The work do was a total wash out. That means it was the first and only piss-up after the first week of training before everyone starts thinking everyone else is a ballbag.
Kissy Boy didn't go to it so I was left making conversation with the rest of them who to be fair all seem terribly nice and straightforward people. I started feeling that maybe I was to them what Hoors Bastard and Captain Cool Bastard were to me.
Betty Blue was there and I wanted to get speaking to her but she was fairly quiet and left after one drink. I thought of going outside to say hello but I got the feeling she was trying to avoid making eye contact with me in the pub so I left her alone.
I left after the second drink and politely tip-toeing my way through intense but boring conversations about the World Cup and the last Big Brother. I told one guy that England didn't have a hope and he looked at me like I'd just offered him a tape of his ma spooning shite in her mouth like it was chocolate mousse and she was a Chambourcy hippo.
"Oh yeah? We'll fucking see about that," he said before fucking off to the toilet.
And that was the only swear word anyone said all night. And it sounded so unnatural coming from him, like he'd only ever seen the word written down.
I went to an offlicence and got a bottle of whiskey wine and went and sat down where the Scabby Nettle Gang used to sit. No one was there, they're either all dead or dried out and in old folks homes. There's just me, moping around like some old man whose buddies all died in the war.
