The Good Old Days - Part III

THE GOOD OLD DAYS – PART III

1980


Errol looked at his watch then looked at the drunken four-some who were still staggering into each others lust just a few feet way. Tracy, almost, lashing into him at one point. Pulling Tracy back to him, Tricxy apologised ‘Sorry mate’ Ever gracious, Errol said ‘No probs mate’ and smiling to himself, knew that maybe he wouldn’t be the only one who was going to party tonight. Mark and Dougie had been swaying by his side for nearly ten minutes now and for the sixth time Mark asked if Dougie had definitely ordered a cab and that they knew to ask for Errol and for the sixth time Dougie made Mark certain that he had indeed ordered the cab and would he stop fucking asking for the millionth time! The three men burst out laughing ‘Your a funny fucker ain’t ya smart ass!’

The trio had been ‘wetting’ the baby’s soft little head for about three odd hours now and they were all thoroughly soaked! The cab would be here any minute and then it was back to flat for some tunes, more Red Stripe and then if Errol could help it, get the other two on some big reefers and get his mates stoned, it wasn’t everyday you became a brand new daddy. As if on cue Mark wanted to know ‘Oi! Daddy, where’s this bleeding cab hey?’ Swinging a playful uppercut to Marks chin Errol said ‘Soon come Marky’ quick as a flash, Mark put Errol straight ‘Soon come! You ain’t in fucking Jamaica now you know!’ Just as Mark made that observation, a broken glass shattered behind them. Seconds later, another half pint glass whizzed by and shattered into the busy main road.

Unbeknown to everyone cueing and waiting for mini-cabs outside the Gin Palace, the orderly cue inside for the usage of the bars one and only telephone had descended into chaos. The bar staff had only a few pairs of hands and could only deal with one cab request at a time and as ever on a balmy evening in a South London boozer tensions will always run high. Only a few of us it seems have the brain power to actually enjoy a sultry, aggro-free night out on the town with your given friends and loved ones and not turn the evening into a nightmarish shambles. Voices had been raised and insults had been cuttingly exchanged, one thing led to another and glasses, ashtrays and anything else loose flew through the air, including the half pint glass that had punched its way through one of the bars front windows and landed in the road only just missing an innocent Ford Capri as it drove by, it’s occupants oblivious to the squeeze they had just received. Hollering voices escaped through the jagged edges and the proverbial broke loose.

Mark, Dougie and Errol watched as the glass smashed, suddenly everything became serious, even the lustful foursome stopped in their tracks. Dozens of waiting necks craned as the entrance doors slammed open, spilling various bodies out onto the pavement. Errol took a shoulder to his shins, knocking him ass over tit smashing his forehead off a solid curb concrete. Mark side-stepped outstretched arms and watched as a strangers chin crunched onto an uneven corner of paving slab. From inside the bar, stressed bar staff were threatening to call the ‘Old Bill’. Another one of their nights fucked up by some idiots. As Mark helped Errol up from the pavement, the owner of the wide shin-smashing shoulders had already scrambled to his feet and faced the helped and crumpled Errol. Mark was too intent on helping his friend to notice the threat. Dread soaked into Errol’s pores, he was looking into the agitated face of a tattooed numbty he had seen in the bars toilets earlier and the boss of the two thick cunts who had made themselves busy with Dougie’s Smother not twenty minutes before. Dougie was about an hour late, bless him! He was too worried about the Capri that had escaped possible damage from the thrown glass (a kindness that may well have saved his life that night) to notice the nonsense going on behind him. It wasn’t until he heard the words ‘You black Bastard’ that he forgot about being a thoughtful citizen and turned to his friends and watched as Errol landed a crunching punch on the jaw of a rather big tattooed geezer and knocked him and three molars into next week, before his aggressor had hit the floor, Errol had landed several more crunching blows ‘Call me a black bastard will ya?’ one more solid dig on an already squashed nose soon settled that debate. Dougie stood frozen solid and it was all too quick for Mark to react. The initial assault had been amazing, Errol may have been forty two years of old, but he had the speed of a honed teenager. As the first blow landed, Mark was trying to stop his friend from smashing the granny out of a silly boy. Errol, Dougie or Mark never saw the knife as it entered the flesh of Errol’s thigh.


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