Always Read the Label Chapter 27 Ways to Get Back Home

Every time I walk around Soho, I await the tap on the shoulder before I'm told I'm not cool enough to be here by one of the endless peacock's I pass on my way to what will inevitably be last week's favoured hangout. I've never been able to decide if I really want to be in one of the gangs I'll never get invited to join or having to be in a gang is what puts me off trying.

The contrasts been turned up and I'm having to squint at the unexpected new season. The road's still wet with dribbles from the cleaning it's just finished drinking and it's one of those mornings that looks brighter and leaner. Losing all the fat of Winter by dieting before arriving healthy and glowing. There's not many people wondering about without delivery vans on a Saturday, which is a pity, cos I need to ask directions. I'm looking for The George pub which, with it being so early, will still be hid behind its closed doors.

The noise coming from inside made me look up and see the sign, otherwise I'd have walked right past. I bang on the door and peep through the frosted glass, seeing blurred and distorted shapes. Even when I get let in.

The party looks to have been going for a long time after closing time and way after any cleaning staff left or just gave up on trying to collect so many glasses and bottles. They're piled so high and on so many surfaces it's like a hall of mirrors. I hadn't managed to spot who I'm here to see before they come bounding over bursting to tell how glad they are to be out. Seeing me comes an understandable very poor second. If not third looking at the girl who's come and coiled around him. He's so full of energy and talking non-stop, drink spilling and voice all dried out and fading, I just want to keep watching, not disturb his flow.

Angus wanders over and takes up the non-stop talking roll while Johnnie slopes away to powder his nose. I ask how he's been.

"He seems fine, doesn't seem to have affected him that much. It'll hit him after the party finishes, so lets try to keep on going through the weekend then he can synchronise himself with all of us by hating the comedown of Monday morning".

I don't know which was stranger. Being in a pub at 10 in the morning or seeing someone I know cope with getting their freedom back. I managed to have a chat with Scottish Paul who thought the same as Angus and was also intent on keeping the party going. Rambo Raider, who was the only one who'd actually done time, said he was more worried after going to see Johnnie inside, that he'd said there'd be trouble about who grassed when he got out.

He was right. The trouble started just after the pub officially opened. There were a few double takes at who came and sat at a table towards the back of the room giving off unneeded 'stay away' vibes.

A bloated extra wide head makes the bottle he's holding to unkissed lips look tiny. Surrounding them is waxy skin which you can tell would leave a cold damp residue if you were unfortunate enough to touch him. The sandy coloured crew cut intended to make him look younger doesn't, mainly because of the warts poking boldly out of it. He's fat in a way you can see him trying to hold in, convincing himself when he passes a mirror he still passes as stocky. The clothes he pays to help with this illusion aren't convinced and don't suit him as much as they did the people he's seen wearing them and tried to copy. He looks awful but I can't hold that against him having not won many beauty contests recently. It's what Angus tells me that makes him really vile.

"He just appeared a few months ago. No one really took much notice of him or bothered to remember his name. It's something like an old footballer's name. I settled on calling him cunt, it suits him. Remember how Johnnie had the theory, we thought was a bit paranoid at the time, that someone grassed when he got caught? Looks like there was some truth in it. Our friend over there was mouthing off about having got let off when he got a pull. He was pretty wasted and let slip when it happened and a bit later, how he got let off by making sure someone else didn't. I don't think he's quite put the puzzle together like we have yet. Or he's on a suicide mission".

So we have our very own Judas in our midst. Complete with his pieces of silver jewellery. The atmosphere changed when Johnnie caught sight of him as did the smugness as it was knocked from that bloated warty head. You can never justify violence, but when you've had to live in a cage for a year and a half you can put forward a pretty strong argument. The doors to the pub got held shut while it went on and the only voice to be heard was the victim in between yelps trying to claim he had a medical condition and his uncle would get us. I wondered who his uncle was and if he knew he was a grass. Anyway, he wasn't here now.

It ended as quickly as it started mainly because someone realised Johnnie was only released on parole and it was probably best to not get nicked on his first full day of freedom. So he was bundled out through the same door almost straight after the guy who'd put him away.

And that was the last time I saw Johnnie. No calls. Not a peep. I'd given up hops and started to forget about him, closing the 'where are they now' file. You know how it is, people move on, find other things and places. I'd found five-a-side and was getting changed after a game.
"I saw your mate at the weekend".
It's someone I only know through the weekly game, so think he means someone who's played at one time.
"Big bald guy. Scars on his head. He was in an all-night grocers in Kings Cross with this really small girl with just a cucumber and a carrot in his basket. I thought that was a bit weird for 3 in the morning, so didn't let on".

I met up with a few people who knew Johnnie from home a few weekends after and told them the story. No one disbelieved it. Just said, that's a funny story. You should write it down...