Monday, June 28, 2021
Sunday, June 27, 2021
Bobby March Will Live Forever by Alan Parks (Canongate Books 2020)
13th July 1973
The door to the Gents opened and the one person McCoy didn’t want to see came out, wiping his hands on a paper towel. Bernie Raeburn in all his portly glory. Raeburn was one of those men that took a bit too much care over what they looked like. Brylcreemed hair, neat moustache, silver tie pin, shoes shined. Probably thought he looked quite the thing. To McCoy, he just looked like what he was: a wide boy. Raeburn dropped the paper towel into a bin by one of the tables and peered over at McCoy. Didn’t look happy to see him. Didn’t look happy at all.
‘What you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Was at a call round the corner. Just came to see if there was anything I could do?’ said McCoy.
‘Did you now?’ said Raeburn, looking amused. ‘Think we’ll manage. Plenty of us boys here already.’
‘Okay.’ McCoy resisted the urge to tell Raeburn exactly where to shove his boys.
'Any news?’
‘Getting there,’ said Raeburn. ‘Getting there . . .’
He held his finger up. Wait. Took his suit jacket off, smoothed down his pale blue shirt. Decided he was ready to speak.
‘Actually, McCoy, there is something you can do to help. Need you to go back to the shop, tell Billy on the front desk to start calling round. Want anyone who hasn’t already gone on their holidays back in, soon as. Need the manpower for the door-to-doors.’
McCoy nodded, kept his temper. Tried not to look at the row of new telephones on the bar.
'So the sooner the better, eh?’ added Raeburn, looking at the door.
McCoy stood there for a minute, trying to decide what to do. The pub had suddenly gone silent, could even hear the big black flies buzzing against the windows. Knew everyone was watching, waiting to see what would happen. Round twenty-odds in the continuing fight between Raeburn and McCoy. They’d even opened a book back at the shop: how long will it take before one lamps the other? Current best bet was about a week.
Saturday, June 26, 2021
Thursday, June 24, 2021
Tuesday, June 22, 2021
The 80s Marinello
My favourite player as a kid . . . and then he signed for Arsenal 38 years ago today . . .
Monday, June 21, 2021
Great Days at Grange Hill by Jan Needle (Fontana Lions 1984)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fighting Dirty
You lose one. you win one - that seemed to be the rule for One Alpha, even if it did not apply to Tucker and Benny. They lost one - and gained four each, across the hand, hard. Like the man said, they didn’t forget it in a hurry.
One Alpha lost Justin Bennett, for a time at least, and possibly for good depending on how his father felt when it came to it. But the class gained a replacement called Michael Doyle. He was about the same size and shape as Justin, although he was fair instead of dark. But there all similarities ended. Completely.
Tucker and Benny first saw Michael Doyle after a bit of horseplay on the stairs. They’d been discussing the school elections, for which Tucker was hoping to get a nomination, when Trisha Yates, another candidate, came clattering down. As she passed. Tucker knocked her exercise books flying. Without a word, but with enormous force, she swung her briefcase at his head, almost braining him. She was a hard one, Trisha. He almost saw stars.
‘Jenkins!’ It was Mr Mitchell, at the bottom. And with him was Michael Doyle, smiling strangely. ‘Jenkins,’ repeated Mr Mitchell wearily. ‘Can't you go anywhere without making a nuisance of yourself?’
Inside the art room. Trisha sat next to Judy Preston, and nudged her.
‘Watch Old Mitch,’ she whispered. ‘That’s his girlfriend, that Miss Mather. Bet you.’
The girls watched like hawks. Mr Mitchell certainly smiled in a friendly-friendly way at the art teacher, and she was quite good looking for her age. He introduced her to the new boy.
‘Miss Mather,’ said Old Mitch. ‘This is Michael Doyle.’
‘Oh yes, Michael. Weren't you recently in Mr Malcolm's class?’
Judy and Trisha exchanged grins. She had a dead peculiar voice. Miss Mather. She was from Belfast.
‘Yes, Miss,’ said Michael Doyle.
‘Right,’ said the art teacher. ‘Well, go and find yourself a place. I’ll see you later.’
She faced the class. Mr Mitchell was still beside her. ‘Quiet, please.' she said. ‘Today I want you to continue with the props for the school festival. Everybody collect your equipment and make a start, OK? I’ll be around to see you shortly.’
As the children sorted themselves out, Mr Mitchell asked her how the festival arrangements were coming on. Miss Mather flashed him a warm smile.
‘Oh very well,’ she said. ‘Far better than 1 expected. Oh, I’ve got one problem, the props for the school play. I need a pair of flintlocks. You know, antique pistols for the kids to use as models.’
‘Tricky.’
‘It is, yes. Anyway—what about Doyle?’
Mr Mitchell’s face got serious.
‘Not much to tell,’ he said. ‘He could be a bit of a problem I’m afraid. He and a couple of his friends were caught bullying, so Mrs Munroe decided to split them up.’
Miss Mather gave a rich laugh.
‘And put them under your firm hand of authority!’ she said.
‘It’s my fiendish neckhold!’
Michael Doyle, although he had not been assigned any work yet. decided to collect a paintbrush from the pots. On his way back to his table, he noticed Benny’s — unattended. Michael’s brush was tatty. Benny's was new. So he did a swap. Benny, as it happened, was returning to his table, and saw it.
‘Oy,’ he said. ‘That’s my brush! Give it back!’
Doyle sized him up. Tiny. He gave a supercilious smile and turned away. When Benny grabbed at him, he swung round and pushed him hard. Benny careered four feet into Tucker’s painting arm.
Lobster Rocks!!!
Lobster, where the hell have you been all my life?
Microsoft Word has been holding out on me. I did not that there was this super sexy font within my blogging reach.
Sunday, June 20, 2021
Late night shock
A totally unexpected 180. My first in about a month, and my first 180 with the recently acquired Darts Corner Firescar Darts (25g).
I really haven't been throwing well for about four months now, so I'll take it.
47th 180 for 2021.
47/50
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