Altercation in East Sussex 1995

We clambered into the car, me in the back Sid in the front with Rick driving. Rick had a skinful already but the bloke had a cast iron gut and could handle anything. I proved that wrong a few weeks later before he killed himself.
+++++‘Where we off? Eastbourne?’
+++++‘The shop fronts near the Rose ‘n’ Crown,’ Sid mumbled.
+++++The coughing of the car sparked into life and we were jolting through Heathfield. It bucked at the lights.
+++++‘Fackin’ ‘ell Rickee! Where’d you learn to drive?’ I shouted.
+++++‘Fack orff!’ He gave a laugh at this. He sounded nervous, the hint of doubt in the laugh – not a full one, but cut short.
+++++The wheelspin turned heads on Heathfield high street where I’d stumbled through like a tramp at six yesterday morning. I spied the wooden bench I’d sat and eaten a cold can of beans in full view of the villages early birds – viewed as something in a zoo.
+++++It was three in the afternoon and I’d had seven Newcastle Brown Ales already. I could feel something in my body urging it to move to smash something up, I could taste blood in my mouth.
+++++‘Where abouts does he live, Sid?’ I ask.
+++++‘Dunno. Above the Post Office, I think. She’ll be there.’
+++++Yeah, your wife will be there shagging the dopey arse off him. I didn’t say this but I knew it to be the case. I kicked an empty can to the other passenger footwell. There was another – it was full. I opened it and took a swig.
+++++‘Jeeezuz! What you been drinkin’ Rickeee!’ I hold up the can to Sid.
+++++‘Super strength. Fack me Rickee,’ Sid goes.
+++++‘That’s the wife’s. Sheila drinks that stuff at home. Gets absolutely hammered on the stuff every night. She’s got a problem that one.’
+++++Says you, I think. It’s a symbiotic relationship when both partners are alcoholics. There’s an accepted violence and violent acceptance – shite state of affairs. Lucky me, not married, just shagging anything that moved in a skirt (in a fucking skirt!).
+++++We move into Eastbourne and I spy a Wetherspoons on the way. Good recce that. Always checking my boozers as way points back. Cheap food and cheap booze. A requirement is Newcastle Brown Ale though. Cold ones at first, then I couldn’t give a shite afterwards: room temperature like your red wines would do me. I’d get the taste of the Ale after three bottles of it then it would be pure and sweet pouring down your neck. Nothing could stop the flow once it got going. Not even girlfriends – they were sacked immediately for ale and crack.
+++++‘Check the back of the posty out, Dougy,’ he turned to Rick, ‘keep the car running.’
+++++I got out and was immediately clocked by some auld gadgy – he just stared at me. I realise I’ve just got out the car like Bodey & Doyle from the Professionals. ‘Afternoon.’
+++++He acknowledged with a tip of his hat and carried on.
+++++I can’t remember much about this bit in that I don’t think anybody answered my knock, knock a-knocking. Who would blame them – a dishevelled, cigar, beer smelling man knocking on your door asking for a lad called Terry. I think that was his name.
+++++Before long I could hear a howl like a dog had been attacked from the shop fronts and I made my way there. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Sid battering the shop door’s window with a casted hand.
+++++‘Get aht. Get aht here. Cum on. Cum on. Yah f’ckin’ dopey cunt.’
+++++There were families in the shop, one man attending to another on the floor of the shop. They’d locked the door.
+++++‘Sid. C’mon. C’mon. The cops’ll be here soon. Come on.’ I grabbed his shoulder, but he shrugged me off. I couldn’t tell if he was going to swing for me. I could see Sid’s wife in the shop, her mouth and tears, a blur of pain and questions.
+++++‘Fuck off fuck off fuck off.’
+++++‘We got to go. I ain’t got any money. I’m offski.’
+++++‘Here have this. Fuck off.’ Sid threw a tenner at me and I snatched it up. Rick bawled at Sid and I got in the back of the motor.
+++++Backing off and pointing at the shop full of fearful onlookers. ‘She did this. You’re fucking dead.’
+++++He sat back into the passenger seat and the car lurched off. I had to grab onto the front seat to keep from falling sideways. Rickee must have thought he was a get-a-away driver and in a way, I suppose he was.
+++++‘Is that yours?’ I could see blood, fresh blood – it was blackened from a scab by the look of it.
+++++‘What do you think? The cunt was out of it. I think I broke the fucker’s nose.’