He started out as a prowler, he liked prowling. Then he met a girl and she said: “what are you doing with your life?”
He said “prowling.”
“No ambition then?” She said under her Pinot breath.
One night when he was prowling he saw an open window, with the words of the girl he loves ringing in his ears he took the opportunity, broke in and became a burglar.
He loved being a burglar, he would burgle with glee and did so until he was disturbed one day by a home owner and glee moved to Mexico.
Thinking on his feet, he properly strangled the rightful owner of the property very easily. He had big strong hands.
Strangling was a revelation, he took to it like a duck to water. He would strangle anyone who disturbed his burglary actions and if he wasn’t disturbed he would sometimes see if anyone was in next door and strangle them.
Life was sweet for a time until one day he was knocked off his moped and a dustbin lorry ran over one of his arms.
He awoke in hospital with a space under the sheet where his other arm should have been.
I went to see him.
I said, “are you going to carry on strangling?”
“Have you done the maths?” Is what I said. “One arm stranglers have it hard.” I added.
He broke down and cried and without thinking I said “If you ever hope to strangle again you need to get a grip!”
“I, I, want to try” he said, with a look in his eye that knew he lay lying minus an arm in his bed.
The first night out was a disaster, he just pushed people over by the neck.
I went to give him a hand but it was pointless.
After a while he went back to burglary, he would steal anything he could get his hand on.
Years later when asked what he missed most, he said facing up to the fact that the nine dart finish would never be. Was up there.
But being half a cuddler made him half a man. X