One Sunday, as the two of us were speaking quietly in the kitchen, Yan admired that he was spitting in Dave’s shampoo every time Dave was an arse. I laughed, looking astonished, opening big eyes then said:” no way, me too!!” We both burst out laughing.
From that moment on, I kept my shampoo in my room.
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On day, HE called on the phone landline, and Yan asked nosily, who’s that guy, he is you blockey? In my broken english, I heard “bollockey”. For the next few weeks, happy to know a new word, I used “bollockey” as often as I could.
There was that guy living in my house. Simon. A Newcastle yob with a thick accent.
Once he wanted to go to the cinema. I suggested going to see the new Wim Wenders.
He said : Who?
