Day 56
Dwarfs steaming - all mashed up from the night before. All gazzed up on stella and what Sweet As said was
charlie but I’ve had some nosebag in London when me and Dribbler were knocking about with some Reading
Youth and there was no way his gear was kosher. Still, I saw a girl’s knickers at close quarters, who says
there’s no fucking advantage being a dwarf?
Day 57
Away in the North Country. We catch a train early doors from the railway station on top of a hill and are
soon in the swing of things. The Butcher is still caning it from last night and he knocks a lady’s paper on the
floor. When she leans down we have a butchers(!) at her tits. Marvellous. She didn’t know a thing, although
Larey went bright red, the pretty cunt.
12.30 - Sweet As’s phone starts ringing - it’s the northern boys. They’re up for it, the muppets, they
ain’t gonna know what’s gonna hit them. The Butcher slides off to the khazi to puke. Some cunts don’t
know what their fucking limit is.
Day 58
Wake up with a sore coupon. We got a pasting yesterday. The Dribbler lived up to his name and drooled into
some shitbag northern drain as their boys gave us what can only be described as a real pasting. Fucking gang
bang. This ain’t in the script. It was four to one and I weren’t happy. Clothes Rack got mud up his Lacoste and
cried for hours. Life ain’t so easy sometimes.
Day 62
At home to the big city boys - we’re all nervous. Together we’re solid but if you get us apart then we’re
fucked. Four foot of sinew just don’t add up and you end up doing mathematics in the gutter. We’re walking
up the hill, it’s mostly scarfers and kids but there’s an air to it. Simple is singing, he starts on his own but we
soon join in, it’s our song.
"Hi ho, hi ho
It’s toe-to-toe we go
With a liquid lunch
And a short-arse punch
Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho."
People look round, their faces are confused but I can smell the fear, oh yes. No fucking bother. The
Butcher is top boy this week. Every Monday we slip round Dribbler’s house and play poker. Whoever wins
goes at the top of a dwarf pyramid and we shout "You’re a fucking top boy" and spray lager-beer on his
Paul and Shark.
Day 63
Not again! Another pasting, this is really starting to fuck me off. I thought we were solid, I thought we could
do the business but once again, the claret flowed and we were on the fucking mother brown. They sliced up
Larey and that has really upset me. He’s a beautiful little cunt, and - I don’t know - there’s just something
about him. The way he crops his hair, the shades of shirt he buys. He’s so fucking beautiful and now he’s got
a gash down his cheek and I don’t know what to do.
Day 68
Larey’s still inside, he’s feeling better but I’m still beeling. We got stitched big style last week and we’ve got
do something about it. A big night out in the town on top of the hill should do it. Get The Butcher to get some
of his nosebag. We get the train, it’s the only way to travel. A bit of class. Nothing compares to pulling into a
station, not knowing which platform you’re going to arrive on, whether the station has a Reef Café bar or just
some kind of pub. Simple’s on the blower, some Millwall are in town and keen on a meet. I ain’t doing nothing
without a bit of nosebag first. Some say I’ve lost my bottle after Larey but I just need a fire-up.
00:34 end up in Freedom Bar in Soho, lots of muscular fellas about. Clothes Rack is fuming, thinks the place
is heaving with irons but I like the vibe. I get helped up onto one of the stools at the bar and at times like this I
feel at one with myself. Sometimes my knuckles feel so very tired.
Day 69
Dunno what the cunt I was talking about last night, acting like a right nonce. I need to get back into the game.
Larey comes out soon and we need a good tear up to get the rage in our bellies. This is who we are. Fighting
makes us tall.
Day 73
Went shopping, bought a shirt. 200 large, nice. It ain’t easy getting dwarf clothes, being small and stylish
is a hard thing to do. The wicked witch’s team are coming to town in two months and we have some work
to do. Seven is a mystical number, we have power but if we get scattered we fucking die. The streets are
alive with the strains of the struggle, never underestimate us. We are the last truly little people you will ever
know. The tear-ups of the future come charging at us and we will not flinch.
To be continued...
nce upon a time there was a football ground on top of a hill that was the pride of all the land around it. People
came from far around to sing and clap and cheer on the team with all their heart. But there was a club
owned by a wicked witch in the same league and fans of this club were always coming to the football club
on top of a hill and causing trouble and spoiling the apples and occasionally ruining the harvest.
ood burghers at the club on top of a hill scratched their beards
and wondered what to do about the situation. They had summoned up all their magic to defeat the
Necromancer Relegation a few years previously and there was much wailing by the fans of the club
on top of a hill. The situation looked hopeless.
ut almost from nowhere the club on top of a hill were saved. From a cave marched seven dwarves,
ready for action and tight for a tear-up. Each had a Lacoste baseball cap with their name on:
ould these people prove to be the saviours of the club on top of a
hill? Could their short but fearsome reputation and street skills keep the club on top of a hill safe from the
wicked witch’s evil ways? They had to - they were all that the people had left
