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Tales from the 'life is like this' collection

Fagged Out

Overheard on a bus in West Yorkshire -

'Ee, allo there Dorothy!'

'ello luv - how are ya?'

'Not too bad.'

The conversation quickly assumed the air of confidentiality.

'Our Terry's movin' out. At last.'

'Ee, Dorothy - is he? How old is he na?'

'Forty five!'

'Is he? Decided to leave his mam at last, eh?'

'Not before time' I shall be glad to give 'is room a reet good clearout.'

'Mucky, is it?'

'Well, it's the smokin'. Room stinks, walls are all yella, smell all over th'ouse' Glad to be rid.'

'Oh, he smokes does he? - I used to be a smoker, ya know.'

'Did ya?'

'Oh yeh. Twenty fags a day. But I gave it up when our Cheryl wor born.'

'Oh?'

'Yeh. It wor the breastfeedin'. I thought to mesen' - it's not nice when you're putting it in her mouth - you know, the smell from your fingers. Thought I had better stop.'

'You did right. I hate them fags. Ash and nub ends all over everywhere, stinking clothes and you can't breathe. Not to mention the 'ackin and coughin' and spittin.'

Disgustin!'

'Oh yeh.'

There was a slight pause, and then -

'Apart from that, Dorothy, I don't mind it really.'

'Neither do I.'