Go Jim

Take that, you cunt

 I love this photo. Whenever I see it, it brings back a story that always makes me smile.

 My memory is hazy as to the exact details as unfortunately I was not there to witness it first hand, so I will give you the gist. My estranged mother is married to an Italian lunatic. My grandmother (when she was alive) was married to wiry tough ex Para, Jim – she used to be married to grandpa but she absconded with Jim and they lived in Alicante, mother, on her abdication, lived in Marbella (certainly a sunnier clime than London).

One weekend, mum and Mussolini went across the coast to visit grandma and Jim. After a lovely day on the beach (I might have made that bit up), they went out for dinner. During the meal something happened – this is where the details are unclear – however, the story goes that  Jim became offended by Mussolini’s behaviour (no doubt something he said).

After a somewhat strained evening they all went back to grandma’s. Mum and she went off together to get changed and ready to settle down for the night, when all of a sudden there was the sound of smashing glass and a blood curdling scream – at least I think they said they heard a scream (I hope he screamed).

The two ladies stopped what they were doing and ran towards the noise (I think that’s what happened)  and to their horror they witnessed Mussolini with blood pouring out of his head … because Jim had hit him over the head with a beer (or maybe it was a wine) bottle.

They left early the next morning.

The end.


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