Sunday, 30 November 2008

Sean and Diffy. The Christmas Train.

Sean and Diffy g on a day trip on the SANTA EXPRESS, but the day doesn’t live up to expectations.
Sean and Diffy stories contain VERY strong language. Please do not read on if you are easily offended.

There is a little town in Lancashire with the unfortunate name of Ramsbottom: honest, I kid you not. It nestles in the gently folding foothills of the Pennine Chain, a range of hills that stretch north to south: or south to north, depending on your outlook, along the length of England. Every Christmas the anoraks from the local steam appreciation society run a trip in a cute little antiquated steam train along a ten mile section of the otherwise unused local railway. This trip is aimed specifically at children, whose minds have yet to be corrupted and robbed of the magical notion of Father Christmas and his elven cohorts.
Due to the lack of funding by the miserly Scrooges who apportion resources from their lofty towers at the local government offices, the whole shebang is manned by volunteers from the surrounding community. The train driver is a local bus driver and his fireman a local fireman. Santa’s helpers are recruited via the lecherous eye of Mr Hardwick, personnel manager at the local company of Sykes and Co. Mr Hardwick ensures that Santa’s elves are picked according to height, weight and vital statistics. This criterion dictates that they are all under twenty, petite, pretty and well endowed in the tit and arse department. The train, which is dragged out and polished specifically for this event, is bedecked in tinsel and holly, and is, indeed, a sight to behold.
Once the journey is underway, the kids are shown, to the accompaniment of much oooing and ahhhing, Santa’s workshop, on the right. (A row of Alms Houses just outside the town). The forest where the reindeer live. (The small copse planted to conceal the local household waste tip), and other notable landmarks. All this whilst the grown-ups are plied with mugs of stewed tea and plates of stale mince pies.
All good so far.

Sean and Diffy leant against the rotting timber walls of the unmanned ticket office and tried to look as cool as possible. This wasn’t that easy to achieve, being that Sean had terminal spotiness and Diffy could only be seen by looking down. They were by far the oldest passengers: apart from the children’s accompanying parents and grandparents, that is. They were here for one thing and one thing only, and that had nothing to do with Santa, and everything to do with his elves.
‘I’m fuckin freezing, me, Sean. Can’t we go in the ticket office for a while?’
‘Don’t be such a softcock, Diffy. If we go in there we’ll miss all the talent getting on the train.’
‘All I can see is old Mrs Topliss and her grandkids. Is Mrs Topliss your idea of talent, Sean?’
‘The thinnest of thin ice, Diffy.’
‘I’m fuckin freezing, me.’
‘Patience, Diffy, the train should be here in a minute, packed to the buffers with totty.’
Diffy stamped his feet. ‘I wish it would hurry up. I’m fuckin freezing, me.’
A young woman appeared round the corner of the ticket office, leading a small child by the hand. The child’s mother was in her mid twenties and of comely appearance: an appearance that appealed to Sean. They stopped when they reached Sean and Diffy and the woman immediately fell into conversation with one of the other parents.
The child, a girl of about five, looked up at Sean. Sean looked down at the child.
‘Does mummy sleep with daddy?’ he asked.
The child said nothing, but continued to stare upwards.
‘Did you hear me, you numb wank?’
The child continued to star.
‘Are you simple.’
No reaction.
‘Special needs?’
‘Diffy, I think we have a loony, here.’
‘You’re probably frightening it.’
‘It? It’s not an “it”, it’s a girl, I think.’
He looked back at the child. The child stared back.
‘Are you a girl?’
‘The stare.
‘Will you stop doing that? You’re frightening me.’
‘Fuck me, Diffy, she’s creeping me out. Let’s go in the ticket office for a bit.’
‘At last.’
‘Too late, trains here.’
The shiny black locomotive drew slowly up to the platform in a cloud of steam and smoke. The driver blew the whistle continuously, which seemed to irritate the adults, but thrilled the children.
‘All aboard!’ Shouted the Station Master from the far end of the platform, and Sean and Diffy were carried into the nearest carriage, trapped within a surging wave of juvenile hysteria.
They managed, by dint of much pushing and elbowing, to acquire a couple of seats near the front of the carriage, and settled in for the ride.
The noise was deafening as children and parents fought for seats. Shouts turned to tears and polite, “Excuse me’s,” turned to irate, “Fuck offs.” This didn’t concern our intrepid pair, who had their eyes fixed on the door through which Santa’s Little Helpers would appear in all their mini skirted loveliness.
Five minutes later, when order had been restored, the train slowly lurched out of the station and picked up speed until it was moving at something slightly faster than walking pace. The grimy buildings of the town dropped away as they passed into the bleak moorland beyond. An aged and infirm PA system suddenly burst into life: loudly at first, then almost inaudibly, then back to ear-splitting volume, and eventually to a muted background burble of “Yuletide carols being sung by a choir.” (Did you notice how I got the Nat King Cole reference in there?)
‘To your right,’ said a crackling voice over the PA system, ‘you can see Santa’s house, and the workshop where the elves make the toys.’
These were the Alms Houses, where the aged of the town were taken to live out the final years of their lives. Sean could remember fondly those halcyon days when he, Diffy and the other kids from his youth, would get the bus from Bolton to Ramsbottom specifically to put through the windows of the Alms House. Oh, happy days.
‘Oooo!’ said the kids.
‘Bollocks,’ said Sean. ‘Them’s the Alms Houses where the old fogies are kept.’
‘Do you mind.’ came an indignant female voice from somewhere in the depths of the carriage.
‘Not at all.’ Replied Sean.
‘Do you have to spoil it for the children?’
‘I don’t have to, but I just might.’
‘I’ve a good mind to get the conductor.’
‘Fuck me, have we got an orchestra on here, as well?’
‘Young man, how dare you speak to me like that.’ The woman was standing up now, and Sean could see her florid countenance above the tiny heads of the now silent children.
‘It’s easy, I just open my mouth and it rolls out.’
‘That’s it.’ shouted the woman. ‘I’m going to get you thrown off this train.’
‘Wouldn’t that constitute murder, or assault at the very least?’
‘Don’t try to be funny with me, young man. I’m a magistrate.’
‘Where’s your fuckin wig, then? You need something to hide that ridiculous blue rinse.’
This prompted much sniggering amongst some of the grown-ups, and Sean was buoyed by the apparent support. Blue rinse turned on the sniggerers, and all was quiet again.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked in an authoritative voice.
‘Adolf Hitler. What’s yours?’
‘How dare you. I won’t have it.’
‘I’m not surprised with a face like yours’
Diffy crouched in his seat, trying to keep a low profile and avoid dying of embarrassment.
‘Hey, Diffy.’ chuckled Sean, ‘I’m fuckin loving this. Sit up, you fuckin P.O.R.G. (Person Of Restricted Growth.). Be a man. Well, be as close to a man as is possible when you’re only two feet tall.’
‘Four foot six.’
‘You’ll get us thrown off, Sean, you knobhead. Just shut the fuck up.’
The door at the front of the carriage opened and a diminutive bald man of about 60 years poked his head through. ‘Problems?’
‘Yes,’ she was quick. You had to give her that. ‘This young man is upsetting the children. And him with a child himself.’
‘Fuck off,’ shouted Diffy, ‘I’m not a child. I’m fuckin twenty
‘Are you?’ asked Sean.
‘Yes I am. It was my birthday last week, but did you remember? Did you fuck?’
‘No problem.’
‘I mean it. I feel like a twat, now.’
‘You look like one.’
‘Will you please do something about these two reprobates? They have completely spoiled the day for everyone else.’ The woman was determined not to let it rest.
Bald man enters and approaches the two young men.
‘Keep it down you two, or I’ll have no option but to put you off.’
That would have been an end to it but, no.
Sean. ‘You and whose fuckin army?’
Diffy. ‘Leave it, Sean.’
Guard. ‘Don’t move.’ and he was gone.
‘Were you thinking of moving, Diffy?’
‘Not me, you?’
The train chugged on and both Sean and the woman were silent. Sean was beginning to wish he had kept his mouth shut, and the woman was vomiting quietly into her hat.
Bald man returned after about five minutes, and Sean was about to apologise, when a huge coal stained figure loomed in the doorway. This was the fireman fireman, and he didn’t look best pleased. ‘These two?’ He didn’t so much speak, as rumble.
Blue rinse leapt to her feet, casting droplets of spittle and vomit over the heads of the other passengers. ‘Those are the ones. Toss them off immediately.’
‘Pardon?’ said Sean.
‘Pardon?’ said Diffy.
‘Pardon? said Bald man.
‘Pardon?’ said the fireman
‘Pardon?’ said the other passengers in unison.
‘Pardon? said a man walking his dog by the rail track.
The huge fireman advanced on the pair.
‘Keep your fuckin hands off me, you big twat.’ shouted Sean.
‘I was only going to have a quiet word, but now……..’
He grabbed Sean by his hoody’s hood and lifted Diffy bodily out of his seat.
‘GEORGE!’ he shouted down the corridor beyond the door, and the train began to slow.
Blue rinse stood exultantly in the centre of the carriage as Sean and Diffy disappeared through the door. She felt like a hero and looked around at the faces of the other passengers for approval and gratitude. All she got were looks of contempt. They had been enjoying the floorshow, and she had gone and spoiled it. She sat meekly down in her seat, took out her hanky and had a little sob. It had all been too much.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Sean and Diffy were being dragged through the remaining carriages to the front of the train, where they were forced to stand until it eventually ground to a halt.
Sean looked through the window at the bleak moorland beyond. They had travelled no more than about five miles, but the walk back to town seemed a daunting prospect.
‘Right, you two, off.’ growled the fireman.
‘You can’t just chuck us off in the middle of nowhere,’ pleaded Diffy, ‘we’ll fuckin freeze to death.’
‘You won’t freeze.’ replied the fireman, and pushed them off the train and onto the damp grass. He jumped down after them and motioned towards the locomotive. ‘Climb up.’
‘What?’ said Sean.
‘Are you thick, or what? I said, climb up.’
Sean looked up at the locomotive and saw two striking blue eyes looking back down at him.
‘That’s Tina. She and a couple of the elves have brought a few bottles up to the engine.’
‘Game on.’ drooled Sean.
‘That old cow on the train is a pain in the arse. Se comes every year, and every year she makes a nuisance of herself. I’d fuck her off, but she’s a bigwig at the council and could revoke our licence. We thought it best to just get you out of the way.’
Sean and Diffy looked up at the train again. The blue eyes had been joined by a pair of brown and a pair of green.
This hadn’t turned out to be a bad trip after all.
Merry fuckin Christmas.

Friday, 28 November 2008

Sean and Diffy. Sean's Interview.

Sean had thusfar avoided the evils of the workplace, but the jobcentre had tracked him down and arranged an interview at a local factory. This story contains very strong language. Please do not read on if you are easily offended.

There are several things in life that are guaranteed to strike fear into the hearts of every man and woman in the country. At the top, or near the top for those of a masochistic bent, is a visit to the dentist. Up there with it and gamely vying for top spot is the terrifying driving test. For you wee kiddies who haven’t yet had the pleasure, it’s the SATS exams that wreaks havoc with bowel control, whilst for those of a bone idle disposition who can’t be arsed getting out of bed to earn a living like the rest of us, it’s the JOB INTERVIEW.
Sean sat on the side of his single bed, put his hands over his face and groaned in despair. He looked at his watch.9am.What kind of ridiculous time was that? It was still the middle of the night. He flopped onto his back, reached down and gave his balls a good scratching. He had two hours: two hours in which to prepare himself for the ordeal of his life. Mr Jobcentre Plus had got him an interview: the twat!
Lying on his back staring at the ceiling wasn’t going to get him there, so he slowly rose to a sit, then to a squat, then to a kneel and finally to a lie. This was going to be difficult.
The man in the mirror stared back like a zombie and Sean noticed the stubble on his chin. That wasn’t going to create a very good impression. He left it where it was and went downstairs to the kitchen. He was just filling the kettle for a brew when he turned round and nearly pissed himself as a grotesque creature pressed its vile countenance against the frosted glass of the back door.
‘It’s unlocked, you stupid dwarf like prat.’
Diffy opened the door and smiled the smile of the early riser. ‘Morning, Sean. Have you got the shits?’
‘Course not. I am a seasoned interviewee: no job will lure me into its clutches.’
‘I can believe that. You look like a fuckin tramp.’
‘It’s my interview suit. What do you think?’
He turned gracefully a full 360 degrees.
‘I think I’m going to throw up. That’s what I think.’
‘Job done, then :or not, as the case may be.’
‘Sometimes you stagger me with your ingenuity, Sean.’
‘Me, too. Come, small individual. Let us away to Sykes and Co. They won’t know what fuckin hit em.’
A mischievous wind scampered through the streets as our intrepid pair walked across town towards the dark satanic Sykes and Co. They paused at The Silver Dollar Café to fortify themselves with hot, greasy sandwiches made from doorstop thick slices of bread and succulent slabs of fatty bacon. This they washed down with copious amounts of strong sweet tea, before venturing back into the day, and destiny.
‘What’s this job all about, anyway?’ asked Diffy.
‘Fuck knows,’ replied Sean. ‘They did tell me at the jobcentre, but I wasn’t really listening. That fat bastard who works there: you know him?’
‘Sure do. He can be a right cunt, he can.’
‘Well, it was him who was telling me, but as soon as he mentioned an interview all my systems shut down. I went into protective mode. The rest is just a blur. I was too busy mopping up the sweat.’
‘Probably cleaning the shitter or something like that.’
‘Bollocks, they have foreigners to do jobs like that. I saw it on the telly. They’ll want me to do something in the office. Anyway, it’s all purely irreverent. I ain’t having the job.’
‘Irrelevant, Sean, not irreverent. Irreverent is something you are with Brethy the vicars son. Or Father Bretherton, as you call him.’
‘Whatever, Diffy, just stop being a smart bastard before I give you a good slapping.’
‘I think we’re here, Sean.’
They stopped in the middle of the footpath and stood looking at the huge, imposing stock brick factory that squatted at the end of the street like a malevolent slug. Sean shuffled his feet uneasily, while Diffy tried hard to suppress a giggle. He was enjoying this.
‘What time is it, Sean?’ he asked innocently.
‘Eleven. Good, I’m going to be a bit late, that should create the right impression.’
They continued towards the factory gates, where Diffy stopped, wringing his hands and looking nervously up at the massive, dark windows that ran like a hundred sightless eyes down the massive flank of the building.
‘What’s up, Diffy?’
‘It’s the curse, Sean. As soon as I get within a few yards of a place of work I get the shakes and start sweating like a fuckin pig. Can’t help it.’
‘You fuckin P.O.R.G. (Person Of Restricted Growth,) it’s me that has to go for the interview. All you have to do is stand here till I get out, then get me a pint to celebrate my having squirmed out of yet another potential job.’
‘I know, Sean. I can’t help it. I get the FEAR.’
‘You’ll get my fuckin fist in your ugly little face if you don’t shut the fuck up. I’m starting to sweat now, and look at my shaggin hands.’
He held both hands in front of him, palms down. They shook like soaking kittens.
‘I’m a nervous wreck because of you. Wait here. I’m going to get this over with.’
He was to be interviewed by a Mr Hardwick-a most unfortunate name-who had the face of a weasel and the dress sense of an undertaker. Sean could smell the garlic he was chewing from across the table.
‘Mr Harrison.’
‘That’s me.’
‘You were sent here by the jobcentre, yes?’
‘Under duress, yes.’
‘I’m sure, Mr Harrison, that once I have outlined the company’s goals :it’s achievements :it’s place in the community and last but not least, the financial remunerations that could be yours should you pass the small matter of this informal interview, you will positively leap at the chance to work for Sykes and Co.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I certainly do reckon, Mr Harrison.’
‘How much does it pay?’
‘Now now, Mr Harrison,’ The weasel appeared to be enjoying himself. Had Sean met his match? ‘Let us not be hasty. Surely you would like to know a little about the job first. I would certainly like to know a little more about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘Your employment history, for instance.’
‘Left school, went to bed, got up for this interview.’
‘You have no employment history?’
‘Not a fuckin jot, pal. I have not done a days work since I left secondary school, and that was fuckin years ago.’
I don’t think, Mr Harrison, that there is any call for that kind of language.’
‘Sorry, my tongue just runs away with me sometimes. Could I have tourettes syndrome do you think? That would be fuckin cool.’
‘Mr Harrison, I am obliged by our relationship with the jobcentre to carry out a full and thorough interview, then report back my opinions regarding your suitability for employment here, or elsewhere. You are not making this easy: and I can make things very uneasy for you.’
Sean didn’t like the sound of this. This little bastard could make trouble for him if he wasn’t careful. ‘I apologise, Mr Harddick.’
‘Sorry. I must be a little nervous. I haven’t done this for a while and I find it all a little intimidating.’
Hardwick’s eyes lit up. He was a bully at heart, and relished the opportunity to exploit this weak man’s vulnerability.
‘That’s alright, Mr Harrison, Sean. Can I call you, Sean?’
‘If you want. It’s my name.’
‘Well, Sean, you sound like a spirited youth, and I think we could find a position apposite to your capabilities.’
‘Like what?’
‘I have a vacancy in one of the key departments here at Sykes and Co.’
‘Go on.’
‘The position is one crucial to the smooth running of the factory and the well-being of the workforce.’
‘Sounds important.’
‘Oh, Sean, it is most important: one might describe it as “pivotal”.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘I would like to offer you the key position of Staff Comfort and Hygiene Technician.’
‘Come again.’
‘You would be responsible for aseptic conditions within rest areas: a crucial role, might I say.’
‘I know what you’re up to.’
‘A supervisory role in the very bowels of the establishment.’
‘I have your card marked, pal.’
‘Ensuring the lavatorial comfort of your colleagues.’
‘You want me to clean the fuckin bogs out, don’t you?’
‘A very crude way of describing an important job.’
‘Shoving shit round with a brush!’
‘Now listen here, Mr Harrison!’
‘I thought the foreigners did those jobs.’
‘Most of our European visitors find the position a little demeaning, I’m afraid.’
‘Do they, now, well I am surprised.’
‘And they tend to turn their noses up at the pay.’ Hardwick was on the back foot, now.
‘Work’s shit, pay’s shit. Well, Mr Softcock, you can shove your job up your arse. You know where that is, don’t you. It shouldn’t be hard to find. After all, you’re full of shit, aren’t you?’
‘Harrison, I won’t tolerate…..’
‘Mr Harrison to you, fuckface, and if I hear one more peep from out of your vile little rat shaped face I‘ll punch your fuckin lights out. Savvy!’
Mr Hardwick collapsed into his seat and stared hard at the desk in front of him. At this rate he was going to have to clean the toilets himself.
Sean stamped out of the room, down the stairs and out into the cold, clear air. He took a couple of deep breaths, then went in search of his mate. 'Diffy!' He bellowed.
They walked in silence for a while. Sean was too incensed to talk and Diffy was busy eating a mars bar.
‘So,’ said Diffy, eventually, ‘How did it go?’
‘Very well, my pygmy companion: very well.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be hearing from messers Sykes and Co again.’
‘They brought out the big guns and I shot their legs from under them.’
‘I thought so.’
‘So the jobcentre will leave you alone for a bit, now.’
‘I reckon they will. So it’s back to normal.’
‘Thumbs up bums and brains in neutral?’
‘Just so, Diffy.’
‘Fuck me, Diffy, I feel in need of some refreshing libation. What time is it?’
‘Good. Pub.’
'Sounds about right.' said Diffy.
'Right it is, Diffy. Us gentlemen of business need to oil the wheels.'
It hadn't turned out to be such a bad day, after all.

Thursday, 27 November 2008

Sean and Diffy. A Visit To Bolton Hospital.

Our heroes, Sean and Diffy, begin this particular day in the Bolton Hospital Accident and Emergency Department. Knowing these two. It wasn’t going to be that simple.
This story is by no means Politically Correct and contains VERY strong language. Please do not read on if you feel you may be offended.

Sean and Diffy. A Visit To Bolton Hospital.

Diffy bent down, grabbed the front leg of the plastic hospital waiting room chair, and heaved like buggery. The legs shot into the air and Sean was deposited on his back in a raucous clutter of thrashing limbs. Diffy leapt off his chair and fucked off post-haste. He had only made it some twenty feet when said chair hurtled past his head and clattered into the ubiquitous coffee machine.
‘Twat! What the fuck did you do that for? I’ll fuckin kill you, you pygmy bastard.’ Sean was not best pleased.
Diffy danced from foot to foot at the back of the waiting room. He had the exit door to his left, just in case. ‘Come on, fuckface.’
‘I’ll kill you, you bastard. I’ve got a broken arm, you know.’
‘Have you fuck, Sean. You just want a sick note, you idle cocksucker.’
‘Mr Harrison.’ A huge pink nurse in an equally huge blue uniform drew back the curtain of a tiny cubicle and called out to Sean.
Sean turned to face her, turned back to look at Diffy. ‘I’ll fuckin see you later, you two foot freak.’
‘Sure, Sean, sure. Whatever.’
‘Friend of yours?’ said the nurse.
‘Not anymore he ain’t. Prick!’
‘Don’t you start, Susie.’
‘Four times in as many weeks. Sean, my love, you are a dickhead.’
‘Thanks, love, now take me to your leader.’
Dr Abjanii was tired. He had been on shift for twelve hours, and had had only managed to grab two hours sleep between this and the previous shift.
‘It’s just sprained, Mr Harrison.’
‘How do you know it’s just sprained: you can’t even speak the language.’
‘It’s a sprain in any language, Mr Harrison. Just take it easy for a few days.’
‘Take it easy for a few days? I’m in fuckin agony, pal.’
‘Me, too, Mr Harrison, now let the nurse strap it up then fuck off out of my sight before I get security to throw your sorry arse out onto the street.’
‘You’ve been watching too much telly, you have, Abdul.’
‘It’s, Mohammed, actually, but you can call me Dr Abjanii, now fuck off.’
The doctor left.
‘He’s a piece of work, him. Did you hear what he said.? Do you reckon it’s just sprained, Susie?’
‘I think you need to get a life, Sean. That’s what I think.’
‘Thanks for your support, Susie.’
‘Ok, ok, you made your point. Strap me up and let me out. What time is it getting, anyway?’


Sean crashed through the A and E doors, stumbled to a halt and looked around frantically. ‘Diffy!’ he bellowed. There was no sign of his diminutive companion, and Sean swaggered off down the street, wearing his bandaged arm like a badge of honour.


‘I got you a pint in.’
‘You short arsed little bastard. Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘No you haven’t, you fuckin liar.’
‘Ok, but what the fuck was that all about? You could have broke my fuckin neck.’
‘It was a spur of the moment decision. Seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘Great mate you are. Get me a pint.’
‘I got you one in.’ He handed Sean a tall, dirty glass of opaque brown liquid.
‘Fuck me, this ale is diabolical. Tony reckons it’s because of the traffic vibration.’
‘I reckon it’s because Tony is too fuckin idle to clean his pumps out. I had the shits all last week. Bet it was this ale. Lost a fuckin stone, I did.’
‘Well you can stand to lose a few tonnes you revolting little P.O.R.G.’ (Person Of Restricted Growth)
All muscle, Sean.’
‘Fuck off, Diffy, It’s all blubber. Bunch of Chinese whalers were down here looking for you last week.’
‘By the way,’ said Diffy, ‘nice bandage. Anyone would think you really had hurt yourself.’
‘Fuck you and all who sail in you, you fuckin pygmy.’
‘I’m not a pygmy, I’m just a little short in stature, that’s all.’
‘Like Tony the landlord is a little lax with his hygiene routine.’
‘Something like that, Sean.’
They stood in companionable silence for several minutes: each lost in his own thoughts.
Diffy dug Sean in the ribs. ‘Psst!’ he hissed.
‘I am getting just about fucked off with you and this “Psst!” thing, Diffy, you squat twat. Just say the say then shut the fuck up.’
‘Tam‘O’Shandy just came in. He’s a fuckin head case, he is. I heard he knocked fuck out of a couple of coppers last week.’
‘You dickhead, Diffy. Big as he is, and mad as he is: and there is no disputing that the man is indeed a certifiable lunatic, if he had kicked the shit out of the pigs as you suggest, he would now be locked away in a very dark, very secure place, not walking round The Swan like he owns the fuckin place.’
‘Just what I heard, Sean.’
‘Who off?’
‘Oh, right. You believe anything that God squadding evangelist says?’
‘Just cos his dad’s a vicar don’t make him a Godder.’
‘Does in my book.’
‘You’re too judgemental.’
‘And you’re just mental. Now fuck off back to the bar and get the ale in.’
‘I got the last ones. It’s your round.’
‘So you did. Same again.’
‘Better the Devil.’
‘Co bloody rrect.’


Tam’O’Shandy walked around the pub glowering at the regulars before approaching the bar.
‘Whiskey, Tony: double.’
‘No trouble, eh, Tam?’
‘Course not, Tony. I’m a reformed character.’
‘Sure you are.’
Tam’s voice sounded like someone dragging a sackful of drowned kittens over a bed of crispy duck pancakes, only in a much deeper register, and with that distinct Glasgow accent known and feared throughout the land.
Sean turned his back to the Scotsman. ‘Don’t fuckin look at him, you twat, Diffy. We don’t want him over here mythering the fuck out of us.’
Tam. ‘Sean!’
Sean. ‘Shit!’
‘How are you, my wee little thuggy?’
‘Good, Tam, good. You?’
‘Drunk as a skunk and up for a fight.’
‘Oh, great.’
‘Dinna worry your little heed, Sean, you’re safe while you hae wee Diffy tae protect you.’
‘That’s a comfort, then.’
Diffy decided to join in the conversation. ‘Nice black eye you got there, Tam.’
‘Well fuckin done.’ Whispered Sean. ‘Now we’ll be stuck with the fucker all afternoon.’
‘Too little too late, Diffy.’
‘I nearly kilt a mon this morning. He had the temerity to push in front of me at the post office. I was queuing for me mammy’s pension. I had tae tek him outside and teach him a lesson or two.’
‘Doesn’t look like he was too cooperative, Tam, judging by the shiner.’
‘Ha!, Sean, I let him get one in just to make him feel like he was contributing.’
‘Very considerate of you, Tam.’
‘I thought so.’
Sean turned away in an attempt to end the conversation. Tam was having none of it. He put one huge hand on Sean’s shoulder and spun him back round.
‘I punched him in the face a couple of times, heed butted him. You know, lads? The Glasgow kiss? Then I finished him off with a sideswipe tae the ribs, like so.’
Tam took his right arm back, then swung it round in a huge haymaker that caught Sean square in the ribs, propelling him across the tap room and knocking all the wind out of his body.
‘Jesus, Sean, I’m sorry.’ Tam was beside himself. ‘What with you having a broken arm, and all.’
Diffy. ‘It’s not broken.’
Sean. ‘Shut the fuck up, you.’
Sean managed to get onto all fours, and was relieved to find that he could breathe with difficulty. ‘I’ll be alright, Tam. No sweat. No broken bones, eh?’
‘What have you done now, you tosser. You’ll need to go to the hospital with that. You could have broken ribs, or even a punctured lung. That’s a killer that is. Isn’t it, Diffy?’
‘Sure is, Carol.’
This was Carol. Carol of the pie shop and huge breasts. Sean had had a soft spot for her for years. It was an old mattress behind the surgical appliance suppliers.
What a waste. Sean could only look up at her from his vantage point just below the hem of her short skirt. Any groinal manifestations he might have had were nullified by the searing pain in his side.
‘Hi, Carol.’ He managed.
‘Want me to come?’
‘To the hospital.’
‘Oh, that. No, you’re alright darlin, I’ll be fine once I get a pint inside me.’
He stood up, then fell down again.
‘Hospital it is’ then.’ said Carol with the authority that only a woman can create.
‘Don’t tell em how you got it, eh, Sean? Our wee secret.’
‘Course not, Tam.’
‘Good laddie.’
‘Nothing, Tam, nothing.’


‘Dr Abdul.’
‘Abjanii, Mr Harrison.’
‘Nice to see you again. Still here, then?’
‘It would appear so.’
Sean. ‘Broken ribs.’
Dr Abjanii. ‘We shall see.’
‘Go for it, Doc.’
‘My dear father, bless his soul, told me to come to England for a better life. He has a lot to answer for, my father.’
Sean to Diffy. ‘Get me a chair, oh short one. We may be here some time.’
Diffy to Sean. ‘Your wish is my command, oh injured one.’

Dr Abjanii sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Tuesday, 25 November 2008

Sean and Diffy. A Day In The Life.

A few years ago I wrote a couple of short stories featuring Sean and Diffy, two disparate Northern wasters. I have dragged them out of retirement for a laugh.
I like writing this rubbish, but be warned. This is NOT PC and is packed with VERY, VERY BAD LANGUAGE. If you choose to read it, don’t come complaining to me. YOU WERE WARNED! I wrote this during tonight’s dull TV. If it is liked, I might write a couple more tales of their hapless adventures.

Sean and Diffy
A Day In The Life

Waking up in casualty is no big deal after about the forty fifth time. It’s clean, warm and doesn’t smell of piss: well not much, anyway. It’s a sight better than waking up in the gutter surrounded by vomit, rats and other assorted arseholes. Casualty is a bloody great leveller. The flotsam and jetsam of society can rub Matalan clad shoulders with life’s winners. All it takes is a shedload of ale and a couple of ill directed insults. Biff! Bash! Bosh! You have a big fat lip, a broken nose and several badly bruised ribs.
Sean Harrison: idiot of this parish, girded his loins, touched his big fat lip with the tip of one big fat finger and tried to remember to breathe through his mouth. He swaggered out of the hospital’s automatic doors, ‘Swish’’ Have a nice day, shithead’, pulled the hood of his………hoodie? Over his head and walked down the street in the general direction of ‘away’.
He hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards before the P.O.R.G known as ‘Diffy stepped out from behind a low laurel hedge, pulled up the zip of his urine stained trousers, and hailed Sean with a sociable. ‘Hey!….Twat!’ (P.O.R.G. Person Of Restricted Growth.)
Hardly breaking his stride, Sean crossed the road, walked up to Diffy and slapped him across the face. ‘Hey! You fucking dwarf, what the fuck are you doing here?’
Diffy fell in beside him, Did that odd army skipping thing with his feet in order to fall into step and grinned the grin. He loved Sean. Sean was his hero. He would have let Sean sodomize him in a heartbeat.
‘Wanna go McDoodas for a burger, Sean? My treat.’
‘No I don’t, Diffy. Now fuck off back down whichever hole you crawled from.’
‘I said, my treat, Se…..’
‘On second thoughts, O fuckin K. I could do with a bit of scran, and seeing as you’re shoving your fat little hand into your fat little pocket, I’ll have a big fuck off burger and fries, and your fries as well. Got it, my stumpy little comrade?’
‘Whatever you say, Sean. You am de boss man.’
‘Fuck off, Diffy.’
‘Ok, Bwana.’
‘I said, fuck off…..Ok?’
They strode along in silence for a while, Sean brooding over the severe beating he had been administered the previous evening and Diffy wondering which sauce to have with his fries.
‘You didn’t half get the shit kicked out of you last night, Sean. It was fuckin hilarious.’
Sean slapped Diffy round the back of the head. Diffy shrieked and staggered forward.
‘Come back here, you short arsed little wanker, I’m just finding the shape of your head.’
Diffy turned and feigned a couple of haymakers in Sean’s direction, then tripped over a raised paving slab and fell onto his big, fat arse.
‘Fuckin hell, Diffy. Are you sure you haven’t got special needs or something? It’s like being in charge of a fuckin two year old. Get off your arse and get your money out, we’re here.’
Sean took a huge bite out of his burger, masticated twice and swallowed hard. He took a liver crippling draught of chocolate milkshake: turning blue in the process as he attempted to suck half inch lumps of frozen mush up a quarter inch straw, and knocked Diffy’s meal off the table and onto the floor.
‘Bastard! What did you do that for?’ Diffy bent to pick up the spilt fries, deliberately upsetting Sean’s milkshake in the process.
‘You two foot fuckin freak! I’ve killed men for less. Anyway, shit for brains, was I pissed last night?’
As fuckin arseholes. I laughed my bollocks off. You were staggering round in circles swinging away like a fuckin girl. You stood not one chance in Hades. A lamp to the slaughter.’
‘It was a joke.’
‘Very fuckin nearly.’
Sean grinned through cracked and swollen lips. ‘I love nights like that, me. A fuckin raft of ale, one of Abdul’s canine kebabs and a fuckin good leathering.’
‘You got the leathering last night, Sean. I would have helped, but I was too busy pissing my sides. You fight like a mong, you do.’
'When we get out of here I’m going to rip your foreshortened little arm off and knock the fuck out of you with the sticky end. I couldn’t fight because I’d just drunk my way through a boatload of ale. You can’t fight because you’re a cunt.’
‘I’m a ffshtt ffishffter, me.’
‘What? For fuck’s sake.’
Diffy swallowed the handful of fries he had just rescued from the grimy floor. ‘I said I’m a shit fighter, me. I just keep me head down and let you idiots do the business.’
‘Wouldn’t take much for you to keep your head down. You’re only two fuckin feet tall, you fuckin pygmy.’
‘Fuck off, Sean. I hate you keep taking the piss out of me.’
They left the table and headed for the door.
‘Sorry, Diffy. I never even give it a thought, what with you being a P.O.R.G. and all.’
‘That’s OK, Sean. And you’re a twat.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Fuck off, Diffy.
‘Fuck off, Diffy.’
‘You’re fuckin strange, you are.’
‘I know, Sean.’
The sun sat high in the sky: a huge, stoned golden football, smiling down on all the happy shoppers like a big, fat grinning clown. Sean dumped his arse onto one of the less vandalised town centre benches, turned his face to catch some rays and lit a cigarette with a tarnished old zippo lighter.
‘What you got planned for today, twatty.’
‘World domination, Sean. Thought I might start with a McDiddlys takeover, then buy Boots so me and you can get our stuff without having to go to Dr Herr Jeckyl.’
‘Smart move, oh tiny one. I’m with you on that one. Not as thick as you’re cabbage looking, are you?’
‘What does that mean, Sean? I always wondered.’
‘Beats the shit out of me. Hey look. Here comes that dipshit, Bretherton. Hey! Brethy! You twat!’
Michael Bretherton had spotted Harrison and the P.O.R.G., Diffy, sitting there like a couple of toby jugs on the bench outside Subway. He crossed to the other side of the street, trying to make himself invisible amongst the Saturday shoppers.
Sean was trouble and Michael didn’t like trouble. He could talk the talk, but had endless trouble walking the walk. His hoodie hung menacingly from narrow shoulders and his tattered jeans hung precariously from even narrower hips. Michael dressed like a ghetto bro’ but the fact that his dad was the local vicar did fuck all for his street cred.
‘Brother Bretherton, pray sit with us a while and preach the preach.’
‘Alright, Sean, Diffy.’
Diffy nodded almost imperceptively. He didn’t like Brethy. Come to that, he didn’t like anyone talking to Sean. As long as there was a chance of his getting into Sean’s pants, he wanted the lad to himself.
‘Sean grinned through swollen lips. ‘How’s life in the pulpit Brother Brethy?’
‘Pack it in, Sean. Christ, I wish my dad had chosen another career. He could have been a brickie or a joiner, but a vicar, for God’s sake.’
‘Fuck me, Mick. If your old man could hear you using the big feller’s name in vain he would have you in the confessional in a crack, doing the old, “Hail Mary, full of shit, thing.”’
‘I don’t give a toss, me.’
‘Whoo! Tough talk, my evangelical friend.’
‘You’re full of shit, Sean. My dad isn’t an evangelist, he is a Church of England vicar, and we don’t have a confessional, we have coffee mornings.’
‘I love you, Brethy, you’re such a twat.’
‘Thanks, Sean, I appreciate your compliments.’
‘No problemo. Hey! What you up to? Me and the dwarf here are just going to do a Boots takeover so we can get free mins.’
‘Amphetamines, you knob.’
‘So, you in?’
‘No can do. I’m going down the market for my m….’
‘He’s going down the market for his mummy. Did you hear that, Diffy? Father Bretherton is going to get the wafers in for Sunday communion.
Diffy forced a smile, but was getting increasingly irritated by Michaels presence. He wanted him to fuck off and leave them alone.
‘Go on then, Brethy, go run your little errand. Me and Two Foot Tex here are just fine and fuckin dandy on our own. Aren’t we Mighty Midget?’
Diffy positively glowed. ‘We sure are, Sean. Fuck off, Brethy, and don’t hurry back, y’all.’
Michael fucked off post haste. What a relief. It was like having a bad smell under your nose, then noticing that it wasn’t there anymore. What a couple of wasters. He was well rid. His jeans suddenly slipped over his hips, and he just managed to grab them before they ended up round his ankles. Good job Sean didn’t see that
‘Did you fuckin see that, Diffy? It was hilarious. I nearly shat myself, honest I did.’
‘See what, Sean?’
‘Have you got your eyes shut, you tiny tool?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sean. See what?’
‘Too late, the moment has passed.’
‘What do you fancy doing now, Sean?’
‘What time is it, Diffy?’
‘Just after 12.’
Our illustrious pair repaired to the local hostelry and ordered a couple of pints of the finest.
‘Not a fuckin chance, Sean. You already owe me about 20 squids. Cash or fuck off. There’s the deal.’
Sean dug deep and produced a crumple five pound note.
‘You twat!’ shouted Diffy, belligerently. ‘You never said you had any money when I was buying the burgers.’
‘You never asked, did you, Shorty. Anyway, you numb wank, a pint cost more than a burger and fries, so you got the best of the deal. Fuck me, Diffy, you can be thick sometimes. I don’t know how you get through life. Two foot tall and brainless. You should be in a home for the terminally useless.’
‘How’s your ale, Sean?’
‘Tastes like piss.’
‘Mine, too.’
‘No change there, then.’
The pub was typical lower class England: peeling wallpaper, fag ends all over the floor, nicotine all over the ceiling………and dogs: loads of fucking dogs. Dogs of every description lay, shat, pissed and humped in the snug, the lounge and the parlour. Dirty fuckers.
Sean turned his back to the bar and surveyed the mayhem.
‘It’s a fuckin dog brothel, this place. Hey! Tony!’
The bartender broke away from picking his nose.
‘It’s a fuckin dog brothel, this place. You want closing down, you do.’
‘I thought I’d barred you, Sean. One more word and I’ll fuckin chuck you out myself.’
Diffy dug Sean in the ribs. ‘Psst!’
‘Psst? Fuck me, Diffy, you pint sized pillock, what’s, “Psst”, all about?’
‘Tanner the Homo’s over there, Sean. Look, over there by the pool table.’
‘Tell you what, you twat. Let’s not try to make ourselves too conspicuous shall we? Let’s not point at people, Shall we? Not unless we want to land back in fuckin casualty.
‘You know what they say about Tanner, don’t you?’
‘That he’s got an enormous knob? Yes, actually I heard.’
‘It’s true, Sean. They reckon he won’t go for a piss unless he’s got a semi on.’
‘Bloody hell, I just landed in Diffy’s world, and it’s full of idiots.’
‘It’s true.’
‘No, Diffy, darlin. Some fucker told you that to wind you up because every body knows you’re a gullible git.’
‘Honest, Sean.’ Diffy was getting all excited. Sean glanced down to see if he had actually pissed himself. ‘They reckon he gets a semi on, then flops it out in the bogs, hoping to get a handjob, or something.’
‘Or something?’
‘The bind moggles.’
‘Sixteen inches.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘True, Sean, sixteen fuckin inches.’
‘That’s all bollocks. If he had a sixteen inch knob the weight would make it impossible for him to stand upright. He’d have to push the fucker round in a wheelbarrow. Anyway, twatty, what does he do, think about Gina Lollobrigida for a bit before he goes for a slash?
‘Never mind.’
‘What he does, he brings in a copy of Playgirl, and has a crafty look at it before he goes for a piss.’
‘You are special needs, aren’t you?’
‘Why do you have to take the piss out of everything I say?’
‘Cos you’re a twat. I’m hungry, what about you?’
‘We could get a pie in here.’
‘We could get botulism in here. Come on, let’s go to Greggs for a pastie.’
Greggs the Bakers was at the far end of the High Street. They had to pass at least four serviceable pie emporiums on the way, but Sean had an ulterior motive.
Carol Eckersley worked in Greggs, and she had the most humongous pair of tits this side of the Pennines. He had been within an ace of boinking her on more than one occasion. She had always rebuffed him at the eleventh hour, but being a red blooded male of no fixed abode he didn’t know the meaning of the phrase, “Fuck off you tosser”.
The shop was empty, it being after closing time.
Sean banged on the window to attract Carol’s attention.
‘We’re closed.’ Carol was petite and blond: petite, that is, but for the twin Zeppelins that strained at her uniform top.
‘Not to me, you’re not, darlin.’
‘Fuck off, Sean. Is that Diffy with you?’
‘Aw, he’s cute.’
She came round the counter and unlocked the door. Diffy beamed: Sean didn’t.
‘He’s a fuckin dwarf, Carol: two foot six of pure bullshit. Aren’t you, twatty.’
‘Four foot six, actually.’
‘Two pasties, Carol, my darlin, one for me and one for the human beanpole here.’
'Don’t be rotten, Sean. He’s lovely.’
‘Have you seen his fuckin dad, Carol? He’s about six feet eleventeen, and his mum can fit in the palm of his hand.’
‘I think I saw them on “You Tube” once.’
‘Ha! Nice one, Carol. Did you hear that, Diffy? Carol made a funny about your weird and fuckin wonderful parents. Here’s your pastie, now fuck off!’
‘But, Sean.’
‘Which part of “fuck off” don’t you understand, Diffy? Go now, laddie. I’m on a promise.’
Diffy looked crestfallen. He put the pastie back in its bag, turned and walked slowly out of the door.
Sean waited a few seconds, then poked his head out of the shop doorway.
‘Oy! Twat.’ He shouted.
Diffy turned.
Sean held his hand to his head in the recognisable phone gesture. ‘Give us a bell tomorrow. We’ll do something.’
A huge grin spread across Diffy’s face. ‘Sure, Sean. See you tomorrow.’
He turned his back and walked on. A moment later, he turned again.
‘Sean’ He shouted.
‘You’re a twat.’