‘That Jeff’s Place one is hilarious, yeah?’ Alan is leaning forward, hitting the table with his first as he speaks. ‘It’s brilliant there are places in the world where people still find these things funny, right? That this political correct, woke bullshit hasn’t got to everyone. It’s just refreshing that there’s a place where no one’s getting offended and kicking off because they take something the wrong way.’

I nod. I don’t want to, but I do.

‘You should check out that Reich series,’ Alan continues. ‘This guy was putting them up on YouTube, but then YouTube banned him so the guys who run Jeff’s gave him a home, but basically he’s playing all the historical FPS games on the market, but he’s reskinned them to play as the bad guys. So he’s the Nazis, or the Germans, or the Communists or whatever, and on the voice-over, he’s just ripping in to all the so-called good guys he’s killing because they probably would’ve gone home and married a black girl or something, or would’ve started a business and employed only migrant workers. It’s hilarious. And he’s, like, head-shot kills, every time. I’m going to grab some more of these, OK?’ He waves his empty bottle.

I look anywhere in the room but at Vince, making up for his momentary thaw, who stares at me with unwavering eyes until Alan returns with another four beers. He opens two and puts one in front of me.

‘Come on Zulu warrior. Drink up! You don’t have to go to work today!’

The next mouthful I take feels like it’s stripping the lining of my oesophagus as it goes down. I take another, and wince slightly less.

When my eyes stop streaming, I see that Alan is still standing up, looking at a picture on the wall. Taken a few years ago, it shows me, Mum and Dad standing in some autumn woods near Nanna and Grandad’s house. We’re all smiling in the way you do for family photos.

‘Is that him then, your dad?’ Alan points with the top of his bottle.

‘Yeah.’ I feel blood pounding in my ears.

‘He looks like a real good bloke.’

‘He… He was, yeah.’

‘I was thinking about him the other night. About what a hero he is.’

Vince raises his bottle towards the picture too. ‘To the fallen,’ he says.

‘Vince thinks so too, don’t you, Vince? Your dad was a soldier in a war he didn’t even know was going on. He gave his life to show we won’t be forced into being cowardly, ugly, anti-white puppies for a bunch of bearded bullies that hide in their gated mosques and synagogues and whatever.’