Well ‘ello ‘ello ‘ello there, my good chum. Ain’t the gutters just the tops this time of the season? Gah, certain it’s a jammy time to be a poor, little street urchin. I only wish I had a nice tog of gin to kick these night chills in the knickers. Don’t suppose ya could spare a ha’penny, eh guvnah?
I sure‘d be dancin’ with the dukes if I had a bit of copper in me pocket. Over the moon I’d be, I would I would. Might even get me a nice new sharpened stick to fight off the rats that eat my kneecaps at night if only I had a half cent. Then again, it is a blessing to feel needed by something, I suppose.
It’s like they always used to tell us back in the workhouse while we was sewing sailboat covers for the whip crackers: “Just because your parents sold ya to us for a pot of rock stew is no reason for sloppy stitch work. Now smile, ya fucks.” Just thinking about that puts a song in my heart and a bloody awful pain in the few sewing fingers I’ve got left.
Sure ya ain’t got a ha’penny? It’s been a fortnight since I’ve eaten anything but brick dust, and the cost of that’s been goin’ bloody high since they started gentrifying this filth gutter.
Still, I s’pose it ain’t all bad. Plenty of bops and wobbies being a wee orphan chap. Hope ya ‘ave a jolly good day, mister!