Hold me turban John...

...we're gonna have a rumble!

A couple of things inspired me to write this. The first was a reddit post where a guy asked what his girlfriend could carry in the way of 'legal' weaponry because they live in a dodgy area. The consensus was that anything carried for the purpose of being used as a weapon was therefore formally considered a weapon and as such illegal. Bit of a pisser really. Spray paint was a fave until that point because you could spray someone in the eyes, thus allowing your escape and putting a mark on your assailant that they'd have trouble explaining. Overall winner was a torch, perfectly reasonable to have a torch on you and if it has a bit of heft it'll deter almost anyone once it's made aquaintance with their cranium. I was once given access to an 'asp' as issued to the UK Police years ago. Not as good as a shooter but you could do a lot of damage with it.

The second thing was the very definition of 'fuck around and find out' where a racist fuckwit

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Final Episode - Eastenders

This is my own imagined final episode of EastEnders, written as a short story and starring Mick Carter. Nobody commissioned it. It is unfinished, so "TBC" at the end means exactly that.

Mick Carter was starting to come around on that wintry morning in South East London. He assumed one of his treacles, past or present, was the one on top of him licking his face. He was incorrect. He realised what a slice he'd been when he finally opened his eyes to find Lady Di on top of him, the family bulldog. He playfully lifted her off himself and put on his favourite pink dressing gown and slippers, moving to the kitchen with Di following at his heels. Nobody was about it seemed. Still it was early, they could be in bed and the pub wasn't due to open for hours. He was hungry anyway so set about knocking himself up a full English - none of this Quinoa or Muesli bollocks.

TBC