Saturday Night and Sunday Morning
Sun, 23 Aug 2015
“Straight up, mate – he never meant to harm that girl. He wouldn’t hurt nobody, not even the proverbial fly. Still lives with his mum. Good to her, he is; takes her shopping every Friday, regular as clockwork.
They’re in the fishmongers, right, and she fancies a nice bit of skate for tea, right?
He says, “Put your purse away, Mum. It’s my treat.”
A grease-monkey he is at the garage on the corner. What he doesn’t know about cars isn’t worth the knowing, but on Sunday mornings he meets a dozen or so of the local youngsters for a kick around in the park. Some of ‘em ain’t ‘alf bad, I can tell you, and he, himself, used to play for the local team, a while back now, you understand.
Anyways, Saturday nights we have a couple of jars down our usual watering hole...if you get my drift. He’d seen this bird in there a few times before, and they’d eyed each other up. Anyhow, this particular Saturday she walks in dolled up to the nines. On this occasion they ‘click’...big style, know what I mean, and he takes her home. She invites him up ‘for a coffee’...but then they all say that, don’t they?
He says, “OK then. You sure, love?”
She tells him she is, and so he does. They have a Baileys or two, and then one thing leads to another. Know what I mean? In the morning she’s still catching up on her beauty sleep and he’d rather not disturb her, so makes himself scarce. Doesn’t want to let down his budding David Beckhams and it was late as it was...way gone nine o’clock...when they normally kick-off.
That Sunday afternoon, that’s when your lot barge in. Arrest him – march him down the nick, and he calls me on his mobile. The rest is history, as they say.
Look, he’s just a regular bloke like the rest of us. Dressed to kill, she was. A misunderstanding, that’s all. She just never says, “No” or “Yes,” not that he recalls, at least that’s what he says to me. Anyway, ain’t that what Saturday nights are for?"