A Perefect Day

“Ah, fer fook’s sake!” I shout. It was me first day off in ages, and I’d only gone and forgotten to turn the bladdy alarm orf, hadn’t I? Fookin dick’ead.

My one chance to lie in, and I had fooked it. Dun’t matter, coz I can sleep anywhere, me. Which, y’know, I do, but daft twat hit ‘snooze’ and not ‘off’, din’ I? So it only ‘appened again. Well, y’know, no goin’ back ter sleep now, too pissed at meself, so up I get. Nout a good, strong brew can’t fix.

I get up, stretch, scratch me balls, take a good, long piss and feel how fuzzy me ‘ead is from last night. Lager burps sit in the back o’ me throat and I wonder if I’ll be sick, but I’m made o’ better stuff than that, in’t I?

The floor in’t as stable as it should be as I walk ter the kitchen. Still smells a bit o’ the weed and the curry I don’ remember gettin’. Chicken Tikka Masala, obviously. Best one, innit? Them Indian guys might be swarmin’ over ere, but they make good scran, gotta give ‘em that.

I spoon out some coffee, then decide that if I’m up on me day off, then I’m makin’ the most of it and scoop out another spoonful as I wait for the kettle to do its thing.

Me ‘ead swims a bit as I think about las’ night, pretty sure I got that bird’s number, told me she ‘ad a boyfriend but I could tell she was gaggin’ for me really. Jus’ turned up the charm a bit and voila! got ‘er number, now just to seal the deal tonight.

The kettle clicks off and I pour the water onto the granules, give it a good stir before I go an’ get me phone. I write her a cheeky little message, ‘good mornin’ sexy’ with a topless photo. Who gives a fuck if she actually has a fella or not, if he want a beta she wouldn’ ave been droolin’ at the fanny for us, so fuck ‘im.

I open the fridge and fookin ‘ell, it’s gonna be one o’ them cuntin days, is it? S’posed to be a top day today, lie in, slap up bacon butty at Greasy Joe’s for breakfast, down to Garry’s for a few cans and a smoke before the pubs open, then get on it before the footy and a few lines after. Prob’ly smash the arse out that bird from las’ night, my cock’s fookin magic after a few lines. Or dead, but, whatever.

But no, no fookin milk is there? So now I gotta go to the shops. Typical. Can’t even drive to the shops anymore, have ter walk.

Luckily I’m still dressed from las’ night, so just pull me shoes on and head out. ‘Ead’s poundin’ now, like some cunt’s having a rave up there and goin’ to town on the fookin steel drums or some shit. Best get some paracetamol too, that’ll hold me over till Garry can roll some o’ that good green.

Fresh air, right? Got ter be one o’ the best hangover cures in existence. Doesn’t stop me from throwing up on the neighbour’s wall though, twat’ll have sommat to say about that later, but I’ll just get the hammer again. Shut him right up last time, whiny little prick. Knows I’d use it, but didn’t have to call the police on us again, could have just gone inside and shut the fook up, couldn’ ‘e?

Still, I’m feelin’ better for it, spring in my step as I think about the day ahead. No’ a great start, but that first brew’ll sort us right out, then bacon with brown sauce, lashin’s of it, and a joint. Be right as rain then, oh aye. Nothin’ else gettin’ in the way o’ this day bein’ absolutely top-fookin-notch.

I get to the shop and there’s this weird bird outside, just sorta…standin’ there and starin’ at us. She’s not even fit, and has a face like a bulldog chewin’ a thistle.

“Smile love,” I grin at her, “might never ‘appen!” Now if my charm can’t make that bitch smile, then nothin’ can.

“What?” she says. Bare cheek o’ this bitch! Wot’s she mean, ‘what?’?

“Ahhh, come on love, might turn out alright, eh? Never know!” I’m a bit aware o’ the stale beer in my breath, but when she’s scowlin’ like that she won’t get a better offer all day.

“Just fuck off, you creep.” Miserable cow. Whatever. I blow a kiss at ‘er, show there’s no hard feelin’s, and go inside.

It’s that young black lad workin’ today, Tyrone or sommat.

“Eh up, Tyrone lad!”

“Told you before, my name’s Tristan.”

Jesus, these coloured folks get proper sensitive, don’t they?

“Just say hiya, don’t be a miserable bastard,” I growl at him. Fookin snowflake.

I think about just takin’ the milk, but Tyrone is watchin’ me like a scowlin’, moody hawk, so I make a big show o’ pickin’ the milk and waving it at him as I walk back to the counter. He rolls his eyes at me as I walk past the medicine, so I help meself to a couple o’ packets quick-like, and bang the container on the counter. He scans it and I rummage in me pocket and throw a handful of coins on the side, before leavin’.

Outside, that miserable cow is still there, but this time she comes over to me.

“Do you have any idea how much of an absolute shit stain you are?” she asks us, proper angry. Honestly, I’m blown away by the balls on this bitch. My hangover don’t help matters, and normally I’d have sommat funny to say, but I cannot be arsed with this shit today, I’m tryna have a good one, so I just tell ‘er to get lost.

She’s proper quick, and before I know what’s happenin’, she’s jabbed me right in the fookin bollocks with sommat! I think it’s a stick, coz that shit proper stings. I drop me milk and cover me crotch. No way I’m hittin’ a bird, I’m a gentleman after all, but fook me, if that were a bloke…

She don’t touch us again, and when I look up again she’s gone, like. But, like, proper gone. Can’t see the fookin bitch runnin’ away anywhere, it’s like she’s just…vanished.

I’m half way home, still hobblin’, before I notice that me carton’s leakin everywhere. Luckily, I save it with just enough for a brew, which I think I’ve fookin earned now, after the mornin’ I’ve had. Every cunt bein’ rude like, and then that bitch pokin’ me right in the fookin balls.

I get home, and wouldn’t you know it? Cannot find me keys anywhere. I swore they was in me pocket. As I’m searchin’ all over, pattin’ meself down like I’m some sort of airport security twat, I remember. I was wearin’ me coat last night, that bird was all over it, and in my less than optimal state I din’t put it on to come shops, did I?

What. A. Twat.

“S’cuse me miss, are you OK?” Who’s that nosey neighbour Abdul talkin’ ter? I look round and feel my blood boil when I realise, cunt’s talkin’ ter me!

“Miss? What you mean, ‘miss’? Go on, fuck off home yer brown prick, and I don’t mean in there!” I shout at him, pointin’ at his house. He scuttles back inside, leavin’ his bucket and cloth outside, hadn’ even noticed him cleanin’ the wall before ‘e called out to us.

Fuck it, I’m goin’ Garry’s early. Cunt’ll just have ter deal with it.

He opens the door and his expression changes from annoyed, to confused, to pleased.

“Well, if this ain’t my lucky day!” he says, “How can I help you, love?”

I roll my eyes and shove past him, “Not in the fookin mood Garry! I need a brew, get that kettle on!”

He eyes me suspiciously. “Now, I don’t mind a lass who knows what she wants, but it’s a bit fucken much to barge in and start making demands, like! Who sent you? Ant? Jez? What’s this about?”

I’m already at the end of my tether. I had the perfect day lined up, and so far, every single twat I’ve met on the way has done their absolute fookin best to absolutely fook it up! So I start to let him ‘ave it, both barrels, no holdin’ back.

But then I stop. In shock. I just caught sight of meself in the mirror.

What the fook?

I’m starin’ in the mirror, right, directly in fron’ o’ us, and there’s….there’s this, well. There’s this bird starin’ back, where our face should be. Me face. But, nar, instead of me bald mug, there’s this long, blonde hair, blue eyes not green ones, and, well, she’s pretty hot this bird. But who the fook is she? Why is she where me face should be?

I look down at meself, and sure enough, I got tits now. Me arms no longer have tattoos on them, I got these skinny girl arms now, like, literal girl arms.

“I…I….that’s….who’s that?” I say to nobody in particular.

“You alright, love? Come on, let’s get you a brew. Sit down for us.” Garry puts his hand on me back, but, like, right down it, just above me arse. Is he coppin’ a feel? Dirty cunt. I slap his hand away.

“Oi, you cheeky fooker, git yer hands off of us! I don’ go grabbin’ your arse, do I? It’s fookin me, yer daft twat!” Garry stares blankly at me for a moment, then his face changes, wrinkling up with fury.

“Now listen here, love, you come barging into my house, shouting at me, and now you’re having another pop at us? Look, I’m a nice guy, right, but you need to calm the fuck down.”

“Nice?!” I shout, and he slaps me. Hard. Right across the face. He feels fookin strong and all, normally in a one on one go, I’d take Garry, no doubt, but after that I’m barely standing.

“Yeah, fucking nice, right up until you push me, bitch!” and with that he grabs me by the hair, and drags us out the front door and shoves us into the street, slammin’ the bastard door right in me face.

Me milk’s all gone now, proper spilt everywhere and I feel a bit wet on the pants, but not the good kind, like.

I stagger me way down to Greasy Joe’s and sit down. He’s just opened, like, so it’s quiet. Jus’ me an ‘im.

“Hiya love,” I roll my fookin eyes, can’t he tell I’m not a bird, I’m a bloke? Like, I currently have tits and long hair, but surely Joe can see past that, to who I am?

“What can I get yer?” he asks my chest, not even tryin’ to hide it. I tug my top up slightly, and ask the top of his head for a coffee, before leaving a few coins on the counter and sittin’ down.

I just need a brew, a strong coffee an’ right now I don’ even care if it has milk or not. I’m waitin’ and would you fookin believe it? That bird from las’ night comes in with some bloke. She looks agitated, arms waving about like a mad bitch, givin’ off at him, prob’ly about him bein’ a fookin soy boy or sommat. They sit near us and I can finally hear what she’s sayin’.

“But Ed, you don’t, like, get it! It’s not a compliment to keep ignoring me when I say no, is it? It’s predatory, he was dangerous, why don’t you believe me? I had to give him someone’s number!”

He looks a bit thoughtful at this, yer can nearly see the steam comin’ out the lads ears. “But, right, I get it’s a bit different, but if some girl…”

“Woman!”

“Yeah, sorry, if some woman was hitting on me like that all night, I’d be flattered. Just means he liked you, didn’t it?” I can practically feel the stare she’s givin’ him from the other side o’ the table, she’s just right drillin’ into him with her eyes.

Joe comes and puts a cup of tea in front of me, proper milky too. If I have ter drink tea, I need it strong, like a proper man, builder’s brew, innit? Joe winks at me, proper flirty like.

“Made you a girl’s drink, love. Girls don’t like coffee, do they? Nice and weak for yer too. Now, I was wonderin’, have yer got a fella?” He places me money on the table in front of us and a napkin with a pen on top. “You give us yer number love, and this one’s on the house.”

I eye him up an’ down, me mouth hangin’ open a bit. I can’t talk, but I clock he’s took his wedding ring off, like.

“Joe, yer a married man, ain’t ya?”

“She don’t have to know,” he says, but he covers his left hand and his expression changes, just for a split second. “Go on, be a laugh, wouldn’t it? Pretty little thing like you, give yer more than a bacon bap!” He pushes the napkin and pen towards me, starin’ right down me top. I can feel me face flush right red, I want to get away but I can’ even push me chair back because of how he’s stood over us. I look round the nearly empty room, but that bird from las’ night is still talkin’ to her fella, and right now even support from that total fookin Nancy would go a long way.

I can feel the hand print on me face from earlier, it stings harder as Joe breathes down me neck.

But, nar, fuck this! I manage to shove meself away from the table, spillin’ the weak milk water Joe called tea all over the place. Must have shocked him, because he didn’t try and stop us as I rushed out the door. Leavin’ I can hear him mutter somethin’ about how birds can’ take a compliment, and I’m sure he called me a slut.

I walk down the high street now, wishin’ I had a jumper or sommat to pull over meself. Tears prick in me eyes, and I cannot remember the las’ time I cried. Not even when me dad topped himself, held it together even then, coz men don’ fookin cry, right? Not even when it shreds ‘em up inside.

I stagger about fer a bit, get a tin of G&T, coz the twat at the offie wouldn’t let us buy beer, and find meself at the footy ground. They started lettin’ folks in, so I show ‘em the ticket on me phone and make me way inside. It’s startin’ ter get busy now, lots of guys singin’ and shoutin’, every cunt squeezin’ past each othr. I drain me can, drop it on the floor an’ start to relax now. This is where I’m supposed ter be, at the footy, in with the smell and the noise an’ the fookin lively laughter of it all!

“Come on you Reds!” I shout, like I have a million times before. This place wasn’ home, it was me sanctuary. The ground me church, football me religion.

Some guy sniggers at me, “Yeah love, up the reds. Name one player then, if you’re a proper fan.” Wha’? I can name every player on the team, for the past ten fookin years, what’s this cunt on about? Then another bloke moves past us as I’m stopped still, an’ I feel his hand on me arse, givin’ us a cheeky pinch. I look round, but can’ see who it was. Someone else barges past us, not even noticin’ us, as a different hand gropes us.

“Better than the trophy last season, that thing!” he laughs as he moves on. The fook is this? I jus’ wanna watch the footy, have a bevvie and shout like I always do, every fookin week. But these cunts won’t leave us alone, I ‘ave never been touched so fookin much in me life, everywhere I go there’s hands and looks and comments. I can’t escape any of it and leave before half time.

I rush out the ground, pushin’ through the rusty turnstiles, trippin’ over them as some guy shouts after us; “What’s wrong, love?”

An’ then I fookin see her. That woman from earlier, jus’ hangin’ about outside the ground, leanin’ against the wall, all casual like. I stop, frozen in place. I’ve never been so scared of a woman before, but I guess it’s a first for lots of shit terday.

“So, any idea how much of a shit stain you are yet?” she asks us. I swallow, hard, an’ jus’ nod. Tears proper leakin’ down me face now, me head hangs down.

“Good,” she says, “Chin up, love.” She smirks as I slowly bring me head up to try an’ face her, before she pokes us in the balls again! I squeal, but this time it’s a deep one, not a womanly one, and again, by the time I open me eyes, she’s gone.

I head home, no keys, no idea how I’ll get in, but fook me I jus’ wanna be in me own gaff now. I get there, defeated, an’ sit against me front door. It only takes a few minutes, but Abdul comes out ter see us. He hands me sommat.

“You left these in the front door, last night,” he says, as I take the weight of me keys. “You OK, neighbour? You look like you could use a brew.”

Aye Abdul, that I could. Guess yer man’s not so bad after all.