And that's your own, that's your own, that's your own.
Remember that? That was The Levellers hit single back in the early 90's. A clarion call to middle class drop outs and trustafarians up and down the country to wear stinking clothes, not wash their hair, and try to ponce money off of us fucking idiots that go out to work every day. I used to work as a gardener and for 3 or 4 summers we used to end up with these cunts sleeping on the park bandstand so that no one else could use it. I'm not kidding they'd live on it from may through to september. Then they'd probably fuck off home and have a shower, while I, the cunt that went to work and contributed to their dole money cleaned up their discarded bedding and needles.
I fucking hated crusties. The breadknife and her mates were all into the Levellers, Back to the Planet, Radical Dance Faction and the like. Actually I quite liked Radical Dance Faction, they had a mad dub thing going on. But the trouble with all these band were their fans. Middle class crusty kids and scabby new age travellers. I once went to see The Levellers at Cambridge corn exchange with the Bread and one of her old schoolmates. While in the foyer they bumped into an old school friend of theirs, they're having a chat with this bloke and I'm standing on the periphery of there conversation when suddenly their mate says 'Excuse me a minute' to them, and then walks over to me and asks me if I've got any spare change. My missus is mortified, her mate looks ashamed. I tell this cunt to fuck off, and the next thing I've got some hatchet faced harpie in my face (schoolfriends' missus) telling me what a bastard I am for not giving them any money. I told her to fuck off too. The missus points out that I'm her husband but instead of apologies all I get is sulky looks. Cunts!
I ended up staying in the bar. I tried to watch the band for a while but first of all I had the usual twat with girlfriend on shoulders in front of me. Who, when I objected turned round and said 'We're only dancing man'. So I moved on and got stuck behind some daft tart who'd braided her hair with beads and was swinging said braids around like a cat 'o ' nine tails.
Fuck. That!
As you can guess I'm not a fan of Crusties. I'm an even bigger hater of Pikeys. I don't mean your common or garden Gypsy, though god knows they can be bad enough, I mean pikey's. Grungy, scrungey filthy dole scroungers who travel up and down the country in old vans and coaches. Taking over neighbourhoods, having the odd rave, generally leaving a cesspool of refuse that the local authority has to pay to clean up. We've got a bit of scrap land down the bottom of the road that's like a magnet to these fuckers. Normally they turn up every other january and stay until the eviction notice kicks in. This lot have been different. They've managed to stay for 8 months. Screaming up and down my road in their barely (if at all legal) cars. Having the occasional rave, really just putting everyones nerves on edge. They've managed this by moving to a different patch of land every couple of months. It turns out that the land is owned by four different interests. One of them gets an eviction notice, they move on to the patch next door. And so on.
Today they finally got fucked over. And you know what? I don't care that they did. Their shitty red peugot 205 got carted off on the back of a breakdown truck looking much the worse for wear. Looked to me like someone went around it with a very large piece of wood. The entrance to the land is gated, blocked by concrete posts, and then sandbags full of concrete.
There's only one way of life, and fuck everybody who it affects cos it's your own it's your own it's your own!
