GUEST BLOGGER: Royston Blake - "Blakey on tour Part Two"

(Read Part One here)

Best time to rob a motor in Mangel is about 5am. Only ones who gets up that early is milkmen, but you don't have to fret over them cos most folks believe em to be thieves anyhow. So I set me alarm for half four and had a little kip. It's always important to get a good kip before a robbery so your nerves are sharp, like them of a fox or a badger. Or Rambo, when he's out in the woods in First Blood, and he's stitching his arm up with one eye and watching out for cunts with the other. But I couldn't manage to prize meself out of me pit at half four, and ended up rolling onto the carpet at about 11. But that's still quite early, so I felt alright as I walked downtown with me robbing gear in a placcy bag.

To the untrained eye, it don't look much like robbing gear. To him - the person with the eye he ain't trained - your classic robbing get-up is a black top and strides, pair of black leather gloves and black mask or summat. I tried that meself once, as a younger man, but I found that folks noticed you and started screaming. Especially when you're in their house and dying for a shit cos of the kebab you had last night from Alvin's, and your trolleys is already round your ankles as you shoulder into the bathroom and the person is in the bath. And she is a bird. And it's broad fucking daylight. After that, and with the screams still ringing in me lugs, I started looking for a new approach to robbing gear. That's when I stumbled upon what I now call the Uniform.

I stopped in the alley behind the place where they kept the hearse and put the Uniform on. It's more of a disguise than a uniform, but it is a uniform as well, being as you're disguised as a milkman. Only problem were that the hat didn't fit right. When I'd first acquired the Uniform, I'd done a bit of research and located what I thought to be the largest milkman in Mangel, but when I jumped him and twocked him and pulled the togs careful like off his deckwise shape, I realised that milkmen is a different breed, and that they're pinheaded streaks of piss. Mind you, if you pull hard enough to can get anything on. I proved that the time when I was pressurised into using a rubber johnny, and I went on to prove it again in the alley behind the hearse place, but with the milkman's hat this time. And on me swede, not me knob.

Then I walked right in the back door.

That is the thing about daytime theft - you can just waltz right in. Not that I can actually waltz. I tried it once with a bird I really fancied, going to a ballroom dancing lesson and everything, but when I bust her ankle I realised I was onto a loser here - no way was I getting in the pit with a bird in a plaster cast. Them things have a certain hum about em that reminds me of hospitals, which I fucking hate. And do you know what? My nostrils picked up a bit of that selfsame whiff as I stepped inside the place where the hearse was kept. It was a fucking ozzie smell, I swear it. But summat else and all. Summat a bit sweet and that made you wanna spill your kebab. Not that I'd had kebab the night prior. I'd had pie and chips down the Pry, same as most nights around that time. But I still wanted to spill the fucker.

I bent double to do just that, fighting against it cos my honking is fucking noisy and some cunt was bound to hear it and rumble us, meaning I'd have to twock them or clear off, thereby kissing a sweet and tender goodbye to my expensive caravan holiday.

That's when Count Dracula walked in.


To be fucking continued...