…I’m fifty feet up in the air, thinking, well, this isn’t gonna end well.  I hear the loose coil sliding along the steel edges, and I look over me shoulder, and it’s coming straight at me.  It must have hit me, but I don’t remember that.  The next thing I remember is being eight or ten metres away, upside down, pinned to the hull by the coil.  Its ripped all the flesh off me leg, broken me bones.  Turned me lower leg to pulp…

Can I fill up my water bottle mate?

Sure, buddy!  Come on in.  Don’t worry about the dogs.  They’re all noise.  Shut up you lot!  There’s a tap in the kitchen there.

Thanks very much mate.  It’s hot out there. 

Do you fancy a cone, mate?

Oh, look, I’d love to, but It’s gonna get dark soon, I should crack on.

No worries.  Have a cone.  It’s only half an hour into town.  I’ll drive you there after we have a smoke.

Well… you’ve twisted my arm, mate.  Thanks.  Is it OK if I just make a little J though?  I’m a bit of a light weight.

Knock yourself out mate!  You got papers?

Yeah, I do, thanks.

Jock’s me name.  Well, that’s what me mates call me.  I used to be a jockey.

I’m Emmanuel.  Thanks, Jock.

You’re very welcome, Emmanuel.  Make yourself comfy mate.
I had to stop riding after me accident, but I still got the arm strength, and I haven’t let meself go to fat like some blokes do.
I almost missed me last ride.  Me car broke down.  I grabbed me fuckin’ saddle and stood on the side of the road.  Nothing gets you a ride quicker than a saddle under your arm.  Fella stops and says what race you in mate?  I’m riding in the sixth, I tell him.  Well, I reckon you’ll just make it if I put my foot down he says.  Well, he ran every light on the way to the track, and I got there just as all the other riders were weighing out. 
I just go ahead and weigh out with all the others, calm as you like, but the fucking owner drops his bundle.  Where the fuck have you been? he yells at me.  Me fucking car broke down, I say.  Do you think this is acceptable behaviour for a professional rider he snaps at me.  I’m here aren’t I? I say, nice and cool.  Now how do you want me to ride this fucking nag?  You know the horse, he splutters, you know how to ride her, don’t you.  Righto I say. 
She’s good to go, out of the gate, and the first hundred I’m just holding her back.  Me arms are fucking popping, and she’s nudging the third.  When were forty metres out, I let her have her way, and she pops out the side of the pack and beats the second by a length.
The owners waiting for me in the yard.  I’m gonna give the next race to Mick he says.  You’re taking me off and giving the ride to a fucking pimply kid, because I was late? I ask him.  I won the fucking race for you didn’t I?  You got to learn to be reliable he says.  Righto, I say, I’m done then.  I walk out to the sheds, change out of me gear, and hitch a ride to me car.  I get in the drivers seat, turn the key, and the cunt starts first time.  I drive home, and the next day I go down the docks and get me cousin to find me a job loading.
Next day.  The owner rings me up.  Where the fuck are you? he says, you’re riding in the fourth.  I’m at work, I say.  What are you talking about? he says.  I told you I was done, I say.  Get mick to ride the fourth.  And I hang up.  
The job me cousin got me was loading work.  We weren’t wharfies, we were just dockies.  The wharfies thought they were the fucking business, up in their cranes, and us cunts running around down below were just ants to em.
One afternoon we’re loading coils of tensile cable.  Each one of these coils weighs as much as a big car.  We stack ’em in pyramids, and as the wharfies lay each one down with the crane, us dockies climb up the stack and lash them down to each other.  We’re just about done in the forward hold, and me and the boys are finishing lashing down.  The foreman comes on the radio and says, can we squeeze in one more? OK mate, I say, there’s a gap down the front.  I’ll put down a couple of boards and we’ll lash it forward to the hull.  I put the boards in place, and me and the boys carry on lashing.  The crane comes over with the last coil, and without checking, the fucking wharfie drops it down in the centre of the stack.  I see it coming, and I yell out, look out boys!  The coil comes down and bounces against the side of the stack, and suddenly the coil I’m standing on shoots out, and I’m hanging by my hands.  I’m fifty feet up in the air, thinking, well, this isn’t gonna end well.  I hear the loose coil sliding along the steel edges, and I look over me shoulder, and it’s coming straight at me.  It must have hit me, but I don’t remember that.  The next thing I remember is being eight or ten metres away, upside down, pinned to the hull by the coil.  It’s ripped all the flesh off me leg, broken me bones.  Turned me lower leg to pulp basically.  I’ll show you mate.  See here, they took the tissue from the back of me leg and moved it round the front.  This deep gouge, that’s where the coil ended up pinning me. 
Me left eye’s stuffed.  Nerve damage.  This bit of elastic I put here to hold my eyelid open.  That way I can see a bit out of it.
I’ve still got a steel rod in me leg.  The doctor calls me in to see him one day.  He says, we’ve done everthing we can for that leg Steven, but there’s still a steel rod in there and we would like to take it out.  I said, is it gonna do me any harm?  He says, probably not, but there is a risk for future complications.  I look at him and say, doc, I’ve had thirteen operations on this leg.  Last time you worked on me me fucking heart stopped and you had to open up me chest.  I can walk alright.   With a steel rod in there I’m not likely to break the leg again any time soon.  I think I’ll take me chances with the future compli-fuckin’-cations.
Alright.  We better make a move.  I’m playing darts at eight thirty.  I’ll drive you into town.

Yeah, just push the dogs into the back.  They’re used to riding up front with me.  Come on ya mongrels.  Yeah.  If I take one, they all want to fuckin’ come for the ride.

I got a cousin who’s aboriginal.  I seen him down the pub a couple weeks ago.  He just got out of jail.  I was there with a few blokes, playing darts.  I go over to the bar, and there’s me cousin Neville.  I buy him a beer, we have a quick chat and I go back to me darts game. 
Who’s that black cunt you were talking to, says one of the blokes on the other team.  His buddies all have a laugh.  I look at this fella and say, hang on a second mate.  I go back to the bar, and I tap Neville on the shoulder and I tell him, hey, there’s a fella over there who wants to ask you a question, cuz.  Neville gets up off his stool and waddles over to the table.  He’s a big boy so it takes him a while to squeeze through the crowd.  Old mate sitting at the table watches him coming over and he’s starting to look a bit nervous.  Neville, I say, this bloke wants to ask you a question.  Neville looks at this fella, who’s never looked so white before in his life, and lifts his eyebrows at him a bit.  What was it you wanted to know? I say to him.  Nah, don’t worry about it, mumbles this bloke.   Oh that’s right, I say, didn’t you say to me, who’s that black cunt you were talking to?  No, no, mate, I didn’t say that, this poor cunt mumbles looking sideways at Neville like a budgie eyeing a pitbull.  Righto then, I say.  Sorry to trouble you Neville old mate, and we walk back to the bar.  What would you have done if he’d asked you? I say to Neville.  Neville looks at me slow.  You do not want to know, cuz, he says.  It’s a bloody good thing he didn’t ask me though, ’cause I’m still on me fuckin’ parole and I’m not ready to go back inside just yet.

 
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