‘He wasn’t a Geordie,’ said Kenny, resting on a barrel and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
‘Eh?’ said Big Jim, as he took the hose pipe and sprayed water around the garage.
‘Half-Pint Harry. He wasn’t a Geordie, was he? He wasn’t from Newcastle. He was from Sunderland, James. He was a Mackem, wasn’t he?’ Kenny said.
‘What’s a fucking Mackem when it’s at home?’ said Big Jim.
‘A Mackem is to a Geordie what a Canadian is like to an American. Like margarine to butter. Like Spurs to Arsenal. A bit like a decaffeinated Geordie,’ said Kenny, chuckling to himself. He coughed up a lump of phlegm, spat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
‘The North’s all the fucking same to me,’ said Big Jim. ‘Never been further north than Dagenham, myself. And I didn’t like that much.’
‘I wholeheartedly agree,’ said Kenny. ‘Mushy peas, black pudding, Pease -pudding, fishy-wishy-fucking-dishy. I usually start to hear the banjos from Deliverance as soon as I get north of Finchley.’
Guns Of Brixton (published by Caffeine Nights Publishing) is out NOW as a paperback and as an eBook. You can get it from from loads of places including Barnes & Noble, Caffeine Nights Publishing, WHSMITH, Waterstones,Foyles, Amazon and Amazon UK.