All that crap, and like dogs, we lick it up. We lick it clean. Seriously though, let’s face it, let’s face some facts, we are shit, we are shit at everything! Not my words, the old man’s. Because England now is nothing but an island of shit, crawling its way up the arse of the likes of Theresa May, Fucking Farage, Red bleeding Corbyn. […] The rest of us, nothing but flakes, flakes of shit trying desperately to hang on. It’s no use looking at me like that sis, it was his words, not mine, you know that.
“Mum. Don’t you want to know where Dad is?” I said, trying to sound like a grown-up. But I’m actually sounding younger and younger with each… (laughs) syllable. “You can put my head on a stick later, all right?” Shit, my eyes started to well, right? And I could tell that she noticed because she became so still, like a waxwork, and she asked, “Where?” “Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Er… Mum, gives us… gives us your hand.” Now, I hadn’t held my Mum’s hand since… the noughties? And I could tell that… and she knew that, yeah? So she just looks, like, blankly at my… at my sweaty palm. “Mum, please… just gives us your hand.” “Why?” she whispered. “Mum, please, just… just gives us your hand. Something bad’s happened.” I just wanted to have her hold me, yeah? I just wanted to… curl up into a ball and have her tell me that… I don’t know what. Something. Anything, yeah? Something that meant that I wasn’t a grown-up. A man.
Nationalism… (laughs) Then Brexit. Brexit! And then… going to the World Cup. Southgate and his men. Well… boys. Um… I clocked off work about five, my dad had got to the Duke early to reserve a couple of stools ‘cos he hated standing up. I said, “We can watch it at home.” But he said he wanted to watch it on the big screen.
