Back in 1997 I was living with the old man in a council bungalow in Trimley. One Saturday in October I was asked to host a music quiz for Walton United Football Club (before they were sold down the river). I used my charm on my supervisor and managed to leave work a couple of hours early. She made me promise that I would definitely be in on the Sunday. I promised. Anyway I got back to the labour club and done my bit with the quiz. After the quiz we had a few beers and went our separate ways.
My plan was to go home and have a few cans whilst watching Match Of The Day. I got home and the old man was obviously out. It was also round about this time I suspected him of nicking from me. I had had notes and coins go missing from my room as well as several blank cheques from my cheque book. With him being out I took the opportunity to search his room. I didn’t like what I found. I lifted up his bed and found a stash of letters. I went to the fridge to get a beer, where had they gone? I had six cans in there before I went out. The thieving cunt had supped them. I was fuming.
I went back to his room and continued my search. I stumbled across a couple of bank statements. My bank statements. The light-fingered prick had embezzled me to the tune of £400. My beer had gone along with my rainy day money things surely couldn’t get any worse. Oh yes they could. The next letter I found was the letter from the housing association. It was addressed to Mr TJ and Mr JS Versey. That’s the old man and me. Joint tenants you see. It read. We are writing to inform you that as from so and so of November you will be homeless. Well they weren’t the exact words but you get my drift. I continued to read the letter. It emerged that we were almost six months in rent arrears???? and after several attempts from the association to contact us but to no avail they had no other alternative than to repossess. Fucking hell! I was fuming, as I said we were joint tenants with the rent split 50/50, I paid my share via direct debit every month leaving him to pay his share.
He evidently hadn’t. I stormed out of the house and straight to the little slappers place that he was seeing. I banged on the door, she opened it and I stormed in. Next thing I know is the old man and me rolling around her front room floor. The little slapper was screaming but all I wanted to do was pay the old cunt back for 27 years of hurt. Suddenly Trimley High Road had turned into a scene from The Bill. Several coppers stormed the house and grabbed me. Too late the old red mist had gone down. It was a free for all. The cunts were not going to take me alive. They did, well eight of them did. I had my arms bound up in the new plastic cuffs. I was done up so tight I could hardly move. The bastards hauled me up and one of the snide fuckers read me my rights. My arms were behind my back so I couldn’t hit him. I leant forward and sunk my teeth into his chest. Wrong move. They kicked the shit out of me. I got to the station and they shoved me into a cell to sober up! I wasn’t pissed, just pissed off.
They finally come for me at half seven in the morning. Shit, I had to be at work half hour ago. Luckily I was able to call in my one phone call. I rung work and spoke with my supervisor. I told her I had been arrested and wouldn’t be able to come in. She was livid, ranting on about how I had let her down after she had given me a couple of hours off. I apologised and said I would be in touch. After my call the old bill interviewed me and charged me with two counts of ABH. The future did not look orange, it looked fucking grim. I got released and went home. I was knackered so went straight to bed. A couple of hours later my mum turned up along with Ninky. The grapevine had been buzzing. I had a beer with Ninky whilst the old girl read the letters from the Heritage.
Luckily enough I was off work for four days so I had time to sort things out, the old man had moved into his mothers telling everyone I was a psychopath! I only had two weeks to find somewhere before the eviction. I know I’ll pop and see Roger. Roger had a big multi-storey house on The High Road. A quick chat and it was sorted, I could move in tomorrow. Superb, I got back to the bungalow and packed all my gear. I was leaving before I had to but so what let the tossers have their bungalow back. The next day Smacker turned up with his van and helped me move my stuff into Rogering Hall.
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