The FREE THE MANGEL ONE campaign has now hit 373 members, which is pretty fucking not bad at all. A few more and we'll be on quite good. But you know what level I'm aiming for, don't you, blokes and gentlemen? I'm aiming for top fucking banana.
Ain't there a plane called a 373? A Boing 373 or summat. I ain't been on a plane before but I have been on a helicopter. There was one up by the East Bloater Road once, a big red one parked near a recent road accident, by coincidence. Me and Finney were out there having a laugh in a borrowed Cosworth, pretending like we was American and driving on the right. Mind you, the feller had plenty of time to see us coming so I dunno why he swerved off the road like that, smashing into the bus-stop. Anyhow, me and Fin were alright, parking up behind some trees and coming back a bit later to see if there was anything worth seeing, sticking out bones and stuff. It was Finney who saw the chopper. Engine idling, no one in it. I mean, that is a fucking gift, right?
We got about twenty yards, and it was Finney's fault. I should have taken the wheel, I know. Or the rudder, or whatever the fuck it was. Why did I believe him when he said he'd drove one of them things in the army? Fin wasn't in the army, for fuck's fucking sake. He's a fucking gyppo, for starters, and I'm pretty sure they ain't allowed to join. Not that the bloke chasing us knew that. Fin could have been a general in the SAS for all he knew, the twat. So that's why it was his fault, really, when Fin veered sideways and took some of the bloke's head off with the blades. Just a bit, at the top.
But the main thing to know is we got away and no one saw us. And everyone was alright in the end. Except the bloke. And whoever had to put out the chopper, after we jumped out and it crashed into a conker tree, blowing up a bit. But I ain't ever been in a plane, no.
Not yet anyhow.