Eight pints down the Bastard Arms, a large kebab from the Yuhariq Alkafir Grill, a piss in the church doorway, a puke on the kiddies swings in the park, and nearly-consensual sex with the wife. For 15 years, this has been the Friday and Saturday nightly norm for Dagenham delivery driver Pete Wiley, come hell or high-water, high day or holiday.
That has all changed. After a hard day’s work extorting bog roll from terrified corner-shop owners, and flogging it out the back of his van at a 1,000% mark-up, Pete now finds himself in the almost-loving bosom of his family at the weekend – and is hating it. ‘Facking Boris – I didn’t vote for ‘im to shut the facking pubs,’ he said.
Bereft of the fellow entrepreneurial company afforded by The Snug, Wylie finds himself missing the laudatory congratulations for ‘another sucker shucked’, although he does admit that it is lucky the ‘old ‘ens ain’t getting knocked off so quickly by the facking virus as they are always ready with the notes for the old scams’.
Pete’s first ‘end-nighter at home got off to a bad start. ‘The facking kids were kicking off as I had the remote, the wife had brought the wrong facking lager – undrinkable facking piss, dozy mare – and the dog was humping my facking leg. It was bastard mayhem until I made a large withdrawal from the slap-bank and spread it around, then they all facked off snivelling and left me in peace and quiet.’
‘I finally went round to Abduls to get the extra-large, extra-hot kebab, but the first bite tasted like munching down on a rancid lady-tramps clopper,’ he said. When pressed about the very specific simile he had just used, Wylie admitted: ‘When the missus is up on the blocks, you have to take what you can get’.