demanded.
‘PR,’ Wibble answered simply, ‘He’s here to see how nice we are right? So treat him nice yeah, you hear?’
It didn’t look as if this news was endearing me to Thommo any more than before. Then Wibble really twisted the knife, ‘You might have heard about him. He’s the bloke who wrote the book about Damage.’
‘Oh it just gets better doesn’t it?’ Thommo said, giving a surly snarl towards me.
Well thanks a bunch Wibble, I thought, that’s just fucking great. Are there any more psychopaths you want to wind up and set on me?
‘Yeah sure,’ Thommo said, the edge of sarcasm obvious in his voice for all to hear. ‘Why don’t you just feel free to snoop around, just see what you find to write about?’
*
‘What the fuck was all that about?’ I whispered, as we walked away again towards the food stops, Wibble looking pleased with himself. ‘Ah, just winding Thommo up.’
The subtext was clear. Thommo hated journos so Wibble imposing one on the party on his turf was really just Wibble rubbing Thommo’s nose in his authority.
‘Tell me, he’s not a fan of yours anyway is he?’
Wibble raised eyebrow at me. ‘What was it Damage used to say sometimes? You might very well think that, I couldn’t possibly comment?’ Despite everything I laughed. That was Damage alright, from one of his favourite shows.
But still I wondered, if Thommo wasn’t a fan, why make him mad? Surely Wibble already had enough to do watching his back, without provoking Thommo’s hatred. Wasn’t that just making unnecessary trouble for himself?
‘So was that just a pissing contest then? Showing him who’s top dog?’ ‘Could be. Does him good to be put in his place every now and then.’
Great, I thought, with me as the post to piss on. Thommo didn’t look like the kind of guy to let it lie and if he couldn’t get back at Wibble directly I reckoned he’d have no qualms about getting at me if he could. I’d need to be very careful about keeping away from him and his guys, I decided, both today and in the future.
But as it turned out, it seemed as though Wibble had thought of that too as the next thing he did was to organise me a minder.
‘OK, so what happens now, what do you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got some stuff I need to do first, so how about Bung shows you round?’ he said, indicating over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb to where The Brethren I had already recognised was standing. Even if Danny hadn’t already dropped his name, I couldn’t miss who Wibble was talking about, it would be hard not to. At six foot two or so, in most directions as far as I could see, he was the man-mountain who’d got me coffee at the services, and so presumably was one of Wibble’s personal bodyguard.
‘Bung, come over here for a minute willya?’ Wibble shouted over to him. ‘Bung?’ I asked Wibble quietly as he ambled towards us.
‘Short for Bungalow,’ he answered.
Wibble introduced me with a, ‘You’ve met.’
I could see why the nickname had stuck, although looking at the sheer size of him, Brick Shit House might have been closer to the mark. ‘Stick with Bung here for a while will you? He’ll show you round, let you meet some of the guys, keep an eye out for you, and then we’ll talk.’ That was OK by me again, and so I headed off with the lumbering giant.
Over the next hour or so Bung walked me round, introducing me to The Brethren as we went, although I couldn’t help but notice that the ones he took me to talk to were mainly the other Freemen and some of the ride ins from other charters. I didn’t really do any interviews as such, more just a bit of chit chat. There was a bit of a tense atmosphere and for a while I couldn’t put my finger on it.
At first I thought it was just me. After all, Thommo was hardly alone within The Brethren in what he thought about writers and so I thought the hostility was personal, not helped by who I was specifically and my
‘PR,’ Wibble answered simply, ‘He’s here to see how nice we are right? So treat him nice yeah, you hear?’
It didn’t look as if this news was endearing me to Thommo any more than before. Then Wibble really twisted the knife, ‘You might have heard about him. He’s the bloke who wrote the book about Damage.’
‘Oh it just gets better doesn’t it?’ Thommo said, giving a surly snarl towards me.
Well thanks a bunch Wibble, I thought, that’s just fucking great. Are there any more psychopaths you want to wind up and set on me?
‘Yeah sure,’ Thommo said, the edge of sarcasm obvious in his voice for all to hear. ‘Why don’t you just feel free to snoop around, just see what you find to write about?’
*
‘What the fuck was all that about?’ I whispered, as we walked away again towards the food stops, Wibble looking pleased with himself. ‘Ah, just winding Thommo up.’
The subtext was clear. Thommo hated journos so Wibble imposing one on the party on his turf was really just Wibble rubbing Thommo’s nose in his authority.
‘Tell me, he’s not a fan of yours anyway is he?’
Wibble raised eyebrow at me. ‘What was it Damage used to say sometimes? You might very well think that, I couldn’t possibly comment?’ Despite everything I laughed. That was Damage alright, from one of his favourite shows.
But still I wondered, if Thommo wasn’t a fan, why make him mad? Surely Wibble already had enough to do watching his back, without provoking Thommo’s hatred. Wasn’t that just making unnecessary trouble for himself?
‘So was that just a pissing contest then? Showing him who’s top dog?’ ‘Could be. Does him good to be put in his place every now and then.’
Great, I thought, with me as the post to piss on. Thommo didn’t look like the kind of guy to let it lie and if he couldn’t get back at Wibble directly I reckoned he’d have no qualms about getting at me if he could. I’d need to be very careful about keeping away from him and his guys, I decided, both today and in the future.
But as it turned out, it seemed as though Wibble had thought of that too as the next thing he did was to organise me a minder.
‘OK, so what happens now, what do you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got some stuff I need to do first, so how about Bung shows you round?’ he said, indicating over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb to where The Brethren I had already recognised was standing. Even if Danny hadn’t already dropped his name, I couldn’t miss who Wibble was talking about, it would be hard not to. At six foot two or so, in most directions as far as I could see, he was the man-mountain who’d got me coffee at the services, and so presumably was one of Wibble’s personal bodyguard.
‘Bung, come over here for a minute willya?’ Wibble shouted over to him. ‘Bung?’ I asked Wibble quietly as he ambled towards us.
‘Short for Bungalow,’ he answered.
Wibble introduced me with a, ‘You’ve met.’
I could see why the nickname had stuck, although looking at the sheer size of him, Brick Shit House might have been closer to the mark. ‘Stick with Bung here for a while will you? He’ll show you round, let you meet some of the guys, keep an eye out for you, and then we’ll talk.’ That was OK by me again, and so I headed off with the lumbering giant.
Over the next hour or so Bung walked me round, introducing me to The Brethren as we went, although I couldn’t help but notice that the ones he took me to talk to were mainly the other Freemen and some of the ride ins from other charters. I didn’t really do any interviews as such, more just a bit of chit chat. There was a bit of a tense atmosphere and for a while I couldn’t put my finger on it.
At first I thought it was just me. After all, Thommo was hardly alone within The Brethren in what he thought about writers and so I thought the hostility was personal, not helped by who I was specifically and my
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