John McCullagh January 22, 2004
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‘We weren’t being brave!  We just couldn’t understand what he wanted.’  So said staff from William Hill Bookmaker’s shop at the High Court in Glasgow.  ‘He pointed what looked like a gun at us and kept saying, ‘giv.. giv.. give me the mo..mo..mo, or..or..’ but he had a speech impediment and couldn’t finish the sentence.  We knew he was up to no good so we pushed the alarm button.  But he still kept spluttering and stammering, when the police came to arrest him, so he never got the money. He climbed on to the anti-bandit screen and was mouthing incoherent sounds when the police arrived with CS canisters and riot shields.  He got six years.

It brought to mind a similar occurrence some years ago in Scoot O’Neills in Lower Mill Street.  One particularly unlucky regular had lost his all when he returned with a weapon and wearing a balaclava, and demanded the takings.  My old mate Peter Donaghy was behind the screen.

‘B****r off, Mickey!  We’re busy!’ he ordered.
‘H..H..How di.. di.. did you kno.. know it.. it wa..wa..was me?’ he enquired, clearly puzzled.  The place erupted in laughter and applause.  Micky retired lootless, wearing a particularly quizzical expression on his hunched shoulders!

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