Rock Port

The charvas are getting a lot worse around here. What is going on? Large groups of Asian lads are throwing grown men off bikes and then kicking the shit out of the bike. This is not normal behaviour. Perhaps that particular lad was lucky not to have had the shit kicked out of him. Though around here, we don’t fear a full on attack. We fear the interactions on a small scale. The walking past, minding your own business (does anyone actually ‘mind their business’?) and having a young lad shout an unpleasant comment about my particular tousled mop of sagging bread sticks that droops off my head. Now fair enough you may say. But how does one respond? When faced in such a circumstance, I find the only words that leap to my business minding mind are “fuck off”. It does the trick, semantically.

But what about stones? They throw stones. Now, I don’t think a single stone that’s been thrown at me in my entire career of recipient-end abuse has ever hit me. Charvas are notoriously rubbish at everything. Football not excepted. Charvas play football like the ball is a detonating bomb and the other players are tree-hugging Iraqis.

What is worrying is the sheer numbers. The other day I witnessed two friends being chased home by what my pussy brain tells me was about twenty five charvas. They were mobbed following a game of football in the park. They shouted about how they were going to put in their windows. They didn’t do it. Hmm.

As I was walking home after a playing a satisfying bit of footy, something happened to me much worse than any charva would have managed. The younger brother of a mate just quickly wanted to show me the best way to cause the most pain with a skateboard. His hand slipped. I found out, if you strike with the top corner of the board, aim for the forehead and do it really hard – that kinda hurts. And it still fucking does.

What was annoying was that a) it wasn’t a charva so it could have made a good heroic story for me to take the lead in, and b) it was someone I had only just met. He felt awkward. Hell, even I felt awkward. Even with a face full of blood, a sack full of ice and a throbbing head - even then I could understand how awkward it must have been for the poor guy. He clearly didn’t exactly intend to cave my skull in now did he?

Oh well, he lives up my road, he can buy me a pint.