’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, we’d fallen asleep on the sofa, drunk, when Dave Tench dropped his cigarette which burned a hole in one of the green sofa cushions. I turned the cushion over. On the other side was a stain that looked like dried spunk in the shape of Great Britain. I turned the cushion over again.
I was no stranger to dried spunk stains or fag burns, my first ever fag burn was down the front of my Brownie uniform from a 1914 roll up, my first cigarette. My grandad had been shot in the chest in WW1 and the bullet ricocheted off the cigarette tin and went into his shoulder. When he died he left me his medals, the bullet and the tin which had 10 roll ups left in it.
“Being an adult is boring” Dave said
“When I’m 25 I’m going to kill myself”