A Bollywood Dancer

”My father is an American airman that got my mother pregnant then buggered off back to Ohio where he already had a wife and c***d. I,ve hated Yankees ever since! It,s nothing personal, but you,re an American!” He explained. “How vacant you say it,s Nothing Personal?” I queried. “It,s Everything Personal! I,m no relation to,your father yet I pay for what he did to you! I have two young k**s to support and a big mortgage so how do I pay for them?” “You,ll get three months wages in lieu of notice and your holiday pay to help till you find something else!” The smarmy snake went on. I took my identity card off and locker key on to his desk loudly without saying a word. The bastard called in my supervisor and made him watch me as I cleared out my things from my locker. All the other security officers on duty wished me good luck, but I never saw the wanker manager again. The firm had a union, but as I hadn,t been a member long enough they,d do nothing for me! It took ages before I deduced. The news droned on, Beryl having noted the withies stood next to the stove to dry, raised an eyebrow at Toby but said nothing, as she took her place at the side of the cold fireplace, her son innocently sitting returning her questioning glance, his face a blank. To Toby, football was normally a take it or leave it game, a bit like Bovril, like it or loath it, but tonight he was suddenly taking much more of an interest, though the book he was reading appeared to be more to his taste and his mother, who was usually knitting or ironing or the like was tonight darning, but her eyes too, distractedly kept flicking to the screen. Southampton against Derby, from the Kick-off and throughout the first half, an uninspiring game it was to say the least of it, half time came, and Cyril remarked the marines band had been the best thing on the pitch so far, the score nil, nil. Beryl grinning at Toby, Toby rising and going into the kitchen, fetching them both another cold beer, passing his mum a.
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