Life goes on.

0900. 3rd January 2018. The phone rings. Aghast. It’s the yoof.

“Well darling boy, long time no hear.”

”Shurrup ya old goat (nothing changes), I’ve been studying an’ stuff.”

”Not English anyway.”

”Listen, will you Shurrup? Ahvepassedmatest.”

”Paternity? Maternity? Intelligence? Any of the aforementioned?”

”Aaaagh. You are an old goat. Madrivintest. How stupid can you be? Anyway I’m comin’ to get ya.”

”Oh, and to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you missing me?”

”Don’t be stupid. That’s just stupid. Why would I miss you? I need you to press the buttin (sic). I’m shootin Skeet now. I need you to buttin.”

”Ah well, nice to be wanted.”

”Shurrup and get yer stuff. I’ll be there in a minnit.”

Duly, the apparition arrives. I believe “street cred” might be the title applies to the vehicle. Chrome. More chrome. Funny wheels. Tinted windows. Noisy exhaust. Very low. Horrible. I struggle to get in. The seats are tiny, and shaped for tiny people. Horrible.

”Well, where did you get this tub?”

“Tub? Tub? Are you mad? This is the best machine around. Goes like mad. Listen to it. Listen to the sound system.” Noise fills the atmosphere up to cloud level.

”Aaaagh. Turn the bloody thing down. I’m deaf enough already. What a bloody racket.”

”Birds love it.”

”Only deaf ones.”


Duly, we arrive at the range and I “buttin.” Now, of course he can shoot so it’s all really quite enjoyable. However, eventually, something catches my attention.

”That’s interesting.”


”Those cartridges. Unusual name.”

”What name?




He looks suspiciously.

“You really are an old goat. How stupid can you get?”


”It’s not Proones ya silly old goat. It’s PRO ONES. PRO ONES. HULL PRO ONES. “

Shaking his head, he storms off. I chuckle.

Happy new year one and all.