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entry 41 - 24th December 01
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angel's eyes An impromptu mini-party at Geordie's, who was celebrating the defeat of Mr Bigley and his elderly resident crew - the old tory gits who'd complained to the council about Geordie's lack of planning permission for the three storey prefab we were all now chilling in. "Aye, man," said Geordie, swigging his cider. "They went awee with tha tails b'tween their legs. Wah'll hear nay more from thaise shite-bags!" Suzie asked how he'd pulled it off, and he explained that his first course of action had been to claim to the council that his mini skyscraper was in fact a garden shed... "Wah said ah lived in tha' boot, pet," by which he meant in the boat: the skanky half-sunk piece of crap next to the 'garden shed'. A bloke from the council had come down to inspect his claims, but expressed disbelief that Geordie - or indeed anybody - could live in a boat containing three feet of bilge-water. He'd also told Geordie that the mini skyscraper was fifteen feet outside the regulation garden shed height restrictions anyway. How Geordie got round this was nothing short of genius... "Wah beat tha shite out of him, man. Wah kicked him inta next week. Wah said ah knew where he lived, and that if he knew what wa good for him he'd fuck off, lick his wounds, an' do nar more aboot it!" He then showed us the letter from the council which confirmed that we were indeed all sitting on the top floor of a three storey prefab garden shed. And this was when Angela entered the room, thankfully on her own. She squeezed in next to me on the floor and accepted a joint from Pete The Punk. "It's a wee bit dark fur soon-glasses, eh pet?" said Geordie. Angela lifted her shades onto her forehead, revealing two badly bruised eyes: "I tripped over the kitchen drawer," she said. "I went head first into the washing-up rack." "Aye, pet," said Geordie disbelievingly. "Tim says you've really got to try it," she said. "He says it'll make you understand where you're going and why you've got to go there." "Did he do that to your face?" I asked. "No, he wouldn't," she said. "I tripped over the kitchen drawer, like I said." I didn't know if she knew what Tim-Tom had done to me last week at Brendan's, but I didn't mention it. Later, as I was leaving, I took Geordie aside and asked him what he made of Tim-Tom. He slipped into diplomatic mode (an unusual stance for him), and wouldn't come down in either the pro or anti camp. He did, however, confirm that Tim-tom had done serious time for some serious, murderous, arson... "Wah keep m'self to m'self where Tim-tom's concerned, pet. You cannat get on tha wrong side of a firestarter." Uh-oh.
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