draliman on life

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw.

I thought I wasn’t going to manage this week – still working all hours – but I did! And… hold your breath, people – it’s the triumphant return of Vera, the old lady from “up North” who never stops talking, which gets her out of all sorts of scrapes. You can read more of her stories here.

This week we are in Casablanca, Morocco.

(Quick update, I Googled “cosh” and it appears to be “British informal”. It’s a baton or cudgel, Americans might call it a “night stick”.)

Copyright Google

“Come on, Auntie, let’s go along here.”

“Eee, no, let’s try this way, oh I say, a bit dismal this, reminds me of home…”

“Uh, Auntie, this doesn’t look too safe…”

“… look at what I’ve stepped in, foreign poo that is, not like the poo back home…”

“Hey! Tourists! Give to me your valuables!”

“… who’s this then? you look just like me grandson, lovely lad, maybe you know ‘im…”

“This a robbery, you give…”

“…robbery? when I were a lass they done it right, black bag, balaclava, cosh, where’s yer cosh? what’s that? a peashooter? where’s yer sawn-off? give it ‘ere, you could ‘ave someone’s eye out, I’ll just put it in me bag where it’s safe…”

“Hey, my pistol, give it…”

“… you could hurt someone, where’s yer mamma? I’ll ‘ave words, hey, you come back ‘ere, no word of goodbye, no manners the yoof of today ramble mutter mutter…”