Dilligaf

          A bit of lightness for today’s entry. This was my second to last day of work before I go on holiday for the wedding and honeymoon. You’d think a man about to be married would be embarking upon a magnificent career and yet I found myself today at Bracknell Magistrates Court dealing with a youth.

            The kid was eleven years old and stood charged with the grave offence of swearing at police officers.

            I read his interview on the train. He’d answered every single question with one word: ‘Dilligaf’. In conference with the boy and his father I was informed by his laughing father that this meant ‘do it look like I give a fuck?’

            In this same conference I was informed by the boy that he’d ‘remembered’ that he was shopping with his father and grandfather at the time of the alleged incident. They fiercely denied any suggestion that they might be mistaken on this point.

            “But wot no one seems to understand, right,” began the father suddenly, “is that my son only told those coppers wot ’e did ’cos they asked ’im.”

            “Yeah,” chipped in the boy, “I woz only tellin’ the truth.”

            “They asked ’im wot ’e thought of ’em.”

            “’an I told ’em: buncha useless wankers.”

            “I see,” I said, sympathetically. “And this was while you were out shopping, right?”

            “Er…” said the father. “Er… yeah. No. Wot? No. This was another time altogether.”

            “I see. Yes.”

            Eventually I secured them an alternative charge of swearing in a public place and forced a confession out of the kid for that.

            Honestly, how am I expected to provide for a family on the back of this nonsense?