At the Oak poker and darts games infused, just like fag smoke into the evening, this was interspersed by the usual free food offering from the Doc. Sausages brought from Claxton, Cumbria floating in a creamy mild Cheddar sauce, together with chunky cobs of crusty bread, nourished the hungry sportsmen.
Chris was accused of sartorial negligence, his chest sized keks coming in for corporate abuse, Cockney Mick spent the afternoon sitting on an inflatable rubber cushion, having had the ‘snip’ on Friday. But, Jo suspects an ulterior motive to that of ‘I’ve enough bloody kids anyway’, in that this will allow him to have even more sexual freedom in his favourite holiday destination, Pataya, the dirty Bastard. Lowtie basked in the glory of throwing the winning dart, Billy Green continued eating sausages exchanging music anecdotes with Carlos, the Hendrix clone. “Do you remember when Lemon and his missus pitched up for a gig at Gem’s looking like the ‘Posh and Becks’ of the folk world”, added Jimmy the Axe.
Time to go home.
The Preacher has been quietly beavering away on a massive project of his own, that of ‘fitness guru and entrepreneur’. He is involved in well advanced negotiations with the local authority to purchase a semi-derelict Georgian building situated on the corner of Dicconson Street. He intends to convert the property into a gymnasium to include also a health food café. He requires 600 full members and possibly 200 off peak: £300.000 will buy the place, £40.000 for total refurb and £60.000 to fully furnish the gym. He hopes for professional business members early mornings, lunch and evening but needs to attract retired crinkly old choots, Benny Fitfraudsters, NEETS, soap dodging students reinforced by unmarried mothers during the day.
His wife Carol, sister in law Betty will create the organic grub, take the cash and throw out the drunks. Steven will maintain his job as a ‘safety net’ in case the whole matter goes tits up, belly down, dead in the water. Watch this space.
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