Dillwyn Prat likes pushing people around. He's the charge-hand electrician at the factory and he thinks he’s management. Well, he isn’t. Trouble is, he’s moved into Old George's house so Kevin and me, we can’t avoid him any more like we do at work.  You see, we had an arrangement with George. Well, not really an arrangement. We always take a short cut to the Griffin through his garden. Over the back fence and out the front. Saves us having to take the long way round. And George never complained, not after the first couple of weeks.  Anyway, soon after George had buggered off in the wooden box, in moved Pratface and right away he starts carrying on like he owns the place.

 

            'Oi! What do you think you're playing at?' he yelled when he saw us come over the fence. We tried to explain about the arrangement with George but could he  see sense? Could he buggery. 'Right of way? What do you mean, right of way? You can't have right of way through people's gardens. Not through mine, anyway. That's for sure.'

 

            After that, every time we went over the fence, he'd be there giving us a mouthful. Then the stupid dog next door would join in and by the time we'd run through to the front there'd be a right bloody racket and Mary Twirl at number seven would threaten to phone the council and the police and the papers. 'You can phone the Houses of bleeding Parliament for all I care,' I told her. 'We've got a right of way, so stuff you.' Stupid cow.

 

            Things came to a head when Pratface put barbed wire along the top of his fence and we had to go back and get Kevin's Dad's wire cutters. Trouble was, of course, it took about half an hour to cut the barbed wire down. And we thought that because The Prat wasn't there shouting the odds, he must be out. But the cunning  old sod was in the house and he'd phoned the fuzz. So there was this police car waiting at the front with its blue lights flashing. It didn't look too good for us at first cause it was Sergeant Nicker Norris, the same bugger who collared my Dad that time. But then, who gets out of the other side? Only Dippy Danny Meakin. He's done it. He's really gone and done it – joined the fuzz, the daft prick, and there he is in his stupid new uniform with his stick-out ears stopping his helmet dropping down over his nose. I nearly pissed myself laughing.

 

            The Prat came out of his house smirking all over his face. 'These are the two culprits, officer,' he says, trying to sound posh and important.

 

            'What are we supposed to have done now?' says Kevin as if we'd just come out of Sunday School.

 

            That was when Mary Twirl came over, getting all steamed up as usual. 'Arrest them,' she says. 'Arrest them, officer. They're a menace. Always up to no good. Always coming out of the pub drunk and making all the dogs bark. Every bloody dog for miles around, barking their bloody heads off and it's all down to them two. So just arrest them. And chuck the key away.' Like I said before, she's a stupid cow.

 

            Anyway, Nicker was no fool and he said wasn't going to collar anybody just for taking a short cut. There’s no law that says we can’t do that. Well, Pratface nearly went mental. 'Broken no laws?' he says. 'How do you make that out? Broken no laws? They've only cut down the barbed wire I spent all afternoon putting up.'

 

            'Barbed wire, sir?' says Nicker. 'That's not really a good idea now, is it?' And Kevin lifts up his arm and he's got this long scratch from his elbow to his wrist and it's dripping blood. 'What've you done there?' says Nicker.

 

            'Caught it on that stupid prat's barbed wire. It's like Strangeways' bleeding exercise yard back there.'

 

            That was inspired. Absolutely inspired, cause Norris the Nicker says, 'Well now, young man, I trust you're not going to sue this gentleman. You wouldn't do that, would you.'

 

            'No, I don't suppose so,' says Kevin.

 

            'I should think not. A bit of compromise all round. That's what we need. Compromise and common sense. That's just the thing to sort out neighbours' little tiffs. So I'll be on my way.'

 

            Off they went and left Pratface and Mary Twirl muttering about what a fat lot of use the police are. Me and Kevin, we carried on to the Griffin and Kevin says that as we'd got his Dad's wire cutters, we might as well stop by at the building site on the way home.

 

            You'd have thought Pratface would've learned his lesson after that, but oh no. Not him. Fair enough, he didn't put the barbed wire back. But what he did do was pile all his rubbish in the narrow gap between his shed and the house. When we climbed over it Kevin put his foot right through one of the plastic bags and got a great big gob of kitchen slops all over his shoe. Looked like he'd stepped in a pile of elephant puke. Well, that made him really mad so he lobbed a couple of the bags over the fence into next door's garden. Of course, the stupid dog starts barking so we had to leg it before the earache brigade started up again.

 

            We decided we'd got to do something about it. Kevin said why not borrow a car from the estate and use it to make a nice big gap in his fence? He can't help being stupid – he gets it from his gran. I tried to explain that what we needed to do was make sure that we never do anything that was actually illegal. KeepThe Nicker on our side. Besides, I'd already had this great idea. Actually I'd had it for ages. Just didn't have the need to try it out before.

 

            It was a trick I learned when my Dad tried to get me interested in fishing. Now I reckon fishing is for pillocks but I did discover a very useful thing about maggots. Well, it was my Mam who discovered it really. See, if you keep your maggots in the airing cupboard, or anywhere, for that matter, you need to make sure that the lid is on the tub properly. Especially if you go away on holiday and still have some maggots up there. My Mam went spare when we got home and found the place full of flies. But I knew there would be a use for this one day. 'What we want is a nice big tub of maggots from Fat Walter's fishing tackle shop.'

 

 

            'Eh? Why?' says Kevin, 'If it's fish we're after, why don't we just nick some from the market? Save all the bother.'

 

            'Cause it's not fish we're after. It's maggots.' Kevin didn't have a clue, but he's not all that bright, really. 'We keep them for a bit till they've gone nice and crispy cause that's when they're nearly ready to sort of germinate.'

 

            'Oh, I get it,' says Kevin. But he didn't, so I had to explain carefully how we wait till the factory shut-down and Pratface has gone on his holidays. Then lob a handful into his greenhouse, his shed, any windows we can open. Some into the back of his car so he’s got company when he drives home.  And then we just wait and have a good laugh cause he’ll have flies everywhere.

 

            So we got the maggots a few days before the factory closed for holiday week but we couldn’t keep them at my place, of course, cause I didn’t want my Dad thinking I was going to go fishing with him. No way. And I wouldn’t trust Kevin to look after them. His daft sister would probably think they were miniature prawns and put them in a curry. (Gives me an idea, that does.)  So we persuaded Kirsty at the Griffin to keep them in the cellar till we were ready.

 

            The timing would have been perfect. Except that Pratface didn’t go on holiday. No, of course, not. He’s an electrician, isn’t he, so he’s on maintenance all through shut-down week. Still, with the cellar being nice and cold, there’d be plenty of time before the crispy maggots turned into flies. They’d last another week. But still Pratface didn’t go away and we had to keep on waiting.

 

            So we decided, of course, that we couldn’t wait any longer and we’d have to do what we could while Pratface was still around. It was Thursday, karaoke night, and there were lots of folk in the main bar. I got the drinks and asked Kirsty to fetch our tub from the cellar. ‘Sure. Soon as I’ve got a minute,’ she says. ‘I’ll bring it over.’

 

            ‘So what’s the plan now?’ says Kevin.

 

            ‘Better just get his car open and put the lot in there.’

 

            By the time Kirsty came over with the tub, we’d had about four or five pints and the pub was pretty full. She pushed her way through the crowd and put the tub down on the table. ‘You’d better get it out of here,’ she said. ‘There’s something very odd. It’s sort of humming. What is it you’ve got in there, anyway?’

 

            ‘Maggots,’ says Kevin.

 

            ‘Maggots! You’ve had me keeping bloody maggots for you? If I’d known that… For God’s sake, take them away!’

 

            ‘It’s nothing to worry about. They’re harmless. Look.’ And the daft pillock pulled the lid off.

 

            I’ve never seen a pub empty as fast as the Griffin did that night. Flies everywhere. Buzzing and crawling and flying and getting into everything and everybody screaming and beer going all over the place. And the karaoke machine still going but nobody singing. And there’s Kevin sitting spread out in the corner looking like he’s been shot.

 

            So there’s only me and Kevin and millions of flies and then Molly, the landlady, comes across. You can tell when Molly’s angry cause she whispers. ‘You two,’ she said, really quiet. ‘You’re barred. For a very very long time.’

 

            ‘You know what?’ said Kevin after we’d climbed back over Pratface’s fence. ‘It all worked out in the end when you think about  it,

 

            ‘How do you make that out?’

 

            ‘Well, look at it this way. We’ll have to start going to the Nag’s Head.’

 

            ‘I guess so.’

 

            ‘So we’ll not need the short cut any more.’

 

            ‘I suppose you’re right. It all worked out in the end. And, after all, we can find another short cut. Have to be careful, though.’

 

            ‘Why?’

 

            ‘Cause Dippy Danny’s Grandad lives somewhere near the Nag’s Head.’