Ommmmmmmmmmmm. He opens his eyes. He sees you. He wants to tell you a story. He feels the need to drift back on the ides of his memory. Back, back, back. And I'm the lonely skinhead again. Jogging away, every day, to be the best, to be the best. And the press ups and the sit ups and the one two three, one two three, one two three. And you've got to be fit to fight and I do every Saturday night with my friends on the weekends fight. Do you know about fighting. No. I'll tell you in my story. And I want to be the best skinhead, i want to give everything, every single thing to the experience of the tingle. I'll tell you about the tingle later. And you've got to be fit to fight and practice tactics every night. Do you? I do. (Practices) Did you work in the asphalt factory? I did. I'll explain. My opponent. Anyone you like. City fan, the mutt that shagged Ricky's bird, Ted the foreman. You choose. Targets. Face, neck, beerbag, sack, shin, top of the foot. Top of the foot. Today I want the neck. I don't want to shag Christine Dawson. I don't want my mother's love. I don't want to work at the engineering firm. I want the neck. This vein here. Tactics, new techniques. What does he think. What do you think. The neck and that's that. He thought, you thought. The neck and that is that. Now I've told you about the three things you need to experience the tingle. One, fitness. Told you. Two, tactics. Told you. Three, new techniques. I told you. Now I'll tell you about the tingle. It's... you can't say it can you. It'll come when you're fighting. Sometimes in the middle, sometimes beginning, sometimes end... It's like you are there and you're fighting. But you are not there. You don't get it... Well. Anyway. Once you've had it, you need it. And I thought that was all there was until that night, right. Should I tell you about that night? No. I'll show you (jumps upstage). I was walking out the disco. Last man to leave. I'd been talking to Micky Isherwood the bounder. See you Jim. Aye, see you Ishey. When I saw them. Skins, Bolton boot boys, skinheads. Some sitting, some standing. I moved off to the right. Aye shunty, aye githead, come 'ere. I looked up at the moon. I heard the crack of denim, the scuffle down the wall, the pad and fall of the Doc Martins. Pad, pad, pad. I closed my eyes, pad pad, as they moved in, pad pad, I moved out, pad pad. I felt their breath. Kiyaaaaaaaahhhhhh. Lifted one man by the chin. Could you believe. Magnificent. They were scattering. Took one man between thigh and calf, dragged him to the ground, fingers up the nose, dragged a pace, brlught back my fingers to pierce out his eyes, nutted. When, from the corner of my eye I saw a figure watching like a ghost all pale in the night. Seemed like I'd known him all my life. He was standing there. Laughing at me. Mocking my whole freaking life. I sprang, but by the time I got there he was gone. Too fast for me. No. I saw him turn into a blind alley. I had him now. I had him now. I moved in to strike. My fist was like a golden orb in the wet night. I said it was night. I struck true and clean and beautiful with a twist of the fist on the out. But all he did was smile. He turned to me and opened his eyes like two diamonds in the night, I said it was night. Then he said. Over to you, buddha. Now, when the men at work pass the prawn ogre pie, i just pass it on and continue with the Dharma, and when my mother makes me eggs and bacon and chips, i push it towards the salt cellar and read of the dharma. And when the man on the bus pushes. I continue with the Dharma. Ommmmmmmmmmmmm.