window and he had got off lightly, with nothing more than minor scarring for life. The bloke who’d climbed up onto the roof wasn’t quite so lucky.
I didn’t actually see him as he plunged past my parents’ bedroom window onto the spiked railings beneath. I was in the double bed with one of the pixies.
We were having a go at puberty together.
My first sex. Now I really
do
wish I could remember
that!
I do have a vague recollection of a lot of people piling into the bedroom and saying that I had to come downstairs because there had been an accident. And I think I recall stumbling down the stairs naked and wondering why the walls had been spray-painted so many different colours. I don’t remember slipping over in the pool of vomit on the hall carpet, although apparently this got quite a laugh. As did the look on my face when I saw that the front sitter was on fire.
I have absolutely no idea who took the fridge and the cooker, and, as I told the magistrate, if I had known that there was a gang bang going on in my back parlour and being filmed by students from the art school, I would have done something about it.
What I do recall clearly, and this will be forever tattooed on my memory cells, is Biscuit.
Biscuit, coming up to me as I stood in the open front doorway, staring out at the police cars and fire appliances. Biscuit, licking my hand and gazing up at me with her big brown eyes.
And me, looking down at Biscuit and wondering what that strange firework fizzing was, coming from under her tail.
9
Snout: British prison slang for tobacco.
I awoke naked and covered in Biscuit.
Now, you know that panicky feeling you get when you wake up after a really heavy night of drink and drugs and know, just
know,
that you’ve done something that you shouldn’t have?
Well, I felt like that.
I did a lot of blinking and gagging and groping about and I wondered how come my bedroom ceiling was suddenly all tiled over.
Now, you know that panicky feeling you get when you wake up after a really heavy night of drink and drugs and find yourself naked in a police cell?
No?
Well, it really sucks, I can tell you.
I screamed. Screamed really loud. And I wiped at myself with my fingers and I gaped at the guts and the dark clotted blood.
‘Biscuit,’ I screamed. ‘Biscuit.’
A little metal hatch in the large metal door snapped open. ‘You won’t get a biscuit here, you bastard,’ called a voice.
‘Help,’ I called back. ‘Let me out. Let me out.’
But they didn’t let me out. They kept me locked away in there all day, with only a plate of cornflakes and a cup of tea to keep me going. And at about three o’clock in the afternoon the door swung open and Brother Michael from St Argent’s sauntered in.
Now, as you don’t know the panicky feeling you get from waking up naked in a police cell, you probably won’t know the
really
panicky feeling you get when you find yourself naked in a police cell and locked in with a pederastic monk.
It’s a real bummer and I kid you not.
Brother Michael shook his tonsured head and then sat down beside me on the nasty little cot. I shifted up a bit and crossed my legs. Brother Michael placed a hand upon my knee. ‘This is a very bad business,’ he said.
I began to snivel. ‘Somebody blew up my Biscuit,’ I blubbered.
‘Blew up your biscuit, eh?’ The monk smiled warmly. ‘That’s not so bad. I remember the first time someone blew up my biscuit. I was just a choirboy at St Damien of Hirst’s and—’
‘Stop right there,’ I told him. ‘I am talking about my dog, Biscuit.’
‘Somebody blew up your dog biscuit?’
I turned a bitter eye upon the monk. ‘My dog’s
name
was Biscuit. Someone blew her up.’
‘I am becoming confused,’ said Brother Michael, giving my knee a little squeeze. ‘But I think we should turn our attention to the matter of your defence. Due to the large quantity of Class A drugs seized on your premises, you will have to put your
I didn’t actually see him as he plunged past my parents’ bedroom window onto the spiked railings beneath. I was in the double bed with one of the pixies.
We were having a go at puberty together.
My first sex. Now I really
do
wish I could remember
that!
I do have a vague recollection of a lot of people piling into the bedroom and saying that I had to come downstairs because there had been an accident. And I think I recall stumbling down the stairs naked and wondering why the walls had been spray-painted so many different colours. I don’t remember slipping over in the pool of vomit on the hall carpet, although apparently this got quite a laugh. As did the look on my face when I saw that the front sitter was on fire.
I have absolutely no idea who took the fridge and the cooker, and, as I told the magistrate, if I had known that there was a gang bang going on in my back parlour and being filmed by students from the art school, I would have done something about it.
What I do recall clearly, and this will be forever tattooed on my memory cells, is Biscuit.
Biscuit, coming up to me as I stood in the open front doorway, staring out at the police cars and fire appliances. Biscuit, licking my hand and gazing up at me with her big brown eyes.
And me, looking down at Biscuit and wondering what that strange firework fizzing was, coming from under her tail.
9
Snout: British prison slang for tobacco.
I awoke naked and covered in Biscuit.
Now, you know that panicky feeling you get when you wake up after a really heavy night of drink and drugs and know, just
know,
that you’ve done something that you shouldn’t have?
Well, I felt like that.
I did a lot of blinking and gagging and groping about and I wondered how come my bedroom ceiling was suddenly all tiled over.
Now, you know that panicky feeling you get when you wake up after a really heavy night of drink and drugs and find yourself naked in a police cell?
No?
Well, it really sucks, I can tell you.
I screamed. Screamed really loud. And I wiped at myself with my fingers and I gaped at the guts and the dark clotted blood.
‘Biscuit,’ I screamed. ‘Biscuit.’
A little metal hatch in the large metal door snapped open. ‘You won’t get a biscuit here, you bastard,’ called a voice.
‘Help,’ I called back. ‘Let me out. Let me out.’
But they didn’t let me out. They kept me locked away in there all day, with only a plate of cornflakes and a cup of tea to keep me going. And at about three o’clock in the afternoon the door swung open and Brother Michael from St Argent’s sauntered in.
Now, as you don’t know the panicky feeling you get from waking up naked in a police cell, you probably won’t know the
really
panicky feeling you get when you find yourself naked in a police cell and locked in with a pederastic monk.
It’s a real bummer and I kid you not.
Brother Michael shook his tonsured head and then sat down beside me on the nasty little cot. I shifted up a bit and crossed my legs. Brother Michael placed a hand upon my knee. ‘This is a very bad business,’ he said.
I began to snivel. ‘Somebody blew up my Biscuit,’ I blubbered.
‘Blew up your biscuit, eh?’ The monk smiled warmly. ‘That’s not so bad. I remember the first time someone blew up my biscuit. I was just a choirboy at St Damien of Hirst’s and—’
‘Stop right there,’ I told him. ‘I am talking about my dog, Biscuit.’
‘Somebody blew up your dog biscuit?’
I turned a bitter eye upon the monk. ‘My dog’s
name
was Biscuit. Someone blew her up.’
‘I am becoming confused,’ said Brother Michael, giving my knee a little squeeze. ‘But I think we should turn our attention to the matter of your defence. Due to the large quantity of Class A drugs seized on your premises, you will have to put your
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