Eavesdropping on Scaffolders
Wot, you ain’t big mate,
you’re all skin ‘n bones…
Wheres’ them wrenches, Jim?
Nope, not that’un - the clawed long‘un, fella!
Pass ‘em up - cog size 6.
The geezer in th'next flat said
we’re making’ too much noise.
I said to ‘im, just putting bread on the table, mate, I said.
The ole biddy across the way don’t seem to mind. Deaf, probly.
Dropt the ‘ammer on yer foot, didya?
The Mrs wouldn’t like that, huh
wot wiv the tiddler and Marlene playin’ up awful, daft lass, an’all.
Blinkin’ heck, mate!
Them piles ar’outa the straight;
where’s the friggin’ level, man?
Needs ‘ammerin’ dead on the bolt.
Dunno wot to fink o’them sarnies from the carryvan -
kindo’ nuffink in ‘em;
P’raps fell out when Jo chucked ‘em in the winda
- to save ‘is ars legs, most like -
or that mangey cat hangin’ about, got ‘em, the poxy blighter.
Jake frew a brick at it
-an y’shud’ve seen how Al stropped-on about the pore beastie -
bitof a larf, but, I ain’t one to joke, j'y'know wot I mean
- we keep rabbits, like
and I was never a one for that huntin’ malarkey:
stinkin’ cruel in't, if ya ask me.
An’ matey, mind you keep the podger an’ ratchet dry
when the lads git sprayin’.
Wots the matter wiv them people
not 'arf belly-achin’ about ours truck
-give uz a helicopter,
I sez to th’ole bloke on poncy scooter -like he woz a traffic cop;
duz e’ fink w’er’in Trafalgy square or someat!
blindin’ nutter, I sez.
June