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Sunday night is now Daisy’s bingo night, and when I tapped on the window of the hall also filled with lots of other little old folk, she must have been winning because she wasn’t fucking happy about coming out to speak to me.   Know what gave it away?

Her saying, “I don’t want to speak to you, Jonathon.”

I expostulated.

Her reply: “Yes, I heard about Dwayne.   I’m ashamed.   I’m ashamed of you.”

I remonstrated.

Her justification?   “Listen to me, old man – he was my boy, he’d only been at this for a few decades, and you are certainly old enough to know better.   It was only money, and he did not deserve what you did to him.”

I admonished.

Her counter-argument: “Dwayne would not have done that to himself, by accident or design.   And no-one else had a reason, Jonathon.”

I repudiated.   Fucking loudly.


Her response was to take me unexpectedly by the throat and slam me against a wall.

It was only when I was pushing her off that another little old lady came out, saying worriedly, “You all right, Daiz love?”  

So now she too starts making up her own version of what had happened…

She takes Daisy’s arm protectively as a bevy of other sweet little aged gamers and gamblers also smell the drama and come to see.

Daisy says, “I think you’d better go, Jonathon” …from amidst her pastel-cardiganed phalanx of wrinklies.   You didn’t have to read between those wizened lines to know they who had no idea what they were sheltering from whom.

But the fact that I swore profusely as I left was probably just another nail in the coffin.





  1. Lucky you’re dead already, Bingo Ladies can be dangerous! Used to go with my Nan and you can’t even sneeze in places like that without being ‘ssssh’d’ Tough crowd!

  2. Logical steps do not spring to mind.

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