A day in the life of Mike Da hat

This is just an everyday story of everyday folk in the life of Mike Da hat. A day in the life of…………

Monday the day started normally enough, an eighteen year old Jamaican dude attempted to rob Mr Khan at the post office with a knife. My friend Mr Khan ducked below the counter and pushed the panic button. The youth legged it out the post office which is less than a hundred yards from my shop and ran off down the road. The police arrived and gave chase. PC Smith first on the scene followed directions from bystanders who saw the guy running. He found the discarded black balaclava and knelt down to take a look. He was jumped from behind and stabbed in the chest. He survived due to his stab jacket. Within minutes the area was swarming with police cars and dogs and helicopters.
After all that excitement I thought what better than to take my boy to the pub and have a quiet game of pool. It’ll be relaxing. A couple of beers and a few games with my teenage boy Jamie. We’d had a couple of games when this guy came running in shouting for an ambulance as an old man had collapsed in the street. It was my civic and moral duty to run out and try and help. So I ran. I found the guy quickly and assessed the situation. He was elderly, unable to move, in obvious distress clutching his chest and breathing very shallowly. His daughter was with him screaming at him to get up and every time she tried to move him he cried in pain holding his chest some more. She was trying to find his inhaler. Obviously an asthmatic. I called 999.
Within seconds it was chav central. The mans two sons turned up. Ignoring the old man they turned to me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Calling an ambulance.”
“Well fuck off it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“You want some of this?” and he raised his clenched fist at me. “We don’t need an ambulance so fuck off and mind your own business.”
I hung up the phone.
Two nurses came running up from the drug rehabilitation centre. They assessed the situation and demanded to know if anyone had called an ambulance.
I said I’d tried but was threatened.
“For chrissakes.” Shouted the nurse, “This man could be dieing.”
“Fuck off.”
Meanwhile the other nurse ran into the pub and had Ross the barman call and ambulance.
Chav turns to me and spits “You fucking still here?” We back off and nurse one and I move away to wait for the ambulance. Meanwhile a policeman arrives on the scene. He assesses the situation and verifies that an ambulance has been called on his radio. He is told to fuck off as well. Meanwhile the daughter is still screaming, she’s pissed anyway and father isn’t far behind. But he’s in a bad way. He still can’t move.
The ambulance arrives and two paramedics jump out. They are told to fuck off and mind their own business. They try to reason with the chavs but the abuse continues. The paramedics get back into the ambulance and drive off leaving the old man still lying in the road. The two sons then bodily pick up the father as he screams in pain and drag him home between him his toes scraping on the pavement. He could well be dead now as I write this.

So I go back into the pub and all is quiet except for this couple at the bar who are having a drink, she is of far eastern extraction and he is English, I’d seen them together many times, they seemed quite happy together. But tonight she was on a mission to goad him. And goad him some more. Dirty washing was aired in public. As we played pool we learnt more of their intimate home life than was comfortable. Two guys at the bar leant over and told her that although they were all good friends perhaps she should keep what went on behind closed doors to herself. Meanwhile the boyfriend just stood there quietly telling her to “Leave it.” And “Would you please shut up.” But she wouldn’t she went on with the criticisms. Now most people would have just walked away and continued the argument elsewhere in private but he stood his ground and took it. Even when she started punching him he took it. He kept his calm and kept on telling her to “be quiet.” Eventually the inevitable happened. At exactly 23:10 GMT after three hours of goading he snapped and with one sudden unexpected massive swing he punched her lights out. She went flying off the bar stool and landed unconscious on the floor amid broken glass and tables. Whether she was feigning unconsciousness or not he didn’t believe it and started screaming at her and giving her a kicking the two guys at the bar dragged him off but not before he’d grabbed a pint of beer and threw it in her face, calling her all the names under the sun.

She was down and I went to see if I could help. Moral and civic duty and all that. OK she deserved it but I couldn’t see her throw up and choke on her own vomit. So I went to put her in a recovery position as she was looking very dodgy. Lesley my pool playing partner said “Don’t get involved.”
“I can’t just leave her like that.”
“Yes you can Don’t get involved.”
“I’m not involved, but I must do something.” She was lying there retching. A combination of alcohol and the blow to the head. I stayed until I knew she was OK. Pissed but OK. Then we left. You’d think that was enough for one day wouldn’t you?

But no earlier on in the evening I had been speaking to a friend of mine who was having an affair behind his wifes back. He’s my friend. I speak to my friends. I don’t judge them I don’t criticise them. What he does is his own business. He is a grown man he doesn’t need me to spell out the consequences of his actions. He is fully aware of the shit he is in. So as he is a good friend I listened.
Lesley was on my case. “Why are speaking to him?”
“He’s a friend.”
“He’s a lying cheating bastard.” She said. “By talking to him you are condoning his actions you are encouraging him. What about his wife and children?”
“That’s his problem not mine.”
“It should be yours. You should have nothing to do with him.”
“Lesley I suggest you stop this conversation right now. I will not be a judge to my friends.”
“He is cheating on his wife. He’s going to leave her for some floozy.”
“Floozy? Do you know the girl?”
“I don’t need to I know the type.”
“What type?”
“Her type.”
“God! You need help.” I said. “You have declared yourself judge jury and executioner. And you don’t know the first thing about anything. I notice you never criticised me when I left my wife.”
“That was different, your marriage was over.”
“So his isn’t?”
“He’s just a womaniser.”
By now I was so angry and we had got to my back door. I said “I’m going to stop this conversation now before YOU regret it.” The door was slammed shut.
I will not have people tell me what to think. I will not be told who my friends are. I will not sit in judgement over my friends. I will never take sides in any argument.

I was once told by someone when two of my best friends fell out that I should stop sitting on the fence and make a stand. I was threatened, in a way, that my standing in the group was in jeopardy if I didn’t choose one way or another. I chose to stand my ground and NOT take sides. The result is I still have my two best friends even though they don’t speak to each other and I see them on separate occasions. Result.

For our American friends, if you want to know more about Chavs you’d do worse than log on to chavscum.co.uk. It’s a great site. You can even find out what your future Chav children will be called. I typed my details in and my baby girl will be called Kylie Winona De Hat and my baby boy will be called Elvis Tyson De Hat. Good job I’ve had a vasectomy.
There’s also an article on how to spot chavs, that mentions Argos Bling, the Croydon face lift and the ubiquitous Burberry baseball cap. There’s also a check list of six points that make a chav. I’m thankful I didn’t even score one of them.

For our American friends Argos is a cut price retail outlet that sells amongst a lot of other things. Very cheap tacky jewellery. For instance a faux Sovereign ring. Or the clown pendant. The purchases of choice for real Chavs.

Did I tell you my boy Jamie is a genius? Well he’s been classed officially as gifted. He has an IQ of 156. So I’m told. So we were talking about regular everyday stuff like quantum physics and artificial intelligence in robots, and the parameters by which we set the standards of sentience in robots. Whether robots can ever be truly sentient or will they just be so clever that they give the impression of being sentient. Well Lesley walked in and asked “What are you guys talking about?”
Jamie told her. “Don’t you do small talk? Light conversation?”
Jamie looked at her as if she was mad. “Light conversation? This is light conversation for me.” I just sat back and laughed to myself.
She said “You know light conversation. What’s happening on Eastenders. The weather. How are you?”
I laughed some more because I knew Jamie had no concept of anything so trivial. He doesn’t have that many friends who can keep his interest. I can see already that he looks on Lesley as a bottom feeder. The end of the food chain. He tolerates her because it is his ambition to beat her at pool. He achieved this last night. He’s only been playing five weeks and she has been playing for five years. I am very proud of my boy, but I also feel sorry for him. He has to learn how to cope with people who compared to him are the most stupid people in the world. It’s a challenge. He has to learn not to be patronising. He has to learn to accept that people are not as clever as he is and give them space. If it wasn’t for the stupid people in the world he would not be clever. So he has to learn to love these people. To accept their inadequacies. To accept they don’t understand a fucking word he says. It’s a fine balance. But he’s getting there. You know people have disabilities. In some respects being over intelligent is a disability socially. It’s very hard for him to relate to the common person. But I know he will get there. He can be clever and interact with normal people.
Christ I learnt how to do it. So why can’t he? Ha ha.
That’s it. You can go forth and multiply now.

Ipod now playing – Rabbit Rabbit by Chav and Dave