Friday, July 30, 2010

Yep, Matt........def. roger that! (see: #6)

The Groundhogs were 'sposed to play at the Focus gig I went to last year (but still haven't got round to blogging about...yet!), but pulled out - due to illness, I think. I really wanted to see them; they're 'sposed to still be a great live act.

Yeah: "The Two Sides of Tony 'TS' McPhee" is the album I'm missing and really want to get, but I never see it on vinyl. It's the solo album with synths on it; my friend Ken had it back in the mid-70's and used to play it on his home-made Hi-Fi rig - it sounded fucking lovely. It's been on my reptile-brain 1000-page wants-list for ages. One day it'll probably just turn up in the Oxfam shop for 99p and I'll weep with joy.


So, I'm walking home last night and this guy comes round the corner and punches me in the face. Actually, there were three of them - barechested at 12:30 at night, so you can guess the deal here - with a couple of droop-titty'd scraggettes in tow.

"Ahhhr, ur fuckin' cunt!" Thwaap! Random as you like.

I was pushing me bike at the time, thinking about maybe getting some chips, and then: Thwaap!

Both hands on the bike, so no chance to defend meself. I saw them for about 1.6 seconds - a half-formed thought of oh, they look a bit leery, tried to burrow its way into the linguistics part of my brain, but it didn't even turn into proper words. One of the girls squawked "Oh, fuckin' hell, Ken / Kev / Something-similar, not again..." as he hit me which kinda suggested a sort of micro Wilding Spree was in progress. Then she giggled like a tripped-out witch from an early 70's Spanish Black Lace n Candles type movie.

My only response (beyond Owwwww... ) was a half-muttered "Oh, fer fucksake...". I felt more, I dunno, inconvenienced than threatened. I certainly wasn't gonna go after them or give it some verbal, cos (a) I was slightly 'refreshed', so it didn't hurt that much and (b) that would be an invitation to a serious kicking...

Actually, and this sounds like bravado-after-the-event, but:


If a guy like you - a third my age and in the so-called peak of your fucking physical condition (it's all downhill from there, moron) CAN'T EVEN PUT DOWN A SCRAWNY LITTLE OLD MOTHERFUCKER LIKE ME WITH A FREE SHOT, then you are truly a piece of useless shite. I bet you couldn't even get it up for a ragged, chip-nailed handjob in The Park from one of your coldsore-riddled little 16yr old groupies.

But, hey...

So I kinda just kept walking for 30 seconds then the adrenaline kicked in and I thought: actually, fuck you, you assholes...I'm sick of people like you thinking there's no consequence to your actions...I knew where they were heading - into The Park - so there was only one or two roads they would be, I thought: fuck it, the police station's only a minute's ride away on the bike - let's get a cop car to intercept them before they punch someone even more puny than me...

But the Police Station was shut. And this is in a town with a 40k+ catchment area. So you have to pick up a half-busted phone on the wall, which puts you through to a call-centre in Bridgewater or Bath or some other place 30 - 40 miles away. They've no idea where any of the places are that I'm describing. So, I'm trying to describe where these guys are heading, so that if there actually is a patrol-car in the area then the cops can pull 'em over before they seriously hurt someone...."If there's a car in the blahblahblah area, then you can't miss 'em; you could pull them over and nab them..." but the woman on the other end, just wants to run through her script, which takes ages, by which time they will be long-gone, back into their rat-runs...

She kept asking me where I was and I kept telling her "Outside Yeovil Police Station, but there's no one there." There were, like, 2 lights on in a 4-storey building.

"There won't be," she said, flatly. "It's late."

So you kinda wonder what we're paying our taxes for. I thought it included, y'know, policing.

It worries me that someone could've turned up down there looking for help who had actually been seriously hurt. Or, God Forbid, someone who had been raped.

"So, do you want to press assault charges?" she asked.

"Against who?" I said. "You could've caught them 10 minutes ago. Not now."

"Just answer yes or no," she said, with no explanation of what she was asking me even meant, legally or otherwise.

I kinda lost interest about then.

"So you're not pressing assault charges then? Can someone come round later and take a statement?"

Later? "Not at 4 in the morning, no. My wife and kids are asleep; I don't want them disturbed. And I've already told you what happened. I just described them and I even told you where you could've found them. I only wanted to make sure that no one else got hurt by these idiots."

"Well, someone will have to come and see you at some point to give you your Crime Number.

So I now have a Crime Number. And a sore jaw.


Because, well, he is...