“And when exactly weren’t you doing nothing?” I would quiz.
“Always! Innit?”
“Well, don’t do it again!” I suggested, drifting into Samuel Beckett territory or the Goons.
Should I have picked him up on his flagrant fibbing or on his car crash grammar? Or both? After all, I was supposed to be his English teacher. My old English teacher, the pedant Merrylees, would have had kittens with that grammar, like he did when he caught us playing Elvis Presley’s One Night of Sin in the 6th form common room.
“I ain’t never done no one no wrong!” purred the King sexily of an adulterous night.
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