#208 A plan

At Great Chapel Street the nurse takes my blood and tests for all kinds of shit.

I know Mr. Fox will be pleased I’m getting a medical.

They dont want the next 007 to have Cheu cheam.

Sick blood.

The nurse checks my weight.

78 kilos.

That’s 3 more than when I arrived.

And my height.

5 foot 11.

Same as James Bond!

Not sure how I know that.

The nurse says I gotta wait 3 days for the results of the blood tests.

I scrounge some new socks and pants, toothpaste and a toothbrush.

Plus they give me a sleeping bag.

A new one.

Big n blue.

So now I can bed down.

Fuken RADA.

They’ll be gutted.

I wonder if Razor is missing me.

I ask if they’ve got a coat hanger I can borrow.

They have.

Right.

All I need now is a tie.

I set off to Oxfam in Covent Garden.

They are sure to have a cheap tie for 2 or 3 dollars.

Dollar.

Cambo.

Razor.

Fuken cuntface.

Little Coco.

W.T.F.

Maybe I can make enough from street theatre to buy a phone.

With a phone I can apply for jobs.

Its summer school season soon.

Residential.

All I need is get a job for a month, board and lodging included, and make enough to fly back.

Right.

Now that’s a plan.

Right, Mr. Fox?!

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#207 RADA Payback !

I get lost walking to Great Chapel street and end up at Gower Street.

Fuken RADA.

The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

I walk past.

It brings back memories.

Three times I auditioned there.

3 times I was rejected.

I even wrote to the principle. Sent him an audition tape of me rehearsing Hamlet.

What did he reply?

Dont put all your eggs in one basket.

It was my dream to train at RADA.

My fuken dream.

Ripped from me.

3 times.

And now look at me.

I look in the window.

A man sees me.

Now look at me, I shouts to him.

Double o fuken 7 !

The 7th James Bond!

Directed by Francis Ford Coppola!

RADA turned down the 7th James Bond 3 times!

The man in the window shakes his head and buries his face in his hands.

3 times!

That’s gonna look good for RADA in the history books!

Turned down James Bond 3 times!

Its payback time!

Right, Mr. Fox?!

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#206 Wine or Pipe

Can I have a bed? I ask Rosie.

Have the night time been to see you?

What night team?

Are you sleeping rough?

Uh…

Where do you bed down?

It depends…

Car park…
A doorway…
Sometimes I just wander around.

To qualify for a bed the night team have got to see you bedded down in your regular spot.

I dont have a regular spot.

Where did you sleep last night?

I walked into a concrete pillar…fell asleep walking about…

Where will you be sleeping tonight?

Could’ve killed meself. Fuken hurt it did. Bang. Straight into me forehead. Crack. I coulda died.

Well you’re still with us Mark.

Jim.

Sorry, Jim.

My friends dont believe I’m James Bond.

Do you want me to book a time with the night team? Where did you say you’ll be sleeping tonight?

None of my friends believe me. They all think I’m nuts.

Have you had a psychiatric assessment?

Can I do that?

Absolutely. Have you been for your medical yet?

Not yet I’m going today. Will they do a psychiatric assessment?

You can ask.

Maybe they’ll just think its crystal meth Psychosis…like everyone else.

Are you on crystal meth?

Not at the moment. I dont know where to get it. Can you get it in England? Everyone’s on spice.

I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid.

Were you on it in Cambodia?

I was. But it’s more of a cultural norm, there. Here you take a bottle of wine around your friends for dinner. There, you pass the pipe.

Right, Mr. Fox?

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#205 Cheu Cheam

Rosie tells me she can order a new birth certificate for me.

But I’ll have to have a full medical if I want a bed.

I dont know if I do want a bed.

In the Cuckoos nest.

But I want the option.

I’ll try it.

I almost killed meself ffs.

Walking into that concrete pillar.

Rosie tells me to go to Great Chapel Street medical centre for the medical.

Been there already.

Ok, I goes.

What’s that, like, a full medical?
Blood test, H.I.V…everything?

Everything.

I’m sure it’s the Bond producers putting Rosie up to this.

They wanna make sure the new J.B is not Cheu cheam.

Sick blood.

Am I right, Mr. Fox?

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#204 Fruit of the Loom

Can I stay here?

Youd like a bed?

Is that possible?

Have you talked to your support worker?

No.

You need to talk to your support worker.

I haven’t got a support worker.

Would you like to see one?

Yes, please.

Name please.

Jim.

Real name.

Mark.

Mark Dark.

Ok, your support worker is Rosie. I’ve booked you an appointment for 12.30.

Ok. Thanks. Where?

In her office at the back there. Just have a tea or coffee downstairs. The art room opens at 10 and Job club at 10.30.

Thanks.

I go downstairs for a tea.

The fuken cuckoo’s nest.

Who directed that again?

Welsh Roger is downstairs.

Hes wearing a Fruit of the Loom T-shirt under his bomber jacket.

The left hand side of his jacket, my right, covers the ‘m’ of Loom.

So Loom looks like Loo.

Which upside down spells

oo7

Thanks Mr. Fox!

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#203 Jim, not Mark.

Dave’s broke so I loan him a tenner.

Minus the teas that’s about 8 bucks I got left.

I think Dave’s my M.

Or is it Q ?

I go over to St. Martin’s to see if Welsh Roger is there.

Also, maybe they’ll give me a bed now I almost knocked myself out walking into a concrete pillar in the Royal Festival Hall.

I go through the signing in ritual.

Cant say I’m Jim.

Gotta give me real name.

Mark.

Mark Dark.

It’s alright.

Theres a 15 minute delay to the live stream.

Mr. Fox will edit anything with my real name out.

Right, Mr. Fox?

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#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.

Drugs.

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!?

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