Big Screens, Beslan and the Bus Home (1/3) By Joe Hakim

1/3 2/3 3/3

I decide to go into town to buy a CD and a magazine. As I'm leaving Whitefriargate I bump into a mate that I haven't seen in ages. We talk for a bit, all the 'Hey, how the fuck are you, yer bastard,' shit, and then we decide to go and have a couple of cheeky pints. We walk through the market and go into Ye Olde Blue Bell.

My mate has just finished a HND course. He is just coming to terms with the education fallout; that period just after you finish a major length of time in education - degree, HND, school, whatever - and have to re-enter the mind-trap that is the full time workplace. It's funny, but you expect a qualification to change your life. You imagine all these doors opening for you, but the truth is, everything pretty much stays the same. There are literally hundreds of people walking around with the same bullshit degree as you, and then you realise there's only a handful of jobs available in that particular field.

That's when your background, and the fact you got a shit grade because you were pissing it up through the entire course catches up with you. The job you want has already gone, to someone who was a lot more dedicated than you were. And to top it all, you're in debt up to your eyeballs. My mate takes a drag on his cigarette. 'So what have you been up to?' he asks, and then takes a huge gulp of his pint. 'Writing. Working. Smoking. Drinking..the usual,' I say. 'How about you? Got anything lined up?'

'No..I've got an interview this afternoon with a job agency. Some office work. Boring as fuck like, but it's easy, and I know how use all the basic programs like Word and Excel and shit. I've had enough of factory work for the time being. It's good money but it firkin' does you in.' 'Yeah,' I say, 'I know. Trying to combine working in a soul-destroying job while pursuing the things you enjoy is a major firkin' bummer. Earning a degree just to end up back working in a five-pound-an-hour job again is fucked up, anyway you look at it.' 'Ah well,' he says, draining his glass. 'Let's have a game of pool. Do you want another pint?' We get another drink and go upstairs into the poolroom. My mate racks up. I look at the little pictures hung on the wall. Old sports cartoons and cigarette cards and pictures of Snooker players taken in the eighties - Dennis Taylor, Alex Higgins, Jimmy White, bad hair cuts and funky grey suits.

There are three people sat in the corner of the room. A white haired geezer in tweed; a fat guy with a Super Mario moustache; and a podgy blonde-haired woman, dressed in matching shocking pink shorts and vest. 'What do you think of that big screen they put up in town then?' my mate asks. I say, 'Whose break?' and then I take a coin out of my pocket. 'Call..'

My mate says, 'Tails,' and I flip the coin into the air. 'I think it's fuckin' ludicrous,' I say, and I catch the coin in the palm of my hand. I slap it down on the back of my other hand. 'I mean, we've just posted some of the worst exam results in the country, and the council stick up a big fuck off TV in the town centre.' I lift my hand. 'Tails it is. Your call,' I say. 'I'll break,' my mate says and he picks a cue up. He bangs it on the floor to see if the tip rattles. It doesn't. I say, 'All I'm saying is, if I was at school now, it would be the first place I'd go when I was twagging'. 'Yeah,' my mate says, 'Didn't think of it like that.' He strikes the cue ball, slamming it into the others. He pots a yellow. The podgy woman leans over and pops some money in the jukebox.

'This is quite embarrassing, but for a minute I actually thought it was a good idea,' my mate says. 'Even wrote a letter to the Hull Daily Mail.' He pots another ball. 'Y'know, modernisation and all that shit. The KC Stadium, The Deep, all this regeneration, our move into the twenty-first century and our effort to become a top ten city, I think it could be a good thing for the city..'

'Everyone's entitled to their own opinion,' I say, 'I don't know .. just seems like a waste of fuckin' money to me. Priorities are all wrong. There's loads of other ways in which they could spend the money.' My mate misses his next shot. Queen blasts out from the jukebox. The podgy woman leaps up and starts to dance. I look at the bingo wings swaying under her arms, and the varicose veins on her legs. She's dressed in clothes that are far too young for her. Super Mario cheers, and the old geezer wheezes approval while puffing on a little yellow hand-rolled cigarette. The podgy woman is in full-on Friday night mode, even though it's a mid-week mid-afternoon. I try and take an easy shot, but I completely fuck it up. I'm going to get whipped big-style, that much is obvious. My friend drains his pint. 'Do you fancy another?' he asks. Two games later, and I'm still getting my arse kicked left right and centre. The podgy woman is slumped over a gin slurring loudly. Super Mario tries to calm her down, and the old geezer appears comatose. I consider going and sticking a mirror under his nose to check if he's still breathing.

Continued .. Next Page

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