Festive Period

Last week I got my ear chewed off by a man in a pub. He was mixed-race like myself. “If anyone calls you a nigger then come and see me and I’ll batter them.” That’s the gist of what he kept banging on about. That, and the fact that he used to be a football hooligan. “I was always at the front, knocking them all out.” Yeah, sure you were. He was off his head on cocaine, openly snorting it on the pub premises, just outside the entrance. He had constant white foam around his lips. I couldn’t get a word in. I had to walk away to get clear of him in the end. The next day I seen him and he bought me a pint. He was alright, he said nothing. That was how I preferred him.

Christmas Day went superbly. I got a last-ditch invite to my brother’s. I’d been praying for it, and it arrived in the nick of time. I bought each of them presents, most notably a dinosaur slime kit for Rosie, my niece. I also gave her a card with ten pound coins sellotaped into it to go into her little new pink purse. I watched her play with the dinosaur slime kit. I played with her playing with other toys as well. She was more interested in her brother’s presents, rather than her own. I enjoyed a real mountain of a dinner. Even nicer than the dinner was the evening selection of buffet food laid out, including sliced hot waffles and BBQ chicken skewers.

The next day I rang Sarah from Hertfordshire who worked for The Samaritans. We had a good chat about my addiction. I’ve been ringing them quite a lot lately. I’m disappointed if the call doesn’t last at least twenty minutes. Getting a bit bored of them now, to be honest.

The day after Boxing Day was a pool tournament in my local boozer. I was locked out from the table all day. They were playing for £20 each, about £160 in the pot. They said the league might be able to let me join in September. Bare in mind it’s January. One player had a sports top on with the lettering ‘Jonnie Two Shots’ on the back. Another player was Stuart who was showing me martial arts moves in between frames. Yet another was Sub, a short slight Indian gentleman. They all took it serious and the standard was very high. I myself am not very competitive, I’m not sure I’d fit in. But I learned a lot and even sussed out a few new ‘rules’, including a ‘skill shot’. Basically, if you pot and foul at the same time it doesn’t matter. News to me.

I had some more female company that evening. Vicky popped up outside the pub. I bought her two pints then a £24 bottle of Smirnoff from the supermarket. The checkout assistant charged me £2 for it, for some reason I wasn’t complaining about. It was a real blessing to my budget. We headed back to her place. She still refused to show me any of the book she’s writing, ‘Living With Voices’. It was going well until she had a spliff and flipped on me, insisting that I depart for no reason. “LEAVE,” she told me. I gathered up the vodka and skedaddled. F**k her. What a sad shame. She’s obviously got issues. So that’s my festive period, apart from a mild panic attack on New Year’s Eve. This time I didn’t go to my special bridge to watch the fireworks across Liverpool, because the weather was terrible.