Archives for August 2019

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details

The next day I went to see Benny, who lived a few doors down from our house. He ans­wered the door in his pyjamas, and didn’t look well. ‘Are ya coming out Benny?’ I asked. ‘I can’t Fish, I’m made up with cold. Mum said I’ve got to go back to bed. Do ya want the paper round job?’ ‘Yeah I do Benny, what do I need to do?’ ‘I’ve told Mr Kirk I’ll be leaving at the end of the week. I said you might be interested. Go and see him, tell him you can start next week. He’ll show you the ropes.’ ‘Ok Benny, I’ll go and see him now. Thanks very much pal, hope ya get better soon.’ ‘Yeah, cheers Fish, see ya.’

Poor old Benny looked awful, and he loved his paper round job, and obviously didn’t want to give it up. Oh well, one man’s loss is another man’s gain, at least that’s what gran always says. I went to see Mr Kirk all excited. I’d never had a paper round job before, in fact, I’d never had a job before. Mr Kirk was an oldish man with a distinctive mass of wayward grey hair, that had a life of its own, especially if the wind got hold of it. He wore thick round, black rimmed specs, and a white lab coat, that al­ways had a selection of pens attached to the lapel. We all called him the mad professor. He owned and ran Kirk Newsagents, si­tuated just off the main road. Just about eve­ryone on our council estate shopped there. You could buy newspapers, magazines, cigarettes, sweets, milk, and a few groceries. I knew Mr Kirk quite well, as I’d been going in his shop, for as long as I can remember.

He sold me cigarettes, and even fireworks on bonfire night, even though he knew I was underage. I always used to tell him they were for my dad, (which most of the time they were), and he never quizzed me once, which I thought was great. Sometimes his daughter Sammy would help out in the shop. She was a pretty girl with long blonde hair, and was always smiling at the customers, (especially the boys). I don’t know how old she was, but she looked about sixteen. Some of the boys would queue up at the counter, drooling all over her, as they bought sweets and cans of pop. Of course none of them ever stood a chance. Sammy would never be interested in any of the snotty-nosed toerags that lived on our estate.

I walked in the newsagents and straight up to the counter. Mr Kirk was serving old man Hargreaves, who was at least ninety years old. He was a bit on the fragile side, and could only walk at a snail’s pace. It took him ages to get to Kirkies for his newspapers every morning, even though he only lived across the road. He would set off after breakfast, and by the time he got to Kirkies, it was dinner time.

‘Hello Mr Hargreaves, how ya doing?’ I asked. He looked up and squinted a few times.
‘Alright owd love.’ He was a man of few words was Mr Hargreaves.
‘Hello Mr Kirk.’
‘Hello Fish, have ya come about the job?’
‘Yeah, is it still available?’
‘Yes it is. It’s yours if ya want it.’
‘Great…..! I do want it Mr Kirk.’
‘Now ya won’t let me down will ya Fish? Don’t be late, and make sure you deliver all the newspapers. I don’t want any complaints from the customers. I never received a single complaint when Benny was doing the round, so I expect the same level of service from you.’
‘Oh no worries Mr Kirk, ya can rely on me. I’m ya man. I won’t let ya down.’ Mr Kirk Smiled. ‘Do ya know how many times I’ve heard that Fish? Right, you can start next Monday. Be here for 6.30am.’
‘I’ll be here Mr Kirk, 6.30am on the dot.’
‘Ya know it’s three quid a week, don’t ya?’
‘Yeah, Benny told me Mr Kirk, that’ll do me. Ok Mr Kirk see ya.’
‘See ya lad.’
‘See ya Mr Hargreaves.’
‘Ta-ra owd love.’

I left the shop bursting with adrenalin, and ran all the way home with a big cheesy grin, plastered right across my face. I couldn’t wait to tell mum and dad and the rest of the family. The week flew past, and before I knew it Mon­day morning had arrived. The alarm clock went off at 6.00am. It was my first ever day at work. I leapt out of bed full of excitement. I quickly got dressed and went into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, and splashed a little cold water on my face, patting it dry with the towel. I then made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I opened the curtains, and then closed them again, as it was still dark outside. It was great being up so early, while everyone else was still in bed. I’d never known the house to be so quiet. I put two thin slices of white bread under the grill, turned on the gas, and lit the grill, using the matches on the sideboard. I removed a plate from the cupboard, and the margarine and strawberry jam from the fridge.

I sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for the toast to be done. Five minutes later, I was tucking into hot buttered toast with strawberry jam, washed down with a glass of cold tap water. After breakfast, I put on my duffle coat and eagerly set off to Kirkies. It was freezing outside, and the cold wind bit right into my face. Luckily, I only had to walk to the end of our street and across the main road. I strutted down the street with real purpose. I was one of the workers now, a proper wage earner. Ok, I still had to go to school, but even so, I would be earning a wage packet, and that made me feel great. I walked in the shop and up to the counter. Mr Kirk was writing the street names, and house numbers on the newspapers. He looked a bit disheveled, like he’d been sleeping in his clothes. His hair was all over the place, as usual. I think his hair should be put in a museum when he dies.

‘Here I am Mr Kirk, all ready for action.’
‘Morning Fish, give me a few minutes, I’ve almost done.’ Five minutes later, Mr Kirk put the last newspaper into the delivery bag, and lifted it onto the counter, while yawning. ‘Right Fish, your round starts on Beacroft Road, followed by Meadow Hall Gardens. After that, go and do the Rockingham Estate, then Pepper Close, and finish off on Barbers Avenue. Is that clear?’ ‘That’s clear Mr Kirk, I know those areas.’ I picked up the delivery bag off the counter. It weighed a ton. I couldn’t lift it high enough, to get the strap around my shoulder. Mr Kirk chuckled, as he came from behind the counter. ‘Let me help ya lad,’ he said, as he lifted the strap over my head and onto my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry lad, it’ll get easier once ya get used to it.’ I felt a little silly. ‘Yeah, no worries Mr Kirk. Thanks very much Mr Kirk.’

I left the shop and turned right onto Grange Close, which lead onto Beacroft Road. The bag was so heavy, and the strap was ripping right into my shoulder. I could barely walk a few metres without stopping. As soon as Kirkies was out of sight, I bent down and lifted the bag over my head, before dropping it with a thud onto the pavement. I sat on top of the bag, and wondered if I was even capable of being a paperboy. It hadn’t occurred to me, that the delivery bag would be so heavy. How on earth was I going to finish my paper round? Just then, I noticed Gazza coming towards me on his go-kart. Gazza (who’s real name was Gareth Robinson), was a good mate of mine. We both went to the same school.

‘Alright Gazza, what ya doing up at this time?’ I asked. ‘Hello Fish, I’m off to Kirkies for mum’s newspaper and fags.’ ‘At this time in the morning?’ ‘Well there’s only me who can go Fish. Dad goes to work at five, and our Jimmy won’t get up at this time. Mum’s got to av her fags. Anyway, what are you doing up at this time?’ ‘I’m doing Benny’s paper round, he can’t do it anymore. If you remember, he fell asleep in the history lesson, and Mr Langdon sent a letter to his parents, so he had to pack it in.’ ‘Oh yeah, I remember that. I can’t stand that horrible Mr Langdon, he’s a right old tosser. Benny loved that paper round. How come you got the job then Fish?’ ‘Well, Benny asked me if I wanted it, and I said yeah. Simple as that really. This is my first day Gazza.’ ‘Oh, how’s ya first day going then Fish?’ ‘Not very good Gazza. I can only just about pick up the delivery bag, it weighs a ton. I’ve got over eighty newspapers to deliver, and some of them have a magazine inside.’ ‘Ya know what ya need don’t ya fish? Ya need a go-kart like mine.’

— Gazza’s homemade go-kart was made from an old wooden door. The four corners had been sawn off at an angle, to make it look more like a go-kart, and less like a door. There were two rather large pram wheels on the back, and two smaller ones on the front. There was also a piece of old red carpet glued to the top, so you didn’t get splinters in your arse or knees. Finally, it had washing line tied to the front wheels, so you could turn it left or right. That was it basically. It didn’t even have a brake. It certainly wouldn’t win any awards for enter­prise of the year, that’s for sure. But despite what it looked like, it was very effective and easy to drive. I knew this, as I’d driven it before on a few occasions. The best way to drive it, was to kneel down, with your legs hanging over the back. You then pushed yourself forward with your feet. It was a lot easier going downhill, as you simply jumped on and enjoyed the ride. However, because there were no brakes, it wasn’t always easy to stop. Sometimes you had to jump off the go-kart while it was still going, and hope and pray, that it didn’t smash into anyone or anything.

‘Can I borrow it Gazza?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that Fish.’
‘Go on mate, just for today. I’m struggling to pick up the delivery bag, and if I don’t get these newspapers delivered, Kirkie will go mad, and I’ll get the sack.’
‘Ok Fish, say no more. Now ya will look after it won’t ya?’
‘Of course I will Gazza. Nice one pal, thas done me a big favour. I’ll see ya right when I get mi first wage packet.’

I dropped the heavy delivery bag onto the go-kart, and was off like a flash. I was fuelled with pure adrenaline and excitement, as I went bombing down the street, just like James Hunt in his Formula One Car. I arrived at Beacroft Road shortly after, and pulled up outside the first house. I lifted up the flap on the delivery bag, and took out the top newspaper. It was The Sun, with the headlines: ‘BEEB ON THE BLINK’ splashed across the front page. It was something to do with the BBC. There was also a story about the pop singer Rod Stewart, who was trying for a baby with his girlfriend. All boring stuff really.

My first delivery was 6 Beacroft Road. I sat on the cart, and stared at the newspaper for a few moments, savouring this momentous occasion. I then neatly folded the newspaper in half, and then in half again. I got up from the cart, opened the gate at number 6, and proudly walked down the path to the blue front door. I pushed the newspaper through the silver letter box, and smiled to myself as it hit the floor. I’d just delivered my very first newspaper. I felt a sense of pride, as I walked back up the path and closed the gate. There was over seventy houses on Beacroft Road, and I must have delivered a newspaper to at least half of them. It was a good thirty minutes, before I pushed the Daily Mirror through the final letter box on the street. I felt great, and all the initial worries had quickly disappeared. It was as if I’d been a paperboy all my life. I was jumping over gates and fences, nipping through gaps in hedges, and flying around the houses like a whippet on speed. I left Beacroft Road and headed off to Meadow Hall Gardens.

Meadow Hall Gardens was a large complex of houses and flats, with quite a few roads and side streets. To get to it, I had to go right to the very bottom of the infamous Fenton Road. Fenton Road was long, steep and dangerous. It had a sharp, right hand bend near the bottom, known locally as The Devil’s Corner. This was where all the accidents seemed to occur, and one accident in particular, made the name even more chilling. Seven year old Jessica Piper, who lived at 234 Fenton Road, was going to see her best friend Holly Jenkins after school. Holly only lived a few doors down, on the other side of the road. Jessica was crossing the road near the right hand bend, when suddenly out of the blue, came a souped-up Ford Cortina MK3, speeding towards her. The boy racer skidded around the bend, lost control of the car, and sent little Jessica flying through the air. She travelled a fair distance, before landing head first on the concrete floor. According to the local news reports, she died instantly, and didn’t suffer any pain. That was the only saving grace, if you can say that. The boy racer, who had only just passed his driving test, received  a lengthy prison sentence.

If anything, the death of Jessica only made Fenton Road even more of an attraction, to the thrill seekers. Because it was so long and steep, it was ideal for driving down at high speeds. People (mainly boys and young men), would race down it in cars, on motorbikes, bicycles, go-karts, scooters, and anything else they could lay their hands on. Even me and Goody had been down it, on an old car bonnet in the snow. We set off from the top, pretending to be the British bobsleigh team, doing our final run for an olympic gold medal. However, we only got halfway down, before the car bonnet spun around a few times, hit the curb, and crashed into the lamp post. Me and Goody went hurtling across the ice on our backsides. The onlookers thought it was hilarious. Luckily we didn’t get hurt, (apart from our bruised egos). Other people weren’t so lucky though, and there were many broken arms and legs, and numerous other injuries.

The police were often seen driving on Fenton Road, trying to catch the joy riders. There was even a demonstration by the local residents committee. They marched into the town hall, demanding that the council install a zebra crossing immediately, before there were any more deaths. I don’t know if the demonstration did any good or not, but there still isn’t a zebra crossing on Fenton Road.

Wisely, I decided not to ride down Fenton Road on the go-kart. Instead, I walked slowly down, pulling it behind me. By the time I got to Meadow Hall Gardens, time was pushing on, so I needed to speed things up. Now that the delivery bag wasn’t as heavy, it was quicker for me not to use the go-kart, so I hid it behind the garages on Studmoor Road, and delivered the rest of the newspapers on foot. I belted around the houses and flats, and completed Meadow Hall Gardens, the Rock­ingham Estate, and Pepper Close, in about forty minutes. The final leg of my paper round was Barbers Avenue, and there was only six more papers to deliver. It was an amazing feeling, as I pushed the final newspaper through the letterbox, at 134 Barbers Avenue. That was it. I’d completed my first ever round as a paperboy.

It took about an hour and twenty minutes to finish the round, which I don’t think was too bad, considering it was my first time. I retrieved the go-kart from the garages on Studmoor Road, and sped back home ecstatic, like a bat out of hell. I was back in our house for eight o’clock, in plenty of time to get ready for school. Over the next few weeks, the paper round got a lot easier, and I didn’t need Gazza’s go-kart anymore either. I got used to the weight of the delivery bag, even at the weekends, with all the Saturday sports additions, and the Sunday gossip magazines. Before long, I was completing the round in under an hour. I timed myself every morning, to try and beat my record, which currently stands at 57 minutes, 48 seconds.

I’ve been doing my paper round for a few months now, and I really love it. So far, I haven’t missed a single day, and I’ve not been late once. I’ve managed to pay back all the money I stole from the electric meter, and dad was able to pay the deposit on the rented house at Scarborough. I also gave Benny a quid, for getting me the paper round job in the first place, and I gave Gazza fifty pence for lending me his go-kart. I even lent Goody some more money, to get Psycho Sid off his back. Guess what…..? He still hasn’t paid me back. Oh well….. some things will never change.

I’ve got enough money saved up to buy Christmas presents for all the family. It’s kind of an apology on my part, for all the trouble I’ve caused. I think my New Year’s Resolution should be:

‘FISH….. STAY WELL AWAY FROM TROUBLE!’

If only…..

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details

After spending at least four hours in the park, it was now getting really cold and I was hungry. I’d been sat on the bench for some of the time, going through endless scenarios in my head, most of which made me feel sick to my stomach. I knew I was in for a rough time, especially from dad, and there was no escape. I’d also walked around the park and through the woods a few times, and on one occasion I’d bumped into Freddy Green, who lived at the end of our street. He couldn’t wait to tell me the news.

‘Your Billy’s looking for ya Fish, tha’s bin nicking money from the electric meter, asn’t tha?’
‘How do ya know that Freddy?’
‘Billy told mi, how much did tha nick?’
‘Don’t ask Freddy, too much if ya must know.’
‘Guess what else Fish? Tha knows Goody, dun’t tha? He owes Psycho Sid money, and Psycho’s threatened to break his arms if he doesn’t gerrit back.’
‘Yeah, I know all about that Freddy. Goody also owes me money.’
‘Are tha gonna break his arms anall Fish?’
‘I’ve got too much on mi mind Freddy, to think about Goody’s arms. Although it’s partly his fault that I’m in this mess.’ ‘What’s tha mean Fish?’
‘Well….. some of the money I nicked from the electric meter, I gave to Goody. He said he would give it me back when he’d sold his bike.’
‘Do ya mean his chopper bike Fish? His dad won’t lerrim sell that. It warra Christmas present.’
‘I know that now Freddy, I didn’t know it at the time. How’s ya mum by the way?’
‘She’s not bad thanks Fish. She still can’t walk right though.’
‘What actually happened Freddy? Did she really fall down the stairs? Or did ya dad push her?’ Freddy looked angry and agitated. ‘Erm….. erm….. Well, to be honest Fish, I don’t really wanna talk about it. Anyway, I’ve got to go, see ya Fish.’ ‘Yeah see ya Freddy, take care pal.’

I felt really sorry for Freddy. He was a good kid, but his dad was a right bastard, especially when he’d had a few drinks. He’d been arrested on more than one occasion, for hitting his wife Margaret (Freddy’s mother). But for some reason he always got away with it. He’d be detained in the cells overnight, and then back home the next day. You’d often see Margaret with a bruised face, or a black eye. God only knows why she didn’t leave him.

I was still sat on the park bench worried sick, as it began to get dark. I knew time had finally run out. I stood up, took in a long deep breath, and prepared to face my fate. I felt just like Colonel Custer, making his last stand, at The Battle Of The Little Bighorn. I walked slowly out of the park gates, and down the road towards our house. As I turned onto our street a few minutes later, I began to take small precise steps, trying to prolong the inevitable. Shortly after, I was right outside our house. I felt sick, as I stood there staring at the windows, wondering which room dad was in. My brilliant, carefully thought out plan, was to sneak in the back door, go through the kitchen, and then straight upstairs to my bed­room, before dad got hold of me. That was it. After that I had no idea. The kitchen curtains were closed, but I could see the light was on, so I presumed someone must have been in there. I quickly nipped over the wooden gate at the front of our house, and very nervously walked through the passage, leading to the back garden. I then walked up the garden path and hid behind the shed, waiting for the kitchen light to go off.

It was now getting really cold, and I was only wearing jeans, a blue nylon jumper, and my tatty black sneakers, with no socks. I must have been waiting a good twenty minutes, before the light finally went off. As I walked back down the garden path and up to the back door, I was shaking like mad, mainly due to the fear, but also because of the cold. I was desperately hoping the back door wouldn’t be locked, as I gently grabbed hold of the handle and turned it slowly. Thankfully, the door opened. I instantly felt the soothing heat, as I walked into the kitchen, turned on the light, and then closed the door behind me. The first thing I noticed, was the dining table had been pulled away from the cupboard door, which was wide open. I bent down to look inside, and was shocked to see a brand new electric meter on the back wall. This time however, it wasn’t the usual slot meter with a money box, it was one of those modern ones instead.

You didn’t put money in the meter anymore, you paid what you owed, when you received the bill through the post. The electric man still came and took a meter reading every three months, so at least the bills were always accurate. It was good in one sense, as it meant the electricity never ran out, and you didn’t have to mess about putting coins in. However, the downside was, unless you saved a bit of money each week, it was a shock when the electric bill dropped through the letter box, and you didn’t have enough money to pay it. It was a struggle for some families on our estate, to have enough money to buy food every day, let alone save a few bob each week, to pay the electric bill. That’s why the modern electric meters weren’t that popular. At least with the slot meters you never got into debt.

No one on our street had a modern meter. In fact, the only person I knew that had one was our Gran. She had the old slot meter replaced, as she was sick of the electricity running out. She only had a couple of old electric fires, to heat the whole house, so when the electric ran out, and she didn’t have money for the meter, the house would get cold very quickly. She had to write several letters to the Y.E.B. (Yorkshire Electricity Board), before they eventually installed a modern meter. She even wrote to our local MP Stanley Crowther, to get him involved. I don’t know why the Y.E.B. made such a fuss. Maybe they preferred getting cash from the meters, rather than chasing customers, who couldn’t pay their electric bills on time.

I was just about to turn off the kitchen light and sneak upstairs to my bedroom, when the door slowly opened. I froze on the spot. Just for a split second, I thought of legging it through the back door, but then our Robert appeared. ‘Thank God it’s you Rob,’ I said, looking and feeling terrified. Our Robert had a cocky expression on his face, and an annoying little smirk to go with it. ‘Ya gonna get it Fish, when dad gets hold of ya,’ he said, revelling in my dire situation. ‘What do ya mean Rob?’ I asked innocently. ‘Ya know what I mean, nicking all that money from the meter.’ ‘How do ya know it was me?’ ‘There’s only you that would do such a thing Fish. I hardly think any of the girls would do it, and our Billy hasn’t done it, and neither have I.’ I couldn’t really argue with that analysis. ‘What’s dad said Rob?’ ‘He’s gone bananas. I’ve never seen him so angry. Yav really gone too far this time Fish. What on earth made ya do it?’

‘Well, ya know Goody don’t ya? and Sidney Marsden?’ Our Robert grimaced.
‘Don’t tell me yav been hanging around with those two idiots! Sidney Marsden is a lunatic, everyone knows that. They don’t call him Psycho Sid for nothing ya know. And Goody’s not much better either. Remember our lawnmower he nicked from the shed? Anyway, what have they got to do with it?’

I took a long deep breath…..

‘Ya sound just like mum Robert. As I’ve said a million times before, not that anyone ever listens to me, Goody never nicked anything from our shed. I said he could borrow the lawnmower, cos theirs wasn’t working. But when he went in the shed, the lawnmower wasn’t there, someone else had already nicked it.’ Our Robert simply wasn’t interested. ‘No, no, no, no Fish. The fact is Goody was seen snooping around in our shed, and the next thing ya know, the lawnmower has disappeared. And he’s been in trouble with the police before. Anyway forget all that. What has Goody and Psycho Sid, got to do with the money going missing from the meter?’

I took another long deep breath…..

‘Well….. I lent some of the money to Goody, and he was gonna pay me back when he’d sold his Chopper bike. He did sell his Chopper bike, but then his dad found out and got the bike back, and returned the money. And the next thing ya know..…’ Robert cut me off sharply mid-sentence, raising his right hand only inches away from my face. ‘Stop right there Fish! I don’t want to know! I can guess what yav been up to, with those two numpties involved!’
‘Where’s dad now Rob?’ I asked.
‘He’s in the living room, shall I go and get him?’
‘No no no, don’t do that Rob! I’ll see him tomorrow!’

Just then, our Tracey walked in the kitchen, followed in quick succession by our Julie and our Debra. The last thing I wanted was a kitchen full of bodies, firing questions at me from all directions. I quickly slammed the door shut, before anyone else walked in. ‘What do you three want?’ I asked. ‘Yav been nicking money from the electric meter,’ said our Tracey, smirking. ‘Yes you have,’ said our Debra. ‘And dad’s not a happy bunny. He’s gonna be jumping all over you pretty soon.’ Considering our Debra was twenty years old, she still acted like a child at times. Then our Julie piped up. ‘Wait while dad gets his hands on ya,’ she said. ‘Yarin for it this time Martin.’ I knew things were very bad, if our Julie was turning against me. And when she called me Martin instead of Fish, I knew she must have been really peed off.

That was a big blow for me, considering Julie was one of my closest allies, within the sibling community. And most of the time she stuck up for me, when I was in any kind of trouble. I was being attacked from all sides, and there was no way to fight back. It felt like I was in the court room, being interrogated by the prosecution team. They had all the evidence and witnesses, and all I had was little old me, a vulnerable ten-year-old, guilty as charged. They were right about one thing though, I was definitely going to get it from dad.

— My dad Ken Fisher, was a great dad and I loved him very much. He was a welder for British steel and worked long hours. He was always working was dad. Sometimes we never saw him for days on end. Mum said he needed to work all the hours God sends, just so we could keep our heads above water. He was also a very proud man. He was the head of our family together with mum, and they took their responsibilities very seriously. Dad would go and earn the money, and mum would look after the house and the army of siblings. They were a great team my mum and dad, and very rarely did I ever see them fall out over anything. They always said that family was the most important thing in the whole wide world. We were always brought up to look out for each other, and never to be cruel or nasty. I don’t think that quite resonated with us siblings though, cos we argue and fight with each other all the time.

Although dad worked very hard and had a regular income, money was still tight. We still bought things on HP, and me, our Tracey and our Billy, also got free school dinners, so I don’t think dad was on a fantastic wage. We may have struggled at times, but we were always well fed and clothed, and we got really nice Birthday and Christmas presents, and a chocolate egg at Easter. And there was one family ritual that was never broken. It was our one weeks family holiday, at sunny Scarborough. We stayed in the same rented house every year. It was a large house painted white on the outside, with five big bedrooms. It had a massive back garden, with a silver birch tree right in the middle, which we all loved to climb. And it was only a few minutes away from the beach. I’ve no idea who owned the house, but I often thought how fantastic it would be, to have it as a family home.

The weeks leading up to the holiday were so exciting for all the siblings, especially when we were younger. We’d all be talking about it non-stop every day. I remember one occasion, all eight of us were in the living room doing the hokey cokey, pretending we were on the beach. We always did the hokey cokey on the beach at Scarborough. We even did it around a donkey one year. I also remember lying in bed in the middle of the night, too excited to sleep, thinking about all the things I’d be doing at Scarborough…..

Sitting in a red and white striped deckchair on the beach, with the scorching sun beating down, licking a 99 ice cream, covered in raspberry sauce and hundreds and thousands. I always pushed the chocolate flake right down into the cone, to save it while last. Eating fish and chips with mushy peas out of a tray, with a wooden fork. I’d put tons of salt and vinegar on. If there was any vinegar left in the tray when id finished, I’d drink it all, before licking the tray clean. Frantically splashing about in the freezing cold sea, and searching for jellyfish and crabs. Watching in amazement, as the baby crabs furrowed down into the soft wet sand, never to be seen again.

Having rides on the donkeys up and down the beach, desperate to hold onto the reigns, and not the handle on the saddle, (only wimps used the handle). Spending loads of pennies in Jimmy Corrigan’s Amusement Arcade, and trying to win a stuffed toy, on one of those annoying claw machines. You know the ones, with the big silver grabber, that hovers over the toy, picks it up, and then right on cue drops it again. Leaving a trail of very disappointed kids in the process. I’ve never seen anyone win anything on the claw machines. The funfair with all the colourful rides, like the dodgems and the big wheel. And all the delicious treats like candyfloss, hot dogs, the endless variety of Scarborough rock, sugar dummies, and those gigantic rainbow-coloured lollies. And of course, the famous Kiss Me Quick Squeeze Me Slow hats. I’ll never forget the time, when all eight siblings and mum and dad, were sat on the wall overlooking the beach and the sea, eating fish and chips, all wearing a Kiss Me Quick Squeeze Me Slow hat. Happy Days…..

Considering mum and dad had worked so hard, to make sure we all had a happy and loving upbringing, it made me feel even more guilty, whenever I got into any trouble. This whole episode with the electric meter, was becoming quite a traumatic event for me, and I’d not even been reprimanded by dad yet. As I stood there in the kitchen, with our Robert, Julie, Tracey and Debra, I suddenly felt a cold sensation right throughout my body. Seconds later, the kitchen door opened and in walked dad. The look on my face said it all. It was a mixture of fear, more fear, and shock, all rolled into one.

‘Alright Dad?’ (What else could I say?)
I could see dad was definitely not alright. In fact,  he was about to explode any second.
‘ALRIGHT…..!!? ALRIGHT…..!!? NO…..!! I’M BLOODY WELL NOT ALRIGHT…..!!’

Dad then swung his left arm in my direction. Unfortunately for our Robert, his big head got in the way, and he was walloped firmly across his face, by the back of dad’s hand. I think dad’s gold wedding ring must have connected, cos a red mark suddenly appeared on Robert’s left cheekbone. The kitchen erupted, as me and the girls burst out laughing. ‘That’s what ya get for having a big head,’ howled our Debra. ‘Yeah, he’s always getting in the way is our Robert,’ shrieked our Julie. Despite our Robert being a strapping twenty-four-year-old, and almost six foot, he reacted like a big baby. He broke into tears, and then stormed out of the kitchen, running straight upstairs to his bedroom.

At this point, I decided the best thing for me to do, was to leg it once again. I quickly retreated to the back door, and was about to vacate the scene, when dad shouted: ‘Don’t you go anywhere Martin! Come and sit down! And tell me what the hell’s been going on!’ I stood there in limbo, with the back door half open. I didn’t know whether to run or stay put. Before I could make a decision, dad intervened: ‘Come on Martin, come and sit down, there’s no point in running away. Right you girls, can you leave me and Martin alone please?’ The girls looked disappointed. ‘We want to stay dad, can we?’ pleaded our Tracey. ‘Yeah, can we stay dad?’ asked our Julie. ‘We want to know why Martin did it, and what’s he done with all the money?’ Dad was in no mood for any discussions. ‘Never mind all that, you’ll find out soon enough. Now go on, leave me and Martin alone please.’ The three girls reluctantly left the court room, and dad closed the door behind them.

He pulled out a chair from underneath the dining table. ‘Come and sit down Martin,’ he said, in a calm considerate manner. I was still stood at the back door, when I finally realised the game was up, I couldn’t run anymore. I closed the door and sat down at the table. Dad lit a Benson and Hedges cigarette, and sat down in his armchair. (I could av done with a fag myself.) ‘Right Martin….. I want you to start from the beginning, and tell me exactly what’s been going on.’

I spent the next forty minutes, telling dad just about everything. I told him it was Goody who showed me how to break into the electric meter, in the first place. I said I’d lent Goody some of the stolen money, assuming I would get it back, once he’d sold his Raleigh Chopper bike. He did sell his bike, but then when his dad found out, he bought the bike back. His dad also caught him trying to steal a fiver from his wallet, and stopped his pocket money for two months, and grounded him for six weeks. So I’ll never get the money back. I also told dad, that I’d been threatened by Psycho Sid, who was gonna beat me up, unless I gave him some of the stolen money.

By the time I’d finished telling the story, I’d convinced myself, that I was the victim in all of this. I was even beginning to feel sorry for myself. Ok I admit, I’d slightly exaggerated, but when ya back’s up against the wall, you’ll do anything to get out of it. I laid it on really thick, as I knew dad didn’t like Goody anyway. Like the rest of my family, he thought Goody had nicked our lawnmower. I don’t know if dad believed me or not, but it seemed to go down ok. He was still sat in his armchair, as he lit another cigarette.

‘Oh yeah….. I thought Goody would be involved somewhere in all of this. He nicked our lawnmower from the shed, didn’t he? And he’s been in trouble with the police before.’ I certainly wasn’t going to defend Goody on this occasion, after all, his criminality was the main part of my defence strategy. ‘Ya far too easily led Martin, that’s your trouble. With regard to Mr Psycho Sid, I’ve no idea who he is, and frankly I don’t want to know. There should have been twenty seven quid in the electric meter, and there was only two pounds fifty. That means you owe twenty four pounds fifty, and you’ll pay every penny of it back. You’ll get no pocket money, and no Birthday or Christmas presents, until it’s all been repaid. And ya grounded for the next month. And stay away from Goody and Mr Psycho Sid. And there’s one other thing…..

Ya know what this means don’t ya Martin? We might have to cancel next year’s holiday to Scarborough. We’ve got to pay the deposit on the rented house, by the end of the month. And how can we do that, when the electric bill hasn’t been paid? Cos you nicked the money!’ To say dad had just dropped a bombshell, would be the biggest understatement in the history of civilisation. I felt bad enough as it was, without dad piling even more guilt at my door. To think that our weeks holiday would be cancelled because of me, was absolutely devastating. I felt like I’d really let the whole family down. It was all too much for me to take. I got really upset, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.

‘Ok, that’s enough of that,’ said dad.
‘Crying won’t pay the electric bill, now will it son? Oh, by the way, Benny came round this afternoon looking for ya. I think he said something about a paper round. Do ya know anything about it?’ My attention was grabbed instantly. I’d forgotten all about Benny, and the paper round. ‘Oh yeah, there’s a job going at Kirkies for a paperboy. Benny said he can’t do it anymore. He’s been getting up early every morning to deliver the newspapers, and he fell asleep at school, in the middle of the history lesson. Mr Langdon, the history teacher, sent a letter to Benny’s parents. They said he’s got to pack it in, so he’s working a week’s notice.’

‘What’s that got to do with you son?’
‘He’s asked me if I want the job dad.’
‘Oh I’m not sure about that son. What time do ya have to get up?’
‘Six o’clock every morning dad.’
‘What’s ya mum said about it?’
‘She’s ok with it dad. It’s three quid a week. I could pay back the money I owe, in no time. And we could pay the deposit on the rented house at Scarborough.’ Dad thought for a few moments, as he took a drag of his cigarette. ‘Well son, I suppose you’d be better off earning money, rather than nicking it. Ok son, but make sure ya not late for school, and don’t fall asleep in the history lesson.’ ‘Great! Thanks dad! And I’m really sorry about the electric meter! Does that mean we won’t have to cancel the holiday?’ ‘We’ll see how it goes son….. We’ll see how it goes.’

I don’t know why, but for some reason when the chips are down, I always seem to land on mi feet. Our Billy said I could fall in a bucket of shit, and still come out smelling of roses.

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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By the time the electric man came to empty the money box, there was only a few quid in there. I knew for certain I would be in big trouble, which is why I legged it to the park, before dad got hold of me. Over a six week period, I’d stolen well over twenty quid, and would now have to suffer the consequences. I’d spent most of the money on cigarettes, sweets, and playing golf at the local course. I usually played a round with Goody. I didn’t have any golf clubs of my own, so I borrowed his half set, and he used his dad’s Ping clubs. Goody was the one who encouraged me to break into the electric meter in the first place. He was always telling me how easy it was. Because he’d broken into his own meter at home, and had never been caught, he always sounded convincing. And he was like a dog with a bone, that wouldn’t let go. ‘It’s easy money Fish, you won’t get caught. I’ll show you how to do it. It’s a doddle!’

In the end I gave in, and just look what happened. My Gran says I’m far too timid and easily led, that’s why I’m always getting into trouble. ‘You’re like one of those lost sheep,’ she once told me. ‘Always looking for someone to guide you back home.’ I love Gran, but I don’t understand half of the things she says. How could I be a lost sheep, when I’m one of eight siblings? It doesn’t make any sense. If I was easily led by someone like Goody, who wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, I must have been like putty, in the hands of Sidney Marsden. Compared to Goody, he was the Brain of Britain, and he was no Einstein that’s for sure. So what does that make me?

Me and Goody had only known Sidney Marsden for a few months. He just suddenly appeared one day and never left. I think we first met him at the local park. We were kicking the football to each other on the field, when Sidney popped up from nowhere, and started kicking the ball with us. He’s been hanging around like a bad smell ever since. We’d like to get rid of him but we can’t, for one simple reason: We’re both terrified of him! Although we’ve only known him for a few months, everyone else on our estate seems to know who he is. That’s mainly due to his infamous reputation for being a bit of a nutter, and a very violent nutter at that. Everyone calls him Psycho Sid, although I’ve never heard anyone call him that to his face. I wonder why? He was very intimidating, and not someone to mess with.

He was three years older than me and Goody, so I’ve no idea why he wanted to knock around with us. But one thing was certain, we couldn’t tell him to get lost. No one told Sidney Marsden to get lost, unless they were incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. He was also a lot older than he looked, and could even get served in the pubs with alcohol. He once told me he went to school drunk one day, smacked one of the teachers, and then got suspended for three months. I don’t know if it was true or not. He didn’t go to the same school as me and Goody, so there was no way of knowing for sure.

Sidney was a beast of a boy. He had arms like tree trunks, and was built like a tank. Not the lightly armoured A15 Crusader tank. Oh no, Sidney was more like the E-100 Super tank, with a heavy artillery system, 140 tons of sheer power. I love tanks. I have done ever since I  got an Airfix model of the Chieftain Tank for my birthday. And I love war films. The best one ever, was A Bridge Too Far, staring Michael Caine, Dirk Bogarde, Edward Fox, Anthony Hopkins, and Sean Connery. Mum and dad got me a brilliant World War Two encyclopedia for Christmas. It has over 500 pages, and is crammed packed full with interesting facts, and amazing colour photos. I think it’s probably the best present I’ve ever had. Our Sharon said it’s that big, it would be ideal in the toilet, pushed up against the door. The door’s broken and doesn’t close properly. It keeps opening when ya having a poo, which is a bit embarrassing, especially if mum and dad are waking past.

Sidney had a chubby fat round face, full of acne potholes, and a skinhead haircut. On some occasions, when his skin was all oily and his acne had flared up, his face looked like a hot buttered crumpet. Me and Goody howled with laughter many times, at the state of Sidney’s face, (behind his back of course). He also didn’t have a neck, well not one you could see anyway. If you looked at him side-on, his head was the exact same shape as a giant watermelon. To finish off his dashing film star good looks, he had a missing front tooth, which he said had been knocked out in a vicious fight. ‘I might av got mi tooth knocked out,’ he said. ‘But I still won the fight, and I bit off half his ear and spat it out.’ It all sounded a bit far-fetched to me, but I certainly didn’t question him. In all honesty, Sidney Marsden had one of the scariest faces I think I’d ever seen, and I’d seen some scary faces roaming the streets on our estate, I can tell ya. He also had a ferocious temper, that he would unleash at the drop of a hat.

I remember on one occasion, me, Goody and Sidney were sat on the wall outside Cod Fellas Fish Bar in town. We each had a bag of chips with scraps, soaked in salt and vinegar, and were just sat there minding our own business, eating our chips. Then two boys came up to us. I’ve no idea who they were, but they looked about seven­teen. One had long unkempt black hair, a bit scruffy looking, wearing jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. He was quite tall and skinny, and he stunk as well. He had a kind of musty smell around him, like his clothes needed a real good wash, and so did he. The other boy was a lot smaller, with cropped blonde hair, shaved at the sides. He was wearing a light blue adidas tracksuit and white trainers.

At first I thought they must have been Sidney’s mates, but he didn’t say a word, and just carried on eating his chips. Then the boy with the Black Sabbath t-shirt, stood right in front of Goody, no more than a foot away from his face. The moment he opened his mouth I knew there would be trouble. ‘Giz a chip mate,’ he said, as he stuck his right hand inside Goody’s bag, and pulled out a handful of greasy chips, shoveling them into his mouth while smiling. Goody just sat there motionless and didn’t say a word. I suddenly felt a sickening feeling right in my gut. Having grown up on a rough, northern council estate, I knew when things were about to kick off. And things were most definitely about to kick off.

— There was always trouble on our estate. Kids fighting, stealing cars, breaking into houses, you name it. I’d seen kids being headbutted, kicked in the face, even stabbed on one occasion. I hated violence, and wasn’t much of a fighter. I’d had a few scuffles here and there, but they weren’t what you’d call real fights. Goody was the same. I don’t think he’d even been in a proper argument, let alone a fight. We were both quite small for our age, and skinny as rakes. In all honesty, we didn’t have the strength, to knock the sugar off mum’s apple pies. (Maybe that’s what the boys thought too.)

The second boy with the blonde hair, sat down on the wall next to me, only a few inches away. I can’t deny that at this point, I was starting to feel a little scared. Without saying a word, he reached over and ripped the bag of chips right out of my hands. Instinctively, I tried to grab the bag back. However, the next thing I knew, I was flying backwards off the wall, doing a half somersault, and landing face down in the gravel. The boy had belted me right in the face with the back of his fist. My nose exploded, like a puss-filled boil that had just been lanced. There was blood everywhere. I was lying on the gravel in a daze, not really knowing what was going on. I just about managed to stagger back to my feet, and slump down onto the wall, before it all kicked off, big time.

Sidney stood up, with a mad, evil look on his face, and held out his bag of chips to the blonde haired boy. ‘Here pal….. av some of my chips,’ he said. Before the boy could respond, Sidney went absolutely mental. I’ve never seen anything like it before, he was like a man possessed. He forcefully shoved his bag of chips, right in the boy’s face, before releasing a volley of left and right hooks to his head. The poor boy didn’t know what day it was, as he screamed out in pain, before falling off the wall and collapsing to the floor in a heap. Then Sidney kicked him in the stomach, really hard three times. The boy cried out after each kick. Sidney was wearing his Dr Martens boots, so the pain must have been unbearable. I don’t know if the boy was unconscious or not, but he didn’t say very much, and he wasn’t moving either.

The other boy with the Black Sabbath t-shirt, stood there like a waxwork dummy. Sidney grabbed hold of his neck with his left hand, and pushed him at great pace towards the chip shop window. He then proceeded to bang the back of his head several times on the glass. You could see the window bending, as if it was about to shatter any second. The few customers inside the shop, who were queuing up for their fish and chip dinners, looked gobsmacked to say the least. The boy was pleading for Sidney to stop, but that only seemed to make him more angry. He swung the boy around a few times, before dragging him by his t-shirt across the concrete floor, just like a rag doll. The boy’s t-shirt instantly ripped down the middle, revealing his fleshy chest, that was soon covered in dirt and debris from the floor.

Sidney then callously kneed him in the head. The boy squealed out in desperation, (just like a rat that had been shot and wounded). Sidney then kicked him twice in the groin, and then once in the face, before the chip shop owner came frantically rushing out of the shop. ‘That’s enough!’ he shouted, as he stood firmly in front of Sidney and grabbed hold of his shoulders. ‘They started it!’ bellowed Goody, who was still sat on the wall holding his bag of chips. ‘I’m not bothered who started it!’ said the chip shop owner. ‘But I’m finishing it! So you can all do one now! before I call the police!’ The mere mention of police instantly got Sidney panicking. He had a suspended prison sentence hanging over him, for aggravated burglary, and couldn’t afford to get into any more trouble.

— He’d broken into the local grocery store, run by Mr and Mrs Ross, who lived in the flat above the shop. He got in through the back window, using a large kitchen knife to force it open. Mr Ross, (who was in bed at the time), heard someone ransacking the shop downstairs and called 999. The police arrived shortly after, just as Sidney was fleeing the scene. He was caught red-handed. He had over one hundred pounds stuffed in his pockets, which he’d stolen from the till.

He also had two carrier bags, filled with packs of cigarettes, three bottles of Bell’s Scotch Whisky, endless bags of cheese and onion crisps, three crunchie bars, five mars bars, six cans of orangeade pop, and a half-eaten pork pie, (which he insisted on finishing in the police car, while being driven down to the station). He was charged with ‘aggravated burglary,’ rather than just ‘burglary,’ as he was carrying a knife. According to Sidney, aggravated burglary is committed, when the offender has a weapon of some kind, at the scene of the crime. In the hope of a lesser sentence, Sidney told the judge, he had no intentions of using the knife on anyone, and only used it to force open the window, to get into the shop. The judge didn’t believe him, and gave him a twelve month suspended prison sentence, and one hundred hours of community service. And he had to pay costs.

The chip shop owner, who was a dainty Chinese man, and a lot smaller than Sidney, still had hold of his shoulders. Sidney, who was now desperate to get away, before any police arrived, gave the man a stern push. The man staggered backwards a few feet, just about managing to stay upright, before Sidney yelled out: ‘Leg it lads! Leg it!’ The three of us ran like the clappers. We ran down the street, over the bridge and into the bus station to platform 6, to get on the bus home. Luckily for us, the number 39 was already letting passengers on. We jumped on the bus, went straight upstairs to the top deck, then ran down the aisle to the back row of seats. We were all panting, gasping for air, (just like those tired horses do, at the end of the Grand National race, you see on telly). We sat down and mulled over the event.

Sidney was all pumped up with adrenaline, and seemed to be on a real high, as if he’d just had a drug fix or something. Considering he’d just inflicted so much pain on the two boys, he didn’t seem to have an ounce of remorse, or compassion. ‘I’ve got a reputation to keep up,’ he said. ‘I can’t have two little shits like those boys, getting the better of me.’ I think Sidney enjoyed his notoriety, not to mention the respect he got from people, (albeit because they were terrified of him). Me and Goody felt sorry for the two boys, even though one of them had busted my nose, (which was now swollen and very sore, but thankfully had stopped bleeding). I can’t speak for Goody, but I felt sick to my stomach about the whole incident. I was also hoping the boys weren’t too badly hurt. They could have been dead for all we knew, especially the blonde haired boy, who may have been kicked unconscious.

It was a relief when the bus finally began to pull away from the station. I wanted to get as far away from the crime scene as quickly as possible, and forget about the whole thing. A few minutes later, the bus conductor came upstairs. He was a Pakistani man, a bit on the large side, and was dressed in a smart black uniform, with a white shirt and black tie. He had a shiny silver ticket machine, and a brown leather cash bag, both strapped around his neck criss-cross style, neatly nestled on either side of his fat waist. He stood there glancing up and down, looking for passengers, and soon realised that we were the only ones on the top deck.

He seemed a little hesitant, as he slowly walked down the aisle towards us, like he was expecting trouble or something. It must have been a bit of a shock, to see me covered in blood with a swollen nose, and Sidney looking really confrontational to say the least, with his skinhead haircut, Dr Martens boots, scruffy drainpipe jeans, black t-shirt, (with a large red Anarchy logo on the front), and a ripped black leather jacket. The conductor stood in front of us, with his right hand firmly on his silver ticket machine. (Maybe it was some kind of secret weapon, that could be deployed in a split second, should there be any trouble.)

‘Fares please,’ he said in a light voice, while holding out his left hand. Goody, (who’s turn it was to pay for the fares), quickly rummaged through his jean pockets, before pulling out six pence, which he gave to the conductor. ‘Three to Kimberworth please,’ he said. ‘Three to Kimberworth young man?’ replied the conductor, as he lifted up the flap on his cash bag, and dropped the money inside. He then aligned a few buttons on the front of his ticket machine, before frantically turning the black handle on the side several times, until three tickets rolled out from the slot. ‘There you go young man,’ he said, handing the tickets to Goody. ‘Thanks a lot,’ replied Goody, as he took the tickets, and gave one to me and Sidney.

The conductor then reached inside the top pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a dark blue neatly folded handkerchief. ‘Here you are young man, wipe the blood away with this,’ he said, holding it out for me to take. I don’t know why, but as I took the handkerchief and thanked him, I started to cry. Maybe it was the delayed shock at having my nose busted up. Or maybe it was seeing the horrible violence inflicted on the two boys. It may have even been the compassion from the conductor. Whatever it was, I couldn’t control it, and seconds later I was blubbering, like a starving child with a missing mother. Sidney looked embarrassed, as I continued to sob uncontrollably. Then he blurted out: ‘Make sure there’s no snot or bogies on the handkerchief.’

The conductor roared with deep laughter, revealing a perfect set of straight white teeth. (I’d only ever seen teeth like that on the telly before. Only film stars like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever had perfect teeth.) ‘Don’t worry,’ said the conductor, who was still laughing. ‘It’s a brand new handkerchief. I always get a few at Christmas, so I’ve got a draw full of them at home. I certainly haven’t blown my nose on it, that’s for sure.’

‘Yeah…..! you’ll tell us anything!’ shouted Sidney jokingly, as he dangled his legs over the seat in front. The conductor leaned over and gave my hair a real good ruffle with both his hands. ‘You get that nose seen to young man,’ he said. ‘It looks to me like it could be broken.’ I nodded and smiled, still sniveling. ‘Yeah, will do,’ I replied. The conductor then walked back down the aisle and down the stairs. I opened up the handkerchief, and began to wipe the blood from my face, neck and clothes. I used my reflection in the glass window to remove as much of the blood as possible. I then gave my nose and eyes a real good wipe, before scrunching up the handkerchief into a ball, and shoving it up the right sleeve of my jumper.

Goody, who was sat next to me on the back row of seats, put his arm around me. ‘Are you ok fish?’ he asked, looking a little concerned. By now I’d stopped crying, but was feeling rather sorry for myself. ‘I’m ok Goody thanks….. I’ll survive.’ Sidney shook his head rapidly in disgust.
‘Look at you two!’ he snarled. ‘Ya like a pair of puffs, all lovey-dovey. Why don’t you give him a kiss Goody while ya at it?’ Goody was noticeably embarrassed, and quickly removed his arm from around my shoulder, and retreated to the seat next to the window. ‘I was only making sure he was ok Sidney,’ said Goody a little sarcastically, (which wasn’t the best idea).

‘Well! You can see he’s ok Goody!’ snapped Sidney. ‘You don’t have to put ya arms around him. He’s only got a bloody nose ya know. He’s not been shot or anything like that. I’ve been stabbed a few times, kicked in the goolies, and hit over the head with a hammer, and no one has ever put their arm around me, and asked me how I was. And if anyone tried to, they’d be in big trouble.’ I didn’t say anything at the time, but I remember thinking, poor old Sidney, I bet he’s never had much love or affection in his life.

Fifteen minutes later the bus arrived at Kimberworth. It pulled up at the bus stop, outside the Black Hut community center. The three of us were stood on the lower deck, next to the doors as they opened. Sidney got off first, followed by Goody. Before I got off, I turned to the conductor, who was stood next to the bus driver. ‘Thank you for the handkerchief,’ I said. The conductor raised his thumb and smiled. ‘You’re welcome young man. Now you make sure you get that nose seen to.’ ‘I will do,’ I said, before getting off the bus. ‘Me and Sidney are nipping up to the park to cadge a fag off someone, are you coming?’ asked Goody. The last thing on my mind was fags. ‘No, I’m gonna get off home Goody, and get this nose cleaned up.’

‘Ok Fish, see ya later.’
‘Yeah see ya Goody, see ya Sidney.’
‘See ya later pal.’

I got home shortly after and walked in the kitchen. Our Sharon was helping mum with the ironing. Mum was doing the ironing, and Sharon was neatly folding the clothes, and piling them on top of each other on the dining table. The pile must have been at least two foot high, and on the verge of tipping over. As soon as they clapped eyes on me, they looked in complete shock. Our Sharon, (who’s always been a bit of a drama queen), started shouting like a lunatic: ‘Our Martin’s been stabbed! Our Martin’s been stabbed!’ I must have looked pretty bad, as my nose was all busted up, and there was still quite a lot of blood on my face and clothes. ‘Calm down Sharon, of course I haven’t been stabbed. I’ve been punched in the nose that’s all.’

Mum rushed over towards me. ‘Punched in the nose love!? Punched in the nose!? Who on earth would want to punch you in the nose love!?’ (Mum always said the right things, and always made me feel safe, secure, and loved.) She then took hold of my chin, and gently moved my head from side to side, while closely examining my face, like she was a nurse or something. She looked deep into my eyes, in my ears, and right up my nostrils, before cautiously prodding my nose a few times, with her soft forefinger. ‘Well love, I don’t think it’s broken. Now tell me exactly what happened, who did this to you love?’

‘It was two boys in town mum. We were sat eating our chips outside Cod Fellas, and they just set upon us.’ Mum’s loving, caring, placid demeanor changed in an instant. ‘Cod Fellas…..!? Cod Fellas…..!? What have I told you about Cod Fellas…..!? How many times have I told you not to go anywhere near Cod Fellas…..!?’ (I was beginning to wish I’d gone to the park with Goody and Sidney.)

‘We only went for a bag of chips with scraps mum, that’s all.’
‘I’ve told you before Martin, there’s always trouble at Cod Fellas, that’s where all the idiots hang out, and there’s always violence. Don’t you remember that young lad that got stabbed outside Cod Fellas, a few months ago? It was all over the news. I don’t think he was killed, but he was certainly badly injured, scarred for life I think. By the way, does that nice Chinese man still own Cod Fellas? He was on the telly being interviewed about the stabbing, if you remember.’

‘Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that mum. He was a little short Chinese man wasn’t he? He was actually there mum, he ran out of the chip shop to stop the fighting.’ Mum nodded her head and grinned, as if she knew the man. ‘Yeah, that sounds about right love, they don’t scare very easily those Chinese. They’re very family orientated the Chinese ya know. They all live in the same house, generations of families, all living in the same house, how great is that? And they live to well over a hundred ya know. That’s all the fish they eat, and I don’t mean the fatty, battered fish you get in our chippies. They eat raw fish the Chinese ya know. Imagine that….. raw fish.’

‘I think it’s the Japanese that eat raw fish mum,’ said Sharon. ‘Not the Chinese.’
‘Oh no, no love, it’s the Chinese, that’s why they look so young and healthy.’ Then mum’s brain backtracked slightly. ‘You say the Chinese man ran out of the chip shop, to stop the fighting? What fighting?’ ‘Oh you don’t want to know mum. It wasn’t so much a fight, more like a brutal beating. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even want to go to Cod Fellas in the first place. I sort of got dragged along.’ #

Mum finally let go of my chin. ‘Dragged along love? Who by? Who did you actually go to Cod Fellas with?’ ‘Erm….. Well, I went with….. With…..’ I didn’t want to mention Goody, and certainly not Sidney Marsden. Then our Sharon stuck her oar in. ‘I bet it was Goody wasn’t it?’ she said in a clever, smug tone. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? It was Goody mum, him that broke into our shed, and nicked the lawnmower.’ (Sometimes our Sharon was a real pain in the groin, and this was definitely one of those times.) Mum didn’t look pleased. ‘Was it Goody Martin?’ ‘Well….. erm….. erm….. Ok….. yes it was Goody mum. But like I’ve told you a million times before, he wasn’t the one who nicked the lawnmower, it was someone else. Admittedly, Goody was in our shed, but he wasn’t there to nick anything. I said he could borrow the lawnmower, cos theirs wasn’t working. But when he went into the shed, the lawnmower wasn’t there, someone had already nicked it.’

— Whenever Goody’s name was mentioned in our house, the infamous lawnmower incident was always brought up, time and time again. It was always used as evidence to blacken his reputation. I don’t know what the big deal was anyway, the lawnmower in question was a right old rust bucket. We’ve got a better one now, (although that’s not brilliant). Mum wasn’t in the least bit convinced. ‘All I know Martin, is Goody was seen by a few people, rummaging around in our shed, and the next thing ya know the lawnmower has been stolen. And he’s also been in trouble with the police before.’ Mum always brought up the police. ‘That wasn’t for stealing mum, that was for riding a motorbike with no tax or insurance. And how can he get tax and insurance, when he’s only ten years old?’ I could see mum was having none of it.

‘Look Martin, Goody is a bad influence love, I’ve told you that before. I’ve told you to keep away from him, but as usual you never take any notice. If you’d av kept away from him like I said, you wouldn’t be stood there with a bloody nose.’ I could see I wasn’t going to win this battle diplomatically, so I got really angry and let rip instead. ‘It wasn’t Goody’s fault mum…..! We were set upon by two boys…..! How is that Goody’s fault?! Everyone keeps going on about him like he’s Dick Turpin or something!’

Because of all the commotion,  the kitchen was soon swarming with siblings, wondering what was going on. ‘Wow…..! look at our Martin’s bloody nose!’ squealed our Julie. ‘Did you hit him back?’ asked our Tracey. ‘I bet ya nose is broken, you’ll be off school for ages,’ said our Robert. ‘How many were there? and did you know them?’ quizzed our Debra. Mum was certainly in no mood for curious siblings. ‘Right you lot,’ she said. ‘Get out of this kitchen, go on get out, and let me see to our Martin’s nose.’ (Mum was acting like a cattle rancher, as she quickly rustled up the herd, and hustled them out of the kitchen. It was just like watching big John Wayne in the film: The Cowboys.)

Mum spent the next fifteen minutes or so, cleaning up my nose. She soaked a flannel in warm water, and gently wiped away the dried blood from my nose, face and neck. Although my nose was bruised and swollen quite badly, mum insisted it wasn’t broken. ‘If it still hurts when the swelling has gone down, we’ll see what the doctor thinks,’ she said. ‘Right Martin….. get those clothes off, they’re covered in blood. They need a really good soak in cold salt water. Then you can get upstairs for a bath. Go and put the immersion heater on for the hot water.’

Twenty minutes later, I was laid in the bath thinking about Cod Fellas. I was beating myself up for not fighting back, after being belted in the nose. I should have at least retaliated. I suppose I did in a small way, when I tried to grab my bag of chips back from the blonde haired boy, after he snatched them from my hands. Mind you….. that’s when he walloped me. I’m a rubbish fighter anyway, so there was very little I could do.

To compensate for my total lack of fighting ability, and to keep all the bullies at bay, my tactic was to try and make people laugh instead. Luckily, I was quite good at telling jokes, and impersonating celebrities off the telly. My limited repertoire, included Michael Crawford, from Some Mothers Do Ave Em. Hughie Green, from Opportunity Knocks, and Bruce Forsyth, from The Generation Game. My best one was Steptoe and Son, I could take the old man off to a tee. Everyone watched Steptoe and Son on the telly, so it always went down well. It was also Sidney Marsden’s favourite programme. He would often say to me: ‘Do the old man from Steptoe and Son. Go on, do the old man.’ I would willingly oblige and he would howl with laughter. It felt good making Sidney Marsden laugh.

Although I was very scared of him, I also admired him in some ways. He always seemed to be in  control and he wasn’t scared of anyone or anything. Nothing seemed to bother him. Not even when he went to court, for nicking lead off the fire station roof. When the judge gave him a large fine and put him on probation, he smiled and thanked the judge, before leaving the court room. Even when the fireman caught him red-handed nicking the lead, it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. The fireman had just begun his night shift at the local station. He was upstairs in the kitchen making coffee, when he heard a noise on the roof. He opened the window, and saw Sidney twisting and tugging the lead, desperate to rip it off. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet. ‘What on earth are you doing up there?’ asked the bewildered fireman. ‘I’m nicking your lead, why what’s the problem?’ joked Sidney. He stayed on the roof refusing to come down. However, by the time the police arrived forty minutes later, the temperature had plummeted to below zero.

Sidney, (who was only wearing denim jeans and a black t-shirt), was sat halfway up the roof, curled up in a ball shivering violently. His face was beetroot red, and his acne had flared up, revealing countless unsightly spots all over his face and neck. It looked like his head had been dipped in a can of polka dot paint. Sidney was well known to the police, as he’d been in trouble many times before, mainly due to theft and violence. ‘Come on Sidney,’ said one of the police officers. ‘You can’t stay up there all night lad.’ Sidney didn’t argue. He came down from the roof a few minutes later, and was taken to the station, and charged with attempted theft.

Sidney Marsden was one of the reasons I’d started smoking. I’d never even took a drag of a cigarette, let alone smoked a full one, until I met Sidney Marsden. Sidney and Goody were regular smokers, and they encouraged me to try it, on many occasions. In the end I gave in. I started off by having the odd drag here and there, and before I knew it, I was a fully fledged five a day smoker. Smoking also made me feel like a proper grown up, and part of the gang. And it felt good when I was dishing out the fags to Sidney and Goody.

That was another reason why I took so much money from the electric meter. So I could buy more cigarettes. There were lots of times when no one had any money. Goody would try and persuade me to steal a few more quid. If I refused (which I often did), then he would get Sidney to have a go. It wasn’t so much persuasion with Sidney, it was more like intimidation, and you couldn’t say no to that. Me and Goody would often get into arguments, when he’d refuse to steal more money from his own meter. He would always use the same excuse: ‘It’s too risky at the moment Fish. I think my dad’s getting suspicious.’ (A likely story.) Goody was another reason why I stole so much money. He asked me to lend him ten quid, and he would give me twelve back. He literally begged me for the money. He didn’t tell me what the money was for, but he did say it was a matter of life and death. I felt sorry for him, so I lent him the money. What I didn’t know at the time, was he wanted the money to play on the slot machines, at the snooker hall in town.

Lots of people played on the slot machines, while they were waiting for a snooker table to be available. And with a massive thirty pound jackpot, there was no shortage of punters, ready to feed the rip-off machines. Although Goody was underage and shouldn’t have even been on the slot machines, the manager of the snooker hall didn’t seem to mind, (especially when Goody was pumping the money in, faster than a scared rat up a drainpipe). At fifty pence a go, it wasn’t long before the ten quid was quickly swallowed up.

Ironically, when a kid on our estate called Deano, actually won the thirty pound jackpot, initially, he wasn’t even allowed to keep any of the money. The snooker manager told him, it was illegal for anyone under the age of eigh­teen, to play on the slot machines. And unless Deano could provide ID, to prove his age, he would have to hand all the winnings back. Deano, who was only sixteen, was absolutely livid, and began screaming aggressively in the manager’s face. ‘But you saw me putting money into the slot machines! And you never said anything then! It seems you don’t mind me putting money in, but as soon as I win anything, you want it all back! It’s an absolute outrage!’ Some of the regular snooker members agreed. They took Deano’s side, and after a few more heated arguments with the manager, Deano was al­lowed to keep half of the money.

Goody was going to give me the twelve quid he owed, once he’d sold his Raleigh Chopper bike. He was selling the bike for twenty quid to Paul Scott, who lived on the next street. Once I’d got the money, I was going to change it into fifty pence coins, and put the coins in our meter, before the electric man came to empty it. At least that’s what the plan was, but as usual things soon went belly-up. Goody did sell his bike for twenty quid, but when his dad found out, he took him straight round to Paul Scott’s house, and bought the bike back. (At least that’s how Goody tells it.) Leaving me once again, up shit creek without a paddle. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Goody had also been borrowing money from Sidney, who was now threatening to break his arms, unless he got his money back. All in all, it was a right old mess. I’m not sure who was in the worst position, me or Goody.

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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Goody had let me practice many times on his electric meter, until I was confident enough to go it alone. I’d been carefully planning things for the past few weeks, and now it was time to put the plan into action. It had to be carried out in the early morning, when everyone was in bed asleep. I decided the best time would be 3.00am on a Saturday. If everything went according to plan, it would take no more than twenty minutes from start to finish. It was 11.45pm on Friday night. ‘Operation Electric Man,’ had finally arrived. I was lying in bed waiting for our Billy and Robert to drop off to sleep. The three of us share a bedroom, so there’s not much privacy. I know when they’re asleep because they both snore. I also snore. In fact all our family seems to snore. It sounds like a farmyard in our house when everyone’s asleep.

Our Tracey’s the worst, she snorts like a pot-bellied pig. Even the next-door neighbour Mr Bailey, can hear our Tracey snoring. He’s always complaining about it. Mind you, the walls are really paper-thin in these council houses. I can hear Mr Bailey going to the toi­let. Sometimes he can pee for England, espe­cially when he’s had a few pints in the pub. I once timed him peeing for 45 seconds, followed by a rather loud prolonged fart. He burst out laughing, so did I. Dad says it must be some­thing to do with his prostate, (whatever that means). Mr Bailey also bangs out Frank Sina­tra songs early in the morning. You can hear ‘New York New York,’ all the way down the street, and his singing is worse than our Tracey’s snoring, so he’s definitely got nothing to complain about.

Our Billy and Robert finally dropped off to sleep. They were both snoring away dead to the world, unaware of what I was about to do. Shortly after, I heard mum and dad coming up the stairs. I listened intently as the bedroom door closed, and they both got undressed and got into bed. That was a crucial point in the operation. It wouldn’t be long now. Eventually, I heard dad snoring, and could also hear mum breathing slowly through her nose, making a kind of whistling sound. Even though mum and dad were now probably asleep, the operation wouldn’t begin until 3.00am as planned, just to be on the safe side.

I could just about see the clock face on the wall, thanks to the glare of the streetlight, peering in through the gap in the curtains. As each minute went by, I was getting more and more nervous. When it got to 2.30am, I spent several minutes going through all the proce­dures in my head, over and over again. The next thing I knew it was 3.00am. It was now all systems go and time for action. As I threw back the sheets and got out of bed, I had a horrible sickly feeling, churning away in my stomach. It was the exact same feeling I’d had a few weeks before:

I was sat outside the headmaster’s office, waiting to be caned. I’d been caught smoking once again, and this time I was facing three of the best. I walked in and saw the headmaster Mr Willshaw, stood there with the cane by his side. He told me to take off my blazer and bend over, until my head was touching the edge of his desk. I was literally shaking with fear, as he whacked me three times really hard, right on the top of my backside, where the bone is. The first blow was bad enough, but the second and third left me reeling on the floor, in a great deal of pain and distress. Mr Willshaw was always whacking somebody, and he enjoyed it too. You could see that by the smug look on his face, when the poor terrified kid started to cry.

And it wasn’t just him, some of the other teachers also loved to dish out the violence. I was punched in the stomach by the science teacher Mr Andrews. I told him he looked like Catweazle, the wrestler off the telly, with the long hair and scruffy beard. I was only repeating what everyone else was saying. Without a second thought, he gave me a solid punch right in the gut, that left me winded. Some teachers just don’t have a sense of humour.

I put my slippers on and carefully opened the bedroom door, then quietly tiptoed to the top of the stairs. I couldn’t simply walk down the stairs as normal, as I would have made too much noise, due to the creaks, (especially on stairs three and eight). Instead, I crouched down, and then got on my hands and knees. My heart was racing, as I crawled down the stairs on my belly, slowly and meticulously. I felt just like a slimy, sneaky snake, closing in on the unsuspecting prey. When I reached the bottom, I stood up and gently opened the kitchen door. I waited to see if there was any movement from upstairs, before going into the kitchen. I turned on the light and then closed the door behind me. I don’t know why, but the kitchen looked and felt different in some way. Maybe it was the deafening silence, or the lingering tension in the air.

The first thing to do, was move the four chairs away from the wooden table, which was pushed up against the cupboard door. I removed each chair from underneath the table, lifting the legs off the floor, so they wouldn’t scrape on the lino and make a noise. That was the easy bit. I then had to pull the table away from the cupboard door. The table was a bit rickety and also quite heavy. After a few trial runs over the past few weeks, I’d already worked out the best way to move the table, without making a noise. I folded two tea towels into squares, and put them under the two table legs, nearest the cupboard door. I then lifted up the back of the table, and slowly pulled it away from the door. The two table legs quietly slid across the lino, along with the tea towels.

Considering I was only five stone wet through, and because the table was so heavy, I could only move it a few inches at a time. I eventually dragged it about two feet away from the cupboard door, which gave me just enough room to get inside. So far so good. I knelt down, opened the door and crawled into the cupboard. The electric meter was on the back wall. I moved several pairs of old shoes and slippers to the side, and then rested my knees on a pair of dad’s old black wellies, to make myself more comfortable. At this point I was getting a little scared. For a few moments, I was beginning to have second thoughts. I knew I could stop this right now, and forget about the whole thing. However, the next thing I knew, I was holding a pair of dad’s electrical pliers and his screwdriver. I’d hidden them in the cupboard a few days before, along with an old bath towel, which I would be using to remove the money box. There was definitely no stopping me now.

I went into auto-mode, as I followed Goody’s instructions step by step. The first thing I needed to do, was remove the two screws on either side of the meter. I carefully untwisted and then broke the security wire around the screws, using the electrical pliers, before removing the two screws with the screwdriver. I put the wire and screws in my pyjama pocket, and put the screwdriver and pliers on the floor. Now was the real challenge. I had to detach the money box from the meter. To get to the money box, I had to remove the black steel casing around the meter. The only way to do that, was to physically force it off. After many practice runs on Goody’s meter, I knew it would make a lot of noise. Considering it was now after three in the morning, not to mention seven siblings, and mum and dad upstairs, making any kind of noise was out of the question.

To muffle the noise, I would use the old bath towel. I fished out the towel that was hidden under several pairs of shoes. I could feel my heart beating frantically, as I folded the towel twice, before wrapping it around the black steel casing. I took hold of each corner and began to twist and pull it rapidly. After several attempts I could feel it getting looser. Finally, I managed to yank it completely away from the meter. I was now holding the black steel casing, along with the money box. I couldn’t quite believe it. It was about a foot square and quite heavy, due to the number of fifty pence coins inside. The only way to get the coins out, was through the narrow slot at the top of the money box. There were two ways to do this. The first was to turn the box upside down and shake it like mad, until the coins fell out of the slot. The second was to prod a small knife into the slot, and try to manoeuvre the coins out.

I chose the ‘shake it like mad’ way, as this was by far the quickest. However, it was also incredibly noisy, so I knew I couldn’t shake the box anywhere in the house. My plan was to take the box into the shed at the top of the garden, and do it there. I crawled out of the cupboard, holding the money box firmly under my left arm. The adrenaline was pumping big time, as I quietly unlocked and then opened the back door. It was pitch-black outside and kind of eerie. I can’t remember ever being outside at this time before, and I can’t say I was enjoying the experience. The cool sharp breeze cut right through my nylon pyjamas. I pulled the door closed behind me, and nervously walked up the garden path to the shed. I lifted up the metal latch on the shed door, gently pulled it open, and went inside.

The shed was dark, damp and very cold. I pulled the door shut and slowly knelt down, clumsily dropping the heavy box onto the floor. I then used both hands to feel for the lawnmower, which I knew was in the right-hand corner of the shed. We’ve got one of those old-fashioned push reel mowers, that you don’t plug in. The ones with a wheel on either side of the spinning blade. It takes a lot of energy to push it, and it doesn’t cut the grass very well either. Mind you the blade has started to rust, maybe that’s why. Dad said we’ll have to make do with it, cos we can’t afford a new one, and certainly not one of those expensive Flymo ones, that you see advertised on the telly.

I located the lawnmower and fumbled behind it searching for my torch. (It’s not actually my torch. I borrowed it from our Billy, without his permission I might add, which is why I keep it hidden in the shed behind the lawnmower.) I picked up the torch, turned it on and laid it on the floor facing the money box. I then picked up the money box, turned it upside down, and began shaking it slowly. It made a right old racket. After a good few seconds, no coins were coming out of the slot, so I shook it vigorously for several more seconds. Finally, fifty pence coins began showering down onto the floor, scattering everywhere. I got swept away with all the excitement, and continued to shake the box for two or three minutes.

By the time I stopped, there was more than eight quid on the floor. I couldn’t believe it, I’d never seen so much money. I eagerly gathered up all the coins, putting five in my pyjama pocket, and the rest back in the box. I stood up with the box firmly under my left arm, and paused for a moment. I smiled, daydreaming about how I could spend the money: I could buy sweets, crisps, chocolate, cans of pop, and cigarettes. I could also play golf and tennis. It was a great feeling having a bit of extra cash. I did get pocket money every week, but it wasn’t that much.

I turned off the torch and dropped it behind the lawnmower, before opening the shed door. As I walked back down the garden path, I certainly wasn’t smiling anymore. If someone had heard the noise and come downstairs, I would be in mega trouble. I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking, as I turned the handle on the back door and walked into the kitchen. It was such a relief to see the kitchen just as I’d left it. I closed and then locked the door. I was still holding the money box tightly under my left arm, as I quietly opened the kitchen door and stood at the bottom of the stairs. I was listening anxiously, for any signs of movement or disturbance from the bedrooms. Thankfully, all I could hear was snoring and heavy breathing.

Then the unthinkable happened….. I lost grip of the money box, as it went crashing to the floor, with a heart-stopping thud. I stood there frozen to the spot, not knowing what to do. Common sense would have told me to grab the box, and get it back on the electric meter as a matter of life and death. However, for some reason, I didn’t do anything. I just stood there motionless, in a kind of daze. I think I must have been in a state of shock or some­thing, cos I couldn’t move a muscle. After about a minute or so, there was still no reaction from upstairs, so I assumed no one had heard anything. I bent down, and ever so carefully picked up the box. (It was like I was picking up a time-bomb, that was about to go off any second.) I took hold of the box with a vice-like grip in both hands, and went back into the kitchen, shoving the door closed with my right foot. All I wanted to do now was get the box back onto the meter, and go to bed.

I crawled into the cupboard, and quickly managed to manoeuvre the money box, and the black steel casing back onto the meter. I only needed to twist and push it a few times, before I heard it click, and then snap back into position. It was certainly far easier putting it back on, than taking it off, that’s for sure. I then put the security wires and screws back on, making sure the wires were twisted neatly around each screw. By the time I’d finished, it didn’t look all that bad. I suppose if you looked really closely, you could see the security wires were a little lopsided. But apart from that it was fine. I was quite pleased with myself, as I crawled out of the cupboard, and carefully pushed the table back up against the cupboard door. I removed the two tea towels from under the table legs, throwing them on the sideboard. I then put the four chairs back underneath the table. Finally, I put dad’s electrical pliers and screwdriver in the draw. Job done. I stood there relieved, thankful it was all over. I also decided right there and then, never to do it again. (And I really meant it….. at the time.)

I opened the kitchen door, turned off the light and crept silently back upstairs to my bedroom. Our Billy and Robert were still fast asleep snoring away, unaware of what I’d just done. I climbed into bed and pulled the sheets right over my head. I removed the five fifty pence coins from my pyjama pocket, clenching them tightly in my right fist, (like I was protecting precious stolen diamonds). Even­tually, I dropped off to sleep. Unfortunately for me, my decision not to break into the meter again, fell on deaf ears quite quickly, as the temptation was just too strong to resist. Over the next several weeks my confidence grew, as I stole more and more money from the meter. I didn’t have to wait while everyone was in bed either. I’d now perfected my technique. I could steal money just about any time of day, just as long as the kitchen was empty for at least five minutes.

The best time was early evening, when we’d all had our tea. We’d either be playing outside, watching telly, or upstairs in our bedrooms. I also didn’t need to take the money box into the shed anymore. I could now easily remove money from the box, without leaving the cupboard. I would be in and out in less than five minutes. I would remove the wire and screws in just over a minute. I would then tilt the black steel casing slightly to the left, give it a few twists and pulls, and hey presto, it was off, along with the money box. And I didn’t need to shake the box anymore to get the money out. I could now extract fifty pence coins quite quickly, by using a small cheese knife. It easily fitted into the slot, and because it had a little hook on the end, I could grab a coin with the hook, and pull it slowly towards the slot, and right into my thieving grubby hands.

Because it got easier to steal the money, I got greedy and started taking more risks. This would eventually lead to my downfall. I’d also had a few near misses. On one occasion, I’d just tightened the last screw on the meter, as mum walked into the kitchen. ‘What are you doing in the cupboard love?’ she asked. My heart stopped….. I had to react instantly. ‘Oh erm….. erm….. I’m just looking for my old football boots mum. I want the laces just in case my other ones break.’ (You’ve got to think quick on ya feet in our house.)

On another occasion, I’d just pulled the table away from the cupboard door, before realising our Julie was in the pantry. She’d gone in there to get a carrier bag, to put the balls of wool in, that Aunty Jean gave her. (She loves knitting our Julie. She once knitted mum a ten foot scarf and a hat for her birthday.) ‘What are ya going in the cupboard for?’ she asked, as nosey as ever. ‘It’s none of your business Julie,’ I replied. ‘If ya don’t tell me, I’ll tell mum.’ ‘If ya must know, I need the laces off my old football boots.’ (It’s quite a good excuse this one, isn’t it?) Normally, I would have checked the pantry before each operation, but I got very slack on this occasion. That should have been a big red warning sign, that things were about to take a dramatic nose-dive very quickly. Unfortunately for me however, I carried on regardless.

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details

Some of the shoes in the cupboard must be at least fifteen years old. There’s also my very first pair of football boots, with all the rubber studs worn down to nothing. There are endless pairs of slippers, countless wellies, and even an odd looking pair of ski boots belonging to our Debra, which is slightly confusing as she’s never been skiing. I’ve no idea where she got them from. At the side of the electric meter is the main fuse box and the red power switch. When the switch is pushed down to the off position, all the power to our house is cut off. I’m familiar with this switch, as I’ve used it somewhat sneakily in the past to my advan­tage.

I would wait patiently until the kitchen was empty. Then I would quietly pull out the table and crawl into the cupboard. I’d push the switch down to turn off the power, so all the lights and TV would go off. I would then rush to dad to get fifty pence, pretending the elec­tricity had run out. Finally, I would crawl back in the cupboard, and pretend to put the money in the meter, while at the same time pushing the red switch back up. All the lights and TV would then come back on, and I would keep the fifty pence. Mission accomplished. Quite sneaky aren’t I?

However, as with most deceptions it had its flaws. Firstly, I had to make sure that I was the one who got the fifty pence from dad. If any of my siblings got there before me, the plan would be ruined. Secondly, I had to time it just right. If I turned off the power using the red switch, and then shortly after the power genuinely went off, I would have some serious explaining to do. That’s exactly what happened recently, which is why I can’t do it anymore. I got the fifty pence from dad, quickly crawled into the cupboard, and pretended to put the fifty pence in the meter. I then turned the power back on using the red switch.

Unfortunately for me however, the power genuinely went off thirty minutes later, by which time I’d left the scene quick as a flash, and scarpered up the street. When I returned to face the music several hours later, dad was furious. I got no pocket money for a month, not to mention a good old whack around the left ear’ole, which left my ear ringing for a good few hours after.

The electric man removed the money box and emptied the contents onto the kitchen table. ‘This doesn’t look right,’ he said to dad, sounding rather concerned. Dad peered over the top of his newspaper a little anxious. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘Well, there’s only a couple of quid in here. That can’t be right for three months worth of electricity. According to your meter readings, there should be well over twenty quid in here.’

I didn’t wait for dad’s response. At that split second, I would have been quite happy to be swallowed up by a black hole, and never seen again. However, there wasn’t much chance of that happening, so I did the next best thing, I legged it. I shot up from the stairs, flew into my bedroom, and quickly pushed open the window as far as it would go. I climbed onto the windowsill and crouched down, tucking my knees tightly into my chest. I took a deep breath and leapt into the air like a mad monkey, before desperately grabbing hold of the drainpipe. I’d done this a few times before, when I’d sneaked out of the house after being grounded, but it was still quite scary. I knew that if I missed the drainpipe, I would end up crash-landing on the concrete ground below, and I certainly didn’t want that to happen.

I clambered down the drainpipe, jumped over next door’s privet hedge, sprinted up the garden path, and then straight across Mrs Place’s allotment, trampling all over her cabbages in the process. I then ran as fast as I could to the local park. You may be wondering where all the electric money had gone. Here’s what happened…..

I’ve got this mate called Peter Goodwin, everyone calls him Goody. Goody is a bit of a character to say the least. He’s been nicked a few times for shoplifting, and selling stolen goods, and he’s well known around our estate for all the wrong reasons. That being said, he’s a good mate of mine, even though mum and dad hates me knocking around with him, and won’t have him anywhere near our house. Goody was the one who taught me how to break into our electric meter. He’d been stealing money from his own meter, and had never been caught. I went to his house a few months ago on a Thursday night, for a demon­stration. I know it was a Thursday night, because that’s when his mum and dad go to the Ring O’ Bells pub, for a few drinks and a go on the tote.

They go every Thursday night without fail, leaving Goody all on his own in the house. The electric meter was on the back wall, in the small cupboard underneath the stairs. I eagerly watched with amazement, as he removed the money box from the electric meter, and began extracting fifty pence coins. He started off by removing the two screws on either side of the meter. Each screw had a tightly twisted piece of security wire sealed around it. He carefully untwisted and then broke each wire, using a pair of electrical pliers. He then used a screwdriver to remove the screws. To get to the money box, he had to remove the black steel casing around the meter. The money box was attached to the steel casing with rivets, so it all had to be removed. He did this by pulling and twisting the steel casing vigorously several times to loosen it, before finally yanking it away from the meter.

To get the money out, he turned it upside down and shook it like mad, until the money fell out of the slot. He also used a small butter knife, which he poked into the slot to release the money. After he’d removed a few coins, he then meticulously put everything back in its place. On close inspection of the meter, I could clearly see that the screws and wire had been tampered with. But according to Goody no one ever noticed, and he’d never been caught, so who was I to argue? He eagerly picked up the coins off the floor, shoving them firmly into his jean pocket. ‘I never get too greedy,’ he said. ‘If you get too greedy you’ll get caught. I never take more than a couple of quid out each month. That’s why I’ve never been caught. Even when the electric man comes to empty the meter, he never suspects anything.’

I left Goody’s house full of excitement, and was already working out a plan of action. If I could get a few quid from our electric meter each month, that would be brilliant. Despite the possibility of getting caught and suffering the consequences, the temptation was too hard to resist. This would be one of my biggest challengers to date, and needed some careful planning. It also needed a name. I would call it ‘Operation Electric Man.’

I’d already gotten into mischief in the Fisher household on numerous occasions, but I’d never done anything as big as this before. One of my tricks was to steal a cigarette from dad’s packet without him knowing. He would often send me to the local shops to buy his cigarettes. He always had 20 Benson and Hedges. The packet was wrapped in cello­phane and had two flaps stuck down at the top. I would carefully open up the flaps, shove the top of the packet through, open the lid and take out a cigarette from the back row. I would then rearrange the remaining cigarettes to try and hide the small gap, where the stolen cigarette had been. Finally, I would close the lid, gently push the packet back down, and stick the flaps down with spit. The spit lasted just long enough for me to get back home, and for dad to open up the packet, unaware of the deceit.

Unfortunately for me however, I got greedy one time, and took out two cigarettes. I got rumbled when dad removed the cellophane, opened up the packet, and noticed a small gap near the back. He then proceeded to count eighteen cigarettes, wondering where the other two were. I tried to plead my innocence, but it didn’t work. I lost two week’s pocket money for that little stunt. Suffice to say from that moment on, the trick was obsolete as dad meticulously counted the cigarettes every time.

One of my other tricks was actually quite skilful. When I was younger, mum and dad would always get lots of chocolate decorations for the Christmas tree. They were usually chocolate santas, chocolate bells, or chocolate snowmen. I could steal a chocolate from the tree, without anyone knowing. There were enough chocolates on the tree, for each sibling to get two each, (although for some reason that never seemed to happen). Considering there were eight excitable siblings in our house, it was a miracle that any of the chocolates made it through to Christmas day.

Mum and dad always put the tree up on the first Sunday in December. That Sunday was one of the most exciting days of the year. Not quite as exciting as Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day, or even a birthday, but it wasn’t far behind. Even normal Sundays were kind of special in our house. We always had a traditional Sunday dinner, with roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, two or three veg, and thick gravy. Mum cooked the best Sunday dinner ever. Her roast beef melted in the mouth, and her Yorkshire pud­dings rose higher than Blackpool Tower.

On the odd occasion when mum couldn’t cook the dinner, (like when she spent time in hospital, having her thyroid seen to), dear old Nan stepped in to do the honours. I’m not being funny, but our Nan’s cooking wasn’t a patch on mums. Her roast beef was as tough as leather. You could have easily got lockjaw after chewing Nan’s roast beef. Our Billy said you could make a pair of football boots with it. And her Yorkshire puddings weren’t much better either. They were as flat as a nun’s fart, and they tasted like one as well.

Sunday dinner was always dished up at 1.00pm on the dot. Some of us would be sat at the dinner table from 12 o’clock onwards, just in case it was served early. By 12.50pm every­one would be in their positions. We all had our own places at the table. Mum sat at the top, dad was at the bottom, and four siblings were on either side. It was always the same routine. We’d all have an empty dinner plate in front of us, and in turn we’d pass the plate to mum, who would fill it with all the delicious grub, before returning it to the hungry recipient.

Dad always got served first, then it was the eldest sibling, right down to the youngest, (that was me). By the time I got my dinner, dad had nearly finished his. Mum always made sure that everyone got plenty of food on their plate. On many occasions there wasn’t much food left, by the time she served herself. That’s what mum was like. She was always thinking of other people, and we sometimes took advantage of her good nature, and we also took her for granted. I remember on one occasion, we were all sat at the table waiting for our Sunday dinner. Because it wasn’t ready by 1.00pm, all eight siblings started banging on the table with knives and forks, singing: ‘Why are we waiting!? Why are we waiting!?’ It was just like a scene from Oliver Twist. Mum wasn’t impressed, although she did see the funny side….. eventually.

So when the first Sunday in December finally arrived, it was a double celebration. A lovely Sunday dinner, followed by an exciting afternoon of sitting on the settee, watching mum and dad putting the Christmas tree up, and all the decorations. Life just doesn’t get much better than that. The tree was stood on the coffee table in front of the window, next to the telly. We’d had the same tree for years. When it was removed from the box, it always looked a bit old and shabby. But by the time mum and dad had finished with it, it was a work of art. They meticulously decorated the tree with a selection of baubles, silver and gold tinsel, flickering red and yellow lights, chocolate decorations, and finally, the icing on the cake, dear old Matilda, our loyal and trusted fairy. She’d been sat on the top of our tree for as long as I can remember. According to dad, Matilda was over a hundred years old.

She’d been passed down from generation to generation, along with the Christmas lights. Dad said not one of the Christmas lights had ever blown or packed in, and they’d never stopped flickering once. He said they don’t make lights like that anymore. Our tree was easily the best one on the street. We couldn’t wait for it to get dark outside each night, so we could turn the lights on. You could see the tree through the window when you walked past our house, and I often saw people standing there admiring it. We even left the curtains open until mum and dad went to bed around midnight.

One of the best things about the tree, were the chocolate decorations. You’d be watching the telly, then all of a sudden, your eyes would glance over at all the tasty chocolates dangling from the branches. The colourful  wrappers would sparkle against the black and white television screen. Inevitably one of the siblings would get all excited: ‘Mum, can I have a chocolate santa from the tree please?’ Mum would shake her head. ‘No you can’t, you can have one on Christmas day.’ The sibling tried again: ‘Dad can I have a chocolate santa from the tree please?’ Dad would shake his head. ‘What’s ya mother just said? You can have one on Christmas day.’ Minutes later someone else would have a go: ‘Mum can I have a chocolate snowman from the tree please?’ Mum would get annoyed. ‘How many more times!? No! You can have one on Christmas day!’

The temptation to nick a chocolate from the tree was overwhelming. We didn’t have a lot of chocolate throughout the year, so Christmas, Birthdays and Easter, were always special occasions. Of course you couldn’t simply nick a chocolate from the tree, you’d be found out straight away. That’s because we all counted the chocolates on a regular basis, (three or four times a day on some days). We protected our two chocolates like they were the crown jewels, and woe betide anybody who tried to nick one. There were also countless arguments and fights about who was getting what.

‘I’m having a chocolate snowman, and a chocolate bell,’ announced our Brenda. ‘No ya not!’ snapped our Robert. ‘There’s not enough snowmen for everyone, and you had one last year.’ Our Brenda was having none of that. ‘No I didn’t, you liar! I’ve never had a chocolate snowman, that’s why I’m having one this year!’
‘No ya not! and I’m not a liar, cos you did av one last year!’
‘No I didn’t!’
‘Yes ya did!’ And so it went on…..

You had to really think outside the box, if you wanted to nick a chocolate from the tree, without getting caught. That’s just what I did. I could easily remove a chocolate from the tree without anyone knowing, no problem. Here’s how I did it…..

To successfully carry out the deception, I needed the living room to be empty. The only time that happened was when everyone was in bed. The last television programme finished around midnight. Soon after, mum and dad would be the last ones to go to bed. I would then sneak downstairs when I was certain everyone was asleep. Sometimes I would lie awake until two or three in the morning, just to be on the safe side. Once I was in the living room the fun would begin. I would remove a chocolate santa from the back of the tree, and then carefully undo the wrapper, to release the scrumptious chocolate inside. I would then take a small piece of toilet paper, and spit on it to make it moist, before manoeuvring it into the empty wrapper. Although it wasn’t perfect, after a slight adjustment here and there, santa didn’t look too bad, (albeit a little out of shape).

Once it was placed back on the tree it looked perfect, (from a distance that is). With the chocolate santa in hand, I would then go back to bed and snuggle under the bed sheets, savouring each bite of delicious creamy milk chocolate. In the end, I only took two choco­lates from the tree, which I would have been getting on Christmas day anyway. So it wasn’t really stealing was it? When Christmas day finally arrived, and I was allowed to take my two chocolates from the tree, I knew exactly which two to take. I’d positioned them right at the back of the tree next to each other. I’d take off the wrapper and pretend to eat the chocolate, before discarding the wrapper and the toilet paper in the bin. I’m sure I saw our Sharon do the same one year, although she always denied it.

Another trick of mine, was to take a can of pears from the pantry, and pierce a tiny hole in the bottom, using a screwdriver and ham­mer. I would then drink all the sweet sugary juice, before returning the can back to the pantry. When mum opened up the can several weeks later, the pears didn’t smell right and the can had started to rust. Mum was confused to say the least. ‘Well that’s funny,’ she said. ‘There’s no juice in these pears. I’ve never known that before. There’s always things happening in this house.’

Then there was the time when dad made a load of mince pies for Christmas. — Dad’s mince pies were the best, far better than the ones you got in the shops. Dad’s had a lot more filling inside, and the pastry was tastier too. In fact, dad’s mince pies were famous on our street. All the neighbours got at least one at Christmas, and I never heard anyone ever complain. Dad put all the mince pies in a plastic tupperware container, and put it on the top shelf of the pantry, ready for Christmas. He told us he’d put a sixpence in a few of them as a treat. Thinking there was money to be made, one night when the kitchen was empty, I sneaked into the pantry, and opened up the tupperware container. I proceeded to remove all the lids from the mince pies, trying to find the sixpences.

Having removed all the lids, with not a sixpence in site, I left the crime scene confused and disappointed. When the container was opened up on Christmas eve, all the mince pies had dried up, thanks to me not putting the tupperware lid on tightly enough. As it turned out, our Debra had got to the mince pies before I did, and nicked all the sixpences. She was caught out, when mum found the money in her trouser pocket, while she was doing the weekly wash. Dad got his sixpences back, and our Debra got a stern telling off. Had it not been Christmas eve, I’m sure the punishment would have been much more severe.

As you can clearly see, there was always something going off in the Fisher household. And with eight siblings to control, mum and dad certainly had their work cut out.

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
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An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details

I was sat about halfway up the stairs feel­ing physically sick. I was also sweating like a pig. ‘Guilt Sweat’ is what Gran would call it. I was about to be hung, drawn and quartered. That’s slightly over the top, but I think you get the picture. It was the moment I’d been dreading for weeks. I’d not slept properly for ages, waking up several times during the night. I’d just be laid there worried sick, my mind racing in all directions. I knew this mo­ment would eventually arrive, and here it was, staring me right smack in the face. But that certainly didn’t lessen the blow.

It seemed like only yesterday when I was saying to myself: ‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to get it sorted, something will turn up.’ But something didn’t turn up, and there was no more time to get anything sorted. Time had most definitely run out and I was minutes away from disaster. The second I heard the table legs drag across the kitchen floor, my heart literally skipped a beat, several beats to be precise. For the moment, time had stood still for Martin Fisher, (that’s me). Known to everyone as Fish. Fish was about to be drowned. Up shit creek without a paddle. In fact, I don’t even have a canoe let alone a paddle.

The elec­tric man is in our kitchen. He’s come to empty the electric meter, or so he thinks. We have a slot meter that takes fifty pence coins. When the electricity runs out, we put fifty pence in the slot, turn the handle, and then the elec­tricity comes back on. The fifty pence drops into a box, and the electric man comes to empty it every three months. Everyone on our street has a slot meter. We’re always knocking on each other’s doors, trying to cadge money.

‘Hello Mr Swift.’
‘What do you want Fish?’
‘Oh, have ya got a fifty pence coin for the meter please? Dad can pay ya back at the end of the week.’
‘No, sorry pal, I had to borrow a quid from Jean next door.’
‘Oh, ok Mr Swift, thanks anyway, see ya.’
‘Yeah, see ya Fish.’
‘Hello Mrs Bannon.’
‘Hello Fish, what can I do for you?’
‘Have ya got a fifty pence coin for the meter please? Dad can pay ya back at the end of the week.’
‘Yeah, no worries Fish, I’ll just go and get it for ya. How is ya dad by the way? and how’s ya mum? has she still got the flu?’
‘Dad’s fine Mrs Bannon thanks. Yeah mum’s still got the flu, she’s been in bed for the past few days.’
‘Oh I’m sorry to hear that Fish, tell her I said hello, I hope she gets better soon.’
‘Yeah, will do Mrs Bannon, thanks Mrs Bannon.’

— Mum seems to get the flu a lot these days, and she always looks tired and run-down. Mind you, that’s not surprising considering all the work she does. She’s always the first up every morning, getting the breakfasts ready for all the mouths that need feeding. She does the packed lunches, and makes sure we all get to school and work on time, and that’s just the mornings. She also does all the cooking, the washing and ironing, and keeps the house clean and tidy. We all help out as much as we can, but it’s mum who does most of the work.

I don’t help matters much, when I get into trouble. For some reason trouble always seems to follow me around. I can’t think why. Slot meters may be a convenient way to pay for the electricity, but it’s not nice when you’re laid in a hot bubble bath, or eating your favourite tea, and all the lights go out. And what if you’re watching an exciting episode of Coronation Street, and the telly suddenly goes off? When it eventually comes back on, the programme has finished, and you’ve no idea who stole Albert Tatlock’s carrots from his allotment, or if Annie Walker gave Fred Gee, Betty Turpin, and Bet Lynch a pay rise.

Also in the kitchen with the electric man is my dad. He’s sat in his armchair reading the Daily Mirror newspaper. He’s smoking a Ben­son and Hedges cigarette, and drinking his usual pint mug of very strong tea with three sugars. What dad and the electric man don’t realise, is that very soon, a large dollop of smelly shit will hit the fan big time. And unfortunately for yours truly, it’s heading for the fan faster than a meteorite crashing down to earth.

On this day, the 3rd of September 1978, in approximately one minute from now, (that’s how long it will take for the electric man to empty the meter), all hell will break loose in the Fisher household. The electric man and my dad will soon discover, that very little money is in the meter. No more than a few quid I would guess. There should be at least thirty quid in there, which pays for all the electricity we’ve used.

The electric meter is in the small cupboard in the kitchen. To get to it, you need to pull out the dining table, which is pushed up against the cupboard door. You then get on your hands and knees and crawl in carefully, so you don’t crack your head on the concrete ceiling, which we’ve all done on numerous occasions. We only go in there to put money in the meter, or when the electric man comes to empty it every three months. To make it even more hazardous, it’s also where we keep all our old shoes, boots and slippers, which is quite substantial, considering there are ten of us that live here.

There’s me, my two brothers Billy and Ro­bert. My five sisters Julie, Tracey, Sharon, Debra and Brenda. My mum Kathy and dad Ken. I’m 10 years old, the baby of the family and our Robert is the eldest, he’s 24. The oth­ers are somewhere in between. We’re all crammed into a three bedroom council house. Five girls in the first bedroom, three boys in the second, mum and dad in the third. That’s ten people under one roof. Now there’s a melting pot, if ever there was one. Living in a crowded house does have its ad­vantages. For one thing, there’s always lots of birthdays, and that means birthday cake, and the possibility of a party. However, there’s not much chance of a party anytime soon, as the last one was a right disaster.

— It was our Sharon’s 18th, and when she told everyone, it was going to be the biggest and best party ever seen on our council estate, I don’t think even she was prepared for what actually happened. As it turned out she was half right. It may have been the biggest party ever seen, but it most definitely wasn’t the best. Not only did she invite all of her friends, she also invited just about anyone who knew her. The problem was, they in turn invited their friends. The party started at 7.00pm and by 8.00pm our house and street was swarming with partygoers.

By 9.00pm it was absolute mayhem. There were drunken fights, people being sick, teenagers urinating in the streets, and in neighbour’s gardens. Screaming and shouting, loud music, and a very strong smell of cannabis consumed the air. One of the very angry neighbours rang the police, who arrived twenty minutes later, mob-handed. Five police cars and two police vans screeched outside our house, just like The Sweeney. They quickly rounded up the drunken louts, and made sev­eral arrests for drunk and disorderly and drug offences. The police reckon there were at least 150 partygoers, most of which scattered like terrified turkeys on Christmas Eve, just as the police arrived.

Mum and dad weren’t even invited to the party. They went to the pictures in town, at the insistence of our Sharon, who didn’t want them anywhere near the house. She was eigh­teen now and a proper adult, she certainly didn’t want mum and dad cramping her style. Even the siblings weren’t invited. Mum and dad went to The Roxy to see the film Grease, staring the heart-throb John Travolta and the gorgeous Olivia Newton-John. They’d already seen the film a few weeks before, but they both enjoyed it so much, they decided to go again. I think the truth was dad fancied Olivia and mum definitely fancied John.

When mum and dad drove onto our street around 10.15pm, the last thing they expected to see were police cars and vans, and officers taking statements from the angry neighbours. However, that was nothing compared to the utter shock they got, as they walked through the front door. The first thing to hit them, (like a large frying pan in the face), was a nauseating, revolting stench. It was a mixture of urine, vomit and cannabis. Dad was close to being sick himself. He gipped a few times, almost bringing up the hot dog he’d eaten at the pictures. The house looked like it had been hit by an earthquake. Admittedly, it was nothing like the Great Chilean earthquake in 1960. That earthquake was the most powerful ever recorded, with a 9.5 magnitude. Looking on the bright side, our house wasn’t that bad, and at least it was still standing.

Mum and dad were in a trance-like state, as they slowly walked around the house in total disbelief. The house had been well and truly trashed. Dad compared it to the taproom at The Red Lion pub on a Saturday night, only a million times worse. Thick cigarette smoke lingered in the air with no escape, as all the windows were closed. In the living room and kitchen, there were tab ends, beer and wine glasses (some smashed), pickled onions, half-eaten sandwiches, crisps, sausage rolls, pork pies and slices of quiche, strewed all over the floors and furniture. The sofa and chairs had been tipped over, and stood on several times.

The glass coffee table had a large crack down the middle. The kitchen sink was full of urine, with faeces floating on the top. Wine and beer had been spilt over the record player, and all over the units. Vinyl records, including singles and albums, had been used as frisbees and were scattered all over the place. Some had also been smashed into tiny pieces. Even mum’s favourite Cliff Richard album had been damaged. She was absolutely livid. ‘Bloody Hell!’ she screamed. ‘They’ve even had a go at our Cliff!’

All the bedrooms were just as bad. Someone had been rummaging through the wardrobes and drawers, no doubt searching for money. (They’ll be lucky, no one has any money in our house.) Clothes, coats, handbags and personal belongings, had all been riffled through, and thrown willy-nilly on the beds and floors. They’d also nicked a box of Terry’s All Gold milk chocolates, belonging to our Grace. She’d bought them as a surprise present for mum, to thank her for all the work she does. It took Grace ages to save up for those chocolates.

Mum and dad found our Sharon sprawled out on top of her bed fully clothed, snoring away, dead to the world. There was a large pile of disgusting smelly sick on the floor nearby. She’d obviously had too much to drink, puked up and then crashed out. ‘Leave her where she is. There’s no point waking her up now. We’ll sort all this out in the morning,’ said mum.

The next day Sharon woke up with the worst hangover ever. After a real good ear bashing from mum and dad, she spent the whole day cleaning up the mess. All the family helped out, and eventually the house was back to normal. However, the damage had been done, and suffice to say we haven’t had a party since.

An Extract From The Book: Fish – Operation Electric Man By Kelvin Rush.
Book Details

BUY NOW
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