Mugs Away

In 1988 I was eighteen years old, had left school a couple of years prior and was employed as an apprentice engineer a.k.a. grease monkey, at a local firm. The upshot of this meant that although the management, who ran the firm, were a shower of Fagin type, bean counting, penny-pinching footpads. I did have the necessary cash required to enjoy myself at the weekends. 1

Enjoying myself at this time in my life mainly consisted of two components. 2

Firstly as is the way with all young chaps and for reasons clearly apparent to anyone who has read any previous tales. My friends and I had absolutely no aversion to the odd drink or twenty-five at the weekend and were continually on the lookout for the opportunity to “Do the sex!” with any equally inebriated young lady.3

The final component to a successful weekend concerned matters of a sporting nature, for example playing football, rugby and the like. When we were not involved in actually playing sport we were all and indeed still are heavily in to watching it.4

Ten out of ten to us for being young red-blooded chaps.5

There were however four weekends a year when old school rivalries, petty vendettas and ill conceived local territorialism reared their ugly heads. Those weekends were the weekends when our towns local semi professional football team, played the corresponding team from our nearest rivals i.e. Pikeytown F.C. which was located about ten miles away.6

On these occasions it was up early and off to the pub, with best fighting trousers in the “On” position, for guaranteed fisticuffs in most, if not all of the towns public houses during the run up to kick off.7

Needless to say P.C. Mutchison of Her Majesties Constabulary along with his fellow plod, tended on the whole, to take a dim view of such antics. To highlight this, I quote directly from a local newspaper article, published one Wednesday, following a weekend derby, which reported, with gusto, upon Phil da Blocks subsequent Monday morning court appearance. After his arrest by the aforementioned king of the bastards and following yet another alcohol induced debacle.8

“Mr. Philip da Block was observed by myself and several other officers playing to the gallery and revelling in the glory of his eye injury!”9

“He moved past police officers against their will!”10

“Challenged persons unknown to a fight!”11

“Assaulted said persons unknown, shouted, swore and placed the general public in a state of fear and alarm!” 12

Kudos to the local reporter for his comedic style of court reporting. Top marks also go to P.C. Mutchison, for once again proving that when it came to being a bastard he was, as ever, peerless.13

Philip, who stood ashen faced during the entire proceeding, received a £50.00 fine accompanied with a stern dressing down from the bench for his drunken brawlings.14

Following this incident you would have thought that we would have learned our lesson wouldn’t you?15

Had we?16

What do you think?17

After only a few weeks had passed, it was off to Pikeycentral for the away fixture, to and I quote from Phil da Block himself “Kick the shit out of them!” 18

We had decided that prior to boarding the coach to Pikeyville, it would be best, as was our custom, to get a few liveners in a.k.a. get totally sloshed. 19

The benefits were two fold. Firstly it put paid to any inhibitions we may have been concealing in the machismo department. Secondly and more importantly, as anyone who likes a few drinks will tell you. With the famous or infamous, dependant upon you’re viewpoint, Dutch courage coursing through you’re veins, you feel like and again I paraphrase a little from Bounce “A double hard bastard!” 20

Oh spoons!21

The coach dropped us right outside the Pikeytown F.C. ground and judging by the large plod presence, I think they had had an inkling as to what was on the cards. Alas further alcohol consumption, followed by a good tear up was well and truly scuppered as at the conclusion of the match, plod frog marched us all on to the coaches and off back to civilisation we went.22

Disappointed as we were that we had not been allowed to square up to our oldest arch foes. The pre-match booze had by now cleared from our heads and with twenty twenty hindsight. It was now obvious that a night on the lash beckoned, rather than a night in the cells / clutches of the terrible plod.23

Following a brief trip home for a shower I was now suited, booted and ensconced in a local bar with the rest of my like-minded associates. Looking forward to a pub-crawl, followed by a trip to, if the advertising and hype of the time was to be believed, “Scotland’s number one nightclub!”24

My memory of this particular nightclub, are a little patchy at times, all due mainly to the amount of alcohol I imbibed in the place. However there must have been a grain of truth to this lofty claim, as the list of this establishments celebrity appearances was impressive to say the least.25

Firstly there were multiple appearances of The Sun newspapers page three girls, all alas posing for unfamiliar and rare fully clothed pictures. Then there was the live broadcast from the club, of every teenage perverts favourite show, “The Hit Man and Her!” The aforementioned “Hit Man” was eighties pop mogul Pete Waterman and it has to be said a grade “A” to him for bringing to our attention shapely young ladies like Kylie, I’d love a go on that, Minogue. 26

Waterman however was not the main draw that made young chaps the length and breadth of the nation watch the show. No, no, that responsibility fell to his shapely short skirt wearing co-host, the unbelievably attractive and at times lycra clad Michaela, I’d love a go on that, Strachan.27

Most memorably though there was the appearance and lip-synched performance of eighties pop classic “Boys Boys Boys” by the most physically attractive woman I have ever seen in my life, the criminally stunning Sabrina Salerno. How there can be poofs in the world with women like this walking around is a mystery to me. Sabrina pranced around on stage wearing only the tiniest of tiny yellow bikinis and highest of high heels, shaking and spraying champagne over the baying throng as she went.28

I hold the nubile Sabrina’s performance in the video that accompanied the euro pop ditty personally responsible for damaging irrevocably the eyesight of an entire generation. Young chaps all over Europe must have had, as I did, hairier palms to their hands than King Kong’s stunt double.29

Anyway back to the bar, as I digress and have been sidetracked, not for the first time, by the female form.30

7.30pm and I was it has to be said; ashamedly once again three sheets to the wind, due to the rapid consumption of rum and cokes. The chaps were all banging on about the days earlier disappointments and how if plod was not so zealous they would have and I quote “Kicked their arses!”31

“We should get taxi’s through to Pikeytown, have few beers, then kick their fucking heads in!” Roared Keith the Thief from the far end of the bar as he swilled down the remainder of yet another pint.32

That was it, our fates were sealed, we then made a tour of the towns public houses to swell our numbers prior to our ill-fated folly filled trip. Prior to the taxis picking us up, we were in the public bar of the Southern View Hotel when a young lady who I’d always admired from afar and used to go to school with asked me “Where are you guys off to?” Being young, foolish, drunk and easily led I mugged it up telling her we were off to “Sort them out” and “Kick some arse!”33

“Why don’t you come over to our table and have drink with me?” she replied, clearly but not surprisingly, less than impressed.34

“No, no, I’m off with the lads!” said I, waving her off, clearly badly misreading the situation and thinking all she wanted was an actual drink. 35

Looking back my idiocy astounds even myself, choosing to do the fighting rather than the distinct possibility of doing the sex.36

A decision I would come to rue, following Phil da Blocks opening gambit of “You guys are all wind and piss!” as we stood surrounded in a public houses car park in deepest darkest Pikeytown.37

Still on the upside, the nurses in the local Accident and Emergency department wore tight white uniforms, were very nice and knew exactly how to treat a collection of split lips, bleeding noses, black eyes and the like.38

Once again arses!39