Watch My Back by Geoff Thompson

Watch My Back by Geoff Thompson

Author:Geoff Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780857653376
Publisher: Summersdale Publishers Ltd
Published: 2009-07-15T00:00:00+00:00


Radio Rental Rob was great at dealing with women. He could have a fight could Rob but he was more of a lover than a fighter and he did like to deal with women. I’ve got to say that Rob was the funniest, strangest man that I’ve ever come across. His antics were often hilarious, much to the annoyance of the club managers. Rob was on the carpet more time than the cleaner’s hoover. His party trick was to put raw sausages into a punter’s coat pocket while it hung in the cloakroom, then watch in amusement as they jumped out of their skins on discovering the raw meat wrapped around their comb or hair-slide. Sometimes we’d follow the punters outside, just waiting for their cold hands to go into their warm pockets, then falling over with laughter when they screamed at the feel of the flesh-like sau sage. I know it may sound disgusting but Rob would think nothing of putting a half-eaten pie or pizza into a punter’s pock et, then laugh himself silly all night just thinking about the reaction it would provoke upon discovery.

He also had an uncanny knack of seeing a celebrity likeness in many of the club punters. I’d never see it until Rob pointed it out. One little scruffy old lady who smelled like wee-wee was a carbon copy of ‘Wordsworth’, the elderly woman prisoner of the Australian soap Prisoner: Cell Block H. Every time she walked through the entrance way of our pub Rob’s eyes would light up and he’d yell, ‘Get back to your cell, Wordsworth.’ Even she used to laugh at him. We’d be in mid-conversation and Rob would suddenly yell and point, ‘Alan Whicker’ and, low and behold, Alan’s double would be walking past the door and we’d all erupt in fits of laughter.

His coup-de-grace however, came in the pokey six-foot-six cloakroom in Buster’s nightclub. His lady at the time was a sweet-looking, tiny, pretty little button of a girl dressed in punk-rocker black. Her body was tight and cute but her mouth was absolutely foul: she’d say things that would totally shock me. She worked there as a cloakroom attendant and, on giving one young man back his coat at the end of the night he asked cheerfully, ‘What put that smile on your face?’

The same face transformed from sweet to evil and replied, ‘Spunk.’

The night was drawing to a close. Myself, the lady in black, Radio Rental and Carol, opposite in the reception window, awaited the 2.00 a.m. rush for coats. Rob was jovially pushing his lady around inside the cloakroom.

‘If you keep fucking me about I’ll take your dick out and suck you off in front of everyone,’ she shouted. Nice girl, I thought.

‘Go on then,’ dared Rob, hands on hips, pushing his midriff towards her.

‘Yeah, go on,’ I added, knowing that she wouldn’t have the nerve. What did I know? I watched in disbelief as she slowly knelt before him and, with a deeply seductive look, tantalis ingly unzipped the prison that held his ever-growing one-eyed monster.



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