I'm bored, it's our quiet time of year the hands on the clock move slowly and business doesn't pick up until the schools go back in early September.
So, because I've got nothing better to do I'll tell you about Hot Dog.
Hot Dog was a lad who used to live near us. He was a bit older than me and a bit of a wierdo so I never really played with him much but when all my mates were out and all other avenues had been exhausted I used to call and see if he fancied a kick about or going out on his bike.
Another reason I was reluctant to call for Hot Dog was his house stunk. I think he had about five or six brothers and sisters who were all still in nappies even though two of them were adults themselves, they had three or four dogs that never went out and his parents were a couple of lazy B’s that never cleaned up.
On a hot summer day the waft that hit you as his mum opened the door literally turned your stomach and the ‘heat haze’ that escaped the confines of their three bed terraced house could be seen from streets away and resembled the scene from the end of Indian Jones.
But it was ‘home’ eh?
Even the flies flew about with one hand over their proboscis it was that bad. Eventually ‘calling for Hot Dog’ turned into a game. You had to knock on for him and then try and engage the person who answered the door in conversation for as long as you could without gagging.
You used to hope that Hot Dog was already out torturing cats or burying bodies in the local wood because if he did come out then you knew the next few hours would be a mixture of terror, boredom and cruelty. He was the sort of boy who would ‘borrow’ your bike for a week or so and you’d find it in a stream with the tyres popped later that year. Swallows and Amazons it wasn’t.
You may be wondering why he was called Hot Dog. Everyone called him Hot Dog, we did, his parents did, his teachers, so did the police (who were often parked outside his house) and the local priest EVERYONE knew him by his nickname.
The reason for this? Although I’d never saw it I was reliably informed that his ‘old fella’ looked exactly like the mechanically reclaimed meat flavoured sausage snack.
I have often wondered about Hot Dog. What happened to him and his ‘wee man’. Did he move on, did he become a pillar of the community or does he still live in that stinking flea pit.
Well that killed two minutes, only an hour and half to go know but do any other Metro readers have stories about children who lived near them who stunk to high heaven?
Mark your replies. ‘What a pong!’
