James Herbert

  Seven years ago, is it? Seems to be. 20th of March, 2013, Jim slipped away. Fuck!

  To this day, I remember like it was yesterday. Although it was 1974. I was up at Brian P's place, in Paulsgrove. Up north of Portsmouth.

   I was a teen. He was a man. It'd become agreed that he and Mark ~ his mate ~ would take me out ferreting the next day. 

  Deep joy! A chance to go out with guys who had really caught rabbits! Brian had even told me of the time he'd met the living legend; Phil Lloyd! Fuck!

  So, this being an on the spur decision, I've nipped out to the phone box, across the road (Remember those things?!) And pumped a 10p coin in, to let my old dear know I wouldn't be home that night.

  Only, my brother answered the phone. Couple of years younger than me. But, well aware of my, by then, life long obsession with rat catching.

  " Ditch! " He yelled ~ with  a precognitive brilliance I'd never realised. " I've got ye a book! "

  I'm like; " Eh?! I just want to let mum know I won't be home tonight. I'm staying over and going ferreting tomorrow. "

  And he's like: " It's called " The Rats "! It has a picture of a fucking great rat on the cover, teeth dripping with blood. Seems they took over London."

  I've rarely made such decisions. Glimpse at my watch. At the bus time table. Dash!

  I remember sprinting up our road. Beating on our door. Literally  snatching the fucking book out pf my brothers hand. Barely a gasped, " Thanks, Bro! " (Not that we spoke that shit, in them days!) Then I was gone.

  Sprinted back. Got the last bus back to Paulsgrove. Settled down on Brian and Sonia's sofa and opened James Herbert' " The Rats ".

  Wow! I was fucking Hallucinating, time I finished that book. But I Finished It! Start to finish. Brian's sofa. Fuck, yeah!!!

  Half hour later? We went ferreting. I seem to remember a few bits about that day. Mark. Brian. Grass. Chalk. Flint.

  Done a shit ton of ferreting since then. Had the absolute pleasure of meeting, and getting to befriend the Living Legend too.

  Just looking back. 

  Fuck me; How scary is it?!

Tom Brown And The Phoenix

  Fuck me!!! I just had an idea to tell ye about one of my old locals, " The Phoenix ", (Duncan Rd, Southsea.) Then run by Tom Brown.

  This, looking back at it, and counting on my fingers, was fucking Decades ago! 

  How horrible's that? Remembering shit that seems like yesterday. Only to realise it was half a lifetime back?

  Drinking in 'Tom Browns' always promised adventure. I've had it All happen there. You name it!

  Conversation with some deeply fur wrapped lady, about how mini skirts, stockings and the Skin Head fashions had taken their toll on Finlands youth.

  A lunatic offering me out, after I'd asked if he'd done with his stool. Only to have another, complete fucking lunatic jump to my defense.

  Nutter No. 2 was missing two fingers on his right hand. Result of his attempt at " poaching " one night. Seems he was crawling through a hedge, dragging a loaded 12 bore ....!!!

  Fuck me! Looking back? This was just normal life, for someone born and raised in the shadow of the Dock Yard Wall!

  I had Phil Lloyd in there; Showing me black and white photo's of him Disco Dancing. 

  (Yeah; Real fucking photo's. Black and white, glossy things. No computers, or mobile phones in those days) 

  Only those who have met and known Phil could appreciate why, to this day, the memory of his Perfectly repeated, Welsh accent:

  " Yes. Very good, Phil! Now what are ye going to do with him? " 

  Still makes me laugh out loud! 

  Bloke in there I was ready to front up to. Knifes edge from going for it. Ferret and a little girl later? Life long fucking mutual respect. 

  (Especially handy, that one. Cunt turned out to be former SAS and actually gave me a life line of work! One beer, either way? He'd have fucking killed me, that night!)

  I dunno. 'Cunts' who turned out more like fathers. 'Brothers' who turned out to be cunts. The Phoenix certainly beat the shit out of that drivel about " The Queen Vic ".

  Sort of gone past the point I was aiming at, now. Just intended to show ye a mad clip I'd come across. Relate a story about it.

  Now? I sort of see how 'The Phoenix Years' really seem to encapsulate so much of me. 

  Fuck this. I think I'll start again. Do a 'Part Two'. Just tell a bit more about this wonderfully insane, back street, Pompey boozer. 

Phil .....

  Just seen the FANTASTIC news, mate! Nearly choked on me tea!

 That's as good as it gets! Bless ye both!
 

I Have Seen Things You People Wouldn't Believe .....

  Seen Phil Lloyd, stood there like a statue. Directing his Dog with the slightest twitch of his finger. Nothing survived.

  That was Fucking impressive. But, anyone who's heard anything about Phil will be nodding. Thinking; " Yep. They say he's that good. " I've seen it.

But, I want to tell ye something ye Will Not Believe. Not if ye know shit about shit, anyway. 

And, I'm guessing, most people bothering to come here will know at least the basics about ferrets? 

  Remember the " Shooting News "? Guy, writing under 'Whiteface' once summed ferrets up as ~ to paraphrase:

  'Waking up. Looking around for something to kill. ' LOL! Right there: Ferrets encapsulated! 

  Now, off into the realms of GTF!!!



  Christ, how long ago was it? Oh! Just used the calculator. Forty five years back. Shit was different, in those days.

  So, I was in a local pub. I had a ferret with me. I was examining it, for some reason. A woman said to me;

  " Oh! A ferret? I have ferrets. I keep them with my guinea pigs. " (I shit ye not!!!)

  Up shot is; Following a bit of conversation, this woman invited me to See her ferret and guinea pig ensemble for myself. Turned out she lived just round the corner. In the road I lived in.

  I've never forgotten it, or quite fathomed it, people. She led me in. Opened the kitchen door. Put the light on and made the usual squeeky, kissy noises people do.

  On my Dogs lives and souls: I stood there and watched, clearly, as various fucking Ferrets and Guinea Pigs came issuing out from under and around the kitchen furniture!!! 

  I actually witnessed  ~ with These fucking eyes! ~ a ferret and a guinea pig, Drinking from the Same Fucking Bowl!!! I Shit Ye Not!!!

  Half a fucking century ago, people. Things were different, then. Those who were part of the game, then, will know.

  I haven't seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.

But, looking at shit, today? I find the acceptance of Hypocrisy hard to fathom. 

Hands of the Strangler .....

  I'm in Hugh's, the Butchers today. We're just finishing a good chat and I'm about to leave when some guy comes in and proclaims; 

  " Aaah! The man who'll catch all the rats!  ..... Now, tell me, friend; How do ye catch and kill all these rats? "

 Guy was perfectly serious, of course. People just carry on that way here. So, I answered him perfectly seriously, of course:

 " I strangle them! "

He's, like; " Be' Jesus!!! Ye strangle  them ....?! "

 " Yeah, " I says. " And will ye just look at the state they leave my fucking hands in! All their biting me, as I strangle them! "

 Held up my hand, for him to see.

  Guy was fuckin' mortified, of course. There I stood. Living proof of my own legend. Scars to prove it.


 This shit's in my blood, see? All of it. My Dad taught me my first steps in rat catching. That's true. I knew the principles, plus, before I even had my first day at school. But, that's all taught and learned shit. This, as I say, is in my blood.

  Gypsys 'Tell Fortunes'. Yeah? Well, in Romanes, the one time language of the Gypsys, it's called " Dookerin' ". Look up an " Anglo Romani Dictionary " sort of effort and ye'll find it there. 'Dookering. Dookripen. Dooka. Ducka.' Fucka. 

    It's all bollocks, really. Ask any Gypsy who knows enough of the old language to have a clue and they could tell ye. " Dookering " means Bullshitting! Blarney. Gift of the gab. That's all it is. All it ever was. It's natural to the blood. Repartee. 


 The state of my hands? 'Rat Strangling', my arse! That was in my blood too. Just had a spot of that  'Prickly Heat' shit, a week back. Scratched so much I almost ripped myself to fucking pieces!


 But there's an insight into the ancient Gypsy art of 'Bull Shitzu'. The ability to spin on a pin head. Using what ever's to hand to ones advantage. 

 I have only felt free to pass on this arcane  knowledge after long contemplation of the demise of Brian Plummer. Otherwise, he'd probably have heard of all this and bred a 'Pit Bull' cross Shitzu. Called it the " Traditional Romani Fighting Dog " and written books about it. 

  That would have, no doubt, further boiled Lloydys piss ~ already hot enough, with all that Shiraz and curry. Likely wouldn't have done my own blood a lot of good either. 

 But, there it is. Plummer's dead. Phil and I can't be too far behind him now. How ye'll gnash and wail when we're All gone, eh? Who then to entertain ye?

 Now I must go. Keep getting these texts from some bird who wants to interview me on TV .....

 Ye think I'm joking, don't ye ....?