Being a roadman is a full time job.
Manning the streets, ensuring your territory is protected and looking after the squad and stash are just three responsibilities.
Heading North of London, to a quiet suburb called ‘Hitchin,’ a market town I spent my teen years in, I was shocked when I saw the abundance of roadmen dotted around.
As I walked down the cobbled streets, I came across many formerly labelled ‘rudebois’ who I used to be attracted to in 2005.
These guys hadn’t changed since my hayday and since the chav movement came thick and strong, like a tub of scented 99p hair gel.
I bumped into an old flame of mine, Daniel, and asked him how things had been since our cheeky pubescent snog in McDonalds, when it was cool to make as much noise as possible in public.
My heart panged a little as I was reminded of the attraction to that raw, careless attitude possessed by the roadman. As he cleared his throat and grabbed his crotch crudely, I couldn’t help but think about how things could have been. I could have been the one stood between his sculpted arms in a pink velour tracksuit, straightening the cap on his head.
Anyway, I digress. Snapping back to reality, he explained to me things were hard for him since he left school. He told me he’d forgotten to turn up to most of his GCSE exams, so left with barely any qualifications, forcing him to find alternative routes to become a billionaire.
As we walked into the local bookies, a wave of sadness overwhelmed me. Then I saw him dig into his deep grey pocket and pull out a wad of fifties, and two phones.
What the? How was he carrying around those crisp fifties when I’m reluctant to pay forty quid for a high street top? And how did he own the freshest iPhone, when I’ve been hanging onto my iPhone 5 since university?
I watched him place a few bets and walk out nonchalantly, before we proceeded to the local hill for a chat. Out of his pocket came a jazzy fag, and he sparked it up with a lighter that had breasts. He exhaled towards me and gestured for me to have a toke, to which I politely declined. We spent an awkward few minutes, me taking in the surroundings whilst he inhaled and coughed, before I asked if he still kept in touch with anyone from school we both knew.
Then his phone rang…