We were all walking towards the arty. It was a lovely and bright Friday night. James was the only one riding a bike alongside of us. We were all on the grass in the sunshine. School day weekends, nostalgia...you know the one.Next thing, we spot a DEAD CAT lying next to the railings. It was massiver than massive - it was mahoosive. Each of us has a quick look and says yuck or whatever, but Liam Everard, an older bruiser from the youth club who never usually hung about with us, picks it up into his arms and CARRIES IT ACROSS HIS CHEST LIKE A BABY.
To a bunch of stoned, pissed teenagers, PICKING UP A DEAD CAT is about as mad and as funny as you can possibly get.
One minute, James is looking over his shoulder, laughing at the disgustingly hilarious Liam Everard along with the rest of us, I mean we are all in stitches, but the next he is PEDALLING FOR HIS LIFE as Liam runs towards him. Seeing someone really drunk trying to chase someone with a heavy dead-weight cat in his arms didn’t and still doesn’t happen every day of the week.
There was no getting away in time and all James could do was try to duck the thing as Liam hurled it with two hands towards him, like a rancid sandbag. James did manage to duck this most unusual of missiles, or at least duck enough so it didn’t hit him square on, but to me it seemed to roll all over his back, neck and head in slow motion, before landing in front of his front wheel, jamming the tyre.
He subsequently did an endo and WENT FLYING over the handlebars.
I can’t remember anything else after that, but one thing is for sure – I was laughing, hard.
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