Whilst sitting in a bar in the more colourful side of town recently wondering how Arsenal, indulging in their usual dilettantism, can enjoy 78% of the possession in a ten-minute spell and not create a single opportunity, I was approached by a scumbag. Alternatively, he may have been a scobe.
El scumbag/scobe, apropos of nothing, began the conversation with a real attention grabber.
“You should have seen the batin’ the Guards gave me last night, ” he alleged.
“Why did they give you a batin'”
Apparently, Johnny was walking home of an eve and a squad car screeched to a halt in front of him. PC O’Plod then, allegedly, drove Johnny back to the station, and, allegedly, “kicked the living fuck out of him”, to use his own words.
An elderly woman’s house was broken into. Whoever did it terrorised the misfortune and robbed her.
The Guards went out on the prowl, spotted the bould Johnny, and, according to aforementioned, assumed that because he was pursuing a life of crime and general delinquency that he must have done it. Likewise, they collared him.
Meantime, as the guards were, allegedly, administrating the type of batin’ that would probably warrant an Amnesty International inquiry back at the station, the Sergeant gets a phone call.
One of the woman’s relatives had caught up with the scumbag that had robbed and terrorised his aunt , and, after, allegedly, kicking the bollocks out of him, called the guards.
Oh, the actual criminal – a mere technical issue.
However, the Sergeant did knock on the cell door, politely mind you.
“Lads, cough, could you stop administrating the type of bating that would probably warrant an Amnesty International inquiry – in your own time.”
Five minutes later out in reception they were handing Johnny cups of tea and scones, enquiring about his mother – and when his father would be getting out of the Joy.
But Johnny was having none of this. Johnny was in a huff.
“Fuck you and your cups of tea and scones”, he sulked. “You were kicking the living fuck out of me only five minutes ago.”
Which they were.
“Ah, now Johnny, don’t be taking it personally.”
Then the Sergeant got around Johnny. Sarge, with impeccable logic, reckoned that as sure as night follows day he would be in there again and that the batin’ he’d just been on the receiving end of would be taken into account the next occasion his recidivist shadow darkened their cell door.
“So the batin’ was in lieu,” I ventured.
“In the loo?”
I assured him that they weren’t going to kick the bollocks out of him in the toilet.
“Oh, I see where your coming from,” Johnny nodded. And with that off he went with a spring in his step having confirmed that he had earned a batin’ in advance.
But, alas, no one ever did see the alleged batin’ the Guards gave him that night.
And we won’t see the next one either because Johnny has already taken one for the team.
But the time after the next time might be worth seeing. I reckon we’ll be talking Sky Box Office that night – and there’ll be no tea and scones, allegedly, this time.
Disclaimer: All characters featured above are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No scumbag was bate or had the living fuck kicked out of him in the writing of this article.