‘Don, wait up you bastard! Wait there! Don, stop or I’ll fucking have you! Don!’ Not the sort of encouragement that was likely to see me slowing down.
Now they say that madmen have the strength of five men when their blood’s up, well I have the speed of ten cheetahs when one’s after my claret, and I tore away from Colin like a dragster with no brakes. Unfortunately, cheetahs and dragsters only have the legs over a furlong or two and that’s pretty much their bolt. I nipped and tucked around a few corners but Colin wasn’t for shaking. I even considered darting up a couple of the alleyways but I really didn’t fancy getting caught and clobbered up one of those in case it was days before I was found again. In the end I reasoned that my best bet was to stick to the main roads and rely on the help and intervention from my fellow Londoners – if that’s what it came to.
I sprinted in the road to bypass the crowds on the pavements and Colin did the same. I’d put probably 30ft between us but my lifestyle and Colin were both catching up with me fast and I started tensing up, readying myself to get hit.
‘Fuck off, you nutbag!’ I half-screamed half-pleaded with him. ‘Please leave me alone.’
‘Don! Fucking stop you cunt! Donnnnn!’
‘Bollocks to you,’ I croaked and carried on running, clutching the stitch that had begun tearing away at my side.
I didn’t know how much longer I could go on but I knew one thing – I really didn’t want to stop. I really couldn’t see any good coming of that.
My long powering strides had shrunk over the course of half a mile so that they now resembled stumbling quick-steps. I had no energy left, just the will not to be gouged. ‘Come on,’ I gasped, urging myself on. ‘Come on!’
My legs burned with every step and my side ripped with pain; the sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and burning my cheeks; my heart thumped in my chest and I could hardly catch a breath as I plodded along the street, but nothing was going to stop me, nothing short of my fags falling out of my pocket. I turned around and saw Colin closer, but no longer closing. He’d sunk into step with me about 20ft back and was mercifully looking about as fucked as I was. This was suddenly a war of attrition. The winner would be the guy who wanted their objective the most. For Colin, it was to smack me in the mouth. For me, it was to not be smacked in the mouth by Colin. That was basically what it boiled down to.
I soldiered on, out of Wardour Street and left along Oxford Street. The crowds swelled significantly and I wondered if I could nip into one of the shops up ahead and lose him. I wasn’t sure, but figured if I could just get a big round display table or something between myself and Colin, I might be able to stay out of reach just long enough for security to come to my rescue.
JJ Sports fitted the bill perfectly so I shoulder-barged my way through the throng and down the stairs into sports equipment basement. Colin never missed a step and careered in after me as I desperately sought out a safe refuge.
A big square basket of assorted mini-footballs offered a decent obstacle so I skidded to a halt behind it, grabbing hold of the side to stop my legs from buckling beneath me. Colin caught up before I’d had a chance to draw two breaths and immediately started chasing me around the basket. When he realised that I wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near me and that we were just going in circles, he suddenly stopped and tried going the other way. I was too sharp for him though and stayed a frustrating 180° out of reach.
‘Come here you bastard, I just want to have a word with you!’
‘Not fucking likely mate, you’re a fucking headcase.’
‘For fuck’s sake, stop!’
‘Stick it up your arse.’
‘I’ll kill you, I mean it.’
‘Fucking help me, help me!’ I started yelling, causing half the shop to look our way.
‘Just wait there a minute!’ Colin was saying, his voice full of frustration.
He skidded to a stop the other side of the basket and feigned to go anti-clockwise, before darting clockwise again, then he stopped and started feigning this way and that, trying to catch me out. Unfortunately for Colin, I was synchronised his every movement and he didn’t gain so much as an inch on me as we danced around the basket together.
‘Wait, just wait,’ I urged him. ‘Let’s just calm down and wait a moment, can we? Can we?’ Colin agreed and simmered down just long enough for me to chuck one of the mini-footballs straight in his face, flattening his nose and blacking both his eyes.
Colin fell back howling in pain and I took the opportunity to put some distance between us. I wanted to leg it from the store and start running again but I got disorientated in my panic and I lost the exit. Colin was after me again and looking like he was ready to rip my head off with his bare hands.
‘I’m going to kill you, you fucking bastard.! You dirty piece of shit! Arhhhhhhhhhh!’ he came screaming, prompting me to bawl with fear as I charged headlong straight into a rack of trainers.
I pulled myself up but he dived at me and caught hold of one of my ankles. I tried to shake him off but he clung on doggedly as I dragged him along the wooden tiles, screaming for help.
‘You bastard!’ he was still shouting as I dragged him along the floor on his face.
‘Get off me you cunt!’ I screamed at him, kicking him whenever possible.
Finally security guards from all corners of the store were converging on our position and shoppers scattered. Two of them fell on top of Colin and tried prising him off my ankle, but Colin wasn’t having any of it. He clung on like a rabid dog, threatening to eat me and all sorts and only let go when I started whacking his hands with a pair of golf spikes.
‘Ahhh!’ he hollered in pain again, and I managed to land one last beauty right on his fingers as they lay flat against the floor, but that was about it. I was suddenly bundled over by the rest of Group 4 and held in a headlock until the fight had left my body.
‘Call the police,’ he shouted at his mate, who was jabbering into his walkie-talkie. Colin was still fighting for all he was worth to get at me but that was my lot. I was done in and more than happy to sit it out until the Old Bill arrived to cart Colin off. And I was in no doubt they would too. Colin had been warned to stay away from the company a number of times and here he was attacking a member of staff. The fact that Colin was bleeding from head to foot while I didn’t have a scratch on me was immaterial. Multiple complaints had been made against him and he hadn’t listened. He’d chased and harassed me and was currently screaming about biting my ‘fucking nose off’ in-front of five security guards. He was definitely going down, no question about it. I was just worried that one day he’d get let out again and come looking for me then.
‘Jerry is not your girlfriend,’ I took the opportunity to point out, while pinned to the ground underneath a guard. ‘You’ve never met her and you’re never going to. You’re fucking delusional.’
‘No I’m not, I love her and she’ll love me. Why won’t you just let me talk to her?’
‘No way you donut.’
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ the security guard butted in. ‘Save it for when the police get here.’
‘Keep out of this fatso. What’s it got to do with you?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, this don’t concern you, so fuck off!’ Colin also then told him in no uncertain terms.
‘You tell him, Col,’ I agreed as the pair of us struggled beneath £20 an hour’s worth of security (that’s four guards, to you and me).
And there it was, a single moment of solidarity between me and Colin; one last fittingly bizarre moment in a frighteningly bizarre relationship.