Sorting out that Pedo Saville It was back in October 2012 like. Al and me was sat in the bar at the Flying Horse supping a few bevvies, just after that story about pedos came out, "Fucking hell Johnno!" Al said, "That's that fucking Saville cunt." "Fucking right," I agreed, "Fucking missed that cunt," I said sadly as I sunk another bottle of Stella (Artois) "Fucking grade A fucking pedo," Al said as he read the story in the 'Sun' off his fish and chip paper.
"Fucking cunt," I agreed. "Fucking Trevor from up Moorhouse says that fucking Saville fucking bummed him on Jim'll fucking fix it," Al added. "He never fucking went on Jim'll fucking fix it," I told him, "He went to his Aunty Mary's, he never fucking went." "Fuck," said Al, "Bollocks, you reckon he was straight up when he said old Edwards from Broomhill Comp bummed him?" "Wasn't just him to be fair," I said, "Whole bunch of them said he had bummed them," I reminded him, "Fucking never denied it did he?" "No, to be fair," I said, "He did say he was sorry," I agreed, "Just before we hung him from that fucking lamp post." "By his fucking bollocks!" Al laughed, "That fucking blood pouring out where his cock tore off when we let it take the weight!" "Served the cunt right," I agreed, "Cunt!" "Fucking cunt," Al agreed, "Didn't look so clever when we stuck the hook up his ass and left him swinging from that fucking lamp post by it did he!" "Fucking shame about Saville," I said, "All the fucking kiddies he fucked and he gets off fucking scott free." "Not fucking right," says Al, "Can't we dig the fucker up and fucking hang him?" "Too much like fucking hard work," I admitted.
"Ought to nick the fucking headstone," Al said reasonably, "Least we could do." "Write fucking cunt across it," I suggested, "Carve fucking pedo in it." "What's this lads," PC Tony Mulholland asked as he staggered by on his way to the bogs, "Planning on nicking a headstone?" "Fucking Saville's," I said, "Wanker." "Been fucking done already," Tony says, "Too fucking late." "Have to dig the cunt up and hang him then," says Al.
"What you, you lazy sod!" Tony laughed, "You'd have to nick a Kubota!" I looked at Al and he looked at me but neither of us wanted to admit we hadn't a fucking clue what a Kubota was. "Haven't seen my sergeant have you?" Tony asked.
"Forbsie, he fucked off with Sandra 'bout an hour ago," Al said, "Not like her to hang about, wham bang where's me twenty quid that's our Sandra." "Perhaps he's having seconds?" I suggested. "Oh fuck off," says Tony, "I need a piss." He had hardly gone when Sergeant Giles Forbes himself rolled up looking as rough as a bear's ass, "John Allthwaite, and young Allan, what a surprise," he says.
"Enjoy your fuck?" I asked. "Very convivial," he agreed, "Very pleasant young lady, very acceptable, not planning on driving home are we?" he asked. "Too bloody pissed to walk," I admitted.
"Not planning anything nasty like digging Saville up and hanging him from a lamp post or anything are we?" he asked. "How did you fucking know," I asked. "Walls have ears laddie and Sandra has a big mouth," he admitted, "Be a shame if someone wrote Fucking Pedo on Saville's gaff wouldn't it?" "Where's that?" Al asked like a prat." "Glencoe," he says.
"What round here?" I asked.
"No Scotland, somewhere between Crianlarich and Ballachulish," Fforbes explained like we was a pair of idiots, "Should be there by first light if you set off now." "What?" I asked. "You heard," he said, "And if you need any paint there's some in his van," he said pointing at Al, "What?" Al asked.
"You should have locked it," Sgt Fforbes laughed. "I just slipped a couple of tins of black and some brushes in the back just now, should be enough, so what you waiting for?" "Sober up?" Al asked. "You sober, get real," Sgt Forbes laughed, "Get going before I think of something to book you for," he suggested.
"It's not kicking out time yet!" I protested. "Bald tyre, no insurance," Fforbsie reeled off. Al emptied his glass, "All right, all right," he said, "I need some diesel," he added, "And I'm skint." "Bar Tender, a small charity donation if you please," Fforbsie said, "Fifty quid should do it, these fine public spirited lads are off to do some public service." Martha brought the cash over, "Harry said he paid you off earlier," she hissed as she handed over three tenners and a twenty.
"Backchat eh?" Forbsie queried, "How would you like to go with them?" "I can't," Martha said, all tits and peroxide blonde, "I got things to do." "Nice cell back at the station," he observed, "Selling booze under age, and the rest." "All right, I'll go, where is it Oldham again?" she asked. "Fucking Mexico," I said. "Glencoe," Fforbes corrected. "Scotland," Al added.
"Where the blokes wear skirts?" Martha asked, "Kinky." "You going or what?" Ffores asked. "Ok, ok, we're gone," Al said. "Up the M6, M74," Fforbes said. "We got an AA map," I said, "Don't fret." "Me husband goes to AA on Thursdays," says Martha.
"That's a different AA," Al sighed, "Get your coat if you're coming." We piled out the pub, it was fucking horrible, fucking raining, well drizzle, Al checked the number plates to make sure they was too dirty to read and we set off, him steering and Fforbsie, Martha and me pushing until Al could get it going because the battery was knackered.
We all sat in front to begin with, Martha was well past her best by date, she must have been thirty six and she fucked like a dustbin on account of five kids and the fact she liked huge black cocks up her, but her tits made up for it, that and the fact she weren't fussy who she fucked and where, or where for that matter, including up the ass outside Woolworth on one memorable occasion.
We droned north at a steady ninety, speed cameras flashing like flash bulbs at the sight of Kate Middleton's tits, Al had the cruise control on, that's a block of concrete on the throttle, and he lay back in the seat steering with his knee like you do on a long haul.
We had a game of Motorway skittles on the way, Al sort of straddled a row of cones in these roadworks and we knocked about a miles worth over before we got a cunt stuck under the van and had to dig it out with a pickaxe, then we got a bit bored and Martha and me hopped in the back for a bit.
"In out in out," Al laughed as he swerved from side to side before I even got Martha's knickers off of her." "Oi pack it in," Martha protested, but it was hard to concentrate on rubbering up let alone giving her one when Al was swerving about all over the Motorway.
"Fucking hell Al!" I swore as I tried to stick it in her. "Oi not up there!" Martha protested as my cock slipped and jabbed at the ass hole. "Al for fuck's sake!" I wailed but it was all right and I sort of squelched my length into her sopping cunt as she lay back on the old double bed mattress Al had in the back just in case he pulled. "Oh Johnno," Martha wailed as Johnno drove along the fucking cats eyes on the edge of the hard shoulder making the whole van judder.
"Haha," he chortled. "Cunt!" I said but Martha was lapping it up so I wasn't too fussed as I humped away at her as we rattled along. She was lapping it up, hooting and hollering she fucking come like a fucking banshee fucking hollering and wailing, god knows what the fuckers outside thought because by that time we was parked up in the car park at Tebay Westmorland services on the M6 and fucking Al had fucked off to get a McDonalds.
I was so fucking into Martha I never realised we stopped, christ did we get some funny looks when we climbed out but who gives a fuck? Anyway when Al comes back at least he had the decency to bring some Muck Nuggets as we called them and those poxy little overcooked chips they calls fries and then the cunt says it's his fucking turn for shagging and I had to drive, cunt. I reckon he fucked up because after the third time I stalled the cunt the fucking battery rolled over and died so we had to push start the fucker which ain't funny uphill.
We filled up the diesel did a three point turn bump started it bthe wrong way down the slip road pulled a U ie and fucked off toward bthe land of the jocks and we was passing Carlisle when we realised we forgot to pay for the diesel. "Reckon they got our number?" I asked Al "Shouldn't fucking think so they're under your seat," Al assured me, "That un on the back is a Police covert van and the cunt on the front is off a Liverpool milk float." I weren't exactly reassured so I just kept tooling along at 70 or so watching the fucking world hurtle past in the fast lane, I'll tell you something about the fucking jocks, those cunts sure don't fucking hang about.
Glasgow, Cumber-fucking-nald, what a shit hole. "You finished shagging?" I asked, shagging, the cunts was fast asleep Callendar, Crianlarich, we was on fucking A roads now, well jock A roads, fucking bends strung together like they didn't know what fucking straight was and then the sky started getting light and there we fucking was heading into Glencoe. "Fuck!" I said, "Too fucking late." There was Saville's gaff all right, except some cunt had painted 'Pedo," on it in three foot high letters and there was a couple of Jocks loading a leather settee onto the roof rack of a Skoda and another couple of cunts nicking the roof tiles and loading up a Iveco flatbed.
"This that cunt Saville's gaff?" I asked. "Who wanstay no?" this cunt says "Does yer mate speak english?" Martha says.
"Ah ham speaking Fuckninglish," the cunt says, "Ye stupit tard!" "Thought you cunts wore skirts?" Al said drunkenly, "Wassa difference between a Scotsman and a tranny?" "I don't know?" I says.
"Neither do I!" says Al as if it was the funniest thing since Nick Clegg and he just about pissed his self laughing. Luckily the battery was up for starting the cunt or the fucking Glencoe massacre would have had a couple or more cunts added, like me and Al but we fucked off a bit smartish down towards the sea, Kinlock-fucking-leven, or is it Fuckinloch leven, we couldn't figure it out and then as tghe dawn broke over the mountains flooding the sea lock with its golden glow, good eh, nicked that form a book in the library we rolled into Fort William.
Now Fort William is the sort of shithole that makes Weatherfield look like a town, one fucking solitary shopping street stuffed with overpriced tat shops and everywhere the sound of tortured cats which they think is music being played on the bagpipes. We still had Forbsie's cash so we went to a B and B to get a bed for the day.
A miserable old jock was noshing on kippers and haggis. "Morning squire," I says, "Need a bed for the day." "Get that pile of scrap metal off of my driveway this instant!" the miserable old jock said as he stood up and you could see he wore a bloody skirt and had knobbly knees.
"Look grand dad," I says, "We been fucking travelling all night, I'm shagged out and very near sobered up so I need a kip and skinfull before I heads home savvy?" "Don't you come the sassenach with me," he said, "Perverts the lot of ye." "You're the one in the fucking skirt love," I reminded him. "Yon Saville, pervert!" he said, "You're all the same!" "We come to paint Pedo on his gaff," I said, "Wanted to dig the cunt up so as we could fucking hang him from a fucking lamp post as a warning to others." I said.
"You wouldn't be yon Allthwaite would ye?" the jock asked. "The same," I says. "Then ye'll be needing a room for a week," he says, "There's a powerful need for teaching Sassenach pedophiles they're no safe in Lochaber. "We ought to be getting back," I says. "Moira," he shouts, "We've Mr Allthwaite here, come to help us." This scotswoman appears, Christ what a woman, half fucking sumo wrestler half Caber tosser and all of about nineteen.
"Ye'll be needing a bed?" she declares. "Yeah," Al agrees. "Nay problem, ye can share mine!" she says. "Wabbout me?" says Martha? "I think I can find room," Old Jock says greedily gazing at Martha's tits. "I'll sleep in the van," I says. "After you've had ye're breakfast." old jock insisted. I should have said no, fucking boomerang breakfast it was, black pudding, haggis, kipper, all cooked in axle grease and it all came back up a half hour later, fucking jocks.
I had a bit of a kip, the rain lashing the van made kipping an uphill struggle but I got some shut eye and then went down the town. "What a fucking miserable fucking hole," I said to nobody in particular. "Why do you say about fucking," this kraut bint asks, "Are you repressed yes?" "Me fucking repressed, fuck off!" I said.
"So why ask me to fuck, in the street?" she asks. "Look I just said its a fucking," I said and it hit me, she was fucking gorgeous, fucking blonde, fucking pretty little mouth, nice firm tits, tasty, "Fucking shithole." I said. "You wish to fuck my shithole?" she asked.
"No, no fucking way," I said, "When I fucking said fucking I was fucking swearing," I said and thought a bit, "Well if you're offering." "You are so outrageous!" she said, "I am Gretchen." "John, Johnno Allthwaite," I added. "I thought," she said. "You thought wrong," I said, "Sorry." "You want to fuck with me?" she asked. "Darling," I said, "Last night I got pissed, I drove two hundred miles in the fucking rain in a fucking Transit van, screwed this insatiable fat tart, never got no proper kip on account of the rain and I ain't up for fucking no one, ok, savvy?" "Pity," she said and laughed.
I stood there in the middle of fucking Fort fucking William with a fucking hard on and looked at her fucking laughing at me, and her fucking mate had heard the whole fucking thing and she was pissing herself laughing at me.
"Fuck!" I said, "Fucking hell! I only came here to paint 'Cunt' on fucking Saville's gaff." "Hahaha!" she laughed, "Who is Saville?" "Fucking pedophile cunt," I said. "Is true?" her friend asked. "Fucking eighty year old queer bin bumming little kids so they say," I explained, "Reckon we'll have to dig the cunt up and hang him from a fucking lamp post by his bollocks." "He is embalmed ?" the kraut's mate asked.
"How the fuck should I know?" I asked. "Then his bollocks will be pulp," she explained. "Right, waste of fucking time then?" I suggested.
"Yes," she said with a massive grin, "Bye! Alf Weedersshain." "It's fucking Allthwaite," I says as I watched them tottering away on their high heels little asses wobbling like a pair of fucking rabbits. I had a few jars in the pub, like you do, well there's fuck all else to do is there, checked out the train times, like there's one every quarter hour from Weatherfield Madison Road to Picadilly, so why the fuck is there three a fucking day from fucking Fort fucking William, and one of them takes so fucking long two of the fucking coaches has fucking beds instead of seats.
Still it beat the hell out of Al's fucking Transit van so I hit the plastic and got me self a bed on the half past seven to Preston, arriving four thirty, in the fucking morning. It was all right for a train, except I was expecting there to be some booze on sale, and there was just a fucking trolley and sandwiches that cost an arm and a leg and coffee, all right an old codger on a push bike would have gone faster but the scenery was different to the back yards round our way, and there was a fucking great big railway engine down in a fucking field what crashed off the line a while back which didn't do me guts much good and the company didn't do much for me, bloke and his missus a couple of old dears and the local priest.
"And what brings you to the Islands?" the priest asks. "I ent bin to the fucking Islands, only Fort fucking William," I says. "Ah, but I meant Islands," he says, "The mountains, the scenery." "The fucking insects, the fucking jocks in skirts and the fucking rain," I said, "Actually I come up with me mate to paint 'Cunt' on fucking Saville's gaff." "Ah, too late my son, we did it last Thursday," the priest says, "And we will wipe the place from the face of the earth, it is an abomination in the sight of the Lord." "I seen worse," I said, "It ent the fucking house's fault as that cunt lived in it, is it." "Indeed," the priest agreed, "I feel we should disinter him and rebury him in unconsecrated ground." "My sister Dolly say you should dig him up and hang him from a lamp post by his bollocks," the old biddy says.
"Right," I agree. "But I prefer an ass hook!" she added. "Edie, that's private," Dolly insisted. "To hang them from a lamp post by," Edie explained, "It is unbearable," she said, "Pedophiles abusing poor little children when there are so many single ladies in their prime crying out to be loved." "Right," I said, "Tragic." "I knew you would understand," Edie said, "Compartment number 5," she said and winked at me.
"Look," I said. "Better humour her," the priest said in a whisper, "Actually she bangs quite nicely for an old bird." "What?" I demanded. "Generous Scottish hospitality, it would be churlish to refuse," the priest added.
"Fucks sake!" I cursed but well, where else was I getting laid, like the bible basher said, churlish to refuse, so that why I was at it with a fifty something granny as the train rolled through Corrour and Rannoch, the most pointless fucking stations in the middle of fucking nowhere you ever did fucking see. I shagged worse, must have, just can't think of any at present, I half thought of turning queer at one time as I banged her in time to the fucking train wheels as I wondered whether they was 50p shaped or totally fucking square as we banged along so fucking slow that fucking Rabbits was overtaking us.
Still she was grateful and it saved the Vicar from having to shag both of them so it was me good deed for the fucking year wasn't it? We went to Glasgow then right across to Edinburgh where they fucked about banging and shunting until every fucker was woke up and then we fucked off back the way we come with a load of other coaches tacked on and the sitting coach took off, no I don't have a fucking clue why.
I got me head down, must have had nearly ten minutes kip and then we was at Preston and they chucked me out on the platform in the middle of the night. "Help!" I hears this bloke bleating, I went towards the sound of his voice, he was round a corner swinging upside down from an ass hook lashed to a platform awning.
"Pedo eh?" I asked. "No, not really," he said.
"What do you want?" I asked. "Get me down," he says, well I couldn't leave him swinging could I, I ain't heartless even to pedos, so I gets a platform Trolley and stands on it and cuts him down, "Splat." He head butts the platform, 'Crack,' goes his skull and he quits whining, never even said thanks Cunt.