About Me
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Alreet pal? My name's Oz, what of it, eh? I work in the construction industry...well, we used to put things up, but recently we've taken stuff doon. But there's no job too big for me and the lads, bloody good oppos, as Bomber would say. Ah, Bomber! Let us tell you aboot the lads....well there's Den, he's like the gaffer, and at times me and him don't see eye to eye. He's too straight laced to play funny buggers, Dennis. If it wasn't for Den, I'd probably be tooled up in Durham nick. It was Den what gave us me first proper gig, when he get a firm together to go to Dusseldorf. There was Den and me, and Neville...a young lad, like, a bit wet behind the ears...I says to Den, Den, you canna wet norse 'im all his life, y knarr, and I'm pleased to say he's still on the firm now. Diven't ask him to dee any carpentry mind! He's alreet is Neville, jst diven't mention their Brenda...always henpecking Neville that one, cor. Mind you, she's neewhere near as bad as wor Marjorie...Den says she would break the balls of innocent bystanders. Me and Marjorie has never seen much of each other since she went to Milan with that italian gadgie. He was alreet, like....for an Italian.Then were was Barry. Boring Barry Taylor, the Prince of Trivia. He was Table tennis champion in Wolverhampton, so that's where you might knarr the name. Y'knarr, you've got to hand it tiv Mr Taylor...got his arse down, did some honest graft (he was with me in the Falklands...wasn't there durin the hostilities, didn't get to see nee butcherin, like) and noo look at him! Millionaire. Well, varnaye on a millionaire anyways.Ah aye, and Moxey, another borin bastard. Good plasterer, like. There was always somethin shifty aboot Mox...only turns out he's an arsonist! Me and the lads couldn't believe it. Bit of a weird one, Moxey, in and out of the nick and borstals all his life, nee home or family to speak of...I mean, the lads is probably the closest thing to family he's got.
Then there was London. Wayne Winston Norris. It's nee secret that I was never his biggest fan...always on the pull, droppin the lads right in it at times. I said to him once, what is it with you, eh? Does the thought of gettin yer kneecaps smashed give yer a git big bonk on? I was sad to hear he'd died like. His lad Wyman is a chip off the old block an all. Turned up at me funeral, wanted to meet his dad's mates. He's not a bid kid really, and a canny grafter.And finally, Bomber. The gentle giant. He doesn't say much, does Bomber, but when he does speak, he makes sense. Me and the lads was gutted when we got that letter from him, sayin he wa sputtin down his tools, in Arizona, of all places. Canny place though but.
