#202 Somebody up there likes me.

I nick a fag off Dave and go outside to smoke it.

Its drizzling with rain.

I get under the Tesco doorway to keep dry.

Scrounge a light off another smoker.

Look across The Strand to Coutts and Banksy.

I think about Razor.

Wonder what shes doing now.

If shes safe from kuntface.

Ex husband.

Child abuser.

The man who threatened to kill his own 2 year old daughter.

That’s why I went to the old bill.

I’m not a grass under normal circumstances.

But this was to protect a 2 year old girl.

A 2 year old girl who loved me.

I would do anything to protect her.

I dont care if you think I’m a grass.

I don’t give a fuk.

Fukin shoot me, then.

See if I care.

Where you been?

It’s only Welsh Roger.

Alright, mate, I goes.

Fancy a cuppa tea?

Alright, he goes in his mellifluous Welsh twang.

Sometimes I wonder how I got so deep in gangland Cambodia.


Running around Phnom Penh at 3am, tooled up with a flick knife, ready to jak my nemesis…

How did I go from Christian missionary to street gangster?

How was I not caged in Prey Sar prison?

Somebody up there must like me…

Eh, Mr. Fox!?