me for a meal last night. Collapsed if he hadn’t. Imagine that bloody hotel porter knocking me back. Where’s your uniform? Are you a washer up? Those people depress me. What’s the difference, one meal more or less? I wonder what it is with them? Old John though – what can I say – after the bollicking he gives me for not trying to get a job and some bread together, who expects him to come back thirty minutes later saying, ‘Okay you Scotch dosser. Come and eat,’ what could I say apart from, ‘Fancy a pint first John?’ Yes he has too many good points. Suppose I could give him a week’s money. Depends on what they give me though. Anyway.
Charles left the house and made his way towards the Labour Exchange up near Pentonville Road. It was a twenty-five minutewalk but one Charles did not mind at all as he normally received six and a half from the NAB for his trouble afterwards.
Yes spring is definitely around the corner man. Look at that briefcase with the sports jacket and cavalry twill slacks. Already? Very daring. Must be a traveller. Best part of the day this – seeing all the workers – office and site and the new middle-class tradesmen all going about their business. It pleases me.
Can’t say I’m in the mood for a long wait in the NAB afterwards. Jesus Christ I forgot a book. Man man what do I do now? Borrow newspapers? Stare at people’s necks and make goo goos at their children? Good God! The money will be well earned today.
Charles stopped outside the Easy Eats Cafe and breathed in deeply. This fellow must be the best cook in London without any doubt at all. My my my. Every time I pass this place it’s the same, smells like bacon and eggs and succulent sausages with toast and tea. Never mind never mind soon be there.
Charles arrived at the Labour Exchange and entered door C. He took up position in the queue under D.
Well I can imagine it today, ‘Yes Mr Donald there is some back money owing to you. Would you sign here for £43.68p?’ I’d smile politely, ‘Oh yes thank you I had been beginning to wonder if it would ever come through. Thank you. Good day.’ Then I’d creep out and run like the clappers before they discovered their error. God love us, what’s this? What’s this noise? Can’t be somebody farting in a Labour Exchange. Bloody Irish. Don’t understand them at all. Think they delight in embarrassing the English. Everyone kids on they didn’t hear it. Surely they can smell it?
Charles stepped out of the queue and tapped the fellow on the shoulder. ‘Hoy Mick. That’s one helluva smell to make in a public place you know.’
‘Ah bejasus,’ sighed the Irishman, ‘it’s that bloody Guinness Jock. Sure I can’t help it at all.’
‘Terrible stuff for the guts right enough,’ said Charles.
‘Ah but it’s better than that English water they sell here. Bitter?’ he shook his head, ‘It’s a penance to drink it Jock.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Charles. ‘You been waiting long?’
‘Not at all,’ he shook his head again and spat on the floor. ‘Want a roll?’
‘You’re kidding me Mick?’
‘Aw what you going on about? Here,’ he took out his pouch and handed it to Charles. ‘I’ve plenty here and I’ll be getting a few quid this morning. Help yourself Jock.’
Charles accepted and rolled himself a smoke.
‘Been over long, man,’ he asked.
‘Too long Jock,’ he gave a short laugh, ‘Still skint.’
He struck a match on the floor and they lit their cigarettes.
‘Aye if I’d been buying that Guinness in shares instead of pints I’d be worth a fortune, and that’s a fact. The hell with it.’
‘You’re next Mick,’ said Charles.
The Irishman went to the counter and received the signing-on card from the young girl. He signed on and was handed his pay slip then he walked over to the cashier where he received his money and vanished.
Charles followed Mick to the first counter and to his surprise received a pay slip. Normally he got a BI form
Charles left the house and made his way towards the Labour Exchange up near Pentonville Road. It was a twenty-five minutewalk but one Charles did not mind at all as he normally received six and a half from the NAB for his trouble afterwards.
Yes spring is definitely around the corner man. Look at that briefcase with the sports jacket and cavalry twill slacks. Already? Very daring. Must be a traveller. Best part of the day this – seeing all the workers – office and site and the new middle-class tradesmen all going about their business. It pleases me.
Can’t say I’m in the mood for a long wait in the NAB afterwards. Jesus Christ I forgot a book. Man man what do I do now? Borrow newspapers? Stare at people’s necks and make goo goos at their children? Good God! The money will be well earned today.
Charles stopped outside the Easy Eats Cafe and breathed in deeply. This fellow must be the best cook in London without any doubt at all. My my my. Every time I pass this place it’s the same, smells like bacon and eggs and succulent sausages with toast and tea. Never mind never mind soon be there.
Charles arrived at the Labour Exchange and entered door C. He took up position in the queue under D.
Well I can imagine it today, ‘Yes Mr Donald there is some back money owing to you. Would you sign here for £43.68p?’ I’d smile politely, ‘Oh yes thank you I had been beginning to wonder if it would ever come through. Thank you. Good day.’ Then I’d creep out and run like the clappers before they discovered their error. God love us, what’s this? What’s this noise? Can’t be somebody farting in a Labour Exchange. Bloody Irish. Don’t understand them at all. Think they delight in embarrassing the English. Everyone kids on they didn’t hear it. Surely they can smell it?
Charles stepped out of the queue and tapped the fellow on the shoulder. ‘Hoy Mick. That’s one helluva smell to make in a public place you know.’
‘Ah bejasus,’ sighed the Irishman, ‘it’s that bloody Guinness Jock. Sure I can’t help it at all.’
‘Terrible stuff for the guts right enough,’ said Charles.
‘Ah but it’s better than that English water they sell here. Bitter?’ he shook his head, ‘It’s a penance to drink it Jock.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Charles. ‘You been waiting long?’
‘Not at all,’ he shook his head again and spat on the floor. ‘Want a roll?’
‘You’re kidding me Mick?’
‘Aw what you going on about? Here,’ he took out his pouch and handed it to Charles. ‘I’ve plenty here and I’ll be getting a few quid this morning. Help yourself Jock.’
Charles accepted and rolled himself a smoke.
‘Been over long, man,’ he asked.
‘Too long Jock,’ he gave a short laugh, ‘Still skint.’
He struck a match on the floor and they lit their cigarettes.
‘Aye if I’d been buying that Guinness in shares instead of pints I’d be worth a fortune, and that’s a fact. The hell with it.’
‘You’re next Mick,’ said Charles.
The Irishman went to the counter and received the signing-on card from the young girl. He signed on and was handed his pay slip then he walked over to the cashier where he received his money and vanished.
Charles followed Mick to the first counter and to his surprise received a pay slip. Normally he got a BI form
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