you're telling me, 'cause it's no' as if any bastard needs to persuade me to buy it.'
'Right,' said Barney, 'here we go. The Teletubbies are driving along the road in a motor, right?'
'Who the fuck are the Teletubbies?'
'You know, they stupid bastards on the telly. Four big fat bastards, of different colours 'n' all that. One of the blokes has got a handbag.'
'A handbag? A big, fat, funny-coloured bloke with a handbag? What kind of shite do you watch on the telly, anyway?'
'Help m'boab, Leyman, every bastard's heard of the Teletubbies. Anyway, they're all driving along in the motor, when all of a sudden they hit something in the middle of the road and they crash.'
'They hit what? What kind of thing are you going to just get in the middle of the road?'
'I don't know, something. A pheasant or some shite like that.'
'You really think you're necessarily going to crash just 'cause you hit a pheasant?'
'Fuck, all right, then, they hit a lamppost. That better?'
'A lamppost? In the middle of the road? Where the fuck are these people?'
'God, Leyman, you're a cantankerous old bastard. Right, a bloody huge dog runs out in front of them, they swerve to avoid it, and they hit a lamppost at the side of the road. How's that?'
'That seems plausible. Don't think that's going to sell you much whisky, though, is it? What's your slogan going to be? Drink This Shite and You Might Crash Your Motor and Die ? That's brilliant, son. Think you should stick to your day job.'
'They haven't been drinking yet.'
'So why do they crash the motor, then?'
'Because of the fucking dog!'
'Oh aye, aye, right enough. Right, on you go. There's these four weird-looking bastards with handbags in a motor. To avoid hitting a dog they drive into a lamppost. Got you. What happens next?'
Blizzard finished off his sixth double whisky of the night.
'Right. They all die, except the wee one, the red one, you know.'
'The red one? One of them's red?'
'Aye, and she doesn't die.'
'She? I thought they were all blokes?'
'Naw. There's a couple of blokes and a couple of birds.'
'So it's one of the birds who's got a handbag? Nothing wrong with that, son. You made it sound sinful.'
'Naw, it's one of the blokes who's got the handbag.'
'How come?'
'I don't know, do I? Bloody Hell, Leyman, let me finish. So they're all dead, right?'
'I thought the red one wasn't dead?'
'Aye, right, they're all dead except the red one. Right?'
'Right. But I think you'd better get to the point, 'cause I'm beginning to think your talking a load of shite.'
'Right. We switch to a couple of months later, and the wee bastard's sitting in a bar quaffing double whiskies. Pissed out her socks, so she is. And she keeps downing the doubles in a oner. Then she slams her glass down on the bar, and says to the barman, “Again, again. Again, again.”'
Blizzard stared across the table, looking a bit bemused. There was a loud cheer from around the dartboard, the sound of lager filling a glass from a malfunctioning tap. The woman Blizzard had been eyeing up slapped her hand viciously onto the face of the man sat across the table from her, before he got up and headed to the bar. Somewhere there was the vague sound of arguing over the exact consistency of Jupiter's atmosphere.
'What in the name of fuck are you talking about, son?' said Blizzard eventually.
'You've got to watch the programme,' said Barney. 'I mean, I've only seen it a couple of times myself.'
'Load of shite, by the sounds of it. Right, son, tell you what. You away and buy me another couple of shots. I'm going to have a go at this bird that's been giving me the eye while her shag's at the bar. And if I blow out, when you get back I'll tell you all about the time I cut the King's hair. Rare story, that one. Rare.'
Barney rose once more from his seat. Not that bloody rare, he thought to himself, as he headed off across the pub.
***
'What are you saying, son?' asked Leyman Blizzard.
Barney stared across the table. There are
'Right,' said Barney, 'here we go. The Teletubbies are driving along the road in a motor, right?'
'Who the fuck are the Teletubbies?'
'You know, they stupid bastards on the telly. Four big fat bastards, of different colours 'n' all that. One of the blokes has got a handbag.'
'A handbag? A big, fat, funny-coloured bloke with a handbag? What kind of shite do you watch on the telly, anyway?'
'Help m'boab, Leyman, every bastard's heard of the Teletubbies. Anyway, they're all driving along in the motor, when all of a sudden they hit something in the middle of the road and they crash.'
'They hit what? What kind of thing are you going to just get in the middle of the road?'
'I don't know, something. A pheasant or some shite like that.'
'You really think you're necessarily going to crash just 'cause you hit a pheasant?'
'Fuck, all right, then, they hit a lamppost. That better?'
'A lamppost? In the middle of the road? Where the fuck are these people?'
'God, Leyman, you're a cantankerous old bastard. Right, a bloody huge dog runs out in front of them, they swerve to avoid it, and they hit a lamppost at the side of the road. How's that?'
'That seems plausible. Don't think that's going to sell you much whisky, though, is it? What's your slogan going to be? Drink This Shite and You Might Crash Your Motor and Die ? That's brilliant, son. Think you should stick to your day job.'
'They haven't been drinking yet.'
'So why do they crash the motor, then?'
'Because of the fucking dog!'
'Oh aye, aye, right enough. Right, on you go. There's these four weird-looking bastards with handbags in a motor. To avoid hitting a dog they drive into a lamppost. Got you. What happens next?'
Blizzard finished off his sixth double whisky of the night.
'Right. They all die, except the wee one, the red one, you know.'
'The red one? One of them's red?'
'Aye, and she doesn't die.'
'She? I thought they were all blokes?'
'Naw. There's a couple of blokes and a couple of birds.'
'So it's one of the birds who's got a handbag? Nothing wrong with that, son. You made it sound sinful.'
'Naw, it's one of the blokes who's got the handbag.'
'How come?'
'I don't know, do I? Bloody Hell, Leyman, let me finish. So they're all dead, right?'
'I thought the red one wasn't dead?'
'Aye, right, they're all dead except the red one. Right?'
'Right. But I think you'd better get to the point, 'cause I'm beginning to think your talking a load of shite.'
'Right. We switch to a couple of months later, and the wee bastard's sitting in a bar quaffing double whiskies. Pissed out her socks, so she is. And she keeps downing the doubles in a oner. Then she slams her glass down on the bar, and says to the barman, “Again, again. Again, again.”'
Blizzard stared across the table, looking a bit bemused. There was a loud cheer from around the dartboard, the sound of lager filling a glass from a malfunctioning tap. The woman Blizzard had been eyeing up slapped her hand viciously onto the face of the man sat across the table from her, before he got up and headed to the bar. Somewhere there was the vague sound of arguing over the exact consistency of Jupiter's atmosphere.
'What in the name of fuck are you talking about, son?' said Blizzard eventually.
'You've got to watch the programme,' said Barney. 'I mean, I've only seen it a couple of times myself.'
'Load of shite, by the sounds of it. Right, son, tell you what. You away and buy me another couple of shots. I'm going to have a go at this bird that's been giving me the eye while her shag's at the bar. And if I blow out, when you get back I'll tell you all about the time I cut the King's hair. Rare story, that one. Rare.'
Barney rose once more from his seat. Not that bloody rare, he thought to himself, as he headed off across the pub.
***
'What are you saying, son?' asked Leyman Blizzard.
Barney stared across the table. There are
Similar Books
