A new mag (#97) comes out on Wednesday night at the West Ham match. Subscribe now (link at bottom of the page) and ensure you never miss another copy.
The Hoolie Life
NEW RED ISSUE OUT TODAY- COME SEE WHAT YOU'RE MISSING
A new mag (#97) comes out on Wednesday night at the West Ham match. Subscribe now (link at bottom of the page) and ensure you never miss another copy.
The Hoolie Life
Now I'm not a violent person myself but I've recently found myself enthralled by these books about football hooliganism. ‘Men In Black', ‘Scally', ‘The Naughty Forty' – I've read them all and, ashamed as I am to admit it, I enjoyed them thoroughly. So much so that when everyday situations now present themselves, I've begun to ask myself, “How would the ‘top lads' deal with this?”.
And it's a philosophy that is gradually taking over my entire mindset – I'm now living my life according to the principles set out by such hooligan generals. I'm living my life according to what I now know as being, “Hoolies' law”.
January ‘06 – Home
It's funny how it happens. One minute you're enjoying a nice drink and the next minute all hell breaks loose. And this Saturday night in January was no different.
The missus started the ball rolling by asking me to stack the dishwasher. As soon as the order goes up, you've got to be on your toes. I didn't fancy this one to be honest but I couldn't wriggle out of it. I wasn't wrong either, as soon as I went into the kitchen, I knew the situation was well on top. We had had a Chinese and there were plates, cups, bowls, the lot. And the filth was everywhere too. I got myself together. No matter, I'd been here many times before and you don't get a rep from sitting on your arse not having a go. In for a penny, in for a pound I thought. I don't mind rolling up my sleeves and getting my hands dirty so I set about them right from the off. They weren't expecting it like that so that's precisely what I did.
The cups at first. Right dirty bastards they were and the only thing to do was to go straight into them, rinsing them a bit before stacking them in a line. To be fair, they put up quite a decent show and some of them were right slippery cunts - but I rounded them easily in the end.
Cutlery next and they weren't for moving. Stood firm they did and you had to take your hat off to them. Saying that, most people know that I'm not into blades and I wasn't going to let them get the better of me. Not on home turf. No fucking way. No one gets the better of me at home.
Anyway, I couldn't back down, she'd go mad plus I done the hard bit already. I got right in amongst them grabbing them with my fists. At one stage I must have had 10–15 of them right there, in my hands, but I never shit out. If they can see your arse, you might as well give up there and then. Hang up the marigolds so to speak. In they went in the end but they struggled like fuck and I was getting a sweat on. I came across a few stragglers later but it was easy pickings by that stage.
Plates last. As most people know, they're all front. There they were, lording it up like they were big time but I knew they weren't. They were about 10 handed as well but as soon as I'd given the one at the top a slap, the rest followed easily. I was really buzzing by this stage having nearly got the job done. In the last one went before I brought out “One Wash Lenor” to mop up.
It's funny how it happens. One minute you're enjoying a nice drink and the next minute all hell breaks loose. And this Saturday night in January was no different.
The missus started the ball rolling by asking me to stack the dishwasher. As soon as the order goes up, you've got to be on your toes. I didn't fancy this one to be honest but I couldn't wriggle out of it. I wasn't wrong either, as soon as I went into the kitchen, I knew the situation was well on top. We had had a Chinese and there were plates, cups, bowls, the lot. And the filth was everywhere too. I got myself together. No matter, I'd been here many times before and you don't get a rep from sitting on your arse not having a go. In for a penny, in for a pound I thought. I don't mind rolling up my sleeves and getting my hands dirty so I set about them right from the off. They weren't expecting it like that so that's precisely what I did.
The cups at first. Right dirty bastards they were and the only thing to do was to go straight into them, rinsing them a bit before stacking them in a line. To be fair, they put up quite a decent show and some of them were right slippery cunts - but I rounded them easily in the end.
Cutlery next and they weren't for moving. Stood firm they did and you had to take your hat off to them. Saying that, most people know that I'm not into blades and I wasn't going to let them get the better of me. Not on home turf. No fucking way. No one gets the better of me at home.
Anyway, I couldn't back down, she'd go mad plus I done the hard bit already. I got right in amongst them grabbing them with my fists. At one stage I must have had 10–15 of them right there, in my hands, but I never shit out. If they can see your arse, you might as well give up there and then. Hang up the marigolds so to speak. In they went in the end but they struggled like fuck and I was getting a sweat on. I came across a few stragglers later but it was easy pickings by that stage.
Plates last. As most people know, they're all front. There they were, lording it up like they were big time but I knew they weren't. They were about 10 handed as well but as soon as I'd given the one at the top a slap, the rest followed easily. I was really buzzing by this stage having nearly got the job done. In the last one went before I brought out “One Wash Lenor” to mop up.
Door shut – job done – nice result. (And if you think that was on top, wait to I tell you about an away day at Tesco's last November. Not to mention the close shave I had in the bathroom the other week – that was a ‘mare, claret all over the place!)