Thursday, August 17, 2006


Mike stumbled into the office this morning looking more than usually worse for wear.
“Bloody hell!” said Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader. “It’s Sham 69!”

He shrugged and let out a quarter-smile, which is the most you ever get from Mike. He’d been to Blackpool’s Festival of Oi! weekender, or in his case, a long weekender.
“Sham 69 didn’t show up,” he winced.
“That’s anarchists for you,” I said. “No sense of duty.”

He hobbled to his desk and lowered himself painfully into his chair.
“So were there a lot of zimmer frames flying around in the mosh pit then?” asked Stella.
“Yeah. It were ’kin’ brilliant,” he said. “I’ve got bruises on my bruises.”

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