Zrobic Loda

Last night, I was at a call to a private premises. Without giving too much away, there was alcohol involved. And although there was one mother, there were as many dads as there were kids - and most called the dad/husband figures by their first name.

I had kindly left my partner to talk to the very drunk, half dressed behemoth that was supposedly the female victim of this call. She reminded me very much of one of Terry Pratchett's female trolls.

I was outside the flat, letting the wind play with the collar of my gortex jacket and idly wondering how long I would wait outside before the cold drove me back to the flat with the abusive drunken female troll.

Approximately until Hell froze over, if you were wondering.


As any member of any uniformed service will testify, if you stand still long enough you will get a crowd. For some reason, the less interesting the activity you are doing, the more likely it is you will get a large and dedicated following. In my case, it was of a group of young lads.

Area: "What's happening, lads?"
Lad 1: "Have you got a light, mate?"
Area: "No."
Lad 2: "Has someone been killed?"
Area: (sotto voice) "Not yet."
Lad 2: "Huh?"
Area: "Nothing".
Lad 3: "Have you ever shot anyone?"
Area: "Only for asking stupid questions."

This went on for a while - The boys were happy whilst distracted, and I realised that I could use as much sarcasm as I liked without causing offence.
However, something inside of me felt I should take the initiative.

Area: "So what do you want Father Christmas to bring you this year?"
Lad 1: "A Blowjob."
Area: "Ah... right..."

You and me both mate, you and me both...