Putting the ‘fuck’ back in ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Smiling even though you don’t know what’s going on; having serious problems but not wanting to admit to it and then losing it completely when people innocently suggest that you might have issues with the rage control. Issues with rage control, huh? That obviously hit a nerve! It hits a very sensitive nerve, as you might imagine. ‘Ouch!’ you say. ‘Oh dear me, that’s rather painful…’ Deep down in the cold reptilian core of your brain your rage is uncoiling in its characteristic serpentine fashion. Words are your putty and you’re playing with them for all you’re worth. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty. When you were an awkward, ill-adapted teenager the other kids used to bully you mercilessly – they mocked your every gesture and now you’re ready to pay them back. You’re ready to make someone else suffer for a change. Inside you there’s nothing but surreal fluorescent rage – your body is weak and puny but your rage is a ravening demon out of all proportion. It can’t be contained any longer. A kind-hearted stranger touches your shoulder – he’s noticed your distress. ‘I see you’re having difficulties with rage control,’ he comments softly, ‘perhaps I could offer you a few tips?’ It turns out he’s an anger manager specialist. You look at him dumbfounded – it’s as if he seen right into your very soul. You wonder what he’s seen there, you are vaguely embarrassed but also strangely touched. Human kindness is something completely unfamiliar to you and you don’t know how to respond. You make a retching sound at the back of your throat and your hands form into claws. Your eyes narrow into twin slits. You don’t mind doing time, you’ve never minded doing time – it’s being misunderstood that really gets your goat. You’re running down the street screaming ‘I’m not a bad person’ at the top of your voice. Everyone has their own thing however and there’s no point in being embarrassed by it. That’s what I tell myself anyway. Everyone has something, everyone has ‘a thing’, shall we say. Putting the ‘fuck’ back in ‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ As always, I’m playing to the gallery. As always, I’m looking for validation from the crowd – it’s a trick I learned when I was only a little ‘un. Say what the crowd loves to hear and then listen to their roar of approval. That full, deep-throated roar. The malignant leering faces of your tormentors are pressing in on you from all sides now. Even when you close your eyes they’re still there. Everything will come out right in the end, however. You realise this and straightaway that puts the smile back on your face. A big smile. A great big old shit-eating smile. You can afford to bide your time…