James Bond Mike Huett

Mike Huett

James Bond

a drunk being quiet wakes the house (no mystery there) only this time, he’d jemmied a crate, half-inched from god-knows-where, its wood keening like a banshee brought mum down the stair, whereupon the kitchen table, under 60-watt light, diamonds appeared, in her short-sight What have you there? B’Jesus son, it’ll be prison for you! he started laughing, and laughing Diamonds aren’t forever; wrong kind of ice, fish, meant for the Chippy (it fell into plaice) surrounded by growing puddle, and wooden splinters (the wrong sort of chips)

years later, he robbed a jewellers sober (no drinking on the job) I asked him; do you see a link? he started laughing, and laughing James Bond, bruv, James Bond