Your Best Mate

Your best mate’s fucking awesome isn’t he? I can’t talk from a woman’s perspective. Maybe the female version’s just as good? Who knows, besides women, obviously? And any modern man who has a best mate who’s a bird can fuck right off. I went shoplifting with my best mate not shopping.
A best mate then. Someone who’s always there for you. Offers advice, Helps you when you’re in a jam. And in a pinch, a shoulder to cry on when the world turns against you. Not a fucking chance. A best mate kicks you when you’re down, slags you off at every opportunity. Borrows a few quid and never pays back. Goes out for a few shandies when you’re broke and phones you up to let you know what a great time you’re missing. You might even sling punches at each other from time to time and that’s alright because guess what? You’re best fucking mates. And that’s what best mates do.
My best mate, he knew I wasn’t a great runner. His party piece when we were young, go in a shop, blatantly steal something, say a Lacoste sweater from Austin Reades, it’s not important, attract the attentions of the security geezer and shop assistants, the more the merrier, then make for the door. Yeah, my best mate ran cross country for the city boys. I played rugby for the school. Badly but my dad had a car and was free on Saturday mornings. There’s another best mate. Your dad. On rugby, ’You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.’ Bless him. Wouldn’t want it any other way.
Your best mate leaves you sleeping on a bench on the front at Blackpool, with your laces tied together and a cup of cold tea balanced on your chest. He gets in arguments with bouncers and neglects to give you a heads up on the situation. Consequently, it’s a great mystery to you why you’re getting wailed on and ejected from the bar. Your best mate gives you a tip on a long shot that’s a long shot for good reason. Then laughs as you stare at the telly in the bookies wondering why all the other nags have finished running but yours is still out there. Somewhere.  He'll take a run at a bird you fancy when you’re not around. Just to piss you off. But should you have a steady girlfriend, she’s off limits. Though he’ll imply differently. And that’s what’s fucking great about your best mate. He has standards. They’re as low as yours, invariably but he has standards none the less.
In short, yer best mate’s a laugh. Makes life fun. If he’s not get another one.