no further. We are starting to make the kind of money that will allow us to do whatever the fuck we want if it’s possible to keep it up for another few years.

 

Got Bill rat-arsed and persuaded Brian to move into the spare room in the pad. He was excited by the prospect. We went and had a look around, cracked a bottle of bubbly, and bunned a monstrous reefer to celebrate the good life.

 

It’ll be great to have Brian onboard. He’ such a competitive bastard that it’s bound to be healthy having him around. Can’t wait to move my stuff in. Will get on the case next week. Have some very boring admin to sort out regarding parking permits, council tax, and obviously need to go shopping. Was flicking through catalogues getting pretty horny about plasma screens, Playstation, and Sky packages.   

 

Sunday 26^th July

 

Gran was up in town for the weekend. She asked me to attend church with her. I stood in the congregation and just felt like an evil piece of work. My life is satanic.

 

Monday 27^th July

 

Samantha is leaving the office to return to H.K. Gutted. Realised how much of my day she occupies. As she packed up her desk, I looked across to Access 1 and 2. The office will never be the same again. Considered asking her for a photograph before she disappeared, but as it is she’ll just remain a beautiful memory.

 

Wednesday 29^th July

 

Billy and Brian have already moved into the pad. Went over to see them last night. They were sanding down the sitting room floor. All the rooms are pretty similar in size. I’ve been left the back room. The lads have hung on my wall a psychedelic Photoshop enhanced image of me aged 13 at the Monza Grand Prix, wearing huge raybans, and Ferrari cap.  

 

Thursday 30^th July

 

Reading a fascinating book on Warren Buffet which is helping with the sweltering tube journeys. Managed to fuck up almost all network files today. There was a bug going round, we were warned about, and told not to open anything sent from Singapore. Very nearly crashed the companies system by clicking on it. Only three people in the company were sent it. Interestingly, myself, Billy and Jonny Cash. I was the only happy clappy prick that clicked through. Fortunately, I realised what I had done and pulled the plug on my PC before I was thrown out the office window.    

 

Saturday 1^st August

 

Moving in. Had to get five heavies to shift kit. And by kit I do mean antiques. Big fucking lads. The type that don’t care about e mails because they just go to see the people they want to talk to. Call them simple if you like, but they got three hundred nicker each from me.

 

Mum was about to make herself scarce when they pitched up. She was playing the slightly paranoid but caring motherly role. They probably actually got paid twice. Fair fucking do’s.

 

Sunday 2^nd August

 

Woke up in my new house. Was an incredible feeling. Popped out, got myself a coffee, bought the Weekend FT, and a danish pastry.

 

Went back to the pad, and it just stunk of skunk.

 

So very, very typical.

 

Monday 3^rd August

 

Back in the office.

 

Tuesday 4^th August

 

Decided I am actually fucking brilliant at what I do. Made thousands today.

 

Wednesday 5^th August

 

No. No. I’m crap. Got a text message from Bill saying ‘Sell short BT’. I was out grabbing a Pret Sandwich, didn’t feel the vibration as I was grooving down the street listening to my MP3 player. Fucked up.

 

Thursday 6^th August

 

Tommy and I went over to have a chat with Friar and Mess. They’re vaguely funny in a mysterious kind of way. Went over some plans. Ketamine isn’t a drug to dabble with.

 

Friday 7^th August 

 

Charlene, bless her, has booked a weekend for the two of us in Ayia Napa. Found out this morning at 11am. We have a two o clock flight in the morning. Get back into London at 7.30am Monday morning.

 

Saturday 8^th August

 

On a beach! I am on a beach! Looking out to the shining Med. Have a rucksack full of beans, and four grams of the white lady. Going to a scratch night.

 

Customs was an unusual affair. Security was hot. I had some ganga in my hand luggage. Nothing serious, just enough for a few spliffs later at sunset. They couldn’t care less about me. Charlene was pulled over and the bastards went through everything. They took her hairdryer apart, opened up her camera, opened up her legs.. only kidding… and squirted half her toothpaste out. She’s coming out of the sea now, so I’ll log off.

 

Monday 10^th August

 

Admitted, it was a mildly odd thing to do, taking the Psion to Napa that is. Smoked some of the Ketamine I picked up at Friar and Mess’ at Charlenes pad just before going out to Gatwick. Made the weekend a little twisted. Old Skool, Nu Skool, Garage, the Castle Cluc, Kahluas, all very r n’ b. Charlene was in her element. To me it’s just a hazy sketch of sex, throbbing clubs, sea, sangrias, and sex.

 

Tuesday 11^th August

 

Fuck. Goldman Sachs have put a Sell sign on one of our puppies. Got stressed out when I noticed it in the paper. Managed to cut my eye with a piece of paper just before lunch, so forgot about the sodding shares. Sounds worse than it is. A bit like slicing a hard boiled egg in many ways. Still, Sandra thought it was serious enough to send me home.

 

Got back home and Brian was rigging up Playstation 2. Spent the whole afternoon text messaging Billy letting him know our new high scores on Grand Turismo 3. When the goat got back to the pad, he was with his sexy Mandy. The two are fucking like rabbits.

 

Before he went up to his love nest he slipped me an A4 sheet which listed our portfolio. The Yanks have got it all wrong. Goldmans loose credit. Made a 3.4% profit on those very stocks that I was so worried about before my eye fell on paper. Bloodshot. 

 

Wednesday 12^th August

 

Found a beautiful photograph of me and Dad in Canada. Must be fifteen years old at least. Hand in hand standing on a frozen lake, the picture is totally white with two black figures. Distant trees holding snow look like lollipops, and you can just make out a couple of clouds breaking over the mountains on the horizon. Have decided to blow it up and put it on the wall.

 

Think I might sell the beemer and buy myself a motorbike. Being very influenced on this decision by reading Brians copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance.  

 

Was surprised to find it on the shelf in his room. He said it belonged to a girl he met in his first week up at St. Andrews.

 

Perhaps a Ducati?

 

Pretty tired. Have been a little hectic lately. Didn’t want to do any drugs today but Bill and Mand brought out some Coke and we all ended up doing a few lines.

 

Bet they’re enjoying themselves in Bills room. Wonder whether we could convert the loft into a sauna, or just lay down a huge white shag rug. My thoughts are dirty. Signing off.

 

Thursday 13^th August

 

Sorted out the holiday. Booked a 70ft yacht to sail us from Sicily to France. So excited about sailing around the Med. Charlene, bless, has saved up £230. The holiday will cost thousands. I was checking out the package on the web at work today. We stop off in Monaco for a night too. Bring it on.

 

Friday 14^th August

 

Mr. Deal sent me an e mail at work today. Such a cocksucker. ‘It was good to do business with you. I hope you found our services efficient and if you or indeed any other members of your family are looking for a mortgage broker in the future, do not hesitate to contact me’. He’s basically talking about Mum. Some postcodes carry a lot of weight.

 

Missing Deadre. She could iron the seam off a cricket ball. Still, guess I’m not too far from the old pad, might be able to sneak back and slip my laundry through the system. I don’t think she’d appreciate cleaning this place up. Never realised how fucking messy Bill is.

 

This morning, he’d left a used Jonny dangling out of the little bin in the bathroom. Picked it up with the kitchen tongs and put it on the top of his PC. He hasn’t brought it up.

 

Brian, on the other hand, is so anally tidy. It’s a good thing. Perhaps he feels as the one tenant in a house of 3 that there’s an onus on him to impress. Hope not. Then again, he does just sit around with a cucumber up his arse for most of the day. He expressed an interest in working at F & S. If only he knew how dull it really is. I’ll advise him to go into Estate Agency or Advertising or becoming a Dj, or media sales or anything.

 

Saturday 15^th August

 

Ahh the weekend. Have been a tired lad this week. Billy has miraculously managed to pass his work exams, so we went out for a few beers to celebrate. Sounds as if he’ll get a promotion. Good lad. He’s clever. Never thought I’d hear myself call the boy clever, but he is.

 

Jonny Cash took him straight down the boozer. When I arrived, there were three empty bottles of Moet, and two Monte Cristo cigars lying in the ash tray. Not to be outdone, I ordered another bottle and a cigar for yours truly. Cash would have none of it, “Freeman, put it on my tab”. More money than God.

 

Rumour has it, a few years back, at Closters, he lost his Swiss Bank Credit Card whilst up the slopes. He phoned through to explain the situation, and sure enough, by the end of the day, waiting at the apres ski, by the gluvine bar was a man in a black suit with an envelope containing a new card. When you’re a rich man, people like to impress.

 

Sadly he didn’t stay around all night buying us Champers. He ordered a cab to take him to City airport. He was flying off to Brussels for the weekend to meet a lady friend.

 

Bet his girlfriend can’t gobble as many narcotics as my Charlene.  

 

Sunday 16^th August

 

My nutty Aussie chick came round and cooked up a delicious Lamb roast. What a treat. The brand spanking new oven hadn’t even been christened. She was in seventh heaven ordering us around, getting us motivated with the meal, whipping up a hive of activity.

 

Brian was not impressed with having to slice the onions. His macho image was dented for ever as the tears poured from his eyes. She even slipped in a prawn, squid, advocado starter.

 

We enjoyed a few bottles of red and a couple of doobs, and then played Trivial Pursuit. 

 

C and I won, but only just. We pipped the boys to the post by our superior knowledge on the Pinkies. Which legendary comic was brought up in an orphanage in Lambeth?

 

Easy! The great Charlie Chaplin. To be honest, it was C who knew. Where the fuck is Lambeth? She’d lived in Brixton for a few months before moving up to Camden.

 

Really not very interested in F & S tomorrow morning. Need to do some serious ramping and just leave. Worked out on the old Excel spreadsheet that we’ve made at least half the value of this house in the past half year.

 

Monday 17^th August

 

Can’t imagine I’ll ever give up fags. They’ll be the death of me. If I could just cut down from the reds.

 

Tuesday 18^th August

 

Wouldn’t mind spending some time in a climatic or geographically dangerous location. I’m sure the citizens of L.A. are more hot blooded because they know at anytime the earth could just open up and swallow them. Living under a volcano must have an effect to. Neapolitans surely act like lunatics due to the ever present threat of Vesuzius blowing its top. It’s probably why we’re all so conservative in Britain. Have been listening to Cat Stevens, can’t stop singing the line ‘We’re only dancing on this earth for a short while’.

 

Time for a quick line.

 

Picked up a few more joysticks today, so we can all play GT3 at the same time. Life is pretty good as I sit here in my spacious new room, with two good friends for housemates, a two week holiday on a yacht with Charlene lined up in a fortnight, and money coming in left, right and centre on the trading front.   

 

This Coke is pukka stuff. One more line and then I’ll join the lads downstairs.

 

Wednesday 19^th August

 

Just got back in… 5am. Tomorrow will be hellish. But forget about that, what a night. It had totally slipped my mind that Mum had invited me out to a charity ball tonight.

 

It was a pretty nobby affair at the Dorchester. There were all kinds of old faces there from prep school to public school parents, through to your typical millionaire charity fund raisers.

 

I managed to get Billy goat to come along with me. So we rocked up at Mums around about 7ish for a Gin and Tonic. Mum was there with Sarah and a young lady who’s been selling tickets for the event.

 

We exchanged small talk. Marias parents have taken Maria’s death pretty badly. Understandable. It’s as if time has stopped. They’ve just left her room up in the Lake District exactly as it was. Sarah implied that Dan, her old man, just doesn’t have any energy or enthusiasm for anything anymore. It brought me down. I suddenly remembered how much of a bright spark she was. I looked through to Mums kitchen and just remembered my reaction when I first set eyes on her.

 

Mum and Sarah took off early for the champagne on reception. Dressed in our tuxedo’s, Bill, myself and Angela hung back for a short while. Angela, who is a stunning black girl, soon took me away from the morose mindset I was in.

 

She’s been working on this charity project for the last eight months. Mum got to know her over the phone. She was doing some cold calling, and persuaded Mum that Childrens Hearts was a worthwhile charity, as it obviously is, and managed to rope Mum into pushing some of these tickets herself. They were having a little personal celebration round at Holland Park earlier, as all the tickets were sold.

 

Angela had arranged for scooterman to pick up her car from Mayfair, but was already too drunk to drive. I volunteered. So we jumped in her little Fiat and drove down to Marble Arch.

 

On the drive over she’d been explaining how light headed the champagne, and G & T had made her. Fair enough. She then started elaborating and describing how drink made her randy.

 

She was in the back giving it the horny chat. As I parked up down a side street, she slid one hand down my trousers, and the other down Billys. It was a pretty quiet road for Mayfair, so I shut my mouth and enjoyed the hand job. Billy goat did precisely the same.

 

The ball was insignificant after that.      

 

Thursday 20^th August

 

Pinched myself throughout the day. Could’ve done with laying my head in my arms and just sleeping for the best part of it. Alas, it wasn’t to be. Sandra must be having her period. She fed me fax after fax to deal with. Why do people still fax?

 

It got to about 4 in the afternoon and coffee just wasn’t doing it anymore. I suddenly remembered I had the remains of a wrap of coke in my inside jacket pocket. I really don’t know how it got there. I only ever wear my suit to work. Presumably it’s from a night with Tommy. At some point it must’ve slipped in there.

 

It was my only chance. Surreptitiously I cut it up and divided it into 3 lines. One for every hour. Hidden under the keyboard was my passport to making it to the end of the day.

 

Friday 21^st August

 

Absolute result. I’ve persuaded Bill, Mandy, Brian and Fran, to come on this yacht. I spoke to the travel agent today. It was very short notice but he was more than happy to pencil in a few more names. Apparently there were two other couples who had to pull out at the last minute. Loosing a deposit on a holiday of a lifetime must sting. Starting to get excited. 

 

It’s costing a fortune, but what a holiday it’ll be. It just doesn’t come any flashier. Flight to Sicily, gently sail up the Italian coast, past Amalfi, Rome and past Corsica to Monaco, and then fly back from Nice.

 

Sunday 23^rd August

 

Charlene is starting to get all emotional about leaving London. I tell her London will still be here. She started crying last night.

  

Monday 24^th August

 

If I hear the word commodities, fund managers, shares or markets once more before the end of the day I will loose all will to live. Today has just been a total and utter complete disaster. Sandra bollocked me from the moment I was twenty minutes late, and had stern words with me at the end of the day. Fuck her. Such a pathetic woman.

 

I’m so mentally shattered, all I can think about is bed. So drained, I can’t be well. Perhaps it’s time for a duvet day. I don’t want to be on poor form for the holiday. 

 

Tuesday 25^th August

 

It’s a mean old zeitgeist out there. I’ve just had to get a cab back from Friar and Messes hood. Took the liberty of driving the Beemer over. Pretty fucking stupid but there we go. You can’t be too overcautious.

 

Within two hours some cunts had not only nicked the CD system but also all four tyres. Cunts knew what they were doing. Boy, am I fucked off.

 

Wednesday 26^th August

  

Had a manic day at work. Spent most of the day collecting data on the S&P 500. US common stocks look like they’re about to take a turn. Figure if we can transfer some of the investments over to the Pacific Rim we could be looking at some high yield curves.

 

Haven’t noticed any bear attitudes in the last few days at work. The thing is I want the quick kill. I’ve been shown too many mathematical models which span decades of years. I mean please. I read the Wall Street Journal for a reason. Move over George Soros. Peter Lynch, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

 

So, the deal is, Bill and I are only going to act on Jonny Cash stocks that have got a high price/earnings ratio. Take the flavour of the month, and abuse it. There’s chat about the Dow falling and the Hang Seng strengthening. Bills been assessing some stocks and their compound annual growth. Now he’s passed his exams, he’s been head hunted three times already.

 

Thursday 27^th August

 

Met up with Charlene in the lunch hour. Went and bought some D&G shades, a pair of Rockport deck shoes, sun cream, a couple of trashy fiction novels, and an adaptor for the Psion. Had a chat with one of the tour operators. Apparently, the yacht only has a certain European type of socket.

 

Had a bite to eat and went for a short stroll in Green Park. It’s at times like this when London is at its best. Hot, sexy and good looking. I’m so looking forward to this trip. A bit like the road trip, except at sea.

 

Was checking out the weather in the Med on the work PC.  Sun drenched.

 

Phoned up the Beemer garage this morning. I explained the situation. For a fee, they’ll take it in and sort it out. I let them get back to me with a quote, negotiated for a good half hour, and then out of the blue thought I’d ask them how much they’d offer me for it.

 

The long and the short is, if I sell the car, it’ll automatically pay for the holiday and when I get my arse back on Blighty shores, I can check out some bikes. Had a stroll around the Harley showroom down New Kings Road way, but you need to be butch to carry it off. I definitely think a Ducati is the way forward for young Freebie.

 

Friday 28^th August

 

Took garage man Tony to pick up the Beemer after work. To add insult to injury two of the front seats had been pulled out. Perhaps the motor won’t pay for the holiday. Fuck it. Scum. Tony soon had his workmate Nigel bring over a couple of seats.

 

Was so pissed, I popped into Friar and Messes ‘office’, as they like to call it. Friar buzzed me in. Only Friar was there. He was entertaining a fit Latin American broad, strutting about in very few clothes. He seemed pleased to see me. I bought a few grams of Crack and left him to it.

 

Didn’t let him know about the car. It was probably some cunt that works for him that nicked the stuff in the first place.

 

Felt sad leaving the car. We discussed a price which sounded decent to me, and I left it with them.   

 

Saturday 29^th August

 

Bill and I are suddenly realising how the city money boys feel when they go off for a break. We won’t be in control of the trading. Anything could happen in the markets in the next two weeks.

 

What would happen if our portfolio plummeted thanks to a freak economic crisis. If we were in the office we’d know about the downturn immediately. Out on the Med, we might just get the news on the radio, but that’s it. Certainly cause for concern.

 

Got a few grand out in Froggy francs from Coutts yesterday. Should see me through to the casinos in Monte. I can’t understand how Charlene is expecting to last three flipping hours with her budget of £400. Still, it’s our last little bit of time together, might as well make the most of it.

 

Sunday 30^th August   

 

Bill went and bought a satellite phone yesterday so we can hook up with our dealing account on the boat. Had to laugh. He brought the brick into my room late last night. Awesome piece of kit, I’ll grant that. It appears I put the shits up him when I explained my controlling nature to him on the way to work on Friday.

 

Charlene, Brian and myself had just been taking a few hits on the old pipe when he stormed in with the phone. He was talking to an old school mate who’s got one of the beasts himself and was tenting in Base Camp 1 of Everest. Hope he didn’t think I was as high as I was. Probably on the same mentality wavelength all things considered. Told him we’d expect a call from the summit.  

 

All I have to do now is pack. One black tux. One white dress shirt. Churches. Bow tie. Buy cigars on the plane. Swimming trunks, shades, T-shirts, drivers license, passport, cash and camera. Go, go, go.

 

Monday 31^st August

 

Settling onto the boat. Very exciting. Flight was on time. Air stewardesses were forthcoming with the G and T’s and it was a smooth journey and clear day above Europe. Read one of the trashy novels bought in Waterstones the other day, and found great amusement in luring Charlene to the toilets to join the mile high club.

 

She was very reserved initially. Probably being hard on herself about blowing her mind the previous evening on crack cocaine. Hell, she’ll get over it.

 

After the delicious business class champagne and caviar, I was feeling hot. I whispered in her ear that it was probably about time we made our way up to the lavatories. It was half serious, half joke. I didn’t really imagine in my wildest dreams she’d follow. But boy am I glad she did. So cute. Shot into her straight up. On a plane, on a boat and on land, all in the space of 24 hours.

 

We’ve just set sail. Thought I’d have a quiet moment down in our tiny cabin before we toast the departure. Out the port hole I can see the red, orange sun slipping into the Med. This is the bollocks.    

 

Tuesday 1^st September

 

It’s the good life alright. Our captain is called Franco, and wants to know why we have more technology to reach the shore than he does.

 

Couldn’t sleep for toffee last night. Kept dreaming of Kate Winslet running through the sinking Titanic.

 

Amusing how valuable certain commodities become when in a new environment. Mandy brought six packs of Pringles which have escalated in price. The first was free, just like drug dealers hey! The second was bartered for with Brian. He gave her one of his Monte Cristo cigars. I thought I’d test the water, and see what the next pack was ringing in at. A straight forward, “One hour on your Gameboy Freebie”.

 

It’s late afternoon and time for a dip. Even in this small space I can’t seem to find anything. Charlene’s so neat, her make-up bag, her towels, her costumes, her knickers, bras, have all been tidily placed.    

 

Franco has a harpoon which I’m hoping should provide us with squid dinner. We’ll see. I’m not going anywhere if I can’t find my Quicksilver pants.

 

Wednesday 2^nd September

 

Blue, blue, blue. Nothing but blue. It’s baking hot on deck. Charlene, the flamin’ Aussie is used to it. Puiz Buin Factor 25 won’t keep me out there.

 

Everyone’s suffering from sunstroke apart from my bird.

 

Franco tells us we have a typical Italian meal for dinner tonight. Good boy! If last nights feast is anything to go by, we’ll eat for a good hour, lie back, watch the stars, fall asleep, and drag ourselves off to bed just before sunrise.

 

This salty air is so refreshing. It must be such a healthy life on the ocean wave. Brian caught a Tuna this morning; pissed Billy off as he’d only just given him the rod.    

 

Surreptitiously munching on a few Pringles I held back. Pop, pop, pop. Looking forward to our first port of call.

 

We are due to hit Capri sometime in the next few days. The plan is to run around the island. Eat some olives, drink some red wine, buy some fancy jewellery, clothes, take a couple of snaps, buy some more togs and hop back on the boat to sail into the sunset.

 

Friday 4th September

 

Capri is a bit spesh. Orange groves everywhere. Elephant skinned locals look at us in dismay. Billy, the fucking lout won’t go anywhere without his ghetto blaster. Felt like a plonker sipping on a coffee with this BYO Music next to us in a café.   

 

There’s a lot of attitude on the island. Diamonds, Gold, Silver everywhere. The jet setters like it here, and so do I. Spent a small fortune on clothes.

 

I was smoking a marley staring into the depths the other evening when one of the crew siddled up. He brought out a spliff.

 

Theres nothing like a spliff for making you feel like a king. Coke makes you give the chat, K fucks you, Crack the same, acid – colourful but dangerous, Vidacol spins you; it’s the reefer that lets you sit back and feel happy.

 

The shipmate who offered me the smoke was Ferrante. He explained in fragmented English that most people who do this trip are middle aged and not like us. P.L.U. are hard to come by!

 

Ferrante is a farmers peasant boy from Sicily who has realised he can escape the clutches that come with home by hustling his way around the Med on this little boat. A sweet genuine guy.

 

He told me his family was torn apart when Mussolini came to power. The young men went to New York, leaving behind women and children who were left to fend for themselves. Fuckin’ Italians. Always the dollar, always the fuckin’ dollar.   

 

Saturday 5^th September

 

Spent the day on the Amalfi coast. Brian and Fran went into town, but Bill, Mandy, Charlene and myself hired deckchairs and did fuck all except drink Gin and Juice and laze in the sun.

 

So chilled. Loving it. How tacky was Ayia compared to this. I mean the clubs were something else and it was deep down dirty fun, but this is just a touch of class.

 

Still sea, flapping sails, quiet, when Billy hasn’t got thumping fucking techno pumping out the Brixton Briefcase. Just sat here pondering the beauty. Feel totally free. Have been sailing pretty close to the Italian coast, so spent most of the day with the binoculars pinned to my face.  

 

Sunday 6^th September

 

The crew take it in turns at the helm, so we make good time sailing through the night. It’s become a habit to check the radar for our positioning whilst I smoke a wake up fag and clear away the sleepers with a strong cup of coffee first thing in the chilly morning.

 

It’s just out of this world. The kind of holiday that blows all the cobwebs away and makes you want to paint boats on a beach in the Med for the rest of your life.

 

We’ve all adjusted to ocean motion and have now all managed to pull at least something out of the sea, but as Ferrante says, it’s been over harvested for years.  

 

Monday 7^th September

 

It’s kind of funny. Being in this confined space, leads to short tempers. I take everything Bill or Brian say with a Jeff Capes sized pinch of salt, but the girls are getting bitchy. Amusingly, Fran ‘borrowed’ some of Mandys Tampax which didn’t go down too well. At least they’re jamming together. You don’t borrow condoms, you don’t borrow personal Jazz mags, and you don’t borrow tampons. Brian wanted to curl up like a little woodlouse.

 

Bill has been using his satellite phone to try and get in touch with Jamie who is up Mount Everest. Hasn’t been working.

 

He did manage to call through to his old man who is sailing himself in Cowes. As he finished the call we hit a little wave from a passing boat and he lost his feet and lost the phone. The brick went flying out of his hand and poetically stood still in mid air against the sun, as six unbelieving faces stared at it. Absolute magic. A plop as it descended into the depths of the Med, and that, as they say, was that.

 

Tuesday 8^th September

 

Have been teaching Brian cribbage. We’ve been playing for a Euro a hole, which has led to some interesting ideas on exactly how many Lira or Francs he owes me.

 

He’s a good card sharp. Spent years playing poker with him at school. Straight faced and brutal. He’ll make any cunt bleed. A very ballsy player indeed. To keep us on the ball, we’re going to play in a different currency a day. The scores will be settled when we’re back home in Notting Hill. He still seems keen on the idea of working at F&S, so I figure it’ll only be a good thing to have him thinking numbers and money.

 

Thursday 9^th September

 

Stopped off in Corsica yesterday for a walk around. I’d just got used to my sea legs. It was a welcome break from the flap, flap of the sails and the swish, swish of the waves.

 

Franco, Ferrante and the other crew member, who says nothing, and appears to do very little, disappeared as soon as we’d docked at Bastia.

 

Felt like school kids as we were told to reassemble at the harbour at 20:00 hours. Played footy on the beach with the locals, and lay in the sand for a few hours before tucking into a couple of shore beers prior to setting off into the darkening sea. 

 

Friday 10^th September

 

Tonight we hit Monaco. For me, this is what it’s all about. Flash as Harry casinos. Fast cars. Women who’ve seen more knife than a turbaned Sikh and cafes that charge astronomical prices for a coffee. 

 

Ok. Time to lower the sails, jump in the sea for a quick dip, and then a cruise into the harbour sipping the old champers and tightening the bow tie on the Tux.

 

Saturday 12th September

 

On arrival, the three boys took the ladies by the arms and headed straight for a casino.

 

Charlene was lady luck. For four hours she was unstoppable. I had to stand back. My own bullish attitude squandered me 3000 Francs in twenty minutes. I just watched her. Move over Sharon ‘Ginger’ Stone. Charlene cleaned up; bought me a tender steak, and led me back to the harbour. I had got through dozens of free rum swizzles by this stage.

 

On the Sunday, it was business as usual for the principality. The six of us strode into town in shades. After a strong eight quid coffee, Charlene and I made our way to the local car showrooms. We found an outlet that hired a convertible Ferrari Daytona for half a day. The bank manager will curse my very existence.   

 

Just for fun timed myself on the Grand Prix circuit. Didn’t help that we had to sit in traffic whilst an overturned Aston Martin Vanquish was lifted from the road. Still, Charlene went snap spastic with her camera, and I hardly noticed the delay as I posed like P. Diddy for her.

 

Took the puppy for a burn up in the hills, and as the sun started to fall, I thought very sincerely about driving off to Switzerland in the motor.

 

Sunday 13^th September

 

Don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave. This has without doubt been the most pleasurable holiday of my life. I could quite happily live out here.

 

We’re now all at Nice airport looking a little glum about returning to London. This time in twelve hours I’ll be on the tube on the way into work.

 

Franco took us for one last sail this afternoon. When we stepped off the 70ft yacht for the final time, it really felt as if the fairytale had ended. We were whisked away in a taxi, and only left with memories and photographs.

 

Monday 14^th September

 

Hitting the day trading hard. The Med break was exactly what the doctor ordered. Quickly realised we should’ve put some stop losses on a few stocks, but it’s cool, we’ll make it good pretty sharpish. Got a call from Tommy. He tells me he’s moved into the position of a market maker. Honestly don’t know how he manages it. He wants to talk about Friar and Mess. How did I get myself in this stupid fucking situation.

 

Charlene has taken on a totally different tone with me. She’s leaving for Oz sometime in the next couple of weeks. I’m going to miss her.

 

Tuesday 15^th September

  

Back at home relaxing. It took a week for me to unwind out on the boat. Just when I had got used to the routine of grilled Tuna and white wine brunches, sun, cabin sex, swims, Italian language and the olive skinned beauties of Southern France it was finnito.

 

Brian has sorted out an interview at F&S, which could very well spell mayhem. Three housemates all in the same company; not sure on the logistics. Bill and I already fight for the shower in the morning as it is.

 

Dad called to congratulate me on the house. He was making noises about paying a surprise visit. That could easily spell disaster. There are more drugs littered about the house than any right minded citizen would care to see. I opened up the Cornflakes this morning to shake out an A4 sized sheet of acid. Neither Bill nor Brian know the first thing about it which is a little disturbing.

 

Charlene popped in earlier tonight. She presented us with the coolest montage of our holiday. Artistic chick. It hangs proudly above the wide screen TV. The best snap is of us boys on the deck pulling moonies with the word “Monaco” across our cheeks with the principality in the distant background. Billy definitely has the hairiest arse.

 

She left after a glass of red. I think she’s trying to ease her way out gently. I asked her to stay over but she wasn’t in the mood. Feeling cheesed off as Bill is monopolising the Playstation with Mandy and Brian is in his room doubtless writing love cheques with Fran.

 

Decided to watch Talented Mr. Ripley in my room. Don’t like feeling lonely like this. The shots of the Amalfi coast just made me want to be back on holiday.

 

Feeling totally restless. Decided to bin the film and go into a chat room. My PC is so slow, must buy a new one. Met this crazy New Zealand girl. We must’ve talked for a good two hours. It’s now 3.30am so I guess I should be trying to get some shut-eye.

 

Promised to resume the conversation tomorrow with this nutty antipodean, Vanessa. What is it with southern hemisphere girls and me at the moment? 

 

Wednesday 16^th September

 

The money from the Beemer has just come through. Tony gave me a good price in the end. I’m sure he’ll make a fat margin on it though; good service history, fast, powerful and sleek looking motor he’s got there.

 

Made a lunch time excursion to a Ducatti showroom. Boy, oh boy I can’t wait to get my hands on one. Sex on two wheels.

 

Stayed in the office until 1am. I phoned Charlene at her work today, but couldn’t be dealing with being put on hold for so long. She can get hold of me if she wants. Engrossed myself with all the paperwork that I’ve let pile up. Sandra has been banging on about clear desk policies, so I figured I’d give her nothing to chat about in the morning.

 

Only took me a couple of hours to make everything ship shape. Spent the rest of the evening checking out financial websites. I don’t think we can ride this wave much longer. Bill and I have made near on £180,000 in the last few months. I’m starting to tear my hair out at how risky some of our trades have been. I guess it’s what comes of trading in a similar fashion to Jonny Cash.

 

I scoured ft.com, motleyfool.co.uk, moneywise.co.uk, and wsj.com. It seems as if we’re right to be looking at the smaller caps for the quick buck, but it’s a pain in the arse that we risk everything continually. Perhaps I’m getting conservative. 

 

I just feel theres a slow down round the corner. I made a spread bet with one of the financial online bookmakers just before leaving the office. I’ve put £100 a FTSE point, for every point that it’s under 5,500 at the end of the month. Most predictions are up around the 6,000 mark. Not telling Billy goat.  

 

Friday 18^th September

 

Last night, met up with Tommy and his posse of trader whores in town. He really is a dickhead of the highest order, but I don’t mind him. He’s rude, abusive, selfish and arrogant, but always manages to get what he wants. People just put up with him.

 

Have totally blown it with Charlene. It was bound to end sooner or later, but my actions last night just banged the nail right in the coffin. Against my better judgement I ended up drinking with the Essex tarts until the early hours.

 

Being an aesthetically pleased shallow bastard, I had a good grope on the dancefloor with a leggy blonde. I invited her back to mine. We jumped in a taxi and to the annoyance of the cabbie, all but shagged in the back seats. Jumped out once we were outside the pad and handed over a few notes.

 

Bill and Brian were still up playing Goldeneye sucking on a monstrous newly purchased bong. They looked at me and shook their heads but I just didn’t read the signs. What can a pissed horny lad understand from a stoned arcade-gamed lad?

 

Burst into the room to find Charlene in my bed. She was a picture alright. There she sat propped up reading my FHM, in her underwear. There was I, rumbled. She didn’t say a word. Just put on her clothes, took her bag and left. What do you say? “I’m sorry”, “I can explain”, “It’s not what it looks like”; nothing can help. No chat could’ve dug me out of that hole. It was a Working Girl, Melanie Griffith type scene. She didn’t even call me a snake. Just upped and left. I called the whore a cab and gave her what she wanted. My love for Charlene was more than my lust for that blonde.  

 

Received an e mail at work from Charlene. It was short, and I felt shit. ‘I wanted to spend one last night with you before leaving’. Brian and Billy have offered me the sympathetic advice of, “You tried for the threesome, it didn’t work, now get over it”.

 

Saturday 19^th September

 

This house mallarky is proving to be everso serious. Bills, bills, bills, bills, bills. Spent much of this morning on the net sorting out direct debits and accounts. Getting Brian to give us cash in hand so it doesn’t appear as if we’re landlords. CYA. Cover your arse.

 

Brian has his interview with F&S on Monday morning. If he spent a little less time with his dick up Fran, I might be able to give him some tips.

 

We’re wondering when to have our housewarming. Billy, bless him, is becoming very proud and wants a series of dinner parties. It’s obviously the influence of an older woman. She’s civilsed, suave, drives a VW Carmen and is perfect for him. I just don’t want to loose my mate.

 

Paid a trip over to South London, Camberwell, to hook up with Friar and Mess. Tommy explained to me that there will be a dummy run, if you like. The guys want us to bring some booze and some fags from Calais next weekend. Evidently they’ve been diversifying.

 

I was pleasantly surprised. I had no idea gangsters were such strategists. Again there was freshly squeezed OJ. Again there were Puerto Rican beauties knocking about in Sarongs. But this time, business.

 

Unbeknown to me, Tommy has been doing a few Calais – Dover trips in the past few weeks. He knows the contacts over the channel. And has imported the booze, but mainly fags on his own. People are making a killing all over the country doing this kind of shit.

 

As far as I can tell, the only way these guys could make more money on the black market is if they got involved in bringing in immigrants. 

 

It hurt a little when one of the chicks put a Herbaliser record on my decks, but I know that in the greater scheme of things, the decks are nothing.

 

As Friar ran through some of the finer details, I looked him hard in the eyes. He is a mean piece of work. A superstitious mean piece of work. A shrewd, superstitious, gun totting, mean piece of work. I don’t know what makes him tick, or what motivates him to get up in the morning, but I can smell the viciousness on him.

 

With Tommy, it’s odd. He’s naturally intelligent. A very bright man, who is a loner and still loves the buzz of the underworld.         

         

Sunday 20^th September

 

Woke up this morning with Charlene on my mind. Perhaps it’s better this way. Jumped on the net, and managed to hook up with Vanessa, my internet Kiwi bird. She tells me she’s a singles chat telephone girl. Don’t believe her for a minute. It’s too easy to lie.

 

The house is turning into a shit hole. We need to get a cleaner. It’s that simple. Our little patch of garden needs sorting out too. I could give Deadre and Geena a call to see if they fancy helping out round here. On second thoughts, I don’t think I really want Mums helpers relaying information.

 

There was some dred locked hippy crashed out on our leather sofa this morning. None of us knew who he was or how he got there. When he finally came round, after we’d shoved a fry up under his nose, he told us that our door had been open last night, and he just came in.

 

We fed him, smoked his dope and politely told him to fuck off. He seemed very friendly. He was from the West country and had come up to town to visit his girlfriend, but she’d binned him that very night so he just took the first option of bed he could find. She lives a few doors down. Sounds like bullshit but nothings been stolen and he was harmless enough. Brian gave him a lift to Paddington. He even got a business card out of him. The dude makes chessboards in Dorset.

 

We had our first sober house meeting. Who left the door open? Who was the last person in? We figured it must’ve been Mandy. She was the last person out.

 

She left Bills bed early this morning at about 4am. She needed to get to Gatwick to catch a plane to see her aunt out in Spain. Bill felt so guilty he cooked Sunday lunch. Easily the best cook out of the three of us. Rupert popped round; he happened to be in town so we got the latest on the racing.     

 

Monday 21^st September

 

Brians interview went down a storm. He was offered the job on the spot. What neither Billy Goat nor I realised is he’s a born banker. His old man is a Fund Manager at UBS Warburg. The man spends half a year out in Switzerland. It’s funny, I never really knew what his father did.

 

I’ve always been quite close to Bills old man. He’s a self made millionaire. Started off as a cabbie. Then he went into delivering parcels. Invested in the business, bought himself a few more vans, took on some more employees, a little bit of marketing, telesales and a few thousand satisfied customers later, he had himself a business which he could sell for a fortune. He’s a cheeky chappy. Not born within the bells of Bow, but wishes he was! Nowadays he runs a couple of nightclubs in Brighton. Bills always trying to get us to go down, but we all know they’re gay haunts.  

 

So Brians starting at F&S at the beginning of next month. It promises to be a ridiculous scenario. I asked him howcome he was offered the job on the spot. “Well I didn’t mention either of you two, and the guy who interviewed me happens to be the next in line to be president of my Dads rugby club”. Nepotism, old school tie, it’s all still out there.

 

Tuesday 22^nd September

 

To celebrate his first job out of university, Brian had Sky installed today at home. Good lad. Worked our way through 3 box office films tonight. I’m shattered. I’ve been staring at screens for the whole of the day.

 

Got a call from Dad. He’s a joker. Wants me to go and help him set up a gig he’s doing with a band out in Dublin. The man has no concept of how my life is run. “It would be handy if you were around for some of the carrying”. He actually said that. I offered to pay for someone to do the job. He accepted the offer immediately. We were just about to discuss how much, and how to get the money to him, when I hear the pips go.

 

In an age where everyone I know is shooting money about over the net, zipping e mails around asking for loot, and forever handy on their mobiles, he is still using 20 pence pieces and his worldly finances are all in his wallet.

 

Wednesday 23^rd September

 

Looks like my FTSE predictions are coming off. That’s what comes of putting in a few extra hours and reading between the lines of the financial press. Bill told me to get out of about 2/3 of the stock we hold today.

 

We had an emergency lunch. Explained to him that I couldn’t keep running away from my desk every five minutes. He just shrugged. It seems as if Mr. Cash is very sceptical. According to some of the analysts, the fourth quarter might aswell not exist.

 

We have a measly portfolio. However, we saved ourselves money to the tune of about £30,000 today. People are all of a sudden treading very carefully. Brian is going to come into a very bearish outfit on Monday. In the few months I’ve been working at F&S, I’ve never seen such pessimism. 

    

You’d have thought with Christmas just around the corner, the Retail sector would be strong but it’s just showing signs of stagnancy. The High Street shops are apparently forecasting that if like for like sales are reached this year on last years figures, it’ll be nothing short of a miracle.

 

On the tube on the way home I was reading the Business Day section of the Standard. I stumbled across an article about ProRob, one of the companies Bill and I put money into. Fuck this for a game of soldiers. They are cutting dividends, the Chairman is stepping down, and fund managers at the top UK broking houses are selling. Surprised we haven’t got rid of it already. The market is slowing.

 

The thing about F&S is, as many of the clients are older and established, they have seen these cycles before, and so they just sit tight. Our salesmen have it all too easy. Overpaid pieces of fucking furniture.    

 

Thursday 24^th September

 

Sold up rest of ProRob stock and took a hit of about £8,000. The equities market is seeing a lot less action, bonds are the flavour of the month right now.

 

Bill is still confident that we can make some margins on a few smaller companies listed on Ofex. I just take his word for it. There have been some recent issues which we can be bullish with. It’s all about timing, as I’ve found out recently.

 

For some reason Tobacco companies are doing well right now. More stressed no doubt.

 

Saturday 26^th September

 

Suffering from the most monumental hangover known to man. I can’t even move my eyeballs without my headache pounding harder. Last night was sheer indulgence. I picked up a few E’s and a couple of grams of coke from a guy who I used to buy from a few years back.

 

Didn’t feel like trecking all the way over to Camberwell. Have that delight in store for me tomorrow when I help Tommy with this booze cruise run. I picked up the drugs from a sad prick down the Portobello Road. He’s small time but at least always manages to have something on him, and it never fails.

 

Being that Mandy and Fran were away, I thought it might be appropriate to go to town with the lads. Got truly battered and had a good rinsing at a an awesome club called Radar. It’s a shame Chris couldn’t have been with us. He’s one of the boys when it comes to the lasers, UV lights, techno, and substances.

 

Wonder how long it’ll be before Radar moves aside for the next big thing. Life expectancy of clubs is not long, they have a very short existence. Ministry of Sound, Fabric, they all fade away in the end, but, how we love them when they’re here.

 

Brian has these flash aspirin styled cuff links that screw open. He handily managed to slip a couple of beans into those. I carried the cocaine in. Naturally I got frisked, so it was quite handy the candy was under my foot in my new Pradas. Billy boy bought the first round of triple Vodka Red Bulls, and away we were.

 

Bumped into Rachel. She’d spent the best part of another summer in Ibiza. Will she ever leave. Had a two hour long conversation with her about absolutely nothing. In the end I just had to kiss her to shut us both up. Enjoyed dancing with her on the floor. It was a hot club. Felt her up continuously. Lost her eventually but found Bill and Brian.

 

Billy Goat had somehow ended up with a Camberwell Carrot sized reefer, so we took the zoot down to the river and bunned the bunny down at day break. Caught a cab home and simultaneously all headed straight for our rooms to fall asleep. Awesome night. Have had four Nurofen in the past half hour. Slowly coming round.  

 

Sunday 27^th September

 

9pm. Just got back home. It’s been a long old day. It was a beautiful day over the English channel but I was too petrified to enjoy the sun. It was only when we’d loaded up the van with a couple of crates of beer, a few cases of wine, and stuffed box after box after box of fags into the vehicle that it dawned on me. Why the fuck was I putting my neck on the line for these losers?

 

Tommy didn’t need to be driving the van for money. I didn’t need to be in Calais for anyone, what the hell was this all about? If the truth be told, I got kick out of it.

 

Theres good money in bringing in cigarettes. If Friar and Mess mastermind three or four runs a week with their few vans, they’ll be making a couple of grand on each run. Nice little earner. They’ve got enough underworld Manc contacts to sell on as many fags as can be brought in.

 

It’s the tubes they’re interested in; a little rectangular box makes a few quid profit. Multiply that by a few thousand, and you’re talking business.       

                            

As we drove through customs in Dover I was worried. So scared, I nearly puked. It was a lesson in nerves. Tommy has done this kind of work before. He explained to me the only reason he’s doing this run for Friar and Mess is because he’s determined to prove to them he is trustworthy enough to work with them in importing Cocaine. “It’s a business like any other”, he said. “You work your way up”.

 

We hadn’t even been subtle about loading the van. All the fags were piled high up against the door. This is a mark of Tommys confidence. He was so sure we wouldn’t be stopped at customs. His optimism is contagious. As he pulled into the storage warehouse close to Friar and Messes offices in Camberwell, I finally felt safe.

 

He looked up the van, put me in a cab with a couple of cases of wine and £500. He peeled off ten fifty pound notes. As I closed the cab door he said, “Same time, same place next week?”

 

Bill and Brian asked where I dashed off to early this morning. It felt terrible lying to my best mates. I said that I’d gone to see Gran. Brian doesn’t know about me and Bill in the office, and although Bill has met Tommy, neither he nor Brian know Friar and Mess.

 

Monday 28^th September

 

Sipping on a soothing cup of tea relaxing on my bed. As predicted, the rush for the shower before work was tumultuous. Never have I been so competitive to look more city like.

 

Billy managed to grab the shower first, but only because he set his alarm for 5.45am. So very juvenile. Brian saw me emerging from my room and sped up just to squeeze in before me, but the lads were good enough to wait about. I made up some time throwing on the clothes as I’d bought a  couple of shirts on the ferry over the weekend. Really can’t be dealing with ironing.

 

Brian, the sweetheart that he is, made me a coffee. Bill reached for the cornflakes but found nothing but the A4 sheet of acid. Where the fuck has that come from? Christ I was tempted. Soon enough, we were all on the tube together. Thankfully Brian is on a different floor to me otherwise I would honestly do no work and lose my job within seconds.

 

We all took lunch together at Foxtrot Oscars. It’s such a bizarre situation : housemates, schoolmates and workmates. Couldn’t resist a little flutter on the horses when returning to F&S, Rupert had sent me an email in the morning regarding an Irish horse running at Aintree. It didn’t even come in which was quite upsetting. Need the luck of Samantha.  

 

Sadly we didn’t quite leave the office at the same time. Bill and Brian went for an ale immediately after 6, but I was asked to finish off a report for Sandra. Finally got away at a quarter to midnight which is just beyond acceptable.

 

Tuesday 29^th September

 

Visited the squash club this evening. Billy and I played one game. Neither of us could remember if we scored to 9 or 15. Felt too embarrassed to ask, so made up our own rules. Evidently Mr. Viking, the Lizard, has left the country for a period. Tax reasons I should think.

 

Received a postcard from Charlene. Was extremely surprised. Her handwriting is so tiny. It didn’t thank me or bitch at me. She wrote about herself, and her new flat in Sydney and the arty job she’s doing out there, and the beautiful sunshine. Could really do with some sex.

 

Mum says she’s going to Australia next week for a month. She’s going with Sarah. They plan to hire a jeep out there and drive across from Perth to Melbourne. Exciting stuff. At least, more enthralling than writing reports on companies and share values.

 

She wants me to make a special effort and promise to visit Gran. Our family tree is just so mini, its no wonder I feel as if I’m always being asked to put in an appearance. Gran is astonishingly one of the saner members of the family. It would do me some good to get out the smoke and chill in the Cotswolds for a short spell.  

 

Tried to catch up with Vanessa the chat line Kiwi over the net, but she wasn’t about. Shame. Felt like exchanging some naughty chat. Opted for a porno that was recently sent to me by a schoolmate who is studying Architecture in Amsterdam. Very filthy. The tape not his course.  

 

Wednesday 30^th September

 

End of the month. Money in the bank, and a windfall from my spread bet. The money I made on it probably makes up for the pounding the portfolio has suffered over the last few weeks. “He who Dares Rodney, he who dares!”

 

Brian has been getting into F&S very early. The last two mornings he has high tailed it out the house way before 7. I just wanted to drink beer and watch Trisha and Rikki Lake this morning. Found it an awesome struggle getting out of bed. Took some Coke into work with me. Couldn’t see how I could’ve got through the day without it.

 

Bumped into Chris’ chick on the tube coming home this evening. She was on her way home form a shoot. We jumped out at Notting Hill and opted for a swift beer at The Pharmacy. It turned into more than a few, and I kissed her goodnight at the end of the evening. Whoops.

 

Tommy called and said he was going over to Calais again, did I want to come? I thought about how easy the money had been and told him that I would. Wouldn’t like to let him down. Last Sunday was an eye opener. There must be thousands of smugglers round the country. 

 

It’s a bit of a pain in the arse not having any wheels at the moment. Cab rides are costing me a fortune. I’d rather walk than borrow mums Smart Car.

 

Took a walk through Holland Park the other day. Leaves are starting to fall from the trees. Summer has gone. It was pretty hot in parts. At least the tube was hot. I don’t often say I’d like to wind the clock back, but the yacht trip was a little bit special.

 

There will still be a few weeks of our Indian Summer but the days are starting to close in and there’s a bit of a nip in the air. It’s an odd time of year.

 

For the last five years I would have been readjusting to a new school academic year. Finding new places to smoke, new teachers to infuriate, and gasping for air in the late autumn sun on the wing on the rugby field. Quite how I’ve managed to hold down a job for half a year is a mystery to everyone including myself.

 

It has to be a good thing. I tried to draft my first ever CV at work the other day. There are so many knocking about. It’s interesting to go through the Human Resource departments files. I don’t know how the three of us are working here when there are dozens of graduates with better minds than us. Perhaps University turns pupils into lefties. No room for that in the city.      

 

Apart from the present job it was very bare. What the fuck have I done with my life that’s worth shouting about? All my pastimes are illegal and regarding the only sport I play, I can’t remember how to score.  

 

Brian showed me his. He took it to his F&S interview. Such a fucking liar. His A level grades were as shit as mine, and his GCSE’s were a disgrace to any public school pupil. Admittedly the boy can play rugby and is a useful spin bowler and late order Lance Klusner but I can vouch for the fact that his Golf handicap is not 10.

 

Having trouble sleeping. My mind is being kept active at the moment, and it’s becoming difficult to switch off. I’ve started trying to read a bit more to slow the pace of my life down, and increase the old concentration span. I get through way too many sleeping pills.

 

Friday 2^nd October

 

Cloudy, miserable, overcast, horrible day. Shouldn’t have got out of bed this morning. Went to work and did nothing all day. Sandra is taking a long weekend, and Bill has been way too busy lately to put through any texts. Very bored with it all.

 

Needed to cheer myself up so went out and bought a Casio photo-watch. Good kit. Took it to the pub after work and managed to get dozens of shots of unsuspecting girls cleavages.   

 

Downloaded them and made a cool little collage of city breasts. Put it up on the kitchen noticeboard. Should provide some motivation in the mornings to get us all in the office.

 

Bill is out with Mandy on a double date with Fran and Brian. I’ve got a little coke left and theres an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table so I’ll have an evening infront of the box with my pipe.

 

Saturday 3^rd October

 

Have spent most of the day on the PC designing a party invitation for a house waming. Went out this morning and took a couple of shots on the digital camera. Just a few moody snaps of the local streets, cars and pubs. Have managed to centralise the important pictures of our street and the front door.

 

Popped round to Mums to dig through old photo albums and found a couple of cracking photos of Bill, Brian and myself playing on arcade games in Margate of all places. Had to scan them in at Mums and take the disc back home to use them.

 

Don’t know where my housemates have got to. Was quite looking forward to watching Match of the Day with them. Need to decide when we’re having this party and get some card to print out the invites.

 

Best get some sleep. I need to get down to the van in Camberwell for 7am. Looking forward to another trip. Tommy sent me an email late on Friday afternoon verifying I was still interested in the job.

 

Monday 5^th October

   

The Calais trip was a breeze. The fat frog that loads up all the fags is a character. Huge beer gut, massive tash, and doesn’t speak a fucking word of English. Tommy knows two words in French, “Oui” and “Vite”, and he uses them incessantly.

 

Didn’t see my housemates all weekend. But sure enough bumped into them when rushing for the shower this morning. We’ve given up on going en masse, which is a shame, but inevitable.

 

Tuesday 6^th October

 

At about 11am, ie. Coffee time, Bill sent me a message today saying ‘Buy M&S’. I popped off to the toilets, got out the little locker key and couldn’t see the laptop. Immediately went through to the trading floor. I’m not supposed to venture down there, but this was an obvious emmergency.

 

Bill had time for a Café Nero. “It’s fucking gone. Those gipos have swiped it”, I told him. He was dead calm. That was when it hit. Bill doesn’t really give a toss about our insider trading. It’s risky, time consuming and has run its course. It has made us both a substantial amount of money in the last six months, but I know him, and I could read his mind.

 

He wants to quit while we’re ahead. He’s now got some more exams which he has put his name down for and seems tetchy about. If he passes those he’ll have his own PA (Personal Account), let alone a PA (Personal Assistant), which really leaves me with PA (Piss All).

 

The thing is, its not like we shake hands, and walk away from the set up. I share a mortgage with him, I share a TV, a bathroom, a kitchen, a box of tea bags, everything.     

 

Wednesday 7^th October

 

The lads are impressed with the design for the house warming invite. We’ve agreed to hold the party on Saturday the 24^th of this month. I’ll print up about 100.

 

Bills insurance on his satellite phone has just come through and with it he went straight to Richer Sounds and emerged with a neat Marantz CD system and a few mini Bose speakers. They look great dotted about the sitting room.

 

Mum has disappeared to Australia for a few weeks. Chipped over to Holland Park to drive her smart car over the river to Camberwell. Wanted some drugs. It was a swift deal. In and out within five minutes. Friar exchanged a few pleasantries, such as “Bonjour” and “Bon chance”. The nigger at least knows a few more words than our Tommy. He gave me a few grams of crack to see me through.

 

Back at the pad now. Took a hit from the pipe just before the drive back north of the river. Nearly passed out on the road up to Vauxhall. Kept it together until I was back at Mums. Checked out my old room. Totally empty. Kinda sad. Took another hit, and then walked back to Notting Hill.

 

The four lovers were cuddled up on the sofa when I arrived. Feel as if I’m not part of the team. Feeling tired. Sleep.   

 

Thursday 8^th October

 

Arrived at work late. Sandra started screaming at me so I told her to “Piss off”. I’ve got my two month late appraisal sometime next week. Couldn’t give a fuck. F&S is nothing without the day trading.

 

Slavishly worked my way through confirmations, client mail outs and researched a few company profit forecasts on the net. Arrived late, so thought I should at least stay late. Spent my time trawling websites for other jobs.

 

Got home and asked Bill if we could have a little chat in my room. I jumped on the PC and brought up our DLJ Direct Portfolio. We agreed to close the account. The remaining shares will be sold tomorrow morning. All the money will go into my Coutts account and then I’ll redirect half of it to his bank. As for the ISA’s and the one off shore account we managed to set up, we’ll just sign agreements to leave them alone until a certain year.

 

Friday 9^th October

 

Had my usual microwave meal for one tonight. Pierce the film, cook on 750W for 5 minutes, let stand for two minutes, and down it goes. Wolfed it. Got the pipe out, took a hit. Made myself a large neat Vodka with ice and knocked it back.

 

Sat infront of Playstation for about nine or ten hours. Bill came in, and went out, and Fran popped her head in to see if I wanted to go and join her and Brian in the local for last orders. Fuck that.

 

Now sat in my room checking some vicious techno. Bill asked me if I’d mind turning it down just a smidgen, so I’m compromising a little. This crack is phenomenal stuff. It’s as if I’m outside of my body. The Beatles Within Without You, is how it feels. It’s almost as if I know things will happen without me saying anything or moving any part of my body. There will be a commotion.  

 

Saturday 10^th October

 

Haven’t eaten anything all day. Not hungry. Had a Guiness at lunch time to settle my nerves and have smoked my way through a couple of packs of fags but aside from that, nothing has passed my lips.

 

Sauntered about doing fuck all for most of the afternoon. It’s turning cold. Bought an overcoat, walked around Hyde Park, and sat opposite the Hilton smoking my pipe. Couldn’t find the gear as there are so many pockets in the new purchase. Keeps me warm.

 

Bought a couple of books down Oxford High Street and sat in a pub in Soho speed reading. It got too early evening and I suddenly felt cream crackered. Got a cab back home, and fell asleep infront of the footy scores. Just woke up, its 3am.   

 

Sunday 11^th October

 

Mum gave me a buzz to let me know she’d been playing golf in Sydney. She left a five minute message on my mobile. I can tell when she’s had a few. It’s utter garbage, she and Sarah are just acting out their Thelma and Louise fantasies, but instead of holding up pharmacists, they’re swinging nine irons and spending their days at the nineteenth.

 

I set her up with an e mail account just before she left as she said she wanted to go into internet cafes. It’s purely self centred. She wants to be young. She thought the last scene in The Beach was so moving she cried. Decided to mail her a copy of the invite to our house party. She won’t be around for it, but I guess she’ll appreciate it.   

  

Tried to get in contact over the net with Kiwi chick. No luck. Am bored. This weekend has been dull, and only alleviated by smoking my pipe. Offered the guys a hit earlier but they weren’t interested. They were sat on the sofa together drinking a whiskey discussing financial markets.

 

Monday 12th October

 

Was supposed to be having my half-yearly appraisal this morning but it got put back to tomorrow at 8am. Had an entirely shite day. Access 1 and 2 have been promoted and the two replacements are total cunts.

 

They were headhunted from another company. They pulled rank on me immediately. At least Tom and Peter kept themselves to themselves. These guys are sad fuckers; power happy and incredibly anally retentive.

 

My day was only cheered up by receiving an e mail from Samantha out in HK. She’s such a sweet chick. It read ‘Up and running and working hard out here. Everything is manic, manic, manic. Just joined the local health club, so if you’re ever in the neighbourhood……..’

 

I remembered to take my pipe into work, which was handy as come teatime I needed a little reviving. Popped out for a break around the block. Walked back into F&S with a fag in my hand. The receptionist frowned, coughed and then asked me to ‘extinguish’ my cigarette. Didn’t even realise I was tubing away. Bumped into Bill and Brian in the lift foyer; they were just off with some other F&S punk for a coffee.

 

Sat down at my PC and just couldn’t be arsed. Every time I seem to resolve a problem, three others reared their heads. These new guys had already left and had dumped a metresworth of paperwork for me to deal with. Fuck ‘em. I’ve had some good times there, but I’ve had enough.    

 

Tuesday 13^th October

 

It’s early afternoon and I’m back at home. A phase of my life has ended. This morning was fairly torrid. I turned up ten minutes early for my appraisal. Sandra and her direct boss were sat in her office.

 

I felt like I was about to be told I had detention for the rest of term. Some people really don’t have it in their mentality to expand or explore. I feel sorry for them. A life of air conditioned offices, cloned work stations and crappy coffee vending machines. They get too comfortable, too used to that certain something. Horses for courses and each to their own, but their chat in that little soul destroying office this morning was utterly joyless.

 

I was asked to sit down. We went through the admin work that I’ve been getting up to, and the research I’ve been doing. Mr. Paul Andrews made it clear that I could be expecting the same sort of work for the next year. Was this meant to be enticing?

 

Sandra then chipped in with, bless her, what I presume she regarded as the carrot. She brought up the all alluring one thousand pound pay increase. I thought I’d play ball, so smiled and nodded like an inane idiot. Fat man Andrews, then tapped his papers, scratched his bald head and said that unless anyone else had anything to add, he better be going.

 

I threw the carrot right back in their miserable faces. “I’d like to hand in my notice”. Stunned. Paul Andrews was like a fated wobbling pin on a bowling alley. Sandra was unsure how to deal with this. She accused me of being irrational and not thinking straight.  I just wanted to leave the offices.

 

Wednesday 14^th October

 

Bill is not the slightest bit surprised.  Almost wish he’d give me a hard time about it so that I’d feel a bit guilty, but he knows what I’m like. All work and no play makes Freebie a sad lad. Received a call from Sandra asking me where I was. She really thinks I was just being a temperamental fool. I explained to her in no uncertain terms that I was quitting. Her last words to me, before slamming the phone down were, “You’ll regret this Freeman”. Such a bitch, always wanting the last word.

 

Brian brought home a crate of lager to help me forget about it. Had a few drinks with him, but was more interested in the last few rocks of crack I had left. It’s now so late, it’s almost early. Feel great about leaving the company.  

 

Thursday 15^th October

 

Bill was asked to clear away my F&S draws. I hadn’t left much behind. He said that it had made him emotional collecting all my bits and bobs. Sheets of Banking contact numbers, client numbers, files of letters to and from Henry Viking, the solicitors and scraps of paper, telling stories within themselves.

 

Sandra made it clear to him that he had recommended a duff, and it would be remembered. Silly cow. He’s not even in her section anymore and will probably be on twice her salary in the next few months. Glad to be out. Brian and Bill will quickly climb the ladder there, the orthodox, conventional way.   

 

As he left my empty station, Jimmy, the post boy, dropped a letter in my in-tray. I opened it just now with Bill. The postmark was the Honduras. The last mail I received at F&S was from Rafael and Oscar, the cleaners. There is a picture of them on a beach with a couple of saucy vixens, they are smiling and holding massive cocktails. The story behind that picture!   

 

Friday 16^th October

 

Enjoying my new lifestyle. A late rise, a quality coffee, and a flick through the papers over lunch at Julies, before popping round to Mums to pick up the car. The Smart car is growing on me. There, I’ve said it. Sure, I’d prefer to be in a Porsche Targa, but it got me from A to B!

 

Friar wasn’t in. Scored off Mess. He’s an ugly bastard. I’m sure he skanked me on the deal too. Got the scales out back at home, and sure enough I’d been rubber dicked. Fuck it, doesn’t matter. It’s gonna see me through for a while.  

 

Have spent the whole day surfing the net. Christ alive there are some very twisted, perverted sites out there. What do people do with their lives? Hide away in basements with no contact with the outside world? Fester amongst their own faeces making up sordid, squalid sex stories? For the sake of humanity, I pray fact doesn’t imitate fiction.   

 

Saturday 17^th October

 

Brian woke me up this morning with the kind of energy that only he has. “C’mon c’mon Freebie. We’re going down to the Napolean to watch the rugger”. I was just emerging from the shower when he thrust a can of Grolsh into my hand. Now the only way to deal with Brian when he’s in this kind of a mood is to give him a bit of one upmanship.

 

I sunk the beer and ordered him off to the fridge to fetch us another. We arrived at the pub shit faced. The old crew were all there. Haven’t seen much of Frank, Chris or Rupert this summer. It’s shot by. They were all on top form as usual; they seem to be delaying their trips back to University. By all accounts, too much fun has been had in the capital over the past few months. Rupert being the bright spark that he is, had an internship at Merill Lynch, Frank fucked about and sold speakers out the back of a van for a few weeks, whilst Chris made tea and coffee on advert shoots for M&C Saatchi.

 

Chris has split up with Naomi. Terrible, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. Mates before muff, yeah right. Downed a few lunchtime shots and then had an argument with Rupert about his writing. He says that he’s working on a new short which involves the character Spike from Notting Hill. It follows the Welshman Spike after his bookshop housemate, Mr. Splutter stutter Grant marries the greatest female actress in the world, Anna Scott. I asked what happened to the short starring Begby from Trainspotting? He’d lost heart. The dude enjoys writing but doesn’t want to commit to it. Told him to stick to the GG’s . 

 

Left the rugby at half time. Hot, sweaty, highly charged, boozy and full of close mates but was hankering for a hit. Wandered over to Holland Park. Must’ve passed out. I awoke to find a park warden ushering me on.  

 

Sunday 18^th October

 

Sifted through all the crap that Bill brought back from F&S the other day. So much market information. Corporate Finance spun my head out for months. Pensions, Mortgages, Equities, Bonds, Fixed Income, Dividends, Ofex, AIM, recent issues, Channel Islands, Cayman Isles, Isle of Man accounts, e.t. bloody c; glad bonfire night is coming up. Half of this shit should’ve been shredded at F&S; all kinds of confidential information on Asset stripping, Hedge Funds and taxes.  

 

Monday 19^th October

 

Crashed out at Mums last night, so sauntered back to mine this morning. Had an early morning hit in the Kyoto Garden. Set me straight. Walking facedown, hands in pockets towards the YHA, suddenly heard the clop of horses hooves on tarmac. Fear. Fear. Fear. Policewoman easing up her horse. Relaxed as she smiled at me.

 

Cut through Holland Walk to the pad, and made myself a coffee. Smoked a spliff and wondered what Bill and Brian would be up to. Walked out the door and just wandered about. Am immensely enjoying being unemployed.  

 

Had a pint in the Market Bar. Bought a fruit bowl for the kitchen. Chatted to the shop assistant until she had to serve someone else. She was a cool ethnic chick. She had a sexy tattoo on her shoulder. Should’ve asked her out there and then. Missing a female in my life.   

 

Tuesday 20^th October

 

All of a sudden Winter seems to have hit us. Autumn lasted about two and a half days. Summers over, thankyou very much, now here’s a taster of whats to come, frost and numbing cold. Keep falling asleep. Spent most of the day in bed. My concentration is crap. Reread the same page at least ten times.

 

Wednesday 21^st October

 

About to go to bed. I went out for a late quiet beer last night and ended up walking down through Brompton Road to Chelsea. Sat by the river, by Albert Bridge just watching the moon on the water flowing out. I must have finished off the dope.

 

I remember waking up to the sound of a lorry belting past. No cabs about. Felt cold and shit. Walked back up towards W8. Lord knows how but I must’ve either sleepwalked or been hallucinating, as I was woken up by a Unigate milkvan as it stopped next to St. Peters Church where I was laying down.

 

Got dropped off at the house as Bill and Brian were leaving for Frank and Spink. If I can sleep for a few hours this morning, I’ll walk over and use Mums car to go over to Camberwell later tonight.  

 

Thursday 22^nd October

 

Did something a bit out of the ordinary today. After reading the Sun over a coffee in Kensington Market, was drawn towards the tattooists. I had an earring when I was 14 for about 20 minutes before some stiffer gave me sixty double detentions and took me to the housemaster, more than likely it would’ve been Appleby. Whatever. I’ve never gone for the ink, until today.

 

It’s shocked me that I’ve had it done. Had a long chat with the girl who had the needle and after talking about Damien Hirst, Eminem, and Jackson Pollock; I went for a small sailing boat on rippling water heading into the setting sun.

 

Friday 23^rd October

 

Realised how hungry I am. Can’t have eaten a proper meal for days. Even my addiction to microwave ready made meals for one was a step up from eating nothing but packs of crisps and bars of chocolate. Weighed myself on the scales and realised I’ve lost a stone.

 

Bill and Brian came back highly charged earlier. We sat down together for a few minutes and discussed the phone bill. They seem to have developed their own language : SWAPS, Fibunacci numbers, Head and Shoulder charts; it makes my head spin just trying to remember the rigid structure of F&S.

 

They buggered off after a couple of G&T’s and a few minutes of Playstation. Didn’t say where they were off to, but reminded me to be around for our house party on the weekend. 

 

Monday 26^th October

 

We worked out last night that one hundred and twenty people must’ve passed through the house in the last forty eight hours. Even the chessboard making hippy form the West country made an appearance.

 

It has been a wild, wild weekend. I’m slowly coming round to reality. How the lads made it to work this morning is a mystery. I was up talking bullshit with Brian until 4.30am last night.

 

On Saturday afternoon I rose late to find an excited group of old school pals huddled around the TV shouting excitedly at the screen. Lazed in my dressing gown for the entire weekend. Over a bowl of morning Cornflakes I caught up with the news. There’s Tim who’s runnning his old mans Motorbike leasing business. There was Harry, who is looking after his old mans race horses out near Newbury, and Jimmy who is growing a beard and working his way through all the psychedelic drugs on offer out in Paris.

 

Jimmy was quick to spy the acid sheet that fell on the floor as I helped myself to a second bowl. He got to work. He nipped off to his VW camper van and brought back his modern version of Kool Aid Acid. I think the Merry Pranksters would’ve been proud. For all I know they could’ve been here over the weekend.

 

From the first, it was a lost weekend. The clocks going back fucked everything up beyond comprehension. I have honestly never seen such utter debauchery. A blatant disregard for anything civil or sensible was employed.

 

It was a house party out of any control. Whatever was meant to happen happened. I recall Frank, Chris, and Rupert pitching up, and some champagne flying around for a few hours, and then before I could tell, it was a house under pressure of volume of people. It was solidly packed from midnight Saturday to  midnight Sunday.

 

Anybody involved with it must be shattered. It’s a shit hole. Thankfully all the gadgetry is still in working order, and the house has managed to accumulate some disco lights, a smoke machine, a laser, some bean bags, a few credit cards, a couple of bongs, and several handbag mirrors. The floor is sticky and worst luck there’s a used Jonnie in the kitchen sink.

 

Bill has just called. Straight orders. “I’ve ordered a fucking industrial cleaner for 3pm. Get out your fucking dressing gown. Get rid of any evidence of Coke, H, K, what the fuck ever, and be ready for them. I’ve paid.”

 

Tuesday 27^th October      

 

After the ‘Mean Clean Dream Team’ fucked off, so did I. Took a shower made my bed, smoked a fag and packed my overnight bag. It’s good to have the enormity of Mums house to retreat to. I don’t want to pay a trip to Friar today. It’s not the money, just a feeling that I’ve replaced trips to F&S with trips to Friars and wandering about.

 

Now I’m back in Mums beautiful, antique filled pad, with stylish décor, I feel a thousand miles from the pimp crack whore den of Friar and Mess. It’s a stylish place itself, but you don’t catch guns and gangsters at Henrietta’s house.

 

Wednesday 28^th October

 

There’s something about spending the days in clouds. Took a few dozen rocks away from Camberwell last night. Re-established my existence in my old room. Grabbed the bean bag from the laundry room, and have been in and out on consciousness for the past 24 hours. Am surrounded by a couple of empty packs of sweets, a bottle of water and have a little notebook. Have been recording a few dreams in picture form. They are amazing. Its comforting to know that outside of this room, my past is all over the rooms.

 

Left my mobile in Notting Hill. Left my Palm there too. What else is in my rucksack? A few packs of hobnobs. A copy of the Sun, and my book. Fall asleep reading. Always, without fail. Tomorrow I’ll get a job. 

 

Thursday 29^th October  

 

The crack is fascinating. My watch is broken. I am confused. Need music. Want films. Smoke. Tired. Heartburn. Head hurts. Anadin. Paracetamol. Pills. Pills. Pills. Lighter. Saviour. Fire. The devil. Ha. Laugh in the face of evil. Like a good girl. Girls.

 

Hunger. Only hungry for that gentle blue smoke that poetically runs out my mouth, up my nostrils, through my brain, out my eyes. I see people. I hear tunes. I have a reality.

 

Friday 30^th October

 

Apocalypse. Horses with wings. Love. Where. Where love. Where love. My pictures in the notebook. My notebook. A bible. Cry. Pray. Plead. Sex. Goodness. Evil. Hatred. Crack. My crack.

 

Streams. Mountains. Haikus. Japs. Yanks. Spics. Wops. Humanity. War. Peaceniks. Beatniks. Kibutzniks. A closed door. Deals. The Deals. Buying, selling, trading, loving, fucking.

 

Poetry. Waterfalls. Niagra. Victoria. Trains. Writers. Artists, agression. Soulless offices. Osama. Hitler. Napolean. Wellington.

 

Fight the good fight with all thy might. Smoke. Smokee. Smokeee. Smokeeee. Lennon. American Psycho. Normality. Write a fucking sentence. Kisses in the park were taken on the bench overlooking the pond with the ducks that swum up and nightfall.

 

Onward Christain Soldiers. Egg. Boiled egg. Three minutes. Runny. Change set up. Move on. Hitchhiker. Roll a fat one. Tunes. Fucking tunes. Feel useless. Pathetic. But my pipe is the passport. Today is Friday. Friday. Mum is in Australia. Dad is in Ireland. My house is along Holland Park. I have a house. I am a landlord.

 

I may travel. Coca cola cans. Throwing stones. Like a beach. Sitting with Maria smoking a spliff. Maria. My love. I will wake up tomorrow and go to the travel agents. 

 

A dictionary of dreams. How can you know? Bollocks to you and your UFO’s. Draw some graphs my maths teacher told me. Can you borrow time Lord? Yes.

 

Tuesday 2^nd November

 

I have been in rehab. I will be here for a few more days. I ranted and raved and swore and spat and shat and screamed. I have been through some pain. I did not want to be here. I hated everyone here. I despised their faces, their lives, their miserable existences.

 

I am learning. I fucked up. I do have close special friends. I wanted one last smoke of the dragon. Just to feel that soda baking powder work its magic. It went wrong. I was walking the plank. Just like Plank that scruffy little loser in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, I was about to cop it. A rat. What fucking happened. One minute it was all laughs. One minute I was the Daddy, the boss, the bomb. I had chicks, cars, and dollar.

 

It’s all still out there. But I’m in here. I need to be in here. I’ve recognised that. I am weak. I need to be made stronger. Everybody in the fucking nut house needs to be made better people.

 

Wednesday 3^rd November

 

Slowly I am remembering what has happened. I left the job. I became hooked. In two weeks I increasing took more and more and more drugs. I wanted to check something out and sat in my old room. I was alone and fuck knows what happened.

 

Brian and Bill were called. Deadre found me. Christ alive. I feel humiliated. She saw me reduced to an addict. I must learn to face this. What has occurred is a stepping stone. It was not a long period of time. Perhaps I need not have been put through the detox. Cold turkey, like a duff Christmas. Paranoia. Nightmares. No love to hold. Nobody.  

 

I was only given the rucksack I brought to rehab this morning. The diary. The diary. I was elsewhere. I was still writing, but I was elsewhere. I have burnt the little notebook of doodles, pictures and scribbles. Those hours must never be revisited. We have a group meeting at four o clock this afternoon. I am feeling more confident opening up to the other addicts. Some have been abusing substances for decades. I am upset that I have let Bill and Brian down.  

 

Thursday 4^th November

 

Looks like I’ll be in here for another week. It’s not the end of the world, but I’m not enjoying it one fucking bit. My temperature is yo-yo ing like a tech stock on heat.

 

How did I fuck up like this? Jump on the Psion every few hours to check stuff out. Trying to remember what the fuck was going on in my life before all those cocktails were smoked and eaten. We have these meetings where we talk about how we are feeling and are encouraged to talk about the positive things in our lives.

 

Everyone here is fucking minted. All rich kids, and a few old timers who are the saddest. As crazy and free spirited as Mum and Dad are, they know where to draw the line when it comes to narcotics. In here, noone has any passion about anything. That’s why all these losers ended up here. They can only find themselves, supposedly, through drugs.

 

Missing Bill and Brian. Can’t get my head around how I must have looked when Deadre and Geena found me lying in my old room in Mums house. Doubtless I was in a sewer of my own faeces.   

 

Friday 5^th November

 

Had a bonding session with other ex addicts today. Don’t want to ever bump into any of these fuckers again when I leave sometime next week. We had a game of poker in the rest room. Took everyone to the cleaners. Played for cigarettes. Noone can kick the tobacco habit. Can’t wait to be back with the boys. Woke up last night in the middle of a huge cold sweat dreaming of the Fish Restaurant. Dreamt that Bill and Brian were eating there and I was a fucking lobster about to be put in the pot. About as funny as a mid life circumcision.

 

They were about to chose me as their dinner, but Brian pipes up, “Not our old pal Tobes”. Anyway, therapy time. How are we feeling? How are we feeling? How are we feeling?

 

Saturday 6^th November 

     

Feel a bit as if the spy police are out on me. One of the so called nurses came and visited me in my room to let me know that it had been recorded, on CCTV, that I was spending much of my time in the ‘day room’ tapping away at the old Psion.

 

“So what?” I said. It just came out.

 

“We all need to be working here as a team. It doesn’t help when others feel paranoia from you secluding yourself on your Gameboy”.

 

I had to laugh. She probably thinks mobiles are detachable joysticks. But I’ve taken her point and have made a note of only writing up the old journal when based in my bland little room.

 

Feeling much better than when I came in here.

 

Sunday 7^th November

 

Out on Tuesday. Felt confident enough to call the lads. Brian and Bill have been the ones who have experienced this nightmare first hand. Therapist has been telling us how selfish, self centred and uncompromising individuals become when a dependency overtakes them. I must’ve driven them insane. I’m not exactly mild mannered when I’m on the straight and narrow.

 

Monday 8^th November

 

It was an odd decision to get myself tattooed. I love the picture but I just can’t remember how the fuck I ended up deciding on what I got. I hear these stories from some of the others about periods of their lives, chunks of their existence that have just been swept away to sea. Nothing but unrecognised bills, forgotten lovers, unremembered family.

 

I feel as if my few weeks of addiction are symbolised by the sailing boat. I did feel good, but only because I was taking more and more narcotics. The therapists are on at me about what I’ve been trying to escape. I honestly feel that deep down I’m a fucking bad person, and it’s precisely this that I’ve been trying to run away from.

 

I don’t recall much. But I just needed to be in Camberwell scoring shit off Friar or Mess. Amnesia hit me hard, almost as hard as Pierce in Momento, not as hard as some of the those old time addicts, but hard.

 

Tuesday 9^th November

 

Sat on my own bed, in my own room, in my own house. I’ve a smile ten miles wide. It feels so fucking good to be clean. Must have done more damage to myself in the last few months than many people inflict on themselves throughout their whole life. If it wasn’t for such good friends…

 

Speaking of which, there is a Ducati stood proud in my room. The lads have bought me a monster. Hell knows how they got it up the stairs, and more to the point, I’ve no idea how we’ll manage to get this beast back down and out on the street.

 

I was shocked to bits. Bill and Brian have been doing their homework whilst I’ve been in rehab. There are two dozen bike mags in the loos, with squiggles and circles all over the trade sections. Whilst I was explaining my love of DMT, Ketamine and Crack, the slick clever ones were sorting out their fucked mate with a kick ass present.

 

Opened the card that went with it.

 

“Don’t put yourself through that shit again. Have some proper fun. PS. This goes nowhere until you sort out your favourite three letter word : Tax. B & B!”

 

Wednesday 10^th November   

 

Billy and Brian have taken the rest of the week off from good old F&S. Spent the morning cooking them both a fat fry up. Brian suggested a pint of ale immediately afterwards which was the last thing on my mind. One step at a time.

 

Started watching Working Lunch but I zapped it and invited them both down to Grans for a few days. The lads aren’t stupid, they know a good offer when it comes along.

 

For some reason Billy is ‘looking after’ Mandys MG, so the transport was simple. Asked the lads whether either of my parents had tried to be in touch over the last few days. It was question that had been waiting to be asked since they picked me up.

 

The answer was they hadn’t. Phoned Gran from the mobile whilst on the M4. The local publican Colonel answered. He was cooking Gran Mackerel for High Tea. Fantastic.

 

He was only catering for two, but we got down in time for some nosh, and there was still plenty left over, even after Brian had had his third helping. He kept the Colonel sweet and talked rugby for a good four hours. I stoked the fire and Bill, bless him, read the Telegraph to Nan.    

 

Thursday 11^th November 

 

Good to be in the country. Went for a morning stroll down by the lake. Billy Goat was talking about buying a place with Mandy. Cast him a sharp glance; he added “.. in the next few years”. Whilst he’s deeply deeply in love, Brian is drifting apart from Fran. For any woman to get into the number one spot with Brian, they need to overtake his passion for drinking and Rugby.

 

Brian seems to be taking to F&S like a duck to water. He’s certainly got the right aura. Big, bold and brass. He was telling me, one of the lads that joined on the same day as him, came in to the office in a pretty sharp suit. So he set the wheels of one upmanship rolling by hot footing it down to Saville Row and getting some threads by Douglas Howard. Don’t want to even think about how much it cost him.

 

In his overnight bag, he had various goodies. There were a few copies of Fortune, some photographs of a trip he made through the Panama canal a year or so ago, his invitation for a Black Corporate Amex card, and a laptop. Checked some of my emails, and realised Mum had just sent me a message from an internet café out in Oz.

 

Got a message asking me if I had a webcam. Sure enough, spent the next three hours trying to explain to Nan, that no, her daughter wasn’t on Television but the Internet. Still none the wiser.

 

Watched Casino with the boys before crashing out. Felt a huge wave of nausea hit me when I saw the coke scenes. My physical addiction to drugs has gone but it’ll be a long time before I can put cold turkey out of my mind. Met so many people in rehab that had no friends who didn’t take drugs. What do you do when everyone you know is out their tree?  

 

Friday 12^th November

 

Got up early and went for a walk. When I got back Gran had one of her helpers in. She seemed very sweet. A local lass studying nursing. Made them both a cuppa, and started thinking about my own future.

 

Phoned Rupert. He’s always good for advice, straight talking and level headed. He suggested the casino business or porn. He tells me he’s writing a short story for radio titled, “What the hit man from Get Carter didn’t know”. Imagine it’ll be so fucking complicated noone will understand.

 

Lunch at the local pub. Had a Guinness with my pie. Fell asleep for most of the afternoon. Played bridge by the fireside in the evening. Gran and I kicked ass. 

 

We’ve decided to chip back to London tomorrow morning. Basically Bill is missing Mandy.

 

Saturday 13^th November

 

UCAS application form for Oxford from Rupert in post. Tells me P.P.E is my best bet if the previous days suggestions were a little too crude. Filled it out and sent it off.

 

Postcard of a Pint of Guinness from Dad asking me if I’d be coming by sometime soon. ‘Would be great to see you for Christmas’, he wrote. Stuck it on the Kitchen noticeboard next to a card from L.A. with two cheesy eighties characters wearing their Filas.

 

Checked e mails, received another short one from Mum. She’s currently shopping in Sydney. I might buy her a weeks retail therapy for Crimbo.

 

Sunday 14^th November

 

Relaxed. Ducati is turning into one of the worlds most expensive clothes hangers. Handlebars keeping 2 Lewin shirts vertical.

 

Monday 15^th November

 

Spent the whole day sorting out domestic admin. Can’t remember any of my credit card bills. Just have swallow it, as if it were an unavoidable computer glitch.

 

Bill and Brian have just got back in and legged it up to my room with the news. Fuck me with a punt pole. Jonny Cash has been arrested. Apparently Bill was busting his balls sat at his desk wondering how to butter up a client he’s recently lost 400 large ones for when in walk the S.F.O (Serious fraud Office). Evidently the board at F&S called an emergency meeting and were still pulling their grey hairs out when housemates left the office at 8 this evening. 

 

Tuesday 16^th November

     

Bought the Sun and FT first thing. Splashed all over the second page. Jonny Cash. Wilbert Jones – arrested. The press have dredged up all kinds of dirt.

 

Evidently when he was a young whipper-snapper, he skimmed on credit cards whilst working for an unnamed electronic retail outlet. He got a criminal record for that, but never brought it up. His quick wits took him to the top, but as of yesterday, theoretically, he’ll be out the markets for the rest of his living days. The S.F.O are currently investigating fourteen separate cases of money laundering.

 

No doubt he’ll be put in a relaxed open prison, a bit of golf, a little tennis. He’ll make himself a shed load more contacts, and  that’ll keep him sweet. Sadly for Bill and Brian, F&S are fucked. Reputation irreparable? 

 

Wednesday 17^th November

 

Horror of horrors. Was just relaxing into a day of scouring the net for job opportunities when the mobile rings. In all the mayhem of the past few weeks, I’ve put that crazy punk out my mind.

 

We talked for a few minutes. He’s finally lost the one redeeming, respectable aspect to his life. He has left his new job to concentrate full time on working for Friar and Mess.

 

He said that he’d been trying to get in contact with me for weeks. Where had I been, What had I been playing at? He told me that we needed to meet up to discuss a few things. Not fucking likely. Once I’d finished the converstaion, I immediately went and bought a new Nokia Communicator and changed numbers. 

 

Came back home and thought things over for a while. It was more than a while. I closed my eyes on the leather couch downstairs and just weighed everything up. I never want to see Friar and Mess ever again. I like Tommy, but I’m not his mother. If he wants to dice with death, that’s his choice.

 

Thursday 18^th November

 

Woke up this morning and phoned the cops first thing. Explained that there were a few situations that needed bringing to light. Was invited to pop down to the local bill immediately.

 

Was treated in a very civil manner. I ran through the last few months in great detail. Even owned up and admitted ferrying a coulple of van loads of fags through Dover. I can’t afford to let them have anything on me.

 

Spoke to a PC for a couple of hours, and was then put infront of two Cheifs. They then escorted me down to Scotland Yard and I once and retold the whole frigging story.

 

By the time I got back to Notting Hill I was a nervous wreck. The boys in blue had weened every single little detail out if me. Felt like a spoilt brat when I described my drug addiction.

 

Explained about Jason’s imprisonment, Maria’s debts, pregnancy and death, Friar and Mess’s little racket, and finally I grassed up on Tommy. I just figured I wanted to wipe my hands totally clean of the vile business.

 

Friday 19^th November

 

Call from the Yard. Prepared to put me in confinement. Thanks but no thanks. I was then told, I didn’t have a lot of say in whether or not I received protection.

 

Saturday 20^th November

 

Brian, Bill and me, sat on my comfy doublebed watching DVDs. Have had to explain to the lads that for one reason and another, we have 24 hour policed security surveillance outside our pad. Billy Goat is celebrating by rolling a huge spliff. Brian has opened a bottle of Moet. 

 

It’s doing my nut in. I walked to the local shops to buy a few pints of milk and noted a plain clothed policeman jump out of a Rover; his mate stayed in the drivers seat. I’m not quite sure what the situation we have here is.

 

If I was to get the train down to Grans, is there going to be a copper sat in the seat opposite? If I go and visit Dad, do we have a Police Range Rover parked up in the hippy drive?

 

I said to the Superintendent yesterday that if they thought it was absolutely necessary to keep an eye on me, fine. But I could quickly get fucked off with this. Talking about Freedom for Chrissakes.

 

Sunday 21^st November

 

Brian has split up with Fran. It took him four hours before he was buying up all the Playboys he could get his hands on.

 

We have a shift rota working outside. The coppers change every six or seven hours. Brian, being the bold man he is, dropped a jazz mag on the pavement by their Rover. He then took a few zoomed photos from the living room of the Policeman picking it up and taking it into their car. Seems to think he’s armed with blackmail.

 

Monday 22^nd November     

 

My two housemates left at the crack of dawn. Rather them than me, it’s bloody freezing out there. Suddenly feel panicked. Bill and Brian gone, and no sign of the Police outside, worried. 

 

Was tempted to call Tommy last night. Told Bill, and he almost exploded infront of me. “What? You dopey dickhead. There’s a team of undercover cops sat on our doorstep, and you think it would be a good idea to call someone you’ve just landed in the shit”.

 

I guess he’s right. I expect all our lines are tapped. What a nightmare. This has got to be the best way of enforcing cold turkey ever dreamt up. So, apart from jumping at every domestic noise, I’m bored stiff.

 

Tuesday 23^rd November

 

Received a letter from Anoushka. Dad gave her my address. I’ve got to get out there. Read it, and re-read it all morning. Dad has been gigging most of the past few months, all around Kerry and Cork. She’s been helping with the organisation.

 

She sent a little photograph of what looks like an open air late summer Jam. The massive commune house can just be seen on the hill, in the distance. She signed off, ‘It would be special to see you soon. If you can’t make it to Ireland, perhaps London?’ That made me twitch. Country girl in the smoke.

 

Wednesday 24^th November

 

Enrolled on a weeks intensive motorcycle course. Provided with a 125cc for the period, and all but a 100% guarantee that I’ll have my license by the end of the course. Won’t mention the Ducati once.

 

Bill said he got word that Wilbert Jones is doing jut fine awaiting trial in Ford Open prison. Fuck me, we were lucky boys this summer. Brian is already making noises about going back up to St. Andrews. I don’t really believe him, but it’s difficult to tell with him. Likes to keep us guessing.

 

Bill sat me down this evening and gave me the old, how are you doing, what are you planning, etc. Explained that I was getting bored and fed up. He gave me a flash egg shell business card, told me to get in touch with the geezer and left it at that.

 

Thursday 25^th November

 

Got an early morning call from Oxford Uni. Christ knows what I wrote on that bastard UCAS form, but they must’ve liked some of it. Either that or Rupert has been giving someone a few tips on my behalf.

 

Friday 26^th November

 

Woke up late. Realised my life is rubbish. Can’t go anywhere without the police following me. Surely it’s meant to work the other way, The Police are on your tail until they nail you, not once you’ve confessed and grassed. Hell, what do I know.

 

Put a call through to Mr. Simmons, Fund Manager; contact courtesy of Bills business card. No secretary, direct line, so was caught a little unawares. “Who are you, what do you want?” attitude. Gave as good as I got and sorted out a late afternoon interview today.

 

Saturday 27^th November  

 

My interview with Simmons went extremely well. He was impressed that I had a cab drive me form Notting Hill. He was impressed that I had a mortgage. He was even impressed that I had worked under Jonny Cash at F&S. Probably wouldn’t have been quite so excited if he knew about the undercover cop car following me all the way.

 

Simmons looked out of his window over the City of London and said in his quasi Yank Hard Nosed Wall Street accent, “Where do you want to be in 5 years Toby?” I froze, noone has ever asked me a question like that. They’ve just presumed that if I’m around in five years I’ll be shopping a bit, drinking coffee a bit, and getting drunk a lot. 

 

I blurted out, “I want to be buying a new sports car a week. I want to a have team of traders making me money. I need to be powerful Mr. Simmons.” This went down like a whore on a jailbird. Said he’d be in touch.

 

Sunday 28^th November

 

Refreshing not to wake up with a hangover on a Sunday. Was in good spirits, so popped out to buy a football. Sure enough, I had my 24/7 security on my ass.

 

Got back to the pad, and the lads were cooking a fry up. Chucked the football in the corner, and got stuck in. Then proceeded to play GT3 for the rest of the day. The only intermissions were for phone calls and calls of nature.

 

Brian is restless. Has just come to the realisation that his weekend is over and he’s spent half of it doing what he does all week, ie. Staring at a screen. Ordered us to join him down at the local. Getting out the house for a Sunday evening Guinness. Hope the Cops come too. 

 

Monday 29^th November

  

Made my way down to Vauxhall to start my motorbike course. Spent most of the day in the classroom. The instructor doesn’t seem too keen to let us out onto the patch for the practical side of the course.

 

Received a late telephone call from the Police. Confirmed my hunch that they’ve been tapping into our lines. As soon as I hung up from an hour conversation on the net with Mum, they were in touch.

 

It was the Superintendent. “We’re sorry to inconvenience you at this hour sir, but we understand that you are undertaking a motorbike course in Vauxhall. We don’t mean to intrude but we would prefer it if we could escort you to the course venue each morning and deliver you home. It is for your safety you understand”.

 

Fine.  

 

Tuesday 30^th November

 

Chauffeured to and from my course. Good to be busy. Looking forward to getting that bastard Ducati out my room. Nearly knocked the bloody thing over the other day. Had had a few J’s.

 

Wednesday 31^st November

 

Sick of these piddly little 125’s. We were driving alongside the Houses of Parliament when this cunt in a white Rolls Royce cut me up from the group. Driving like a prick. Didn’t have the power to accelerate out of trouble, so just pulled over. Touched the metal in my room tonight and felt a tingle rush through my body. 

 

Got chatting with the coppers as they drove me over the Thames. Both good guys. Not very happy with me at the moment, as they have to work three nights a week, which means they lose out on their card evenings. 

 

Thursday 1^st December

 

Got the constables to stop via Sainsburys so I could pick up a Chocolate Advent Calender. One of the timid girls who is struggling a little asked me who the two men that drop me off and pick me up are. I explained politely that it was none of her beeswax. She started crying.

 

We have our test tomorrow. Highway code up to scratch, and feeling pretty confident, I must say. Brian tested me for hours. Bill got so fed up, he left the house and went round to Mandy’s. At least that was his excuse.

 

Friday 2^nd December

 

“I am pleased to say you’ve passed Mr. Freeman”. Music to my ears. The poor lass who asked me about the cops yesterday had phoned the Bike school from the hospital. She’d fallen out of a top bunk at her boyfriends and had broken her ankle. What was she doing in the top bunk?

 

Up for celebrating, so phoned up F&S. Recognised the receptionists voice and contemplated taunting her. The lads were pleased. Should hope so too.

 

Spent the afternoon sorting out the insurance and the tax on the Ducati. Fucking hell! I’m going to have to get myself a job!   

 

Saturday 3^rd December

 

Had a superb night out. First proper drinking session since rehab. Almost didn’t notice the two dildo’s drinking lemonade over my shoulder. Kissed a stunning blonde just before last orders. Bill was outside on his mobile giving directions to Mandy in her MG, and Brian was getting another round in.

 

It was a fully accelerated chat up session. I’d had a few bevvies so thought anything would go, and it did.

 

“I like your clothes.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“Yeah, Yeah. They’d look good with my clothes on the floor of my bedroom.”

 

Straight in. No bullshit. Girls really can be the best thing in the world. Then thwack. My mouth, that had previously been tasting the peachiest blondes salliva was full of blood and my right eye was swelling up.

 

The story goes, the blonde had dumped him 5 minutes before, but was on the rebound. Whatever. The cops bounded over and broke it up. Left myself a memo on the Palm to check out Bodyguard prices, when this protection is up, I could do with some hard bastards looking out for me.

 

Sunday 4^th December   

 

Spent the day kicking the football round Holland Park. Feel great. Have had one game of football and about two games of squash in an entire year, not impressive. Won’t spend too long dwelling over those particular stats. Suddenly realised I have an interview at Exeter College on Tuesday morning. Nearly missed the boat on that one.

 

Phoned up Rupert. He explained that it was important to come across as enthusiastic, positive and not necessarily academic but aware. Easy for him to say. Wants me to believe that he’s read a Dickens novel a week in this last term gone by.

 

Monday 5^th December

 

Fuckin’ D-Day. Flicked on to BBC 24 hour news over a coffee and fag. Whose face is staring at me from the goggle box? Friars. The Irish shipment came in alright. Street value of £100million. It wasn’t just him, but a half a dozen other gang leaders, mainly in London, but a couple from Bristol and Manchester. 

 

I suddenly thought of Tommy. Where the fuck is he in all of this God awful mess. On the subject of Mess, his name has been mentioned in connection with Friars, and it looks like they’re in up to their necks.

 

A vessel from Venezuela was met by a speed boat in the middle of the night off the Southern coast of Ireland. I immediately had the fear that Dad had somehow got his grubby mitts involved but was relieved when I heard that six vans had been loaded and crossed the Irish Sea, on an early morning ferry. He doesn’t tend to get up before midday.

 

These vans were then tracked to various warehouses around the country. Tommy would’ve been a driver. Looks like he’ll be following in Jason’s footsteps.    

 

Tuesday 6^th December

 

Had a call first thing this morning from the rozzers. “Don’t do anything brash. Don’t go anywhere without letting us know. Your security is of the utmost importance to us at this moment”. Let them know that I had to be in Oxford at midday.

 

Very unimpressed. I was planning on catching a train from Paddington, reading a selection of papers to catch up on the goss, and enjoying an afternoon cuppa with Rupert.

 

As it turned out, I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not miss my interview, but I would be driven down by the Police.

 

Due to leave at 10am, and swiftly downloading the broadsheets news from my PC onto the palm for the journey, when I get a call on the mobile. Some wanker had driven into the undercover car outside.

 

I went purple. “Calm down, calm down sir. We’ll get you there”. With that he hung up. Bastard. Just as I was about to phone Exeter College and explain I was suffering from delayed trains, the landline rings.

 

“Mr. Freeman. We’ve managed to procure you a lift”. Pick up the briefcase, slip on the Crombie, tighten Brians M.C.C tie and step out the door. A proper police car with flashing blue lights greets me. Felt as important as old two jabs.

 

Got on to the M40 and hit a jam. Seriously considering transferring all my energies to becoming a driver in the Police force. On went the lights, out of the way you bastards. Fantastic. Freeman for Royalty!

 

Was informed on the drive that Friar and Mess were remanded in custody. The reason I had to be under such close scrutiny was that Tommy had not yet been found, and whilst it was feared that he had left the country, if he was still in London, there was reason to fear for my safety.

 

Dropped off outside the college. Two minutes to spare. Five minutes later I was being grilled on the Ethics of the NYSE. Was playing a pretty tight, well balanced game; more importantly I was letting the old todger win. Managed to avoid discussing any Philosophy or Politics, and zoned in on the Economics.

 

Unbeknown to me, in the period of two hours whilst I was being given a guided tour of the campus, the dinning hall, chapel and had been waffling on about tech stocks, indices and the old economy, my travel buddies, ie. The boys in blue, had been busy too.

 

They had received a call that Tom Brady (Tommy) had been sighted driving a van from Birmingham, and was bypassing Oxford en route to London. The geezer had slipped the net. He was pulled over. The van was seized by local coppers, whilst Tom Brady was cuffed and stuffed in the Police car. Meanwhile I’m chatting to the Dean of the college who is escorting me from the interview room, to the Porters Lodge.

 

A commotion unfolds. The old Bill are standing by their Rover looking pretty pleased with themselves. I can see Tommy inside. He looks up at me and starts banging the window. At this point another Rover with screaming siren and flashing lights rocks up. The Dean has all but fainted. The newly arrived cops shout to my earlier escort, “We’ll take Freeman”. I shook the Deans hand and smiled.

 

Wednesday 7^th December

 

Pretty shattered. Went for a briefing at the local Police station. They don’t seem to think there is any reason to continue the watch. Suits me.

 

Thursday 8^th December   

 

Pretty odd seeing all these people I’ve been hanging out with in the last year hitting the national press. Nipped out this morning to buy the usual eclectic selection of rags and am more than sick of the sight of Friar. Friar and Mess are being remanded in custody. Unsurprising. The temptation to jump ship and leave the country would’ve been too great for them.

 

Got a midday call from Billy Goat. Seems as if he’s been doing much the same as me all morning. He gave me the page reference, and there was a mugshot of our Tommy. ‘Mr Brady suspected as accomplice’ it read.

 

Friday 9^th December   

 

Road tax came through on the 750 Monster Dark. Felt a bit like being at a strip club. The beauty was all there, but couldn’t be used. Made a few random calls to see if anyone was about. As luck would have it, Rupert, Frank and Chris were all on Christmas vacation.

 

Invited them al round for a morning coffee with a hidden agenda. Fed them with the finest Colombian ground coffee and then pushed them up the stairs to my room. A few minutes of project management went down treat. The beast was on the road in no time.

 

As reward, I tossed the house keys to Chris and invited them to help themselves for the rest of the day. If only my motorbike instructor could’ve been there. It was like hugging a beautiful lady all day long; a lady who was intent on doing all the work for me. Sped off down the M40 and got to Grans in next to no time.

 

Enjoyed a ploughmans at the local pub together. She quizzed me about my future, which is fair game, nobody else to do it. I took her for a short walk down to the lake and explained my interest in the financial markets and kept her sweet by explaining the trust fund would all go to good use.

 

Realised that she didn’t have the foggiest clue I’d arrived on the bike. She’d have presumed I driven over in a car. Didn’t want her worrying. Persuaded her to sit down and relax in front of Countdown with a brew whilst I slipped off to the garage to pick up the Ducati.

 

Got back to Notting Hill and Brian and Billy were already home. The five of them were watching ‘Cents and Sensimilia’, and the sitting room fucking reeked of dope. Bill jumped up and fixed me a coffee whilst quizzing me about the bike. He’s off to buy another helmet first thing Saturday.         

 

Saturday 10^th December

  

Got through a few gallons today just posing about town. Went and bought some helmets with radio linkup. Zipped to Knightsbridge, parked up Harrods and took a coffee in Harvey Nicks. All the middle aged mothers looked at us and just wanted to follow. Still I guess at some time or other they’ve ridden a Harley Davidson on a Desert Highway.

 

Got back to the pad in time for half time scores. Shaky start to the table. Chris was still knocking about. He’s been trying to patch things up with his model chick Naomi. Played backgammon until the early hours and sipped on a few glasses of Bushmills and smoked a couple of reefers.

 

Sunday 11^th December

 

Anoushka, the Irish beatnik has evidently been working the phones. Fuck knows how. Perhaps she’s moved out the commune. Got a call from her late this evening. She’s latched on to Daddy’s guitar folky ability and has been sorting him out with gigs.

 

She tells me Dad found a bunch of guys in Dublin who play sweetly, and has been practising and gigging with them for the past few months. They are calling themselves ‘The Somedays’. The Somedays have a few pre Christmas shows at various private parties in London and she explained she was hustling for a few post Xmas gigs too. Could we put them up?

 

Monday 12^th December 

 

Had a visit from a few detectives this morning. Thankfully the cleaner had done a good job on the house before they rocked up. I was informed that the court case is commencing this afternoon. Being minted they’ve managed to pull some hotshit bent Lawyer, but the evidence is crushing, and they don’t stand a cats chance in hell.

 

I had an enjoyable cuppa with the Policemen. Talked about everything under the sun. I even offered them lunch. Must’ve been hungry as they said yes to a microwave meal. Flicked on the telly as I sauntered off to the kitchen, and hear the one o clock news, “South London Gangsters expected to face 20 years for smuggling £100m worth of Cocaine”.

 

I spun round. Friars fat head took up the whole screen. He’d finally done it. He’d finally invaded my privacy. The Bobbys could obviously tell the magnitude of the situation was finally dawning on me. Over a Chicken Tikka and a beer they explained I shouldn’t sweat too much.

 

Bill got home and wanted to know what in the blue fuck was going on. He said that he’d caught the news at work and saw that our mate Tommy had confessed to being paid to go out to France last Easter and ‘get rid of’ Maria.

 

I’ve only just managed to pull myself away from the news. Tom Brady was a fucking master criminal and I’d sat unperturbed on Cross Channel Ferries with the bastard. He confessed to having paid off a corrupt ski lift attended and had simply done the job to gain trust amongst the gang.

 

When asked why he’d undertaken the murder, he explained that in order to attain trust in the underworld it was important to do favours. This was when he realised he wanted to be more involved with crime and less involved with the City. The case continues.        

      

Tuesday 13^th December

 

When asked why Maria was murdered, Friar said that Maria had insulted his religion. She had stolen his fucking voodoo doll. He wanted it back, and he wanted her dead. And so it was.

 

The Press are loving this tale of a Essex boy done good, turned bad, running of to the Alps to see that a beautiful young chalet maid gets knocked off because she overstepped the black magic line.

 

Wednesday 14^th December 

 

Took the Ducati for a late evening spin to blow the cobwebs away before bed. Bill and Mandy had gone off to The Windsor for a lovers chat and Brian was being a boring wanker studying the Finance pages of the Telegraph, so nipped out the house.

 

Was experimenting with the Monsters acceleration and braking abilities when a coaches side flap snapped open and out poured a few dozen suitcases. It was like a slalom on the Thames Water Roundabout. Felt sorry for the poor driver. Fifty unsatisfied customers would’ve been screaming at him. Sped up past ‘The Gate’ and down to Buckingham Palace. Saw the flag was flying so blew the old girl a kiss and cruised back here. 

 

Message on my mobile. Anoushka is coming to London next week with The Somedays. They’ve booked themselves into a hotel in Earls Court.

 

Thursday 15^th December

 

Phoned Simmons to show that I was slightly game on. He couldn’t remember me from Harry so I e mailed him a jpeg of the Freeman portfolio of stocks with percentge increases and graphs of their steep curves. Need a bloody job just to fill up that tank.

 

Renewed my membership to the squash club as it seems to have served a purpose if not the purpose. Next year I will play more. Billy’s always popping in there for a snifter. Have been feeling a bit out the action lately, looking forward to the new year.

 

Friday 16^th December 

 

Took an amble down to High Street Ken. Was sat in Café Rouge when who should burst in but my mother. Under her arm she held a laptop and at least 20 Kodak CDs. I lay GQ down, sipped my coffee and watched my Mum.

 

She is truly the most enthusiastic creature. Barely had time for the waiter. Waving him over, she then ordered the vastest salad, and got busy on her PC. Was impressed to note her hooking up her computer with her mobile. Carried on reading the feature article on John Travolta.

 

Eventually made my way over. “Dahhhhhhrrrrrrling”, she cries. “I was just loading up all my holiday pictures onto my new website, holpix.com. I’ve been e mailing all my pals over in Oz”. She seems to have suddenly got amazingly teched-up. It was good to see the old goose. She wanted filling in on everything I’d been up too. Some blatant lies emerged.

 

Saturday 17^th December

 

Mum invited Brian, Bill and myself for a feed. I suddenly got the fear and presumed Deadre and Geena had told her about my drug induced state. I’d had enough of skirting the issue and over dessert, I came out with it. As it turns out, I needn’t have been so worried. She was immediately shocked, and then waved it aside as if it were no more than slight concussion on a rugby field. “Well, you youngsters, you’re all at it aren’t you.” Whatever.

 

Sunday 18^th December  

 

Christ alive! Dad’s back in town alright. Got a call late last night. “What you up to Kid?” Was invited out to a jam in some shit hole little garage in Acton. Brian wasn’t up to much, Fran having run off with the Prop from his rugger team, so invited him along too. 

 

The lad was petrified, and I didn’t even touch 80 once. Felt like a couple of real groupies just sat by absorbing tunes. The band consists of a Singer named Georgie, a Drummer named Stig – for obvious reasons, a Trumpeter, Saxophonist, Violinist, Pianist, Accordionist, Bass, and Dad on lead guitar. He looks like some old rocker. They warmed up with a few covers. Typical Irish numbers.

 

Front girl Georgie is a dynamite piece of work; kind of Designer Grunge. Just as she was drawing me and Brian in, a feel a tap on my shoulders. A silver tray appears with two full Champagne flutes, and a bottle of Veuve. It could only have been Anoushka.

 

She joined us for a drink. The band played away. Great tunes interspersed with, “Would you shutup?”. “You’re out of fucking key”, “SSSHUTUP!”, “Put that fucking Whiskey down”, “Don’t bang so chuffin’ loud”. Got chatting with Anoushka, and she brought out file after file of contact lists, developments, Press office cuttings, and a sample copy of an album.

 

Shared a J with the old man when he realised everyone else had had enough. He was so excited about being on the road and gigging. Showed him what I was excited about, ie the bike, and then chipped off. Burning it down the A40 realised how attractive I find Anoushka.      

 

Monday 19^th December   

 

Glued to the box. Friars been put away for 25 years, Mess 20 and Tommy has got life. It makes Jason’s few years seem like an afternoon. I  sometimes wonder whether Maria had anything to do with my decks being half hinched. I was on the phone chatting to Anouska about the various London gigs ‘The Somedays’ are performing when I got a landline buzz from Pierro. Haven’t seen him since the night my Beemer was smashed in and looted of the turntables.

 

He recognised Friars face. Good effort. Didn’t particularly want to take him through my lows and drug habits and various failures, so played ball, “What comes around goes around!”. Good to hear from him. He’s proposed to his girlfriend and is setting up a Gallery with her in the East End. Funny how once you’ve left school you drift apart. Promised him we’d get him over for a Christmas drinkypoo. 

 

I’ll be 40 by the time Mess can seek revenge. If he wants me out the equation that badly I’m sure there are people on the outside willing to eke me out. I can’t imagine he’s clever enough to realise I got my info from Jason, via Maria.

    

Tuesday 20^th December

 

Met up with the beautiful Anoushka for dinner. Had an evening of seafood and white wine. Biked her back to Earls Court. She tells me the old boy has the top floor to himself, and the singer, drummer and bass guitar are located the floor beneath. Was very curious to know this sweet angel was sleeping.

 

Wednesday 21^st December 

 

Friar and Mess being likened to the Kray brothers in the press. Don’t think so somehow. Have been battling away on Dope Wars for most of the day on the palm pilot. Still no news of what the fuck is going on this Christmas. Mother is usually bang on the case. 

 

Thursday 22^nd December

 

Pierro came round and we had and evening of Cut and Run. He’s such a goddam poser, always looking the part. Pulled out Catcher In The Rye to skin up his reefers on. He tells us his gallery in Mile End is rocking. Bet it bloody is.

 

Friday 23^rd December    

 

Thought about pushing a few more envelopes this morning, but decided to, as Brian would say, ‘Get with the fucking program’, and leave a message on Simmons’ office answerphone.

 

Saturday 24^th December

 

Bought all my Christmas presents on line this year. One problem. Three of the five websites I gave my details to and ordered from have gone under and the other two haven’t delivered so it was back to the dark ages.

 

Got up at 6am. Went shopping. Returned to the house at 6pm. I detest Christmas shopping with an absolute passion. It brings out the worst in everyone. Decent, civil, middle aged mothers become blood thirsty greedy hyenas. Queues, queues, queues.

 

Nearly punched one guy on a till. I was trying to get hold of some vinyl for Dad, and just got this zittty 16 year old yapping away about me not knowing enough about the album I was looking for. However, kept my calm and bought a lot of goodies. Bought Dad a book on Celtic art, Mum, a mini portable TV, housemates – alcohol and cigars.

 

Spent the best part of the day looking for something for Anoushka. Went over to Hatton Garden, Holborn but they didn’t really have what I was looking for so went over to Asprey’s Bond Street.

 

Am now home alone. Brian has just left to join his large family at their Country Manor House down in Kent. Gave him his Cuban cigar and bottle of Champagne. Bill left me a card which read, “Happy Christmas Loser. Sort your life out”. Am jealous of the lads going off to big Xmas family gatherings. 

 

Sunday 25^th December

       

Our little mews ended up being the venue for ‘The Somedays’ after party. It had slipped my mind that they were performing on Christmas Eve. Got a call from a bar phone at half seven last night. I was getting stuck in to some quality Christmas telly. It was Anoushka, “Where the fuck are you?” Was glad of an excuse to jump on the bike. Sped down to The Kings Head. Beautifully empty streets.

 

Dad was fucking unbelievable. He was kitted out in a black velvet suit  and was playing his white electric guitar. The punters were all pissed up so I don’t doubt anything would’ve sounded good to them, but to the tuned ear of a couple of Artistes & Repertoire dudes with whom I struck up a conversation, they were a “slick operation”. Took their business cards, as Anoushka was busy flashing away with her camera.

 

Dad took charge this morning and cooked up a beast of a fry up. It was good to have people about to share Christmas morning with. After a heavenly kiss goodnight from Anoushka I put her to bed in Bills Bed. Dad took Brians, and the rest of the cast and crew kipped where they could.

 

Did a blitz clear up and congratulated the band members on their performances as they piled out the door , off to a Turkey in Earls Court. Dad, Anoushka and myself popped a cork and toasted each other. Gave them their presents and received two big hugs, one with a kiss on the lips.

 

Wondering what to do with the rest of the festive day was cut short. Mum phoned. She had been expecting me to go over to Holland Park. Played at Diplomacy and explained that I was with a few guests, one of whom was Dad. She seemed full of cheer and suggested “.. the more the merrier.”  

 

Took a leisurely stroll over. Mum was entertaining Gran and Sarah. The arrival of Dad was greeted with utter disbelief, but Mum was as cool as cuke. Although she didn’t like being upstaged by Anouska’s pearl necklace, the two had much in common and nattered away.

 

Gran was loving it. Mum drove her up yesterday. She went off on one for a few minutes over dinner; reliving her London days with Grandad in Chelsea. Dad grinned his teeth and bore it. When she brought up slipping standards and smart clothes, I was surprised a full blown argument didn’t ensue.

 

Monday 26^th December

 

Met up with Rupert. He beavers away at his degree, but always manages to have irons in the fire. He has been commissioned to write an alternative dictionary with his tutor. They’ve come up with the title, “DO-ing a Dictionary”.

 

For instance, under M, there’ll be Maggie, and the description, ‘to swop one’s nuts and bolts for telephones and files. It’s Biography cum Dictionary cum joke book. Fuck knows whose bought it, but he tells me it’s well under way.

 

Rupert ensured me that I can use Mums present of £200 of book vouchers on CD’s so that pleased me. Mothers attempt to get me reading more – foiled. 

 

Popped back to see Gran before she was whisked off to the Cotswolds. Dad opened the door in Mums dressing gown. Nearly fainted. Sarah then appeared too with smudged make-up dressed in boxers and T-shirt on the arm of Stig the drummer. Meantime Gran is enjoying afternoon Tea, reading the paper and totally blasé about the whole thing.

 

Tuesday 27^th December  

 

My two dear housemates have come back from their respected Christmas’ with more toys. Gadgets in this house have an extremely short life expectancy. Brian wanted to know why there was a pair of black frilly knickers in his room. Told him he’d better give those to me.

 

Called up the backpackers hotel that ‘The Somedays’ are monopolising. Asked to speak to Anoushka. “Sorry mate. She’s got an interview with the Press”. I could tell it was Stig from his Middle Eastern accent. With the image of him shagging Sarah I continued the chat. He was bored and suggested I shoot over.

 

It was an education understanding the bands preparation and warming up for the evenings gig. There was a case of red wine, some cheese and crackers and a bowl of pot that were all slowly being chipped away at. Looked the life of Riley to me.

 

Anoushka eventually turned up with some Box files under her arm. Made a mental note to give her my old Palm. Suddenly she clapped her hands and it was all to their action stations. Went along to the performance which was smoky, sweaty and loud. Remembered I still had the A&R guys cards so handed them over to A. She went a little mental, grabbing my mobile, shouting down it, and throwing her hands around the crowded bar area like some Italian whose just wrecked his Lambourghini. What the fuck happened to the flowery hippy from Ireland?

 

Wednesday 28^th December     

 

‘The Somedays’ are all buggering off back to Ireland. Hankering for the green. Stig and Dad had that quasi ‘We came, we saw, we conquered’ look about them. Spoke to Mum on the phone this morning and she was mentioning driving over to Ireland in the Smart Car for New Years. I have my own life now. I just think it’s a pity they lost out on each other for 19 years.  

 

Everyone was bundling into the tour van. Can’t imagine how customs won’t strip search the lot of them. The van was rammed; partly because they’d all bought Christmas souvenir gifts over here. Anoushka emerged from the crusty hotel in a dress that increased my heart rate threefold.

 

I was stood by the van chatting with the driver, desperately trying to look cool in my new shades, and ski jump styled gelled haircut. I put my arms out to her. Hoping, hoping, hoping.

 

She gave me a quick hug. She turned to her band. They looked at her like little fucking puppies. “I’ve been talking to the owner of The Coach and Horses”. This obviously meant something. “….and we’ve got New Years”. They shouted in Unison. Dad was ecstatic.

 

I looked at her like a fucking puppy. It was either me or the van. She turned to me, bit her lip and turned back to the band. “All the logistics are sorted. The admin has been cleared and confirmed. I’m not leaving you high and dry, I’ll be back sooner than you know. I want to spend a few days in London”. That’s what she thinks. 

 

Thursday 29^th December

 

Are you ever too young to get married? ‘To have and to hold until death do us part’. ‘To have and to hold’. ‘To love and cherish’.

 

Billy Goat and Brian were being dickheads back at the ranch. They were involved in a new computer game that might have been real time for all the time it took to complete just one leg of the competition. Anoushka and I watched them battle against each other on the circuit for about an hour, and decided we were better off elsewhere for all the stimulating conversation emitting from them.  

 

Slept so well with her beside me. Talked for hours and hours. Woke up this morning and put it to her that we should go on a little road trip. She’s a law unto herself, so was originally sceptical about even asking.

 

Once I’d got the yes I was looking for, I took her out to buy some leathers. Got her kitted out sharpish and then took off. Briefly stopped by home to pick up bare essentials. Wanted to keep it all a bit hush hush so just made sure she had her passport on her, and disclosed nothing else. Left my vegetable housemates a short note stating I was off on holiday, and to call if necessary.

 

It was pissing with rain so the drive down to Dover wasn’t the ideal start to the vacation. But ‘La manche’ was agreeable and once I’d had my first Steak and Frites in a service station just north of Gay Paris I was ready for the ride.     

 

Several black coffees later and we’re in a B&B just north of Toulouse. I’ve been a bit forward with everything. Whisking her away, presuming double beds and I still haven’t told her we’re going skiing. If she can handle a week of me being a show off, I think we might be in business. She is taking a shower right now. Starving. Looking forward to some escargos.

 

Friday 30^th December

 

Fucking froggy radio went off at the crack of dawn so was forced to wake up. Pretty pleased when I did. Got to work on the coffee machine and made a couple of bastard strong brews.

 

By about midday the lass had clicked that the plan was the mountains. “We haven’t got any equipment, clothes, accommodation” he was shouting through the helmet linkup. Bla bla bla. We don’t have any travellers cheques, insurance or cover on the Ducati. All situations I’m fully intending to rectify. A credit card and a mobile phone and life is there for the taking.

 

Just before the last winding road up the Pyrenees to Andorra we stopped off to refill the tank and grab some munch. I nipped off to the toilet for a few minutes. When I returned to the table, Anoushka was looking mightily pleased with herself. Grinning away in her own little bubble.

 

Saturday 31^st December   

 

Moved out of our shitty youth hostel into a smart hotel. Indoor swimming pool, gym, outdoor tennis court, little ice rink, the works. Hired skis and snowboards for the week. Profligate but who gives a fuck.

 

Tossed a coin to decide on first activity. Boards. Pottered off to the nursery run. Realised she was a natural. Jumped in a bubble by ourselves. Couldn’t resist myself the pleasure of a fondle.

 

Had a gluvine after a massively knackering day. Anoushka lets me know that whilst I was off doing my hair at the service station yesterday she took a couple of calls on my behalf. First, there was the offer from Oxford University. Apparently the Dean wanted to have a word with me.

 

Secondly there was Simmons. The bugger had finally got back to me. He was offering me a contract starting tomorrow or ASAP. I was shocked. I asked her why she hadn’t told me straight away? “All good things come to those who wait”. Presumed it was because of her Irishness.

 

Got back to the hotel room. I was about to call Simmons. Then thought about University. Simmons? University? Simmons? University?

 

I looked at her, slipping out of her all in one, ready for a shower. She looked up at me, saw the phone and smiled. “Toss a coin”, she said shrugging. I’m a happy lad.