Look at me.
I know you.
You had your own patch of the
playground by the chemistry labs,

selling off bent dinner tickets.
Expelled, weren't you?
Something about an air rifle
and three female third-years?

Silly fuck.
Getting caught, I mean.
If you're going to be a naughty boy,
you've got to be careful,

or you'll end up here.
Then I'll have to deal with you.
You know me. Yes, you do.
Honest John.
Milk monitor, prefect...
Would've made Head Boy if I'd stayed on.
Old man put his foot down.
Got to go out in the world, earn a crust.
I don't give a toss
that you did some dodgy perfume

and I'll turn a blind eye to the blow.
But you have to admit the sheltered
accommodation was well out of order.

Don't even start to think of denying it.
I know you did the job.
You know you did the job.

Even my grandma's goldfish knows it.
It's a bit warm, isn't it?
Another tropical September afternoon
in London's East End.

Tell me you did it
and I'll send out for some lollies.