Family Values # 6

Monday morning finds me a bit under the weather [and also under the influence] still from the weekend. It being a public holiday and me, for once, not having to work, I thought I would spend a portion of the day sleeping off the excesses of the weekend. Some hope!

9 o'clock on the dot and the doorbell starts ringing. I elbow David in the ribs and tell him to go see who it is [well, it is his fuking pub!]. Five minutes later and he treks back upstairs with his delightful brother [father of Fat Bird].

Some conversation ensues and then he's gone, thank God.

When I eventually crawl out of bed I ask Dave what he wanted.

"to borrow the car"

"I hope you told him to fuck off!"

"no"

To say that I was annoyed would be a wee tad understatement.

I didn't even know he was in the country. Had I known, then I would have been prepared for.... well, anything really.

Eamon is a complete fuckin sponger. He's a big, fat, lazy, Irish cunt who's never done an honest days work in his life. He lived in the US for a lot of years and it was the best place for him. He should be a Nigerian, being just the type who thinks he can make a quid from anything or anybody. Problem is that all he can make is a quid, nothing more.

Many moons ago he joined one of these "happy clappy" religions but, and these are his words, he keeps losing his religion, needs to keep it on a bit of string, in my opinion.

At our first meeting, and this was just after David had come out as being gay, and would be shacking up with another bloke, Eamon said that he would pray for us. I told him he'd better pray for a good surgeon because if he came out with any more cracks like that one, he'd fuking need one!

He thinks he knows the worth / value of everything [but doesn't] and he could always have gotten what ever it is you have bought cheaper for you, if you'd only bothered to asked him.

Anyway, back to the car. I let my tourettes syndrome out of the bag and had yell at Dave, but the deed was done.

Around 7 o'clock and he arrives back saying that he's left the car outside. Outside the front of the pub is "pay & display" parking. We have a residents parking permit, but the residents parking is in the surrounding streets, not on the high street. If the car was left there it means that from 8am the following morning it would be liable for a parking ticket [and the Traffic Taliban in Camden don't mess around].

"Where was the car this morning?" I asked him,

"Oh, Prince thingy Road".

"Well in that case, put the bloody thing back there! If you can pick it up from there, you can bloody well take it back there"

With that he pissed off to move it and didn't even bring the keys back upstairs, leaving them behind the bar.

With any luck, he won't be back for a while, cheeky cunt.