SOUTH WEST

I watched South West 9 the other night, a 2001 film titled after the old London postal district that is Brixton. Being the home turf of my childhood, I thought it would be interesting viewing. It was a bit geezerish and for the most part, poorly acted; the runty offspring of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Trainspotting. But it sparked some memories, one of which was an earlier recollection that prompted me to write a vignette of a time in life when 'best friend' was something mysteriously but unequivocally understood and felt. So I reproduce it here for week 6's story. 

Although it's not fiction, it's sepia-toned enough to suggest it could be.

Stockwell at 8 also has the merit of quickly clearing the writing desk ahead of tomorrow's England v France Six Nations Rugby International, which as I have the day off work, I will be able to watch with my similarly cursing, opinionated, armchair-expert friends. This counterpoint to earlier male bonding will no doubt confirm again the gendered insightfulness of women who perceive men as 'Little boys in long trousers'. If I spent more time thinking about this stereotyping, I could probably get round to feeling offended. But I have more important things to do, such as ensuring the beer and chicken are cold.

pip-pip