On the runs

Apologies for my lack of posting. I've been keeping a low profile. I think they might have tracked me down you see.

I went in for my shift last Saturday and saw what I thought was a familiar face. He was working on the toast machine, which was quite coincidental since when I was introduced to him by Gary his name was Tony 'Toastman' Linoleum.

Gary told me at the time that his nickname was Toastman due to his propensity for getting drunk and insisting on making long-winded speeches while standing on pub tables. This was a habit that invariably did not go down well with publicans, something the Toastman knew really, since it led inevitably to Tony's other favourite pastime of brawling in pubs.

Tony was sidekick to the mush from Shepherd's Bush. A gentleman I was partly introduced to in an NCP carpark near Hammersmith after spending the best part of a week holed up alone in a Travelodge.

I had made several trips out to Londis to pick up Ginsters pasties and Cobra, but as Gary was quite explicit in his demands for me to stay put, I thought I better had. To tell you the truth, the week wasn't all bad. I had been exchanging text messages with Tia and I think she was most def looking forward to a return visit from old Bazzler. I've still got it readers. I don't care what Mum says.

After almost a week, Gary turned up and seemed to be back to his cheery self. "Meet me out front Barry," he said, "just bring that suitcase that you were carrying through customs". I've gotten used to seeing Gary rock up in different motors, but my eyes just about popped out when he pulled up in a black Porsche!

They're lovely cars and there is nothing you can teach the Germans about automotive engineering, but the suitcase had to go on my lap!

This brings me back to the NCP meet up. It was short and sweet. Well, it was short at least. Gary briefed me to sit tight and when the toastman got in the car to take the holdall, leave the carpark and meet Gary and the mush from Shepherd's Bush downstairs. Gary jumped out of the car and after a few lonely minutes I was joined by a small, wiry, rat-faced man. He had a pointy nose like the child catcher in Chitti-Chitti Bang Bang and a scraggy goatee beard. He sat down and took a photo of me with a Polaroid camera, then handed me a hefty holdall and instructed me to "get the fuck out cunt".

You can well imagine my reaction when I turned up last Saturday to see the same familiar rat-faced charmer working on toast. But I've learned how to think quick and act quicker. I told Paul that I thought I had that winter vomiting bug thing so I was banished immediately from the kitchens until it cleared. I'd buy myself few days to formulate a plan.

As you can tell from the fact that I am back blogging on Paul's laptop, I am now back in the kitchens. Only I'm not cooking any more, I'm on potwash. It is almost a crime to make yours truly work on pots. But we all get paid the same in here and at least this way, I know I'm safe. For now.