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Me mum, in the pub, boobies and plonked it in front of him on a tray. Knife and fork, salt and pepper. He said, "What's that?" She said, "It's your dinner. I thought you might be hungry. You ain't eaten for three fucking days. You live in here, you might as well fucking eat in here." It's funny. He didn't like that, did he? Mugged him up in front boobies of his mates. Thought more of them cunts than he did us. Lovely. Yeah. She got a clump over that. Well, she would, wouldn't she? He was always pissed in there, boobies weren't he? You know? We go in the pub to get our living, you know? That's where we do our business. He'd be there spunking out while we're sitting at home without a dinar, you know, thank you. And he'd promise things. You know? Promise to take us places, you know? Never did. Never took us anywhere. And when he did bother to come home he'd sit in that fucking chair, doss off with his tray in his lap.
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