Low life

Safety tip: don't try to steal Trev's phone

It looks broken, and he's always losing it. But when he asks for it back, sane men agree

25 July 2015

9:00 AM

25 July 2015

9:00 AM

‘I’ve lost my phone,’ yells Trev. We’re in a club. He’s come charging on to the dance floor to tell me. He’s always forgetting where he’s left his phone and getting in a state. Trev’s phone is old and crap and the screen is the most shattered screen I’ve seen on a phone that still works. Everyone knows Trev’s crap phone. People pinch it for a laugh just to wind him up, then give it back. It’s value to an opportunist thief is less than zero. He generally loses his phone two or three times of an evening. ‘Where did you have it last?’ I shout back. It’s an obvious question, but not one that has occurred to him, apparently. The pertinacity of it stuns him momentarily. He turns his head aside to ponder, an oasis of concentrated thinking amid the hectic dancing.

Suddenly the lights come on in Trev’s brain. He has remembered where he las left his phone. Mentally he leaps on to his horse, the horse rears twice, he fires his pistol into the air then gallops off in all directions. ‘Bogs!’ he shouts. ‘Bogs! Come on.’ Trev is one of those practical people who will always help you look for things, and he quite reasonably expects you to do the same for him. As we push through the crowd to the gentleman’s lavatory on the far side, he tells me that his phone has a new cover featuring wallet-style pockets for credit and debit cards. Unfortunately and uncharacteristically, Trev is using these bourgeois little appurtenances tonight for exactly this purpose. In other words, if his phone is lost or stolen he’s had it — though he uses a much stronger term than that.

Without breaking stride, Trev bashes open the gent’s outer door with a stiff arm and palm and marches in. For a big club it’s a small toilet. Three urinals, a tiny hand wash basin and just a single cubicle with a busted lock for taking drugs in. There’s nobody at the urinals, but we hear the cubicle toilet flushing and a bloke emerges examining a battered old phone encased in a black faux leather cover. In particular he is examining the handy little slots from which the top of Trev’s debit card is visible. Trev is visibly, massively, relieved. Disaster has been averted. ‘Oh, thanks bud!’ says Trev, truly grateful, holding out his hand.

With preternatural calmness the guy assesses Trev through hardening piggy eyes. He’s about 35, tanned, tattooed, bald. Five feet nine or ten. Short-sleeved shirt with button-down collar, three quarter-length cargo trousers, classic white Puma trainers. Solid forearms. Thick neck. Heavy, independent hands. Probably not a Christian. Certainly not a gentleman.

He looks at me, writes me off as negligible, then he looks back at Trev. ‘That’s mine, mate,’ Trev says, maintaining reasonableness. ‘I left it in there five minutes ago. My name is — and it’s right there on the bank card. Have a look.’ The bloke glances cursorily down at the visible top of the bank card but doesn’t take it out to check the name. Instead he snaps the cover shut and shoves the phone into the back pocket of his cargo pants. Then he walks up to Trev, fronts him, puts his face in Trev’s, and says, with breathtaking aplomb, ‘Finders keepers, fatso. Your move.’

The guy is a super middleweight to light heavyweight. Trev is five inches taller and a heavyweight, to say the least. The guy must be pretty handy to fancy himself against Trev. And if he does Trev, it is more than likely that he will keep up the good work and go on to do me. But Trev’s appearance is deceptive. Six months ago he was indeed fat. But he’s put in a lot of patios since and is now solid again. The guy, I am confident, has made a silly mistake and I am sanguine about the outcome.

It takes about a quarter of a second for these thoughts to pass through my brain. Before they are finished, Trev has sunk his teeth into the tip of the guy’s nose and is chewing on it. The guy is screaming, his knees are buckling. Then Trev places a hand on each of the guy’s shoulders and pushes him far enough away to lamp him on the jaw and twice more on the side of the head as he goes down. Then he stands on the guy’s neck while I take the phone out of his pocket. The guy is lying on his side, holding his nose with both bloody hands and whimpering.

‘You’ve got blood on your shirt,’ I warn Trev as we now head for the club’s exit. He squints down at his shirt front then gives me this goofy, slightly mad look of triumph. ‘Who’s the Daddy?’ he says.

Got something to add? Join the discussion and comment below.

Join Jeremy Clarke on the Spectator cruise. For details please visit new.spectator.co.uk/cruise

You might disagree with half of it, but you’ll enjoy reading all of it. Try your first 10 weeks for just $10

Show comments
  • jeffreylmcnabb

    ********Brelliant Quality Of performance spec… <..~~~.. Find Here

  • jaguilar_jacqueline
  • Howe Synnott

    Jeremy Clarke – simply delightful.

    • blandings

      Clarke be blowed – I wanna be Trev

      • Howe Synnott

        Ain’t that the truth – Trev has a certain savoir faire.

  • Blanchewelwood

    Next Day Your Success Day ssppee

  • blandings

    There comes a point in any successful writer’s career when his creation becomes more famous than he.
    Less Jezza more Trevva.
    Fan club maybe?

  • Lisa Danley

    Hello Every One out here, Are you seeking for a love spell to being back the one you love??

    I have decided that i am going to spend the whole day on the internet just to make sure that a lot of people are able to read my testimony about Dr.Sam who is a powerful and genuine spell caster, My name is Lisa Danley,I am from Stevenage,UK .I’m happily married to a lovely and caring husband ,with three kids. A very big problem occurred in my family seven months ago,between me and my husband .so terrible that he took the case to court for a divorce.he said that he never wanted to stay with me again,and that he didn’t love me anymore.So he packed out of the house and made me and my children passed through severe pain. I tried all my possible means to get him back,after much begging,but all to no avail.and he confirmed it that he has made his decision,and he never wanted to see me again. So on one evening,as i was coming back from work,i met an old friend of mine who asked of my husband .So i explained every thing to him,so he told me that the only way i can get my husband back,is to visit a spell caster,because it has really worked for him too.So i never believed in spell,but i had no other choice,than to follow his advice. Then he gave me the email address of the spell caster whom he visited.{salvationlovetemple@gmail.com}. So the next morning,i sent a mail to the address he gave to me,and the spell caster assured me that i will get my husband back the next day.What an amazing statement!! I never believed,so he spoke with me,and told me everything that i need to do. Then the next morning, So surprisingly, my husband who didn’t call me for the past seven months,gave me a call to inform me that he was coming back.So Amazing!! So that was how he came back that same day,with lots of love and joy,and he apologized for his mistake,and for the pain he caused me and my children. Then from that day,our relationship was now stronger than how it were before,by the help of a spell caster. So, i will advice you out there who have any problem to please contact him through this email address: salvationlovetemple@gmail.com …,,..,