The rain lashed down
and a full moon hung over the Tesco Megastore site at Bermondsey,
in the arse end of London, as Marg (The Barge) Carling struggled
to stretch the new tyre over the rim of her crippled J.C.B. with
her bare hands. She looked down after hearing a noise, like a
wellington boot being sucked out of the mud and saw the her new
born son scowling up at her from a puddle of diesel oiled water,
a nearby labourer quickly severed the cord with his prized half
shovel (it took years to wear a shovel down to the point where
you were only digging half as much as the next geezer) and Donkey
kept the edge of his razor sharp with half an old stock brick
he kept hidden in his underpants (you couldn’t be too careful,
old stocks go for 60p each round here!) Donkey scooped the new
born up and wrapped him in some fibreglass insulation, laying
him in a half opened bag of cement feeling pleased with himself
(the boy would be secure, while Marg finished blowing up the
tyre with her ample lungs and the insulation would help keep
the rain off the half open bag of cement..( nothing worse than
a lumpy mix in the morning!)
Meanwhile, the whole site gathered round the nipper shaking
their heads in denial grunting farting and burping in unison,
a ritual often performed by alpha males, partly to mark their
territory and ranking in the group and partly due to trying to
bend down after a full bloater from Fast Fiona’s burger
van washed down with three cans of special brew! Marg named the
boy after one of his fathers, not being sure of who it could
be, she chose Tony as there were two Tony’s (law of averages)
on the site. Tony the spread and Tony the donkey (donkey 'cos
he was the best labourer and not because of what he had in his
underpants…everyone new about his ‘ol stock brick!)
Home was a disused portaloo behind the cement shed and the young
Tony cut his teeth on a galvanised butterfly wall tie that Micky
the Brickie gave him, the years passed and the young lad grew
fit and strong on a diet of special brew dregs, dogends and the
occasional Fast Fiona bloater.
Ronnie The Dog, a dodgy mobile phone dealer who often frequented
the site introduced young Tony to the world of creative writing,
by learning him to read the screwed up parking tickets from the
bottom of the loo, and along with his rusty length of fence wire
stretched across his bent dumper starting handle the boy couldn’t
have wanted for more, until one sunny day at the ripe age of
eleven he climbed the scaffolding for the topping out party with
some of his dads and saw a world he never knew existed on the
other side of the hoarding.......Tony
would never be content again! |
