"Энди Макнаб. Немедленная операция (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

dead, but it wasn't the sight of the body that disturbed me; I was far more
concerned about what would happen if I got nicked. I'd seen Z Cars; I had
visions of spending the rest of my life in prison."thought I'd rather die
than have that happen to me.
I'd had a very ordinary childhood up until then."wasn't abused; I
wasn't beaten, I wasn't mistreated. it I, was Just a norma run-of-the-mill
childhood. I had an older brother, who was adopted, but he'd left home and
was in the army. My parents, like everybody else on our estate in
Bermondsey, spent lots of time unemployed and were always skint.
My mum's latest job was in a chocolate factory during the week, and
then at the weekend she'd be in the launderette doing the service washes.
The old man did minicabbing at night and anything he could get hold of
during the day. He would help mend other people's cars and always had a
fifteen-year-old Ford Prefect or Hillman Imp out the front that he'd be
doing things to.
We moved a lot, always chasing work. I'd lived at a total of nine
different addresses and gone to seven schools.
My mum and dad moved down to Heme Bay when I was little. It didn't work
out, and then they had to try to get back on the council.
My mother got pregnant and had a baby boy, and I had to live with my
aunty Nell for a year. This was no hardship at all. Aunty Nell's was great.
She lived in Catford, and the school was just around the corner. Best of
all, she used to give me a hot milk drink at night-and, an unheard-of
luxury, biscuits.
From there we went on the council and lived quite a few years on the
housing estates in Bermondsey. Aunty Nell's husband, George, died and left
my mum a little bit of money, and she decided to buy a corner cafe. We moved
to Peckham, but the business fell through. My mum and dad were not business
people, and everything went wrong; even the accountant ripped them off.
We went onto private housing, renting half a house.
My uncle Bert lived upstairs. Mum and Dad were paying the rent
collector, but it wasn't going to the landlord, so eventually we got evicted
and landed up going into emergency council housing.
Money was always tight. We lived on what my mum called teddy bear's
porridge-milk, bread, and sugar, heated up. The gas was cut off once, and
the only heat source in the flat was a three-bar electric fire. Mum laid it
on its back in the front room and told us we were camping. Then she balanced
a saucepan on top and cooked that night's supper, teddy bear's porridge. I
thought it was great.
I joined my first gang. The leader looked like the lead singer of the
Rubettes. Another boy's dad had a used-car lot in Balham; we thought they
were filthy rich because they went to Spain on a holiday once. The third
character had got his eyes damaged in an accident and had to wear glasses
all the time, so he was good for taking the piss out of. Such were my role
models, the three main players on the estate. I wanted to be part of them,
wanted to be one of the lads.
We played on what we called bomb sites, which was where the old
buildings had been knocked down to make way for new housing estates.
Sometimes we mucked around in derelict buildings; the one on Long Lane
was called Maxwell's Laundry. We used to sing the Beatles song "Bang, Bang,