Tuesday 7th July
Just as I’m leaving the house this morning, someone comes through the front gate.
“Are you Mike Stray?” a slightly wild-eyed elderly woman asks, in a strong Irish accent. Before thinking about it – I’m never at my best before the second coffee – I agree that I am.
“Well, what are you going to do about the dags?”
“The dags?”
“Yes, the dags. The dags have been keeping me awake all night.”
I’m trying to work out what the hell she’s talking about, then I remember one of my favourite films – Lock, Stock etc etc.
“The dogs?”
“Yes, the dags.”
“Keeping you awake all night?”
“Yes, in this heat I have to sleep with my windows open. And someone’s got some dags they’re not looking after, they’re barking all bloody night! My neighbour said to go to the council. So here now – what are you going to do about it?”
“Wait here one second, I’ll get a pen and paper.”
I go back in, find a used envelope and a biro, come back out. I take her details down, promising I’ll get onto environmental health.
Later on, I’ve actually got above 50 on the A12, glory be. I’ve got the windows down, the breeze is cooling me down, I reach into my pocket for some gum, the envelope stuffed in there floats out and around the cab and before I can grab it, is caught by the slipstream and consigned to the roadside.
I’m just praying now that someone lets sleeping dags lie.
Thursday 9th July
I’d just switched over to LBC, having waited until 1pm so I didn’t have to endure that bearded lefty git, James O’Brien, when they announced that Nigel was making a statement at 2pm. Cue an anxious hour, hoping to goodness that he wasn’t about to jack it all in.
My feelings for that man – well, I’d never joined a political party in my life before Reform. Politics didn’t interest me, I just saw them all as self-serving, you’d know when an election was coming as suddenly they’d appear. I’m proud of this country, we were the best nation in the world and could be again, but somehow it was wrong to be patriotic – until he came along. I’m not racist, I just want the people who live here to be British, no matter where they’re from. Play our games, take on our traditions, be behind our flag and no matter what you look like, that’s all that matters. But the country is full up, and we can’t have people coming here illegally and frankly taking the piss, expecting phones and houses and us to change to their ways. Not on. And Nigel gets it – gets that hard-working people like yours truly are sick of being taken for mugs. The Establishment has got it in for him, and I could understand if he has had enough.
Thankfully, that’s not the case. I’m now waiting for the call to hit Clacton and knock on doors, which I’m happy to spend every hour of my spare time doing. Bring it on.
I’m taking tomorrow off to talk to Yvonne about Callum. I can’t stop the boats, I can’t close the asylum hotel down but by God, I’m going to see that boy right. Sharon and I weren’t blessed with children; sometimes maybe these things weren’t meant to happen, and a bit like her brother Terry, that subject is kept in a box that we rarely open. Can’t change the past – but maybe, if I can do right by Callum, a little bit of the pain I see in Sharon’s eyes when she doesn’t know I’m looking at her will go away. Maybe.
Next episode here >>> or you can see all episodes in ‘Mike’s Diary’ series
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