Hateland by Bernard O'Mahoney and Mick McGovern (Mainstream Publishing 2005)

The army seemed the least unsatisfactory alternative, although my friends laughed hysterically at the idea of me as a soldier. They didn't think I'd last five minutes in an environment where I had to take orders. The British Army was the first extreme right-wing organisation I ever joined. Patriotism, or rather a narrow, arrogant, Rule-Britannia, God-save-the-Queen jingoism was rammed down our throats at every opportunity. And, like the other far-right groups I later encountered, the forces of the Crown didn't seem to care too much about the presence of criminals in the ranks.

Plastic gangster

One for Reidski.

From Football365com website, a brilliantly funny pisstake of hoolies and their ilk that might have John King reaching for the phone to ring his solicitor.

"Work. Same old, same old. A warrior like me should not be caged. And definitely not as a Waste Management Support Co-ordinator in Lewisham Council. Phone rings. Pick it up.

"Ooo are ya? Ooo are ya? Ooo are ya?" I shout.

"Barry," says the voice. "It's Mr Stevens. Now what did we say about answering the phone in accordance with the guidelines laid down by HR in consultation with designated union representatives?"

"Sorry, Mr Stevens," I say.

"That's better Barry. Now can you please arrange for a member of the cleaning personnel team to go down to the lobby and change the waste paper basket on front desk?"

"Millwall! Millwall! Millwall!" I shout.

"No Barry. Waste paper management now. Millwall later," says Stevens. "Honestly Barry. A man of 48 really ought to be able to control himself." [READ ON . . . .]

From Old Hooligan: A Day In The Life.

Hat tip to 'Sweet FA' over at Urban 75.