Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
He talked a lot about 'God's will', too, and he gave us the impression that he was
ashamed of his homosexuality, and felt that he had betrayed God.
'Ah dornt fancy either ay ye, by th' way,' he said, necking his whisky.
'Why not?' asked Ben, slightly offended. 'What's wrong with us?'
'Well you ah not my type, and his legs ah too hairy,' he said pointing to my exposed
white thighs.
'I've killed people,' he then said a while later. 'I've killed lots of people.'
This was a conversation-stopper like no other.
'It was mah job,' he said after a long pause. 'Aam nae proud 'bout whit ah did.'
'What do you mean it was your job?' I asked hesitantly.
'Ah worked fur th' british government killin' terrorists. IRA mostly.'
'Surely that's an admirable job?' said Ben.
'Aye, you would think so, wooldnae ye? All mah life I've hud aw thes guilt inside me
abit th' things I've dain an' th' things I've seen. I've never talked aboot this tae anyone be-
fore. Aam nae supposed tae. But after whit happened at th' doctor's this morn, ah cooldnae
give a fuck anymore.'
He told us more about the places he had lived and the things he had done. At one point
he started talking in Russian - a requirement for one of his missions, apparently. Ben and
I were both totally gripped by his stories. We had met some interesting characters on our
trip, but Mick was in a league of his own.
We were then faced with the moment of having to go back and sleep at his house. We
suddenly longed for the easy, unthreatening nature of the other people that we had stayed
with - Monica in Ludlow, or David and Annie in Nanstallon - rather than facing the uncer-
tainty of a night with Mick.
He led the way back to his house which was a 15 minute walk from the pub. He was
staggering all over the pavement and occasionally had to hold onto a wall or lamppost to
regain his balance. Despite his age, and poor dress sense, he looked fairly fit and had a
powerful athletic build.
'Are you sure this is a good idea?' whispered Ben.
'Yeah, we'll be fine,' I said, not entirely convinced.
'I'm absolutely shitting myself. We're going back to sleep on the floor at a trained
killer's house, who is absolutely shitfaced. Are we insane?'
'When you put it that way, it does sound a bit stupid, but he seems like a genuinely nice
bloke who just wants to help us out. What's the worst that can happen?'
'Errr, that we get bummed or killed, or both,' said Ben.
MicklivedinasmallcouncilflatontheedgeofCarlisle.Ithadnotbeendecoratedsince
the 1960s. Either that or Mick was into retro-styling in a big way. A few meagre posses-
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