My first clue that I was entering a c**v hotspot was that I had to negotiate my way past the ‘crew’ tipping back pint cans of stella and a cluster of heavily pregnant chavettes dressesed in hospital gowns obstructing the entrance whilst merrily puffing away on their ciggies. Upon entering the reception area, my senses were immediately overwhelmed by the stench of stale alcohol.
After booking my son in with the recptionist I had the misfortune of taking a seat opposite Kev, just that evening made relatively toothless and Gazza, blood-soaked with several lacerations on one side of his face. It would seem that although they had both been injured in seperate incidents, they must have both fought the same guy. From the descriptions he must have been about 6 foot 8, built like the terminator and on both accounts knew he did not stand a chance as both, kev and gazza, stated that ‘He was fuckin’ luckey he ran away when he did, cuz I was about to ave em’.
When my sons name was called by the nurse I was certain that the rest of my evening would be c**v-free. Oh how wrong I was. As it happens, the paediatric treatment room was perfectly positioned to witness a seemingly endless stream of ambulace crews bringing in an unending supply of c***s and chavettes complaining of ailments ranging from ‘Her drink must have been spiked cuz she usually drinks 4 alco-pops and 9 vodka and cokes and never gets this pissed’ to the ever popular ‘I woz about to ave em when he ran away’.
This disturbing parade was still in progress when we were moved to the childrens ward at 3 a.m.
This evening has shown that c***s are a crafty lot, continually finding ways of squandering my sizeable monthly contribution to the government.
On a side note, I hope that for his own safety that the police catch this 6 foot 8 terminator look alike before Gazza and Kev are released cuz they were determined to ave em when they got out.