In Bradford. Mad old Irish man in a beer bar, his mate leaves. It’s just us. He engages me in conversation and announces that the man he was speaking with used to work with him.

Without a moment’s pause I shout back that I was in Cardiff last month watching rugby with my wife and my cousin when a man my cousin used to work with came over. They’d played pool every lunchtime until the other guy was sacked, twenty five years ago. And it stood at 198 all.

“That’s as good a place as any to leave it”, he roared.

I swear I was channeling Theo. I won a pub story competition against an obvious pro.

I think that’s how Eminem must’ve felt in those rap battles.

Though mine was more “Street Countdown”.


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