Wednesday, 26 August 2015



1995 Portobello:
I like neither football nor pubs; yet I found myself watching football in a pub. Of course there was a disagreement, two gentlemen were compelling my friend to join them outside. I tried to explain that he did not want to go outside nor fight with them. They then approached me in a threatening manor, however I don’t think it went as panned. One got a punch in the hoota, the other a kick in the bollocks. I had not intension of having any kind of discussion. Suddenly the two became six, so I backed into a corner to defend myself: quite successfully I may add, as I was not struck at all. I head-butted, bit, gouged and punched until I saw my escape to the street. Once in the street the situation was no longer in my favour, I was surrounded and inevitably got served. I woke up concussed, aching and with a black eye. Fortunately the local junkies and down and outs, whom I always warmly acknowledged with a shiny penny, came to me rescue and sent my attackers on their merry way…

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