A Christmas Fag

A lonely and lean(ish) figure appeared against the snow on Christmas Eve. Her old coat wrapped tightly around her, clutching the last of her Superkings. A poor (and brave) waif in rags begs for a snout and urged her to remember it was the season of Goodwill.
"Bah! Humbug!", Smith growls, kicking him up the arse.

That night in her old delapilated home, she dismisses Husband for the night and sits by a lowley fire, eating thin pot noodles. Smith lights up her snout in the dismal and barely decorated room. Her watery eyes catch the beginnings of a shadow. It seems to come through the wall.
Smith chokes on her cigarette smoke and drops the ashtray.
"Bugger", she manages.

The shadow gets bored of standing there, not being noticed.
"I am your old friend from the seventies. The ghost of your Christmas past."
Smith looks bored and somewhat irritated. She was enjoying that fag.
"But you're not dead. I was round your house the other day. And you owe me a fiver"
But before another word was mentioned, they were swept back in time to 1977.

There stood before them was a cigarette machine.
Smith melts. "I used to get Senior Service out of there."
Finally her eyes lose their coldness
"Yes, " says the ghost, "And then made random nuisance calls in the phone box outside."
"What wonderful innocent days. I was such a different person. Before I went all hard and
that and started smoking Superkings."

Then without any words mentioned at all, they were swept along to the heady days of 1979.
Two young girls walking through the streets of Soho, amongst all the rubbish from the dustmans strike. One of them lights up a Silk Cut.

'Smith breaks down. How naive and pretty she was then. So fresh to the world with that white box and red writing on it. She turns to the ghost:
"Do you remember the wonderful days of those low tar tabs?"

But her words went unanswered and she was back in her dismal room alone.

Thank God for that, Smith thought and lit up one of her few remaining Superkings.

Another shadow emerged - what the frack was it now? It was like Picadilly Circus in here!

A great fat bloke appeared with a beard.
"I am the ghost of Christmas Present!", he boomed.
"Yeah, yeah. Can we get on with this so I can enjoy my fag in peace. "
"I have come to show you..."
"Dying for a piss," Smith said, "Be right back"
"Not going for a bloody fag are you?", the bearded figure accused.
"Well, the bog seems the only place I can get some bloody peace"

Smith stayed in the bog until that old bore left. Smoking the Superkings, she realised the error of her ways and longed for the good old days of Consulate and Rothmans (blue). Tears filled her eyes.

The fat one may have left but another ghost was waiting for her. A hoody type. Smith had seen his sort before.
"Look, I know what you're gonna say," she blurted out, "But I'm changing my ways. Not yet tho'. Wait till Fatso opens. Now sod off."
"Its alright," the sceptre sulked, "I didnt' want a coffee anyway."
"Good. Now frack off!"

That night, Smith tossed and turned, dreaming of a time before she turned to cold and hard (and cheaper) Superkings and before she knew it, the grey morning and the church bells were creeping through the shutters.

Smith slammed them open: there was the same surly youth of the night before:
"Hey,. you there boy! Yes, you! "
She threw the coins out of the window.
"Go and buy me the biggest box of Rothmans you can find! There's 50 p in it for you if you're quick!"
"Make it a quid or I'll tell everyone your old man touched me!"
Bless the boy! So sharp witted!
"Frack off, you little dunt", she thrilled merrily, "Or there's a good kicking in it for you!"

The youth scampered off and soon Smith was clutching the box of fags and was off to see her neglected family.
"Merry Christmas all!", she came through the doors.
"Uncle Smith!", Tiny Tim on his crutches limped towards her.
And how the family laughed when Smith kicked them away from under the thin little boy.
"Gis a fag!", Tiny gasped, crawling on the floor.
"Yes! My boy!" and she lit it up for him.
"Fags for everyone! Just like in the old days when they weren't so dear and that!"
"God bless everyone!", Tiny Tim coughed and they all lit up in Christmas cheer.

Quick....!

Just a quick one before I go to work, o brothers. (yes, work, me! With my nerves and aspirations and everything..etc etc. .....)

Went on a train the other night to that O2 place. Got off at Waterloo. Told Husband I was having a fag before we got on that funny Jubilee line thing. Went out the station and opposite was a cage(!) with Smoking Area posted on it.

"I am not getting into a fracking cage to smoke!" I told Husband politely. What is this world coming to? Its a side entrance at Waterloo where lorries drop off things and that. Whyever would you have a designated smoking place there? And I'm tossed if I was entering a buggering cage?

There were a few meek smokers in there and I glared at them, trying to make them aware of their betrayal and stood directly outside it and lit up. I noticed a few others did beside me.
Husband looked worried. Let 'em call the Police, I told him. And who exactly were going to call the police? The porters? The men in the lorries? The man at the Costa stand? For fracks sake! A cage , my arse.

I mean I've gone along with this No Smoking shit quietly so far. Simply because I've had no choice. But there are times when you need to kick out at these bastards.

Will be back soon for part two. This will include not being able to smoke near that dreadful shitty dome thing and how high up I had to frackin' sit. Oh yeah, and about the pop group I went to see.

Bloody cheek!

Would you adam and eve it? Of all the nerve! I mean Really????

Babysitting at mate's house. Dark already! Go outside for a fag don't I . Felt something fall spookily over my shoulder. Screamed - assuming it was a zombie - it was only a bloody spiders web! Walked right through the bloody thing!

Beside me was a spider hastily scrambling up on what was left of its web. It gave me a filthy look. Look where you're going, you stupid cow!, it glared. I told it: Excuse me mate, we'd all love to put down webs where we'd like, haven't you heard of consideration and Council tax? And how much rent are you paying here? I keep forgetting.

Spider tutted and went on making a new web. The cheek of these scrounging buggers! I mean I know they're Gods creatures and that, but really! Anyway I took a shot of the cheeky sod, threatened to expose it and sell it to the Sunday Sport. It went pale at that one, I tell you!

Interfering with my fag like that! Bloody cheek!

Gawd Blimey!

Three days now I have been trying to post on here! Three days!!

Wednesday we had another surveyor round here (one the third buyer paid for himself). Welsh bloke , nice and that, reminded me of that one in Marion and Geoff - Keith Barrett wasn't it. He told me to just ignore him while he went round the house. Then the minute I touched the keyboard, it was yak, yak, bloody yak. The silly sod.

Kept telling me about the last house he went to, where the woman was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Well, I mean, bless her and all that but let me get on with my bloody posting!!! And then he was banging on about our slate roof. The stupid git! I just gave up and logged off.

And yesterday, we went to a private screening of the new Harry Potter film on Tottenham Court Road. A corporate thing from this bank Husband uses at work. Run all the way up that bloody long road in me best shoes, didn't I. We got a free pack of sweets as we went in, popcorn and a bottle of water by each seat. And the film started promptly.

Now, I don't want to be like that Jonathon Meades and call all Harry Potter material complete shit like he did. (In the Radio Times too!). I think thats very ungenerous of him - and also a bit of Green is in there I think. But the prospect of sitting through this bloody thing.....

However I got lost in it as best I could and then the wonderful climax and highlight of the film suddenly appeared before me. The Fag Break. Daughter said she wanted to go to the loo. Well, how could I miss an opportunity like that? Grabbed my bag and followed her out. And just kept going. I knew I was going to lose the plot. But then I'd lost it about two hours ago!

Puff back here and fell asleep before I even entered the password.

And this morning, I get logged out by the computer itself, telling me its putting in updates or some such shit. Bloody machines - telling me what to do. Bastards!

School breaks up tomorrow. Oh Lordy!!

It Always Rains on a Monday

Woke up late at 6.45 to the sound of drumming rain. Put on kettle, feed the cat, gave my Daughter a call, made the coffee and had my fag. Daughter storms down the stairs, why didn't I wake her at 6.30! Now she's late! It seemed churlish to point out at the time that registration isn't till 8.45 and the school is 8 minutes walk away. It wouldn't have done any good, believe me.

Got daughter's breakfast ready and ran bath. Called Son but knew there was no chance of life until 7.30. Same with Husband. Its like two different shifts in this tiny house. The early's and the lates'.

Get in bath. Can't be arsed to wash hair. Start dreaming of my next fag. Daughter screaming behind the door, asking me where her locker key is (?), along with cat trying to get in so she can drink from the toilet. No wonder these bloody animals get ill!

I drift off. How did my little girl get so unlovable? I mean, don't get me wrong, i love her to bits but she really is at an age where only a mother CAN love her. I was the same at twelve and a half. Lumpy, spotty, greasy - with a personality to match. Not the shouting so much. More of a mumble through yellow teeth. (sadly some things stay the same).

I mean even the "golden children" , as my pal calls them, go through this unlovely stage. Before they bloom and look like teenagers in those American high school films. They have to look and act dreadful first.

Get out of bath and dry self. 7.20 am. I could sneak downstairs and have a crafty fag before waking Husband up. But not so, Daughter demands she gets dressed now and that I brush her hair. She has a pony tail now to prevent our mates the nits from making a return visit.

Manage to sweet talk her into waiting till 7.30 when daddy will be up. I have to go into the bedroom to get her clothes out of the airing cupboard. Nearly trip over Cat.

Half a fag then make lunch for both kids. Son comes down with tussled hair and Husband demands he goes to the barbers. Smoke the rest of fag.

Brush daughter's hair. She screams. Put tea tree oil in Son's hair. He screams. Ask if Son has done homework, he screams again. Find a really cool carrier bag (co-op biodegradable 6p!), he demands a lunchbox. Point out kindly that every lunchbag we fork out for ends up at school most of the week, smelly and forgotten.

Daughter disgusted at carrier bag proposal. She is class eco-rep. Find her a pretty bag I got from the St Margerets Fair. Won't see that thing again. That will be in her locker until the summer holidays. And of course, its pissing down with rain. Will have to be the car. Start dreaming of when they were little and you could strap them in and restrain them. Now, its less hassle getting the cat into her bloody box.

Son still hasn't got socks on yet. Have another fag break.