Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Toad Rides Again

Quite literally, as it turns out. On a new bike, though...

Some of you will remember my encounter with this individual last year. He's in his late fifties/ early sixties, and strutted around town with a slip of a girl a third of his age, and a quarter of his size, named Zandy.

On my return to London, I'd received a mail from this lovely chap. He'd pointed out that my story about him was libelous; but the truth is not libel. I took the photo of him off the post though, as that was a bit naughty and could have landed him in trouble. I'd wrongly assumed that this trouble would be with his employers, who I can't name...it actually turns out that it would be his girlfriend back in Germany who would be most pissed off. Anyway, we'd exchanged emails where he put his side of the story, and I told him that the Europeans I see in this country, smugly parading girlfriends their daughters/ granddaughters age, turn my stomach and make me ashamed to be white. We agreed to disagree. Or at least I think we did...he didn't answer my second mail.

So, by popular demand, I can now update the story.

Toad would tell all who would listen in Coron, that he was going to smash me to pieces. I'd be slightly annoyed if someone pointed out to me that shagging a girl 40 years younger than me was wrong if I was having a good time with her, I suppose? He'd have a few drinks and get a bit brave. Now I'm no Rocky Balboa, but a fat man the wrong side of 50 doesn't fill me with dread. He knows where to find me.

The other person Toad fell out with is a mate of mine named Patric. Pat is a solid ex-kickboxing champion from Sweden: if you spilled his beer in a bar, you'd buy him a couple back and a tequila chaser. There are a couple of people on his Shit List, and I wouldn't like to be in their shoes. But we get on just fine. Him and Toad, on the other hand? Toad had a run-in with Pat's wife, Tess...and he said some nasty things, to which someone pointed out that Pat wouldn't like what he'd said. Toad laughed it off, and said he would beat Patric up. Big mistake, my warty friend. The Swedish Pitbull was on his motorbike and up to the shop in minutes.

What happened next sounded priceless, and I'd have paid to have been there. The shop was fairly busy with a few customers, staff, and Toad at the bar. Pat walked in, and the atmosphere became a touch fraught. Denis, the diminutive boat captain, sensed a fight and held Pat's arm, saying "Patric..." The Swede turned to him and said "Go. Away." Poor Denis beat a hasty retreat, and the fireworks began. Toad received a bloody nose and a couple of blows to the stomach, knocking him off his bar stool. I don't advocate violence, but he deserved this. Not just for the insult to Pat's missus, but his general behaviour. No-one in the town likes him.

Big Pat blowing his top aside, the news didn't get any better for our slimy hero. A fierce argument ensued with his young hooker, Zandy, late one evening. Her screams alerted neighbours, who ran to the house to find Toad throttling her. The local bobbies decided it best Toad spent a night away from her: in a cell. She's since left the island with another man, and Toad has another bike to ride. All this despite telling me that they were just friends, and he was simply a benefactor who looked after her and paid for medicine she needed? Oh...I feel so cheated. How could you lie to me like this, Mr Toad?

No comments: